Thanks to everyone, who commented and rated "Kitchen Table". I'd recommend you read that story before this one, so you know what's going on. I feel like I didn't state something properly in that story's preface, so I wanted to clarify here. I stated that my real-life wife claims none of this shit can actually happen. Some read it for what it was. Some took it as something else. The point is, I don't agree with her, or anyone, really, who thinks the outrageous situations in the stories on Literotica don't actually happen. In fact, I'd bet big money they do. In my upcoming, "Reader's Block," I'll try to write a story to prove it.

Love is arbitrary and objective. For as many people there are in existence, there are that many ideas of what love is. Marriages, on the other hand, are fairly well spelled out, both in the beginning and the end.

I want to thank the editor, neuroparenthetical, for his amazing skills. He really does take my creativity and mold it into something readable, and in proper English.

Relax, it's just a story people...

Here I sit, in this dumpy burger joint parking lot, across the street from where my wife works. I'm here today because President Reagan told me to 'trust but verify.' So that's exactly what I'm doing. I curse at the pair of binoculars, angry at myself really, for not learning more about the finer points of focusing them. They were a Christmas gift about eight years ago, from my youngest daughter, and a gift I stuffed into a drawer in my office, never expecting to use them in this lifetime. Being totally honest, I'm angry at my wife, not this instrument of spying.

My wife had recently claimed to love me -with all her heart - I suppose, as we sat in our kitchen discussing her 'need' for more excitement. No, she wasn't asking me to purchase an all-day pass to our local amusement park. She didn't expect us to join a bowling league, or a bridge club. She wanted to go on dates. On dates with other men. Man, to be exact.

The man, the object of her excitement, is standing in the sights of my spy-glasses right now. He's almost close enough for me to see clearly without the aid of my binoculars. Dee has her pick-up truck parked out near the street, by the gas pumps that are part of the super-store she works at. She and The Duke are standing outside the truck's passenger door, talking. At least they aren't inside the vehicle. There's been no touching, kissing or hugging the entire twenty minutes I've been watching them. Just talking.

When my wife asked me how I might feel about her going out to dinner, dancing and maybe a movie with this asshole, and admitting that it could also involve sex, I wanted to strangle her right there in our kitchen. But that was temporary. Dee and I have known each other going back to our teens, and we're now on the precipice of sixty. We've both had two previous marriages. The similarities between them were astounding.

She'd been cheated on, I'd been cheated on, and once, when she'd left her first husband after he had gotten physically violent with her, we'd both cheated with each other. That was only a year after Dee and I had originally split, and my cheating with her was on a girlfriend, not a wife. So, her idea that we could somehow calmly have a summit together and perhaps reach a mutually beneficial agreement about her dating this asshole was outrageous and ridiculous to me.

Certainly, one of my weaknesses is my love for Dee, along with my commitment to our vows. I didn't want to lose her to The Duke - not because I considered it a competition, but rather, because I didn't want to live without her. I knew, even that night, that losing her could very well be in the cards. It all came down to her selfishness, and of course, how I ended up dealing with Mr. Austin. Still, my first reaction had been to invoke the 'better or worse' clause of our vows, and do my best to get her to come to her senses before everything was ruined irrevocably.

The knowledge that 'it' was already ruined to some degree hurt my heart, but I also knew that if Dee came around, we could get ourselves back on track, and perhaps even improve our relationship. That would depend on her, and my trust in Dee had taken enough of a hit that I'm sitting here spying on her.

She knew all too well the ramifications of cheating. That was why I wasn't the least bit surprised that she'd tried to throw me off balance that evening, hoping to explain her perspective and then gain some sort of acceptance. That had kept her conscience clean. When I had explained very concisely, how her actions would make me feel, and how they'd affect our marriage, Dee had seemed to come out of her haze. She'd claimed that she'd called The Fucking Duke, and had called off not only their date, but also, their entire relationship.

