I have to keep tabs on the little tramp – you can see that can't you? – I have to keep my eye on her.
She's less than half his age. He'll never keep up with her. Look at them; I give it six months! I'd been thrown all these comments and more when I first married Libby. The rumour mills had been working overtime in attempting to assess the attraction between us. Personally, I thought it obvious. There was no secret as far as I was concerned: Libby wanted my money and I wanted Libby!
But they were right about one thing at least; keeping up with my wife sexually was not easy. In bed (or in the kitchen/lounge/bathroom etc) Libby was untamed; a feral being that seemed to know no restraints. I did the best I could but it wasn't long before I suspected that she was straying from the path of the righteous, devoted wife.
And so I watched her. Covertly tracking her movements. It became almost an obsession with me.
Despite the lack of need to work, Libby had insisted on retaining her job at the local factory. This irked me and the little tramp knew it. For one thing it was not favourable for a man in my position to be seen with a trophy wife who had such a menial job and for another, it meant that she was constantly surrounded by the sniffing young bucks that populated the factory floor.
The summertime was worse. Libby would dress in the most revealing clothes that she could find; short skirts that flared around her slim hips and showed off her legs, low-cut tops that promised sneaking glimpses of her tanned breasts and open sandals that exposed her pretty ankles and feet with brightly painted toes.
And then, of course there was the factory summer outing. A barbeque. I had been dreading the day for weeks. To her credit, Libby had asked me if I would like to attend. But she knew that I wouldn't and her invitation was half-hearted and unconvincing. No, I had plans for that day!
Saturday arrived and I watched Libby dress after a light breakfast. She had selected an expensive, elegant looking white silk blouse and a short black skirt. The weather was warm and so she slipped black high-heeled sandals over her bare feet without the stockings that she usually wore. Her underwear was in matching white lace and after slipping on a short designer jacket; the whole ensemble was finished off with a wide brimmed hat and dark sunglasses.
"How do I look?" she asked, smiling sweetly. It had become noticeable in my paranoia that the more suspicious I became of my wife, the more pleasant she was to me. The bitch!
I grunted through a bite of cold toast and tried to make out that I had hardly noticed her attire.
"Fine." I said sarcastically. "Hope you have a good time."
"I will!"
There was an air of wickedness in her voice as she threw that last comment over her shoulder on her way to the door. Or maybe it was just my paranoia again. I heard the door close behind her with a certain finality.
I listened as the last sounds from her VW disappeared as she drove down the street. Suddenly the room seemed empty and quiet – almost desolate. I looked around the kitchen, my eyes finally coming to rest on the keys to my Lexus. I'd stopped chewing and, as I looked at them, my jaw refused to move. Suddenly the plan didn't seem like such a good idea. Did I really want my wife's infidelity confirmed once and for all? What would I do afterwards? Separation? Divorce? The words seemed to stick in my throat and choke me. But I had to know. I did. There would be no peace in my mind until I found out what the little bitch was up to!
I didn't need to follow Libby. I knew where the barbeque was to be held and so was able to let her leave a full hour before I did. The cool air of the vehicle's air conditioning unit calmed my frayed nerves as I drove through the light morning traffic. The leather bound case housing the binoculars that I had bought the previous day rested beside me on the passenger seat and my fingers patted it comfortingly, thinking how they would provide me with a perfect view of my little tramp. It had got to the stage now where I almost WANTED to find her in the arms of another man! The shrill tones of my cell phone suddenly broke my reverie.
"Yes?" I answered almost savagely, strangely annoyed at the interruption.
It was my law-firm office enquiring on a trivial matter to do with one of the cases I was working on. I gave the necessary answers a little too curtly and put the phone down again, almost instantly regretting my rudeness. I would have to remember to apologise to Angela, my secretary, on Monday. I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to call her back now.
As I reached the barbeque area, I parked well out of sight and got comfortable. Pulling the binoculars out of the case I studied them for a brief moment admiring the precision work that had gone into making them. I grimaced as my first observation through the powerful lenses was a blurred, vague impression. I rolled the calibration wheel slowly and smiled to myself as the whole vista before me came into sharp, pointed focus. I could see the entire barbeque area now and panned the glasses slowly in search of Libby. There were not many people there – which I found a little strange – and I thought that I would have no trouble in locating my little tramp. But Libby was obvious by her absence and, after a few more minutes fruitless searching, I decided to drive around to the other side of the picnic area.
Stopping the car again, I now had a different view of the whole area, this time including the almost deserted parking lot. There seemed to be a crowd of people gathered around a mini-van – the only vehicle I could see - and I trained my glasses in that direction.
