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Teaching a Lesson

Warning, you are entering a cuckold free zone. If you do not like stories of temptation, human frailty, and redemption, please do not read this story. You will not enjoy it. But, if you take solace that there are husbands and wives who fight dirty to save their marriages I bid thee read on.

I have received much encouragement and support after my first five stories. Today's story tells of another jealous woman who tries to ruin her best friend's marriage because she can.

As always, I remain a mere scribe and made no effort to verify the facts. Of course the names and locations have been changed to protect privacy.

If you enjoy Teaching a Lesson I encourage you to read my earlier works. Thank you.


*****

The bar I hang out at has a sign in the men's room that says, "A good friend will bail you out of jail at 3AM. A great friend is sitting next to you in the cell saying, "Damn, that was fun. Let's do it again."

Bobby is a great friend and, yes, we have spent a night together in a jail cell...make that a couple nights. Someone once said we complement each other like whiskey does beer. I honestly believe he would do anything for me.

My wife Dianne also has a best friend, Patti. Patti's problem is she knows she's hot. Make that smoking hot. She learned early on how to use her looks to manipulate men, and women. She, on the other hand, wouldn't lift a perfectly manicured finger unless there was something in it for her. She is a total bitch who eats men for sport.

Before we met, Dianne and Patti were small time hell raisers but I made a respectable woman out of her. The day I proposed I swore on all that is holy I would never cheat and demanded the same from her. That day my hellion pledged eternal fidelity. I told her I would hold her to that because I'm very jealous of my things...and bad things happen when someone tries to take them.

Bobby was our best man; Patti our maid of honor. She took an immediate disliking to him when he introduced his date. Seems she thought he would take her up to his room and prove he really was the best man. His date must have thought so because one year later they became Mr.& Mrs. Robert Hoffmann. They're the proud parent of twin two year old daughters and are as much in love as the day they tied the knot.

Our life was good, make that very good. We had great careers, a nice house in the suburbs, a lush green lawn, and a dog who was as loyal as they come. Yep, a regular Norman Rockwell painting.

Over the next couple of years most of their sorority sisters get married and started families,

Seeing her circle of unmarried friends shrinking Patti realized the last thing a new bride wants is her single, slutty friend from college hanging around her spouse. She did not enjoy her new role as pariah and went big time husband hunting.

It didn't take her long to find a quiet mouse of a man whose father owned a chain of liquor stores. She hooked Willard on their first date and reeled him in by the third. A tacky Las Vegas wedding soon followed. Dianne and I represented the old guard at their nuptials. Hey, how often does someone get a free trip to Vegas?

Life settled into a routine. We would get together with Patti and Willard a couple of times a month for dinner; he was soft spoken and his bride didn't give him a chance to say very much. If only she knew what was going on behind that blank expression on his poker face.

When the check came Patti would always grab it and say, "My treat" as she handed the waiter Wilbur's platinum American Express card. I thought that poor puppy never had a chance as she treated him like a walking wallet.

Then Dianne and I would settle down to normal until the next dinner. This isn't to say the girls didn't talk regularly. Patti would call several times a day just to chat; usually about nothing in particular. Every now and then, however, Dianne would leave the room to continue the conversation. I never made too much of an effort to eavesdrop but I could hear my wife alternating between gasps and giggles as Patti regaled her with her latest escapade.

Whenever I asked what they found to talk about; the answer always was "bragging about our husbands."

One night, however, I heard Dianne pleading, "Please, don't make me do that again." That got my attention and I moved closer to see what else I could glean.

"I told you last time, I won't lie for you again."

I made my presence known, "Lie for who again?" I asked.

"I'll call you back." She looked guilty as she ended the call.

"Lie for who again?" I persisted.

"No body. It was nothing."

"I know who you were talking to. Who does Patti want you to lie to?

"Her husband."

"Why?"

"So she can go to lunch with a friend."

"Who's the friend?"