Yet, here we are. It was coming up on thirty-five minutes we'd all been here, and now I sit watching as The Duke climbs into the passenger side of my truck. Dee goes around and jumps in, then starts driving back up towards the store entrance. I toss the binoculars on top of the seat next to me, and fire up the car. If there's going to be a parting smooch, I won't be able to see from here.

It takes me over a minute to negotiate the oncoming traffic, and get into their parking lot. He's already walking towards the door in the garden department, while my wife heads towards the other entrance. If they did kiss, or anything else, I missed it.

Now I have some decisions to make. On the one hand, I didn't witness anything that wouldn't pass the spouse test. On the other, and a major setback, was the fact that they still took their lunch hour together. That meant she either actively lied, never intending to stop, or that that slick-talker Duke was still pushing, and she was trying to accommodate. In any case, Dee was complicit. That revelation saddened me. Still, there is some hope here. That's how my brain works. Often, over the years, I'd coached my kids and grandkids, when faced with a problem, to not only see the beginning and end of a situation, but try to visualize some of the steps between the beginning and the end. Those parts being the pieces needed to solve the situation. Now I needed to employ my own good advice.

Breaking up and divorce were an easy and final solution for me. I'd learned long ago that walking away with my pride was among the simplest things to pull off. Wife number one was too young. Hell, both of us were at the time we married. We had two kids together, and moved cross-country away from all her family and friends for a job opportunity. I was twenty-four and she merely twenty-two when I received the call. She'd hurt her back working as a deli manager in a grocery store chain. The call was from a Christian receptionist at the chiropractor's office. After verifying I was the husband, she told me of the good doctor's extracurricular activities in the office, confirming my wife was, I quote "was one of several the doctor was engaging in full sexual intercourse with." She was calling all the husbands that day, and quitting immediately afterward. That evening's conversation was a one and done: her telling me she didn't want to be married anymore, and me telling her to go straight to hell. Some of my work mates and I made sure the asshole himself needed chiropractic services the rest of his life.

The second wife, got a very large dose of the evidence of her infidelity during our weekly marriage counselor session, when I dropped a ream of paper containing the emails between her and her lovers on the small table beside the therapist, before storming out. When she arrived home later in the day, I was prepared with the audio version, thanks to a micro-recorder I'd placed under her driver's seat. That clever device saved me a shit ton of alimony. It also guaranteed an equitable custody arrangement, along with opening a dialogue about fairly splitting our accrued debt. No way she wanted her family to hear those recordings, or, God forbid her friends at our church.

Dee was going to have to atone. Of that, there was no doubt whatsoever. She'd broken trust. Even if they weren't screwing, they were still in a relationship, in my way of thinking anyway. I drove to see a few afternoon clients and sell some shit, but my heart wasn't really into it today.

The information I'd gathered earlier in the week told me enough about The Duke of Fucking Austin. He's a department manager at the store, has only been there for about six months, and his schedule is 8-5, while Dee's is 6-3. She would already be home when I got to have my little talk with numb nuts.

The plan was simple: meet him at his car in the parking lot. That would mean plenty of customers coming and going, so less chance of a physical confrontation. He looked to be in good condition, had about 2" on me, and a bigger upper body.

I already had put some thought into how this would go down, although you always have to allow for variables. I had been in plenty of fights in my life. Won a good amount of them too. However, living in the Pacific Northwest, you can easily go into a fist fight only to discover you're suddenly in a gun fight. I mean, it's an open carry state where I live. We're also home to the second-largest militia (organized True National Guard militia, not some rag tag group of hillbillies, or meth-cooking skin heads like the news media often portrays) compound in the USA. Further, I was never a Ranger, Seal, or Green Beret. I tried the Navy at 18, but the physical revealed a curvature of my spine that was just beyond acceptable. It did work out well though, as armed with that knowledge, medical braces solved that little issue over the years. I'm straight as an arrow now, thank goodness.

