A Year And A Day Ch. 01

Jake paused for a moment.

"The thing is it wasn't the landmine that earned him his purple heart. The blast up in the air hardly hurt him for some reason."

"Well, what was it then?" I asked.

"When he came down, he fell on his bayonet."

Jake didn't have to explain it to me. Andrea's "landmine" had blown me a hundred feet into the air, and I needed to make sure I didn't land with a bayonet in my ass.

Jake Lewis

Mandy and I were sitting at the bar in the downtown Marriott on Chicago's own "Magnificent Mile", she was drinking some abortion called a raspberry Jalisco margarita and I was tangling with an old friend - Kentucky straight bourbon. It was a typical hotel bar, nothing special, obviously remodelled sometime in the last decade. It was banal, benign, and frankly what you'd expect from a corporate chain trying not to look exactly how it was. My sweet Mandy was chatting up the bartender, a pleasant enough older woman with a smoker's voice and a face to match. I was wondering what the fuck was so "magnificent" about a stretch of hotels and shopping. I'm sure Mandy would tell me later.

I was also wondering if I had written a check with my mouth that my ass couldn't cash. Don't get me wrong here - I'm a real smart guy. Downright competent beyond belief. Generally, I know my own limitations and skills. The problem I have is that I just can't do nothing. It's probably why I'm an engineer - idle hands and all that. The need to occupy my mind. The need to fiddle with whatever's in front of me. The absolute fucking inability to sit on my thumbs. When I heard about Mark's problem, I had to help and I quickly concocted a harebrained fantasy that me and the missus would just jet over to Chicago, track down Andrea, and then catch her "in flagrante delicto" as they say.

Probably somewhere in the back of my mind was also the idea that I would prove to my little brother that yes, I was not just the big brother by virtue of birth, but I also was smarter, wiser, more manly and oh so more importantly, essentially better at his job than he is. After all, he's an investigator who had his wife cheat on him for months, maybe even a year, before finding out. I was going to bust her bitch ass and deliver the goods. Take that Mark. Suck it buddy.

It was shitty of me, and I knew it. This is the problem with sitting on my thumbs, it caused me to be... introspective. And let me tell you, no one wants to see an introspective Jake Lewis. Bad things tend to happen when I search my soul - like that damn weekend in San Jose. I had done a lot of regrettable shit in my life and I was too smart not to know why, so in the interest of self-preservation, it was a better policy to just ignore the skeletons in my closet and get on with not repeating mistakes... as much as possible.

I put my drink down on a weathered coaster and swivelled my head around the bar. I had a good idea of what Andrea looked like; I had plenty of good pictures of her sent to me by my brother. Mark had even picked up on the fact that if Andrea was indeed NOT there, I might need to identify her friend Maggie and follow her around, so I had a few pictures of her as well. Still, the odds of me just blindly running into either one of the was incredibly low. I needed a better plan.

The crowd was pretty subdued for a Friday night, but I guess that was to be expected. This wasn't the kind of hotel to have a wild bar scene. Most people were minding their own business, but every now and then some businessman's eyes would roll out of his head, or some woman would punch her friend in the arm and gesture in front of her chest like she was carrying two watermelons. I called it the "Bimbo Effect" - basically, whatever room Mandy was in, she was likely to be the center of attention and looks, furtive or otherwise. She's the only woman I've ever known to be catcalled by a mother pushing a stroller, "Hey! Nice tits!" and I've witnessed multiple occasions of people of both genders walking into walls, telephone poles, shopping carts or just plain each other, when my girl is mincing down the street in her heels, everything jiggling like a psychedelic pornographic Jello mold.

My Mandy is 5'8 and 140 pounds of pure unadulterated sex fantasy, from the top of her bleached blonde roots to her pink pedicured toenails and everything in between. Makeup, always heavy and sexy. Eyelashes, fake and 2 inches at least. Lips - filled with so much hyaluronic acid that they look like another sex organ. Botox for the lip flip. Chest - unimaginable. 3000cc's of saline in a silicon shell underneath a pair of natural double D's. Waist - tight as a drum from regular yoga and multiple rounds of buttocks augmentation - a process where they take fat from the rest of her body and graft it to her ass, an ass I should say that would put any ghetto booty to shame. She's gone on the "cheeseburger and milkshake" diet 4 times so far and the end result makes Kim Kardashian look like a tomboy.