It took better than twenty minutes of back-and-forward before she finally admitted the whole scheme. Patti would tell Willard she was meeting Dianne for lunch. They would rendezvous at a local hotel which had a very trendy little café. Just before her friend showed up she would call her husband and ask if she could bring him home something. Willard always asked for a slice of their Dutch apple pie. Before she hung up Patti would pass Dianne the phone so she could say hi. Then, while Dianne ate, she would slink off to share a room with her lover for the next couple of hours. Patti always grabbed the check to document their lunch.

"That's disgusting. You're not only condoning adultery but enabling her to do it. I have never been more ashamed of you. Willard may not be the most exciting guy in the world but he doesn't deserve having someone he considers a friend stabbing him in the back."

The argument raged on through the evening until I ended it by asking, "How would you feel if I asked Bobby to lie to you so I could have an affair?"

That shed a whole different light on it.

Dianne began to cry and admitted she would be devastated. I made her promise to never lie for Patti again, which she reluctantly did. Unfortunately, this marked the beginning of a new chapter in our relationship, one in which my wife became very secretive; starting with a new password protected cell phone. From that day, on virtually every fight we had was because of Patti. Our marriage was at a low point.

One morning about a month later I awoke with an ominous feeling hanging over me. That's how it begins. I knew something was going to happen that would put my marriage of eight years to the test. Later that day Dianne called in tears to say Patti was getting divorced and needed a place to stay for a few days. I had enough high school math to put two plus two together and come up with nothing good.

Yep, Whispering Willard really surprised us all. Seems he had private detectives following her, documenting every time she violated the prenup agreement. After accumulating enough evidence to destroy any claim she had to his assets the mouse roared.

From what I've been told Willard had a Process Server hand her divorce papers while she was impaled on her paramour's cock. One second she was screaming in orgasmic delight, the next she was screaming as her world crashed down around her. He even had a photographer record the tryst for one final piece of evidence.

And just in case there was trouble two sheriff's deputies were on hand. Willard stood stoically behind them, flanked by his attorney and investigator, not saying a word.

Nana always said, "Beware the silent one."

As soon as Patti managed to extract the offending member she ran to the bathroom screaming "Everyone get out of my house!" and slammed the door. Her former fucker grabbed his clothes and was allowed to leave unmolested.

That was the cue for two movers to enter her enormous walk-in closet and box up all of her clothes and shoes. They packed her Escalade to the gunwales with box after box of designer fashions. When they finished the sheriff's deputies ordered her to vacate the premises or they would kick the door down and physically remove her. Patti slunk out with a bath towel wrapped around her.

They say she passed out when she walked into her closet to get something to wear and found it empty. One of the sheriff's deputies carried her to the bed while the other chased down the movers to get her something to wear.

An hour later Patti was at our door, wearing a faded Northwestern sweatshirt, dragging a suitcase, and announcing, "I have no where to live". Thus our peaceful life was shattered by Patti moving into our guest bedroom. I guess you could say Willard got divorced and we got custody of the tramp.

Oh, and guess who got to haul all those boxes into the house.

Patti spent the rest of the evening lying on the bed convulsing in tears. Dianne sat next to her and kept assuring her that things would work out. A couple of tranquilizers barely made a dent in her hysterics. It was almost 1 AM before she quieted down enough for us to go to bed.

Later that night I bolted upright in bed, knowing it was Patti who would tempt my wife of eight years to do something bad for me and our marriage. That began a pattern of my sleep being interrupted by warnings.

Patti spent the next day crying on Dianne's shoulder. I guess killing the goose that laid the golden egg will do that to a money grubbing leech.

When I came home from work she was still wailing lamentations.

This went on for the next five days. It didn't matter if we were eating dinner or getting ready to make love, my wife dropped everything to comfort her. When I protested she would coo, "Cut her some slack, she's devastated," like I was some kind of restless child. 'Devastated,' I thought, she's damn lucky her husband didn't beat her unconscious with a baseball bat like she deserved.

Nightly a spectral visitor announced our vows to forsake all others would soon be getting tested. Until Patti got dumped by her husband I never had the slightest reason to question anything my wife did. But now my throat burned with bile and my soul with an anxiety which fanned the embers of suspicion in my mind.

I knew these nocturnal warnings spoke the truth. My grandmother said we had Gypsy blood running through our veins which gave me a special sixth sense. I would sit in amazement as Nana regaled me with stories of growing up in the old country, her family living in a brightly colored horse drawn wagon while her mother told fortunes to outsiders to keep them fed.