So we were going to talk. It certainly wouldn't be the last I would see of the creep either. In fact, Detective Colombo would be proud of my impending strategy.

Here I stand, waiting. He isn't looking up, just walking this way. I have my hunting knife sheathed on my belt, mostly for optics. The alarm chirps as he's reaching in his pocket, clicking his key fob. Now he's ten feet away and looks up. Seeing me leaning against the hood of his vehicle, his expression shows a combination of concern, and curiosity. That quickly changes to confidence and a little half smirk. She must have shown him my picture at some point.

"Hey Dick...I mean Duke. Got a minute?"

The smirk is full-blown now. What an arrogant prick he is. "Sure," he says, "you must be Dee's cuck...er, husband. What do you want?"

"Well, I was going to try for an adult man-to-man conversation, but I'll start with this. Next time I hear you call me that, it's gonna be the last time. Only warning. Now, what the fuck do you want from my wife?" I do my best to keep my expression neutral, not a poker face by any means, just level and in control.

The smirk softens somewhat. His resolve does not. "What do you mean, what do I want? I'm pretty sure Dee already told you that, in fact, I'm positive she did."

I'd expected the smug bastard to use language affirming his quasi-ownership of Dee and had prepared for that. He will learn quickly that he's not able to best me in a pissing match. To tell the truth, I am kinda hoping he will do something that allows me to pull the knife. I could screw him up pretty good, in self-defense, with all these shoppers around. Probably keep myself out of prison too. Of course, if he's packing, that could be another story.

"She did. She's also brought my trust of her into question, as of late. Now I'm asking you." I say.

He's taking his time. For the first time, I doubt my approach. It is not going how I'd imagined it, when I'd played it through in my head earlier. Nevertheless, I stand waiting for his response.

"I would have to back up Dee's explanation," he replies briskly. "She's a wonderful person, really easy to talk to. I'm sure you know. We've gotten...closer. Since we started going to lunch. She understands me, as I do her."

"And..." I leave it hanging.

Duke matter-of-factly lays forth his big reveal. "You already know. I want to take her out. Show her a good time. Something more than lunch, you know."

I don't. "Duke, that isn't going to happen. Not unless Dee wants to be single, and maybe be with you long term. Tell me, what does your wife think of this?"

I am slightly surprised as Duke pulls out his phone and states, "She's fine with it. Here, take down her contact info and call her if you want. Her name is Izzy, short for Isabelle." I still believe his wife is in the dark about him.

This guy has balls, I have to say that for him. "Izzy may be 'fine with it,' but, as you already know, I'm not."

The Duke of Fucking Austin seems to consider that remark. "Why not? What's the harm to you? My wife loves me enough, given her situation, to allow me to get my needs met somewhere else, as long as I always come home to her, and prove my love. Why can't you do the same? You're obviously not getting the job done. What's your problem?"

I'd also considered a direct attack on my manhood. It still wasn't any easier to take or react to. It took everything in me not to punch this fucker right in his baby face.

"I won't do the same, because it's not the same. Not even close. You and your wife have an agreement. Dee and I don't. You've been worming your way into her good graces for who knows how long now. The first I ever heard of you was after the two of you planned a date. That means she, and our marriage, already have a big problem. You used the word 'cuck' a bit ago. That tells me a lot about you, and your motives. So, both of you are going to get one ultimatum - one chance to do the right thing. For Dee, it's actually a second chance. Duke, so we're clear, the right thing I'm referring to means the right thing in my mind, not yours. Choose fucking wisely. Tell her tomorrow, that the two of you can't be friends anymore. Test me if you dare, but you've been warned."

I turn on heel and walk away, to the sound of Duke's high pitched voice trailing after me, "It's her decision...It's hers, not yours."

Round one is in the books. Now it was time to gather more information on him.

A large part of me and who I am wants to dole out the lessons, starting right fucking now. A slick prick like Duke could use my overzealousness to his advantage. Maybe take the beating, file charges, and create sympathy with Dee. I know he will get an ass beating, but it will be on my terms, not his. I may even be away on business when it takes place. The upper-hand was rarely won without having both patience and a plan.