That's my Mandy. She's my wife of 17 years, my absolute dream woman, my ride or die, the mother of my two beautiful daughters and, when we can still find the time, daddy's little fuck toy. We have a terribly co-dependant relationship and we revel in it. Always have, probably always will. I know I will never find another woman who would go to the extreme lengths she's gone to in order to be my walking wet dream and she knows that the further she pushes my fantasy into reality, the more hopelessly I am bound to her. Trust me, on the surface it might look like I have all the power in our relationship because of how fawning and submissive she is but there has never been a more clear-cut case of "topping from the bottom" than our entire relationship and I fucking know it.

So yeah. From the outside we might look like a rich guy with his probably-an-ex-stripper trophy wife, but if you looked closely enough, you'd know the truth. It was pretty much in everyone's faces. Especially the people who knew us when we first got married and remembered "Amanda". Not many people did these days, but she has pictures that she sometimes brings out to show. It was always good for a round of jaw dropping.

Anyway, just imagine how difficult it was for us to still be "us" and raise two teenage daughters. Personally, I feel like they're just as likely to rebel against us and become Amish as they are to become OnlyFans models or Camgirls... like their mother.

So, as I was saying - It was pretty much the usual. People gawking at Mandy. Mandy chatting at anyone nearby who would listen to her and me, mulling over how I'd produce some results out of the dogs breakfast I've willingly put myself into.

Mandy spoke and broke me out of my reverie.

"Jake, honey, do you want to order something to eat? Maybe some appetizers? I think this margarita is going to my head."

"Uh... yeah I guess, what do they have?"

Her face lit up like a Christmas tree - that was generally a bad sign, as one thing Mandy really loved was novelty, which I've found doesn't typically go hand in hand with good food.

"Weeeeelll..." she began to wheedle, "Beatrice says that the vegetarian Asian fusion sliders are really, really good..."

I didn't like where this conversation was going. The word "vegetarian" sent shivers down my spine.

"Beatrice?" I asked.

"Oh, the bartender that I was talking to. She's a really nice lady. Did you know that her brother joined the Taliban?"

I almost did a spit take with the dregs of my bourbon.

"What? Mandy! Why would I know that? Hell, why would she TELL you that?"

She just shrugged her shoulders, causing her massive breasts to bounce. I think I heard someone fall over in the background.

"I dunno! We were talking about where to find a really good pair of platform wedges around here and..."

My Mandy. She had the gift of gab, just like her old man - a used car salesman out of Jacksonville Florida. Even before she became the bionic bimbo she is today, she could easily befriend anyone and get them to spill their darkest secrets within minutes. I've actually seen her father Geoff in action before and the apple not only didn't fall far from the tree, I think it landed on it and turned into a sequoia. It actually made her a pretty incredible performer on her live streams - she knew how to really work a crowd and could keep up her bubbly and enthusiastic demeanour for hours.

"Wait, baby..." I interrupted her. There was a semblance of an idea festering in the back of my mind. It was a lot better and less risky of my initial idea of pretending to be a delivery guy so that I could find out which room that Maggie Fields and Andrea were (purportedly) staying in and it was just a tad bit more circumspect than outright bribery.

I smiled and filled my Mandy in on the details.

Thanks to a discrete inquiry by Mandy's new BFF, Beatrice, an hour later we had switched our rooms to the 10^th floor, two doors down and across the hall from the targets of our surveillance.

It was Friday night, so I knew that Mandy was itching to either go out and have some fun or stay in and really have some fun and to be fair, I was of a like mind. However, I had promised my little brother that I'd do my best to get to the bottom of what his presumably cheating wife was up to... I was just hoping that we'd solve it faster than a Scooby-Doo episode and I'd be balls deep in Daphne after the commercial break. Rooby-dooby-doo, assholes.

Eventually Mandy and I put our heads together and came up with what we thought was a great plan but turned out to actually be pretty damn stupid. You see, the hallway wrapped around the outside of the hotel and on the corner, there was a small bench and a vending machine. Our plan was simple - I ordered a couple bottles of California's best sparkling white wine, availed myself of the ice buckets that were on hand and Mandy, and I parked ourselves on the bench for a very, very long make out session. I mean, really, who would pay too much attention to a couple of drunks shoving their tongues down each other's throats on a Friday night in some random hotel in Chicago?