My favorites were tales of fleeing Nazi storm troopers who were rounding up the Roma and sending them to death camps. My great-grandfather was a skilled grifter who knew how to live off the land. He also knew how to read a man and know he wouldn't betray them to the Gestapo. My family spent four years on the run, disappearing like mist before the sun whenever great-grandmother sensed danger.

Nana also taught me about the evil eye and how to place a curse on someone.

My mother would tell her to stop filling my head with foolish superstitions; we were Americans now. Sorry mom, but I believe her because I was living it.

Throughout my life I had numerous episodes where I knew something before it happened, like running into someone I hadn't seen a decade right after I spoke his name. Spooky stuff like that. Mom called them coincidences but I knew when I got that feeling something was going to happen. Usually, it was harmless things, like knowing the name of the next song on the radio just before they played it

When we were first dating it used to drive Dianne nuts when I would announce the title of the next song before the disc jockey. At first she was convinced it was some kind of a trick and vowed to learn my secret. She would change channels to try to trip me up. I assured her I had no idea how I did it.

Now the premonition that something bad was going to happen was growing stronger. It became so real I could almost hear ominous music playing in the background. I knew Patti would try to come between my wife and me.

Every night Patti would go to her room and wail like she was an innocent victim. And each night I laid in our king size bed staring at my beautiful wife, sound asleep, as the clock announced each passing second, wondering what seeds of discontent had been sown in her mind. Each morning Patti would be sitting at our kitchen table emptying yet another bottle from my liquor cabinet. She barely acknowledged my presence as I ate breakfast.

One morning, as I was eating a bowl of cereal, her robe accidentally opened and she flashed me her naked breasts. I shook my head and said with disgust, "In your best friend's house."

I woke Dianne and told her what our resident alcoholic had done. As expected, she jumped to her defense, claiming it must have been an accident. "Don't worry; I'll have a talk with her." The next morning Patti flashed her pussy.

After a running argument that lasted an entire weekend Dianne said she would tell Patti she had to find her own place to live. I agreed to stake her to her the first months rent and security deposit provided she got a job. I suggested she get one that took advantage of her talents, like pole dancing or streetwalking. Dianne was not amused.

Patti did not react well to the news. She lashed out vowing revenge on me. That was no surprise as she was still blaming me for Willard catching her cheating.

She became an uber-bitch and began to mess with Dianne's mind, planting subtle doubts about my upcoming west coast trip. I was being promoted to regional vice president of marketing and had to go to California for two weeks training. When I returned a one week, all expenses paid trip for two to Hawaii would be our reward. That gave Patti about a month to move out.

Patti kept trying to cause trouble by asking questions, like, "So how many women will you be training with?" and "Will the women be staying at the same hotel as the men?'

The one that really pissed me off was a crack she made after seeing I had classes scheduled everyday including Sunday, "Too bad you won't be able to fly home for the weekend." By the smirk I knew she was gloating because I couldn't be around to interfere with her plans.

I even debated calling my boss to pass on the promotion but didn't want to torpedo my career because of that bitch. Instead I decided to take preemptive action.

A couple days before I left I asked Bobby to keep an eye on Dianne. I told him I was getting a bad feeling. He said I was imagining it, "You two are the most married people I know." I reminded Bobby of the time one of my hunches saved our lives. My car was in the shop and he was driving me home from work. As we approached an intersection with a green light I suddenly screamed, "Stop!" I spooked his so much he slammed on the brakes. Not more than a second later a semi trailer hauling gravel blew through the red light missing us by inches. Neither Bobby nor I said a word as we realized we would have been T-boned if we hadn't stopped.

"I got that same feeling of dread right now."

"That's good enough for me."

Bobby enlisted the assistance of two friends from out of town to carry out surveillance.

"You don't want anybody local that might get recognized." He said they were former private contractors back from Afghanistan who were experts at observing a target while blending into the background; they also knew how to persuade bad guys to leave a lady alone.

He arranged a meeting one night two miles past the end of civilization, on a dark gravel road to nowhere.

