STORY: Evidence of Betrayal
Anne Arbor
Evidence Of Betrayal
by Anne Arbor
She had never intended to be an unfaithful wife, Kathy Franklin
thought to herself as she backed her car out of the dark driveway and
began the drive home. The notion had barely crossed her mind during
the eleven years that she and Kevin had been married. She had always
thought they had one of those perfect marriages. But things changed,
everything changed, when she had found the Polaroids.
It's not that she didn't like sex. Far from it. She'd discovered
her clitoris at the age of eight, was masturbating daily at 12, and by
15 was allowing almost every boyfriend-of-the-month to unsnap her bra
and paw her breasts. She'd lost her virginity at 17 in the back seat
of her boyfriend's red Camaro to the third boy she'd let touch her below
the waist, who not coincidentally was the first boy whose fingers were
talented enough, or lucky enough, to replace her own.
Once she'd discovered the usefulness of an erect penis, she
proceeded in a more or less determined way to discover what the opposite
sex had to offer. She had worked her way through a steady progression
of boyfriends, some lasting longer than others. If variety was a virtue,
then Kathy was blessed. Big, small, and inbetween. Men who were
willing to go down on her, others who weren't. Men who prefered her
mouth to her pussy. And, for the most part, men who didn't.
She'd fucked in cars, fucked in a boyfriend's house, fucked in her
own house when parents and sisters were gone, fucked at parties in
out-of-the-way bedrooms. In the beginning, when the boys were
inexperienced and altogether too quick on the trigger, she'd slip a
familiar hand down to strum her clit and try to sprint to orgasm,
shoulder to shoulder with the hyperventilating, sweaty and altogether
self-absorbed body above her. But as time went on, the boys turned into
men, the rushed and frantic couplings relaxed into unhurried hours, and
Kathy had relied more on her lovers' skills and less on her own fingers
to find satisfaction.
And now, on this drizzly evening, Kathy slowed at a stoplight and
looked at tired eyes in the rear view mirror. With a sigh, she rechecked
her hastily applied lipstick and wondered why she didn't feel more
guilty. When she had met Kevin Franklin, she was 21, in her last year at
the University, and was ready to settle down to just one man. If she had
bothered to count -- and Kathy wasn't the type to really keep count --
she had been with more than two dozen boys and men since the Camaro.
Kevin had been close to her concept of an ideal husband. He was
handsome. He was in pre-med. He was kind to her, gracious to her
friends, adored by her mother and even welcomed by her father. And he
was, to put it mildly, a great screw.
The day they married, Kathy swore to Kevin and to herself that
marriage meant monogamy. She had thrown herself at marriage with the same
enthusiasm that she had thrown at her previous freewheeling lifestyle.
Kevin labored his way through medical school at the University up north,
then even moreso during his internship and residency in Houston, where
Kathy discovered she had a talent for selling real estate.
Their first son came along as Kevin finished med school, their daughter
appeared two years later in Texas, and finally, when they had relocated
to California and to Kevin's new practice in Santa Barbara, their second
son and third child was born. Throughout it all, through the lean times
when they borrowed money from both sets of parents, through the
pregnancies, each more difficult than the prior, through the early years
juggling babies and classes and clients and patients, Kathy remained
convinced she had made the right decision. She and Kevin were soulmates.
Bonded for life. Committed. Monogamous.
Which made it all the more startling to her when she had found the
Polaroids. It's not that she was snooping. Kathy had just been taking a
few days away from the real estate office to catch up on some Spring
cleaning. It was a simple enough thing, going into the big walk-in
closet and working her way through the stacks and drawers. There, behind
a large, wadded up mass of his sweaters buried at the back of a shelf,
she discovered those four squares staring back at her. They were face
down, their black backsides taunting her to pick them up and turn them
over.
The first picture almost made her faint. Her heart had drummed an
erratic tattoo in her chest as she stared at the image of a hairy vulva,
gaping open in blatant crimson arousal. It was a fuzzy shot, poorly
focused, but it was clear enough to see black pubic hair that was not
hers.
She flipped to the second picture. This one was taken from further
away. It showed a woman on her back, legs apart, her fingers spreading
her labia for the camera. And for the cameraman. Who was this woman?
And why did Kevin have these pictures of her? Kathy felt the blood
rushing from her head, and she steadied herself with her free hand.
There had to be some simple explanation.
The third picture. Kathy's mouth went dry. It was a downward looking
shot of a penis -- an erect penis -- inserted halfway into this same
pussy. It was, to Kathy's practiced eye and to her private horror, a
very familiar penis. Kevin. It was Kevin, fucking this stranger. Only
she probably wasn't a stranger to Kevin, Kathy had thought to herself.
