When my husband, Gerald, informed me that his work was taking him out of the country for two months, I wasn't happy. I had decided ages ago that I was going to spend June and July redecorating. While my husband was usually a busy man, I had fully intended to make use of him in his spare time, helping out with all those jobs that require two pairs of hands. In the back of my mind an evil voice was telling me that he'd arranged this trip to the Middle East on purpose to avoid redecorating, which I knew he hated, but of course that wasn't true. His job often took him overseas for long periods, overseeing corporate sales and mergers, transactions which didn't happen overnight.
"What am I supposed to do now?" I had protested. "You know I wanted to get everything finished before the twins get home in August!"
Hubby offered to get some professional decorators in, something we could well afford, but that would defeat much of the purpose. I had left work when the twins came along and since then I had always preferred to keep busy. I wasn't one for the life of a lady of leisure, so as the twins grew older and required less attention I had turned to maintaining our home and garden. This had done me plenty of good. I was much handier indoors and out than my husband, and the constant exercise had helped me maintain the figure that attracted him in the first place. I don't mind admitting that I look good for a mother in her late thirties, my waste still small, my bum rounded but firm and my large breasts barely sagging any more than they did on my wedding day.
Gerald knew all this and promised to make it up to me somehow. Of course, what he didn't know was that I had other reasons for not wanting various workmen about the house for the summer. I had made that mistake before when we had a couple of strapping lads in to do our patio at the back of the house. I had ended up spending the majority of five days on my back, bent over tables, pressed up against walls and in all sorts of other undignified positions as these two rampant youths filled me with their big cocks again and again. Gerald had been unimpressed with the lack of progress the lads were making, a situation which came to a head on the Friday evening when Gerald accused them of being lazy good-for-nothings who were trying to con him out of money by dragging out the job. It had taken all my skills of diplomacy to defuse that situation, which variously looked like coming to blows or, worse, a revelation of my own culpability. I somehow persuaded Gerald that the guys would get the work finished over the weekend while we went to a nice hotel on the coast for a little getaway. Naturally without me to continually service, the work was done by Sunday lunchtime!
It should be obvious to you by now that I'm not the most faithful of housewives. The sad truth is that while I love Gerald, I love going behind his back as much. I'm not a nymphomaniac; I don't go around seeking sexual gratification where I can find it. It's the illicit thrill of what I'm doing that gets me. Gerald is a good man who works hard and deserves a good wife. That I, a wife who treats him well on the surface and who he adores, regularly betray him and cuckold him with impunity, that's what does it for me. Does that make me a bad person? I've reflected on this at length and come to the conclusion that it probably does, but aren't we all bad to a lesser or greater extent? I make Gerald happy, I'm a good mother and I donate money and time to worthy causes. I don't engineer opportunities to cheat on my husband, I just tend to find myself in them and often have trouble resisting when I feel that there will be no consequences. There are no black and white situations; there are only shades of grey. Is this all mere self-justification, the soothing of a guilty conscience? Perhaps, but it appears to be working. I don't spend my time racked with guilt. If a neutral observer were to judge me, this might be the most damning indictment. This is not meant to be a psychological study of the cheating wife, so enough about my dark inner-workings!
I had resigned myself to slogging away in this big lonely house for the summer when Gerald announced that he had found a solution. His sister, Anne, had mentioned that her son, William, would need something to occupy his time while off school for the summer. Gerald had suggested that William come to stay at ours for the summer and help with the redecorating, which Anne agreed was an ideal solution. Needless to say I was delighted, this would mean I had a full-time assistant instead of the part-time one I'd been hoping for, and also meant that I would have company for the summer while Gerald was away.