I shook their hands and introduced myself. Nether offered a name. "Ain't here to make friends." Bobby smirked and said call 'em anything you want. I started calling them the outsiders; this soon was shortened to out one and out two.

The first thing out one insisted on was pre-paid phones. "Don't want somebody tracing any calls."

As requested, I put together an extensive file on Dianne, including several pictures, a list of phone numbers, home and work, as well as a schedule of a typical week in her life. I also gave him a set of keys to our house and to her cherry, matching numbers, 1967 Mustang convertible. "Sometimes I think she loves this car more than she does me."

Part of their service would be installing hidden cameras in my house so I could monitor comings and goings on my lap top. Next I gave them information on people who she could be expected to come in contact with, like her mother and sister Kris.

Patti had her own special folder. "This is the bad influence I told you about."

The last thing I handed was an envelope thick with twenty dollar bills. They assured me they would keep her out of trouble.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Dianne drove me to the airport Sunday evening. My training began the next day at 9 and we had spent most of the day in bed saying our goodbyes. This would be the first time we had been apart since we were freshmen in college.

We met at some kind of sorority fundraiser. I didn't know anyone there and was ready to book out when I saw two beautiful blondes working one of the booths. I walked over and said I would like to take a chance. The shorter one, Patti, said 'that'll be a dollar." I had already locked eyes with the taller one and asked, "If I win will you go out with me?" Dianne smiled and said, "Okay, but nobody's won tonight." I spent every dollar I had in the world trying to win something, anything, but it was all for naught. Patti saw my empty wallet and horned in, "Sorry stud, you lose."

Nana had told me how love's lightning bolt sent spasms of infatuation of Richter-scale force through a young man and I was experiencing it first hand. My pulse was racing a mile a minute. I was flat broke but had to have her. Then I remembered my gift. I challenged Dianne, "Write down five numbers. If I can guess all five of them you leave with me when you're finished."

Patti taunted me, "Why not ten?"

I leered at her and said, "If I get all ten correct can we leave right now?"

Patti laughed and said, "Go ahead, the Amazing Kreskin will be lucky to guess one."

Dianne said, "Well, okay. You've got a deal."

I instructed her to get a piece of paper and write down ten numbers between one and a hundred. I told her to fold it up and place it in her shoe so I couldn't possibly cheat. I concentrated and said to myself, 'Nana, I just met the girl I'm going to marry, don't fail me.'

I asked Patti for a blank piece of paper and a pencil. "Here you go Houdini," she mocked me.

I began to write numbers 99...4...01...55...63...75...08...43...22. I paused before the writing the last number and said to Dianne..."I think you're pretty cute too" before I wrote URaQT.

Patti thought I had blown it for sure with my last guess until she unfolded the paper and called out the numbers. Each one, including the last flirt, was a spot on perfect match.

The look on Patti's face was priceless. "I believe my date and I will be leaving." We went back to my room and got to know each other much better. From that day on Patti and I were like fire and water.

The dorm wasn't technically co-ed but the RA was willing to look the other way as long as we were discrete. My roommate majored in getting stoned and dropped out after flunking every class. Soon Dianne was spending every night in my room. As sophomores we we're able to live off campus and settled into a tiny studio apartment and screwed our brains out every night.

Enough history, by Friday night I was mentally exhausted from a week of non-stop training. As I did every night, I called Dianne the minute I got out of class. Tonight, however, I invited her to have dinner with me. She sounded confused and excited, "Are you coming home?"

"No, I wish I was. I ordered room service; it should be here in a few minutes. Your pizza should arrive in about five minutes. Now go turn on your webcam." It wasn't the most intimate dinner but I thought it was pretty romantic. For dessert we had some very tasty phone sex.
What my wife failed to mention during our two hour long conversation was Patti had been working on her all week to go out partying Saturday night. Patti said she was going to move back home in Indianapolis until she figured things out and claimed this would be the last chance they had to go out for who knows how long. She taunted, "We can go after you report in to the warden."

All week long Patti had kept up the pressure assuring Dianne. "Don't worry, he'll never find out. Just tell him we went out to dinner. I mean he does let you go out to eat, doesn't he?