Every so often we'd hear the ding of the elevator, or the opening of a door and we'd slow down the giggling and necking to take a peek and see who it was. We both had our phones ready to take any video if we saw either Maggie or Andrea, but in the end it didn't really matter. By the time 11pm came around, Mandy and I were already three sheets to the wind and largely forgetting what the fuck we were supposed to be doing. We'd gotten so horny that she had already jacked me off once in my pants and I had returned the favor by fingering her to orgasm twice. Her cunt was a sloppy mess and she kept whispering "Fuck me daddy, fuck me daddy" in my ear. So yeah, that's what I did. Did I mention I was loaded?

The nice man that came up to warn us off in the middle of round two merely directed us back to our rooms instead of kicking us out, so there is that.

Hey, don't act so surprised. I already told you it was a stupid plan.

The next day was the last chance we had to get any real proof for Mark and this time, I sagely included my little brother in the planning activities. Turns out, he actually is a better investigator than I am. Imagine my surprise. The plan was pretty simple. He'd send me a message when he was on the phone with Andrea and then I'd just go over and start hollering and banging on the door. So that's what we did.

I had hardly gotten to the hollering part when a tall man, mid 40's with greying hair answered demanding to know what the hell I was doing. Behind him, I could see Maggie under the covers of the bed, obviously nude. No sign of Andrea. I apologized profusely and said "Lo siento, señor!!" with a really bad Mexican accent. Mandy was a bit behind me, secretly recording with her smart phone. We had been counting on the fact that Andrea had never really spent a lot of time around either myself or Mandy and that both of us had changed our looks pretty substantially since the last time we briefly met (me - a beard, her - about $40,000 in plastic surgery) but since Maggie had never met either of us before, it didn't matter.

I got a text back from Mark a few minutes later. He hadn't heard anything. As they say - the silence was deafening.

Mandy Lewis

Hi, Mandy here! Oh my god, this has been the weirdest and like most fun mini-vacation Jake and I have been on in ages. This spy shit is so crazy. Like normally when we go on vacation, we do all the regular vacation type things - drinking, eating, fucking and of course, my second favorite activity - shopping (guess what my first is!!) But like, having a goal for your vacation is amazing. I've been totally hyped up about wanting to catch out that cheating ho-bag Andrea and let me tell you, last nights "stake out" was a fucking blast.

Like sure, we totally messed up and didn't actually catch anyone and for real it was a totally dumb plan, but between you and me... I LOVE PUBLIC SEX. Omfg!!

Every time we go into a new city, or hell 50 miles away from home or more I feel so liberated to be myself. I can dress how I want, act how I want, basically I can be myself. Don't get me wrong, I love my kids and they sure put up with a hell of a lot with me being their mom, but God dammit do I need to cut loose sometimes. Jake gets me. He's always gotten me, and we try at home, but it's hard to be a horny bimbo fuck toy when you can only turn it on from 10pm to 2am in the guest room at the far end of the house.

Anyway. Anyway. Anyway. I always try to get Jake to cut loose when we are on vacation and he usually does, but he's REALLY against getting naughty in public. I know he worries about me, making sure that I don't go off the rails, basically not letting the sex monster he created totally ruin our lives. I get it. I love him for it. But sometimes the sex monster wins. Last night, she totally won.

I know that basically if I can get Jake drunk enough, he'll agree to almost anything dirty I want to do - I mean, within reason. We won't talk about that weekend in San Jose. But asides from that, what I usually want is to get frisky some place in public. A bathroom stall, a staircase, a park bench, an alleyway, a car park, you name it. I love it. I FUCKING LOVE IT. The more people watching me, the better. God. This is why I have the perfect job.

So last night - yep, you might have guessed it. I wasn't drinking quite as much as I pretended to, while making sure that I was working over poor Jake as much as I could and not get him to call it off. It's a tightrope that I walk - get my man drunk enough to rail my pussy on a bench in a hotel hallway, but not so drunk that I summon the dreaded curse of the whisky dick. Thankfully, last night, I nailed it, and he nailed me. Heh. It was AMAZEBALLS.