The fourth picture was similar to the first one, with that same
blackhaired bush and wide-open pussy staring back at her. But this one,
Kathy remembered as her fingers choked the life out of the steering
wheel, was apparently last in the chronological sequence. In this
picture the labia were yawning even wider at the bottom, no doubt having
just recently released their grasp of Kevin's cock. Glistening. And
oozing a dribble of white, that threaded down toward an equally
blackhaired, brown-ringed and puckered anus. Kevin's semen. What Kathy
had always thought of as her semen. Having come from what she had always
thought of as her penis.
Kathy made the last turn and saw the lights of her house at the end of
the cul-de-sac. She felt her ears redden at the memory of those
photographs. Her stomach tightened as it had so many times the previous
few months. She remembered the initial confrontation that first night
when Kevin had gotten home from the office. She remembered his
confession of the 18 month affair. Eighteen months! He'd told her it
was some pharmacutical sales rep, just a "meaningless" and "physical"
relationship. Kathy shook her head in silence as the car rolled into her
driveway. She turned off the headlights and the ignition and just sat
there for a moment.
She'd told her friends about it, of course. Probably more than they
really wanted to know. She'd cried on their shoulders, listened to their
advice. Some counseled divorce, others suggested she simply accept
Kevin's apology and put it behind her. Neither choice would have been
easy, she thought. It was a gut-wrenching few months for both of them, a
time of bitterness, of stretches of silence punctuated by screaming
arguments.
No, Kathy had finally decided, she wasn't going to let an unfaithful
husband and some slut turn her life upside down and put her into a
rundown house with her three kids and a monthly support check. Kathy
unlocked the front door and stepped inside. She turned off the
porchlight, gave a brief glance around to check on the state of things,
then slowly ascended the stairs to their bedroom. No, and she wasn't
going to simply forget about the betrayal. If Kevin wanted to play by a
different set of rules, then she was going to play by those same rules.
Kathy brushed her teeth and changed into her nightgown. She gave one
last look at herself in the mirror. The years and the three kids showed.
But she still had her pride. She knew she was still desirable. Kathy
turned out the bathroom light and joined her husband in bed, feeling his
half-asleep body rouse in her presence. He was naked, as usual, and her
gentle touch urged him to hardness while her lips pressed into that
sensitive area below his jaw that she knew so well.
And as Kevin rolled on top of her, pulling her nightgown up around her
neck, Kathy spread her legs for the second man in as many hours and
silently allowed her husband to discover the silky arousal between her
still-thicken labia. She urged his probing cockhead inward, wrapping her
legs around his thighs and spurring him on with whispers and gentle
nibbles and practiced hips. Kathy remembered how her new lover had first
entered her with his stubbier, wondrously thicker cock, and how he had
gracefully fucked her with smooth, unhurried strokes. She remembered how
he had quelled her anxieties about her body, about the softness that came
from three children and thirty-eight years. Anxieties about a husband
who'd spent eighteen months fucking a woman ten years Kathy's junior.
Kevin, heavy and hurried, lay on top of her and worked his erection
into that other man's copious seed, thrusting his proud and oblivious
flesh into the lubrication of a stranger's semen mixed with his wife's
own oozing excitement. He stabbed at her, soon almost frantic in his
movements. Their lovemaking had been erratic since The Discovery. He had
learned not to question any willingness for sex that Kathy might show
him.
Her mind drifted. Kathy remembered how earlier she had clutched her
knees alongside her jostling breasts and offered her body to the man
perched above her on straightened arms, his heavy-lidded eyes boring into
hers as deeply as his steel-hard cock was plunging into her body, its
upward curve grazing maddeningly across just the right spot. His bedroom
had filled with the liquid sounds and smells of sex, the bed rhythmically
creaking beneath them, the old wooden headboard thumping against the wall,
her hips moving from side to side to better feel his hardness driving her
half crazy with lust.
And when her husband climaxed, groaning in her ear and twitching
inside her creamy grasp, Kathy felt the familiar spreading warmth and
remembered how her lover had climaxed, breathless and incoherent, mere
seconds after her own had rippled through her own body. In mute tribute
Kathy lifted her hips and rubbed against her husband and granted herself
one final, small orgasm, holding her breath as her vagina pulsed weakly
around the base of his cock.
She clung to her husband much like she had recently clung to that other
man in that other bed, that playful man with the hairy back and strong
arms and beard coated with her juices, the man whose whole body had
shuddered with pleasure when he spurted his warm white offering high up
inside her, groaning at each long, delicious ejaculation. He had emptied
so much of himself into her that she had felt it oozing out ever since,
leaving him with sticky sheets and her with damp panties on her drive
home.
And now, as her husband slipped his softening erection from her tender
clutches, Kathy thought again of that fourth Polaroid, and this time she
allowed herself just the glimmer of a smile.
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