How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Three

The main point is that I was going into work earlier and earlier and staying later and later. I’d come back home and say maybe five things to hubby before heading off upstairs for a bath and bed. The one thing I was always grateful to Hubby for was that cherry red Rabbit vibrator. While he was wanking off to computer porn, I lay in bed and used to give myself a pretty awesome orgasm every evening. Man, those Japanese really know something about vibrators.

Life went on like this for week after week and soon I just got plain pissed off with Hubby being around. I mean, it was like having a houseguest who just never fucking left. We hardly talked, no longer fucked and aside from hoovering the carpet and microwaving dinner, he brought nothing to the relationship apart from hair in the plughole.

I swear to God, I came this close to kicking him out of the house. Then things changed.

Hubby started teaching a computer course two nights a week. So Tuesdays and Thursdays, I’d come home and spend a blissful evening on my own. Bottle of chardonnay and CSI and I was a happy little camper. By the time Hubby came back, I’d had a bath and gone to bed and it no longer felt like two strangers living in each other’s pockets.

Then he started leaving on Wednesday evenings and most of Saturday as well. So we hardly saw each other, which was fine as far as I was concerned. In fact, I was thinking more and more seriously about getting rid of him. With Hubby’s income gone we weren’t exactly living like Lords and he’d still failed to get another job. He told me he wasn’t even getting paid for these computer classes and just taught them to get out of the house. (sometimes I just wished he’d fucking stay out of the house.)

That eased the tension – at least for a bit.

Then three things happened.

First off, I got sent up to Birmingham for a sales conference and I had to take fucking Darren with me. Now he and Matt had kind of settled into things at work, but my bitchy behavior had ensured that we were never destined to be friends. Two hours stuck in my Vauxhall Vectra with him – PLUS a night in some Marriott hotel – was a guaranteed downer.

Then, the day I left, I picked up the post and found a couple of curious letters.

The first was from the local college, where Hubby had been teaching those computer classes. It showed that they were only running on Tuesday and Thursday night, like he’d originally told me. So where the fuck was he going every Wednesday night and for most of Saturday? What was worse was that the letter contained a receipt. He WAS getting fucking paid for teaching these classes! Over a hundred quid a week!

The second letter, our bank statement, answered what was happening to the money.

Every Friday, he’d get a hundred quid deposited in the bank. The following Saturday, he’d take it all out from some cash point in Basingstoke .

Basingstoke? What the bloody hell was he doing there?

I’d pretty much guessed by this point. Dear old darling Hubby hadn’t had his rocks off with me for over a month by this point, so I should have guessed it was only a matter of time before he started looking elsewhere. By this point, my handsome, muscular Hubby was pretty much neutered in my eyes and I couldn’t imagine any woman voluntarily fucking him. Seemed logical, in that case, that the hundred quid he got paid every week would go to some prostitute up in Basingstoke .

Now I’m not sure if this theory sounds crazy to you or not, but this is what I honestly imagined was going on. It leapt into my brain and stayed there. I had no other evidence beyond a bank statement, but I was utterly convinced that Hubby was off fucking some cheap (I don’t know. Is a hundred quid cheap?) prostitute twice a week when he’d barely come near me now.