Anyway, after basically screwing up the night before, we had a pow-wow with Mark and came up with a better plan. It was cool too because it freed up most of our day to do a little shopping on the "Miracle Mile". I didn't melt the credit card, but I had to give daddy a hummer in the change room of Nordstroms to get everything I wanted. It was a compromise, I swear. And totally not because I find it insanely hot to have his cum dripping off my chin and into my massive cleavage in public. Nope. Not at all.

Well, the new plan went off without a hitch. We basically confirmed that Andrea wasn't here in Chicago, or at least wasn't sharing a room with her friend Maggie. Jake and Mark had a long conversation after that where Mark outlined another plan, which brings us up to today.

We knew exactly which flight Andrea was going to take from Chicago back to Houston, so we arrived at the airport early in the day for our own flight and then just bummed around, drinking coffee, chatting, texting the kids, and playing on our phones, while camped out near the gate for Andrea's return flight. About a half an hour before they were supposed to board, we saw her friend Maggie show up with another guy - the same one from the hotel room. They were holding hands, being intimate and occasionally kissing. No one asked me to, but I took some video of her - I know she's married, and I know that man isn't her hubby! That slut!!!

Wait, I said that wrong. I mean, I'm a slut. I'm just a slut for one man... who just occasionally shares me on the internet with a few thousand viewers at a time. My channel is pretty popular if I do say so myself. Basically, what I'm saying is that it's great to be a slut - just don't be a lying, cheating slut. Honesty in sluttiness is what Jake calls one of my "core foundational beliefs". I have other ones too, but honesty is a big one for me.

I was kind of starting to space out and wondering if we had enough time to hit up Starbucks for a mocha when Jake elbowed me in the tit. He was probably aiming for the ribs, but seriously - there's just too much tit. I followed his line of sight and uttered out a slow "oooooooh" while bringing my phone up to record.

"That's her, isn't it?" I asked my hubby.

"Yep, and I don't know who that fellow with her is. He looks a little old, doesn't he?"

I snorted at that.

"Pot, meet kettle - you cradle robber" I grinned at him. Jake is 10 years older than me. I was 19 when we got married. Best damn decision I ever made.

"My eyes aren't as good as yours - what does that bag he's carrying say on it" he asked me.

I had to squint a little bit, but I could make it out thanks to the Lasik surgery Jake bought me for our second anniversary.

"Royal Ontario Museum" I muttered.

"Hmm, let me see here..." he played with his phone a bit. I figured he was looking up arrivals.

"A flight from Toronto arrived about an hour ago. Enough time to clear customs and just barely get here."

"I don't get it", I said. "Why all the sneaking around like this? If she was fucking off with someone, why couldn't she fuck off in Chicago? It doesn't make any sense."

I looked at my sister-in-law and the man she was with. He was a bit older, balding in the back, receding hairline. A bit of a paunch, standing about an even 6 feet. He was good looking, but not particularly handsome, hell not any more handsome than Jake's brother. Definitely not as fit even if he was a couple of inches taller. They were standing close to each other, occasionally he would lightly touch her arm, but they didn't kiss and they weren't closer than say, maybe pretty good friends.

"I guess we better get going babe or we'll miss our own flight. Can you send those videos to Mark?"

I nodded and we both stood up and held hands while we walked over to our own gate. Our flight to Ft. Lauderdale was leaving in 40 minutes and so I put all thoughts of mysterious cheating whores out of my head and instead I wondered if I could find somewhere to liquor Jake up enough so that he'd renew his membership in the mile high club before I had to return to mom mode.

A girls gotta have priorities.

Andrea Lewis-Hampton

Paul was trying to say something to me, but I couldn't hear it over the blood rushing to my head. It's been happening more frequently now, more so this trip than any other time in the past. The anxiety. The crushing guilt, like the bottom of my stomach fell out through the floor dragging everything I ate with it. I was a mess and falling apart at the seams.

Mark. Susie. Little Mark. My family. What the hell am I doing? How did I fucking get here?

"The next event is going to be in Hawaii, same duration as this time but because of the time difference you'll have to leave earlier. We'll want you available Friday and Saturday night both weekends."

Hawaii. That's where Mark and I had our honeymoon. That's where we conceived our daughter Susan. I wanted to cry.

"Hey, Andy! Are you listening to me?"