I honestly have no desire at all to go home. The last few days have been draining. However, I need to hear what Dee has to say about her day, and also what she doesn't. Anymore lying on her part, would begin the separation process. We'd never lied to each other, as far as I knew. Now, unfortunately, it's a new set of rules.

Arriving home, I take out the trash bins, like every other Monday. Dee is in the kitchen, preparing a salad. She's looking a little green around the gills, showing a sheepish half-smile. A quick 'hello' and a glance at today's mail, and I'm off to shed my work clothes.

Will she tell me what happened? I remember back to last Friday, when I thought everything was going to be alright. Now, I'm not so sure. There's a lot that needs to happen, for things to be 'alright', and plenty of one-offs that could sink us. With a sigh and a heavy heart, I head down for dinner and possible doom.

"Hey babe," she starts tentatively, "dinner's ready." I see she stopped at the store for my favorite IPA. I'd consumed my entire stash this past weekend. I sit, as she dishes up the lasagna. When she takes her seat, Dee jumps right in.

"Devon, I spoke to Duke today about us not seeing each other for lunch or anything else at work. Well, work or anywhere else." She pauses - maybe for effect, or maybe to help keep herself together. She knows, as do I, the consequences of not getting this right.

"And?" I ask.

"He tried his best to dissuade me. Said he knew we would be good for each other, and why couldn't we just keep working on getting you to agree, or go behind your back. I told him I would never do that and that I'd made a big mistake. Said I had allowed myself to believe that we could just go out and have some fun. That I could control the situation, with both him and you. I explained how selfish that was of me. He didn't buy that, at first. Claimed he could get you on board if I gave him your number. I didn't." Her face is red and her breathing is labored.

"So how did you finally convince him?" I ask matter-of-factly.

"I told him it was about me, not him. This whole feeling young thing, that is. It was my problem, not his charm. I told him losing you after all we'd been through together would be the worst mistake of my life. That seemed to bring him down a few notches, but honestly, Devon, I don't think this is the end of it. I realize now he sees himself as some sort of Casanova. And I think he sees me as a personal challenge."

"Is that how you left it then?" Now my face is getting red, and I can feel my blood pressure rising.

"Yeah," she sighs, "for now."

"And this all happened in the store?" I blurt out, not anywhere near as stealthily as I wanted.

Pause...but surprisingly, no panic.

"No. I went out by the gas pumps like I usually do for lunch. I'd told him I wanted to talk, and he just climbed into my truck. That was unexpected, but being honest, it wasn't the first time, so..." her voice trails off. I sense she's starting to get an idea just how fucked up her thinking is, and how far off track we are, as a couple. I wonder why it's taken this long.

I allow her to stew in her own misery for a bit. "Dee, let's talk about how this ends for a moment. One way is, we work together to put this...predator...in his place, then we schedule some counseling."

"Counseling?" she asks in almost a whisper.

"Yes," I respond. "We have more than a few issues to work through. It's nonnegotiable. We need to discover what caused this." Dee is looking down, thinking. "Baby, look at me."

Finally she does. "I want to make this work. I'm considering it as the 'for better or worse' in our marriage agreement. But, I'm not doing it alone. If we can't figure out what caused you to fall for his line of bullshit, I can't see us going forward. I will always worry about the next Duke of Fucking Austin. That's not fair, is it?"

"No, I suppose it isn't," Dee agrees.

"As far as this fucking Austin guy, I'll deal with that, but I need one thing from you. Is that Sally person in HR still friends with you?"

"You mean Sheri, and yes." She says.

"Ask her for Duke Austin's home address. Tell her it's for a surprise party and you lost it."

My wife's face seems to be all contorted now. "I...I can't do that. Even if she gives it to me, if you go there, or cause trouble, we could both get fired. Or he could get me fired for getting it in the first place."