Saturday morning Patti announced she found a great bar that had a live band and dancing. Even better, an old friend of hers was the bass player; "C'mon, we'll hang with the band and get free drinks," she assured me.

By late afternoon she wore Dianne down into going for dinner and one drink. My innocent wife foolishly believed her.

As class dismissed the next day a few of my classmates invited me to go for a drink at the hotel bar. I declined and called Dianne as I walked to my room. Not good; my call went immediately to voice mail. I left a quick message, "Hi honey, I'm out of class, call me." Next I checked my laptop. Among the dozen messages was one from my wife, "Going to dinner with Patti. Call you later." It was time stamped over three hours earlier. Now I was really pissed.

I hit redial. Again I got her "Sorry you missed me recording..." I sent her a text message.

"Hi honey...I got your message about going to dinner. It's eight o'clock your time so I can't understand why you're not picking up. Call me the moment you get this.

I waited fifteen minutes before I redialed. "Dianne, I'm starting to get concerned. Call me." I followed this up with another text message.

I had a sense of foreboding as I dialed Patti. Her recording said, "I'm busy but leave your number and maybe I'll call ya' later, maybe I won't." I left a message, "Patti, I need to need to talk to Dianne immediately."

At 8:30, Chicago time, I made one last try to reach my wife, "Honey, the only reason I can imagine you're not answering or returning my calls is you're either in a coma or dead. If you're neither I would strongly suggest you drop whatever you're doing and call me."

If I didn't have people spying on my wife I would have been on the next flight back to Chicago. Instead, my next call went to Bobby. I explained that even though I called the same time every night, Dianne wasn't answering.

"Rich, I got some bad news. Your wife picked up Patti at five. They were both dressed to the nines. I followed them to The End of the Line, a nasty bar that attracted every scumbag, low life mother-fucker from two counties. I'm sitting out in the lot but our friends are inside keeping a close eye on her."

We agreed the way it would go down would be one of the outs would show up wherever Dianne went and attempt to talk her up. This would be a test to see if she would blow them off because she was a married woman. If she didn't send him packing he was to push to see if my wife would cheat on me. I had to know.

The moment they walked in Patti started in on Dianne, taunting her for being a "goody two shoes. Don't worry, the warden's not here watching you. Have some fun" as she ran off to dance with a strange man.

Out one was ready to pounce. He claimed the stool next to her before anyone else could. "It looks like your friend abandoned you." He replied. "So how about I keep you company until she gets back."

He waved to the bartender and a round of drinks appeared.

"Our friend was drinking and dancing with Dianne until the band took a break. It's a little loud in there but I could hear most of the conversation. Cheer up buddy, the moment our boy said hello she announced she was happily married but her friend was newly single."

"So far your wife has had three vodka gimlets, and they make them mighty strong here. But when our boy put his hands on her ass while they danced she cracked him so hard across the face everyone turned around."

"Let the outs know Dianne never drinks that much."

"Will do. But there's a problem. It seems Patti knows one of the losers in the band. It's a crappy cover band, four guys who don't know the words to half of what they're trying to play. When they took a break, Patti dragged Dianne to meet them. They followed the band out back to smoke some weed. I'm watching them right now acting like two stupid teenage girls. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to teach her a lesson. Make her car disappear," was my response. A minute after the band went back inside Bobby drove off into the darkness.

A couple minutes later One Out sent me a text, "babysitting."

I left Dianne another voice mail.

Several regulars staggered over and asked if they could buy the lady a drink. One Out gave each a menacing glare until they backed off. Besides, he had already backed her up with two virgin gimlets.

When the band finally played something recognizable Dianne begged him to let her dance. He took her hand and led her out on the floor only this time he didn't get slapped when he groped her ass. 'No more alcohol for her tonight,' he thought.

At the end of the set the band announced they were taking a smoke break. Patti grabbed Dianne coming out of the ladies room and they followed the four parasites and their friends staggering out the back door.

Surveillance was handed off. Patti was the center of attention as she unbuttoned her blouse. Her surgically enhanced breasts rode high and proud on a satin shelf bra. Someone produced a bottle of tequila and they began doing shots off her impressive cleavage. When Dianne saw what was happening she tried to flee to the safety of the well lit bar.