"He won't do that and I'm not planning on breaking any laws. I just want to verify that his wife's lady parts don't work," I tell her.

She is headed into a full panic. "Devon, no! What are you going to do? Just walk up and ring the bell?"

"Something like that. Listen, Dee, I doubt that his wife even knows that he is recruiting her replacement or playing around behind her back. I certainly don't believe that she's broken and giving permission for her husband to tap other women. If I'm right, she needs to know what he's doing on the job. Obviously, punching his lights out, and stomping his balls while he's down would bring me a great deal of satisfaction. I almost did it today, but then he presses charges, and then he gets to spend time with you while I'm in jail."

Dee's eyes grew dark. "You saw him today? When did you do that? After I left?"

"Yes to all," I confidently replied. "I saw the two of you at lunch together, and I waited for him after his shift."

"What did you...what did he say?"

"Well, he called me a cuck, for starters. That means you've discussed our personal sex life with him, which pisses me off to no end. He talked like he has some ownership of you, or at least he tried to put himself on equal footing. When I told him to back off and started to leave, he screamed at my back that it was up to you. The thing is, Dee, he's absolutely correct about that. But I think he's lying about his wife. If I ask her, and I'm right, problem solved. He'll be too busy dealing with her wrath to bother you anymore. Also, if there's to be any retaliation, he'll try it with me. Sure he'll bitch about it to you, but that's where you need to be a team player and let him know it's over and should never have started."

When I set my mind to do something, I usually achieve it. I wanted The Duke's address, and I'm almost certain I have it. I hope I do. I'm sitting in my car outside the house, and I'm about to walk up and knock on the front door.

Dee was not happy for the next few days after our chat. She especially wasn't happy that I spied on her; she wasn't thrilled about my talk with the Duke either. She seemed to be of the mind that this was her mess to clean up. In other circumstances, I would agree. Not here. She was extremely worried about trying to get Duke's address, and it turned out her friend wouldn't give it to her anyway.

My wife told me that Duke and some of the other department managers went out for a few beers on Friday after work. That was when I followed him home. I allowed him to get a bit too far in front of me, but turning down his street, I caught the garage door rolling down just in time. I drove home. I would be returning the next day, which is now today. So I do one last run of possible conversations in my head, then then head to the door. After knocking, the front door opens, and I address Mrs. Austin.

Sarah's a beautiful woman, by any man's standards. Apparently though, she's not The Duke's wife, or his girlfriend. Stunned, I asked if Mrs. Austin is home.

"There is no Mrs. Austin," Sarah replies, "unless I've missed something huge. I'm Duke's roommate, and I've been living here for a little over a year. Oh Shit! What is this about? I mean, is he messing with your woman or something?"

"Yeah, or something. Why would you guess that? Have other husbands been knocking?" I ask.

"No...I mean, I shouldn't say."

She tries to cover her own curiosity and complicity. She had just confirmed for me that she's the pretend Izzy, and probably would have covered for the Duke if I'd settled for just a phone call.

"It's okay, you just did. Have a good day." I say as I turn to leave.

At least now my suspicions are confirmed. Time for a follow-up talk with The Duke of Fucking Austin.

"Did you go to his house," Dee asks nervously, "Did you talk to Duke's wife?"

"Well, I would have, if he'd ever bothered to get married." I could tell Dee didn't exactly believe me.

"A woman named Sarah claims to be his roommate. I believe her. She seemed too genuinely shocked to be pretending."

"Now what?" Dee asks.

"Now you tell him one more time, to leave you alone. No more lunches, no more sitting in my truck." I order her.

"That's not a problem. I've blown him off every time he's asked since the day you were watching us. What about you? You're not going to do something stupid are you?" At least her face shows concern.

"Stupid, no. Something, absolutely." I pause here. "If he doesn't get the message, then we're going to HR together. He's not only seducing you, he's also your boss. However, there's a risk to you as well. I mean, you've probably been seen together in your truck at lunch, so he could claim that you invited him. That would be easy to believe. You'll have to say it was friendly, and then he wanted more."