A couple of losers intercepted her and dragged her towards the darkness beyond the gravel parking lot. She was screaming bloody murder as they tore at her sweater, ripping it open to expose her black bra. She fought like a banshee to get away but was no match for the pair.

Those poor slobs never knew what hit them. Out Two appeared out of nowhere and knocked both out cold. He smiled and said, "Don't worry ma'am, they won't be bothering you anymore."

Dianne clutched what was left of her sweater, stammered a "thank you," and ran back towards the bar's lights. She soon spotted an empty parking space where she had parked her Mustang.

One Out said she burst into the bar swearing like a sailor that her car was stolen.

Naturally, this put quite the damper on the evening's festivities.

It took the police better than an hour to show up to take a report; by then her prized possession was on fire in a quarry on the other side of town. One Out stayed with her until the police arrived and tried to sober her up by pouring black coffee into her.

At about 2 A.M. I received a text that said, "OK but bad day. Home now. I call U in AM." That damn near put me over the top.

I called her cell phone and got voice mail. I called her every name I could think of as I pounded out the numbers of our land line; as I expected the answering machine picked up. It was on the counter in the kitchen but it was loud enough to hear everywhere in the house. I screamed "If you don't answer this fuckin' phone you had better not be there when I come home!"

It took only a few seconds before she picked up. "I'm sorry, I though you would be sleeping." She slurred her words.

"You're drunk...here I am worried that something happened and you're out getting shit faced. Let me guess, with that cunt Patti."

She began crying, "Please don't yell at me."

"I am not yelling. Now go make yourself a pot of real strong coffee. I'll wait. We have a lot to talk about."

When she returned to the phone she still sounded like hell.

My voice was loud and firm. "Where have you been for the last nine hours?"

She began to wail, "Someone stole my Mustang."

"Where? When?"

Dianne was rather evasive on where it happened saying only it was stolen while she was having dinner with Patti.

I tried to control my anger, "I know you're upset but where were you when it got stolen?"

"We were at dinner."

"You told me that. Now, what is the name of the restaurant where the car was stolen from?"

"It's late and I feel sick. Can't we talk about this in the morning?"

"No, I want to know where my wife was when her car was stolen."

"It was some restaurant Patti knows. Now can I lie down to clear up my head?"

"Does this restaurant have a name?" I tried to keep my tone civil.

"Please let me go to sleep. I've been at the police station forever and I can barely stay awake."

I was furious and said, "I don't care what time it is. Dianne, you really fucked up big time and you're only making it worse. Call me when you're ready to tell the truth." I slammed the phone down and picked up my laptop. I started looking for a ticket on the next flight to Chicago.

Dianne called a minute later to say she had something to confess. "I'm sorry, I should have been honest with you from the start but I was afraid you would get mad. We went to hear a friend of Patti's in a band. They were playing at a small bar outside town."

"What is the name of the bar?" I demanded.

After a long pause she relied in a soft voice, "End of the Line."

I lost my temper and screamed "How stupid are you! The only women who go there are whores and women who want to become whores!"

She started sobbing.

When I calmed down I asked, "Did you lie to the police too?

"No, they came to the restaurant to take the report.

"Stop lying to me. You didn't go to a restaurant, you went to a shit hole dive bar."

"Honest to God, I didn't do anything. We were sitting at the bar having a drink, enjoying the music."

"And you're going to expect me to believe that two hot looking blondes in that bar weren't getting hit on by every scumbag. "How stupid do you think I am?"

"We, I, ignored most of them. I did let a nice guy buy me a drink but I told him I was happily married but my friend was available."

"So what were you wearing?" Bobby had sent me a couple pix which one of the outs had shot. "Your denim mini-skirt and a tight black sweater?"

It took a few seconds for Dianne to compose herself enough to stammer, "No, no, I had pants on and a blazer over my sweater. Honest."

I didn't want to tip my hand by pushing it too far and replied, "I find it mighty hard to believe that those low life bastards weren't on you like white on rice."

"Honest, I swear I'm not lying now.

She damn near choked when I said "I hope not because I will get a copy of the theft report from our insurance agent."

Dianne made a sickly noise like an asthmatic fighting to breathe.

"So I guess one of your new friends decided if he couldn't have my wife he'd take her car." Dianne started crying again. "What did you think would happen when you took your car there? You're damn lucky they didn't take you too. I told you nothing good would happen if you hung out with Patti."

"I'm so sorry. I promise I'll never lie to you again."

The last thing I said was she should sleep with her phone next to her pillow. "I don't care if you're at work or sitting on the toilet, you had better answer the phone every time I call. You are not going to get a second chance."

I called at 9 AM sharp Chicago time, denying her the sleep she needed. She sounded like shit. I asked her if she had anything else she wanted to tell me.

"No, but I'm getting a little worried. Patti hasn't shown up."

"I'm sure a girl with her talents had no problem finding a bed to sleep in."

My next call was to Bobby. He confirmed my fear that if we hadn't intervened the evening would have had a very bad ending. "If our boy hadn't cold cocked those two assholes in the parking lot I hate to think what would have happened to her."

We spent the next hour on the phone with Bobby filling me in on everything that transpired with the outs. They were both in agreement that Dianne showed really poor judgment but wouldn't have cheated on me.

"Damn, my cheek still hurts from where she slapped me," One Out said. "And while we waited for the cops all she did was talk about how bad she screwed up and how much she loved you."

Even though it was Sunday I had class all day. I had a hell of a time concentrating after what Bobby had told me. But I soldiered on. We got a fifteen minute break every two hours and I called home on the land line to make sure she was really there.

Each time Dianne sounded happy to hear from me. I guess she thought as long as I was still calling she had gotten away with it. When we spoke after lunch she suggested we share a virtual dinner that evening.

I was very impressed with the outfit she barely had on.

When I woke her Monday she thanked me for the wonderful evening but again expressed concern that Patti hadn't shown up. "I've tried her cell a dozen times but it goes straight to voice mail."

'Now you know what its like to have someone not answering their phone when you're worried about them."

All day Monday I called her at work during every break. Each time she answered on the first ring which took some effort.

At lunch time we had more time to talk. She was getting very worried something bad happened to Patti. I thought, 'I hope that bitch never shows up,' while saying "If she's not there when you get home from work you should call the police.

It was early evening before I was able to get a copy of the police report. I waited until I was in my hotel room to call. Dianne answered her phone on the first ring and said, "Hello my beloved."

My voice was a lot less amorous. "I have the theft report and I've spoken with the police officer and bartender. I will give you exactly one last chance to tell me the whole truth or my next call is to a divorce lawyer."

Dianne totally lost it. In between sobs she managed to say "I'm sorry" several times but nothing more.

"You must really think I'm stupid. Well I've had enough of your I'm sorry bull shit. You are a liar. I do not believe a word you are saying. Officer Renwick said you were dressed like a prostitute. He also said you reeked of pot and blew better than twice the legal limit. So if your car hadn't been stolen I can only assume you would be in jail for a DUI right now.

That is unless your new friends slipped something into your drink. Yeah, that's happened last month to a woman who was stupid enough to go to that shit hole alone...she got drugged and raped in the parking lot. Maybe that's what happened to Patti."

Dianne gasped than began crying again. "But I guess you lead a charmed life. Officer Renwick said a mystery man in black came out of the shadows and kept you from being sexually assaulted. Oh, I guess you forgot to tell me that. So, for the last time, what else have you lied to me about?"

Dianne was sobbing so hard I couldn't understand her. I challenged her, "Give me one reason I shouldn't divorce you."

After a long pause she whispered, "I...I have none."

"Then this conversation is ended." I could hear my wife pleading with me.

"It's been a long day and I have to get ready for class."

She was crying so hard I could barely make out, "Please Rich don't hang up."

"I'll give you until tomorrow morning to come up with one reason, just one reason, why we should stay married."

* * * * * * * * * *

The red eye lifted off from O'Hare Airport exactly on time. The 737 was packed and Dianne was thrilled to have gotten a full fare ticket. She spent the flight rehearsing what she was going to say to save her marriage. When her seatmate tried to make conversation she shut him down saying, "I have to prepare for the biggest presentation of my life." He consoled himself by staring at her long legs.