"And you're not going after him?" she inquires.

"No." I state flatly. That's a lie.

"Dee, we still have problems here. You let this...lothario get in your head, but I don't think that's all of it. I've known you most of my life. There's something going on in here," I point to head and circle it with my finger, "that needs addressing. I'm not going to be with any woman I don't trust, and right now, I have no idea if I can trust you again."

My wife looks at me, stunned, then with horror. I'm getting tired of seeing that look, so I continue. "We need to deal with The Duke of Fucking Austin, first and foremost. Then, like I said the other night, you and I need to see someone...a therapist. I need to know why this started and what we can do to stop it happening again. That's if you want to. I won't live like this, waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Dee comes into my study a few hours later with a hand written piece of paper. "Here are the names of three that sound decent. I'd like us to see a woman, only because I feel like a female can give me better insight about my feelings, and how I went so off the rails."

She pauses, looks down and then back into my eyes. "Devon, I'm sorry I did this to us. I'll do whatever I need to do to prove my love, and earn back your trust. That sounds hollow, I know, but I'm committed to getting the help and some solutions. I appreciate you dealing with Duke, even though it didn't seem like it earlier. You're right that he has had some kind of hold on my emotions, but I think you're also right that it's in my head, and not all about him. I've chased hundreds of players away over the years."

She comes tentatively towards me, and now I take her into my arms for a hug. "Dee," I whisper in her ear, "I believe you, for now. Thanks for taking the initiative. I'm committed just like you, but if you break your promises about Duke Austin, I think I'll have to leave. It's not an ultimatum, so don't take it that way. I'm just being honest about how I feel right now."

"Hi Duke."

This fucker always walks with his head down. He looks up with that same smirk. It's time to do something about that.

"You here for more talk, or do you want to get to it? I'll show you a few tricks I learned in the Navy."

I'm thinking, who the fuck talks like that. What a waste of human flesh. "Nope," is all I say.

"Well, what then?" he asks me indignantly.

"Just a simple question, actually. You ever see that movie 'Se7en'?"

He's perplexed, and a little put off. I can see he was expecting to 'duke' it out.

"What?" he asks stupidly.

I sigh for effect. "The movie, you know? Morgan Freeman, Kevin Spacey, Brad Pitt. Did you ever see it?"

"Yeah, I seen it, so what?"

"That's 'saw' dipshit. Anyway, if we were the characters in that movie, you're Brad Pitt." I halt again, hoping he has some smart ass comment to say about that comparison. He doesn't.

"You're Brad Pitt. Tall, handsome, debonair, slick talker. You're also too quick on the draw. You've got issues. Maybe even premature ejaculation. Me? I'm more of the Kevin Spacey type."

"Fuck off Devon. I've got better things to do, like figure out my next conversation with your wife." He's back to goading me. Good. I ignore him and continue.

"Yeah, see, the thing is, just like Kevin Spacey, I already have it all figured. I have probably sixteen ways to punish you, already planned and keeping myself out of trouble in the process." I didn't actually have sixteen, but it sounded appropriate. It doesn't seem to faze him though.

"Me too, Devon. I have your woman eating out of my hand. I've been sure to be seen with her, during our lunches, so no one can accuse me of anything. We've never been intimate, but that's coming. So take your sixteen, and shove them up your ass. You can't touch me at work. You can't kick my ass. Basically, you have no hope. No choice, but to accept it. Don't worry though. I'll send her back in one piece, although I doubt she's gonna want you on those nights."

I cannot remember a time, ever, where I actually wanted to kill someone so bad. The truth is, in normal conditions, The Duke could probably take me without much effort. These aren't normal circumstances. But, it isn't the place either. So I force a smile.

"Duke, let me break it down for you. My wife already knows you're a liar and has told you to back off. I met your wife, Sarah, yesterday. She wasn't exactly keen on the name Izzy, or the title. She didn't seem too happy to see me at the door either."