The plane landed at LAX at 5AM and fifteen minutes later she was in a cab headed towards destiny.

Dianne told the deck clerk she wanted to surprise her husband. He studied her Drivers License before telling her Rich's room number; top floor, room 815. "Is there somewhere I can freshen up?"

Dianne had the ladies room to herself as she carefully touched-up her make-up. When she was satisfied she went into one of the stalls to change. She opened the plastic bag and took out the lingerie Rich had given her on her last birthday. It was still new in the package. As she hooked the backseamed nylons to the garter belt she decided not to wear the matching thong. The lace bra lifted her breasts and put them on display. She stuffed the skirt and blouse she had worn on the plane into the bag then put the black wrap dress on. She paused and looked at the mirror one more time before walking to the elevator.

When she got off on the 8th floor she could see people walking on the balconies which overlooked the large lobby.

Dianne had been toying with an idea. Rich always said he could never stay mad at her when she was naked. She looked down the corridor but couldn't see anyone. She steeled her reserve and said, "It's now or never" as she slipped off her dress. The warm wetness between her legs gave her confidence. She rolled it up and added it to her bag. At the last moment she was inspired to stuff the bag behind the ice machine.

Room 815 was all the way at the far end of the building. She should have taken the other elevator bank but it was too late to go back now. As she walked down the long corridor her nipples got redder and harder than she had ever seen before. She could hear voices in a couple of the rooms as she walked past.

She listened to the door on Rich's room for a moment before she knocked. There was no answer. She nearly panicked when she heard the elevator ding and two businessmen exited. They looked at the sign then walked the other way.

Dianne covered the peephole and knocked again. A horrible thought struck her, 'What if he's not alone.'

"Who's there?"

She said, "Room service" in her best Spanish accent.

"Go away. I'm sleeping."

She knocked again.

"Go away."

Dianne's knocked again. The door flew open and Rich bellowed, "Don't you understand English?"

Dianne screamed "because I love you more than life itself and I swear I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you! That's why we shouldn't get divorced."

Rich didn't say a word. Instead he stepped aside and beckoned her to enter. Dianne's face lit up as she threw her arms around his neck and began kissing him. She could feel his cock get hard through his shorts.

"So what am I supposed to do with you?"

"Make passionate love."

"Okay, but I have to be in class in a couple hours."

"Then let's not waste any time talking!"

That line was almost a deal killer. Rich froze for a moment then said, "At the moment I can't think of a thing I want to talk about." Seconds later we were embracing like newlyweds.

As he was getting ready for class Rich joked, "Did they make you take your heels off when you went through security wearing that?" I laughed and said, "I didn't get naked until I got off the elevator."

I walked Rich to the elevator wearing one of his shirts. To his amusement, I retrieved my clothes from behind the ice machine then gave him a big kiss.

"Call me when you're on break and I'll meet you outside the conference room." I got to meet his classmates. Sorry Patti, they were 100% male and my husband was the pick of the litter.

That night Rich took me to a very fancy restaurant where he had reserved a private corner booth. He found my wrap dress very convenient.

When we returned to the room Rich loosened the tie and my dress puddled around my ankles. He placed his palm on my stomach then got the strangest expression. "Don't you feel that?" He took my hand and placed it on my belly. I looked at his face...I have never seen him look more excited. He covered my hand with his and bade me not to talk. I looked in his eyes and watched a glow cover his face. Immediately I knew the secret, we had conceived a son that morning.
EPILOGUE

Dianne called the police to file a missing persons report. The investigating officer said security cameras in the parking lot showed she got in a van of her own free will. About a month later Dianne received an e-mail saying she had moved to New York and asked her to ship all of her clothes. We were only too happy to get our guest bedroom back. I never asked Dianne what she told Patti but we never heard from her again.

It turns out Bobby couldn't bring himself to torch the car. It was 'found' while we were in Hawaii, in mint condition less the ignition, which was torn out to because this was, after all, a stolen car.

Richard John Connelly II was born exactly nine months after our life began anew.
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