"You'll never see it coming when your genitals are ground into mincemeat. It will be on my schedule, and may not come for a long time. I'll be somewhere else. Probably in a room full of alibis. That's just for starters. It's going to continue time after time, until you get the message, pack up and leave. Move, quit, I don't care. Then, there's this flashy car. Your roommate, your family, some of the other wives and their husbands. I won't stop. You'll end up being my little bitch, when I'm finished."

"Maybe I should just pound the shit out of you now? Show you what's up." He's upset that his intimidation isn't working out. Time to show him Gwyneth's pretty head.

"Has Dee ever told you what I do for a living?" He's suddenly not in the mood to talk. I await his strike, but he stops at the last second, gathers himself.

"Yeah, you're some kind of salesman." The smirk is a tell-tale sign he's proud of himself.

"A pharmaceutical salesman, Duke. Do you have any idea of the shit I can put in Dee's food to fucking ruin your life, if you two become intimately involved? The kinds of disease that can't be traced back to me. It will just be two whores' words against mine. The things I can do to you could be picked up anywhere and transmitted." Only part of that is true, but he won't know it. Plus, it's now or never. I won't be back for a third talk.

"You'd never do something to Dee. You love her. Don't bullshit me." He seems unsure.

"Well, if she so much as kisses you, she's dead to me. You know how guys are, Duke. You may see yourself as an alpha-male, but at the end of the day, I'll teach you just how wrong that assumption is."

I turn to walk away. This was the worst part. The threats bring it to a head. Showing him my back is the ultimate disrespect, so I prepare to feel him blindside me. To my surprise, he doesn't pursue me. Oh well, it would have been...fun.

Dee walks in after work, and gets settled. We're at the kitchen table once more. I pour her a glass of wine, and settle back in my chair.

"I don't know what you did, but Duke told me today, we're not having lunch anymore. He says I'm too much trouble."

I chuckle, almost spitting out my beer in the process. "And, what did you say to that?"

"I told him to fuck off, of course. Something about how you talked to me...how you described things with him and I...well, that basically ruined it for me. You were right. About all of it. I let him in my head, but I wanted it. Some excitement. Something to break us...me, out of our slump. I won't try to fool you by saying I wasn't physically attracted to him, but with women, it's almost always about the excitement, the newness, the conversation. Getting to know someone new. We...I certainly know what men want in return. That's something we'll have to discuss with the therapist in depth, because I almost talked myself into giving it."

"Well, at least we won't have to go to HR. That should make you happy." I say it sarcastically, even though I didn't mean to. She picks up on it.

"I know I have a lot to do...with us, Devon. I'm hoping I can start tonight. I'm not pushing for sex, but I would like to cuddle and maybe watch a movie like we used to do. I need it for me, but I also need to show you how much I love you, and how grateful I am that you didn't kick me to the curb."

Okay, now maybe we we're going to be alright. Some closeness, some extra love and affection. Some ideas from the therapist. Like every arrogant, self-absorbed man, The Duke of Fucking Austin caved like a house of cards, when stood up to by an equal. He knows there's plenty of fish in the sea. It's like shooting fish in a barrel or easy pickins, so to speak. I need to focus on my wife, and she on me, if we we're going to get past this.

The first time The Duke of Fucking Austin was beaten about the face and ball sack, I was at home. Fortunately for me, so were Dee and the next door neighbors, eating, drinking, and socializing. It had been relatively easy. The big box store in question, has many associates who love to gossip. I found out about three, possibly four other women Duke had bedded. The first three were all that were needed. I put anonymous typed letters in their mailboxes. Laid it all out, and in all cases embellished a bit. I'm not sure which one went after Duke, but it doesn't matter. He learned a valuable lesson, although Dee told me it cost him a testicle. Don't fuck with another man's wife, especially when she's going through a funk or rough patch.