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I don't know which is more vexing: how worked up I am over a slight flirtation or why my wife of twenty-five years would engage in adolescent petting with some random guy.

We were at the convention, day four. That is usually about the time that the newness has worn off and the big sendoff with a banquet and ballyhoo is still a day away. I was beat and decided to go up to our room right after dinner with Joanne's blessing.

Jo said she wanted to dish the dirt over drinks with some of the women she met earlier in the week. After about an hour she went up to a hospitality suite and she started chit-chatting with a fellow named Larry Cole. The funny thing is that I met him that afternoon during one of the informational sessions. We took a whiz side-by-side after the session and I noticed he was a tapper, whereas I am a jiggler. He was heavyset, balding, and a bit sweaty in his rumpled suit. In hindsight, I wish I had spied his dick.

Joanne came back to our room around midnight and matter-of-factly told me what happened.

"I was really shit-faced," she giggled. "We started making out, like a couple of teenagers, and one thing led to another."

"You're kiddin' me," I yelped. "Did you have sex with him?"

"Oh, no, silly!" She laughed and slid next to me on the bed, under the covers, but fully clothed. "I just gave him a little boob, that's all."

"Wha-what do you mean?" I sat upright. "Did he touch your breast outside your clothes or rub them?"

She looked up at me and seemed small and childlike as she fluttered her eyelids. "He pointed his fingertip against my nipple with my sweater on," she explained, touching my bare chest in like manner. "So then I popped it out for him."

"You let him see your boobs?'

"Of course, he saw them. He said he liked them."

"He saw your nipples?"

Joanne's deep purple, saucer-shaped areolas and oversized tips are her most erogenous feature.

"Honey, don't get so worked up. It was just kissing and touchy-feely."

"Did he suck on them?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

She shook her head no, stifling a giggle.

"Did you touch him?" I dared to ask.

"No," she said softly and paused to take a breath. "But he rubbed against my leg. I'm pretty sure he creamed his shorts."

"You cheated on me," I accused.

"I most certainly did not," she retorted, sitting up. "There was not any real sex going on."

Joanne has always had her own definition of things?such as Casibom sex, infidelity, chastity, and cheating?that might seem to be at odds with the rest of the world. Before we got married, she sewed her wild oats with another guy, whom she told me really disappointed her because all he seemed to want from her was sex. She didn't understand why that made me cry. She said that she confided in me because I was her best friend and soul mate. Why should I be jealous since we weren't even married yet?

So, here we are, a quarter century and four kids later, discussing a flirtation going on right under my nose. My stomach panged as I conjured the image of Jo-Jo taking off her lacey bra and handing her pretty balloons to some fat shit.

"There's only one way to answer a cheating wife," my colleague, Charlie, pronounced over morning coffee.

"What? Divorce, you mean?" I scoffed. "I'll lose the love of my life and die a lonely old man. No thanks!"

Charlie laughed, "Of course not. The only way to answer a cheating wife is to even the score."

"Not much chance of that," I mumbled, surveying the women at the conference, most of whom were geeks and nerds.

My co-worker smiled slyly. "The Champagne Club is right down the street."

Columbus, Ohio wasn't exactly sin city, but any port in a storm will do, as the cliché goes.

Joanne knew I was pissed at her and so she wasn't the least surprised when I lied and said I had a dinner date with a client on our last night in town.

She smiled weakly and told me she was meeting her lady friends for drinks again tonight.

"Have a good time," I said in a voice that sounded a little too nasally.

"You, too, sweetie," she countered in an equally snarky voice.

As soon as we arrived at the Champaign Club, Charlie dumped me, strolling to the bar with a red-haired goddess who was at least six inches taller than he was.

The hostess, a dignified old matron, greeted me and I asked for a private room. With the wave of her arm she indicated the merchandise?a gallery of skinny bleach-blonde skanks.

"I don't want no white girls," I said flatly. Then I saw a pretty bronze Latina with big round eyes and thick golden braids.

"I'm Honey," she said, twining her arm with mine and clutching my hand.

"I'm Ricky," I said, savoring her smooth flesh, shimmering tits and buttocks, and aromatic fragrance.

"A hundred for a lap dance," she said, leading me into the private room, which was Casibom Giriş basically a partitioned cubicle.

"How much for a hand job?"

"Two hundred," she replied without hesitation.

"How much for a blow job?"

"Three hundred," she said with a wink and a smile.

One extended play version of Lord's "Royals" was all I needed to get hard with this electric creature dancing in my lap. She let me massage her smooth hairless pussy lips. She freed my dick, pumped it with a gleeful look on her face, and when my lava flowed she scooted down to suck it up.

I gave her an extra fifty bucks and kissed her on the cheek. She thanked me and called me cute. She was the same age as our daughters. All that matters is that I got even with my wife and then some.

Or so I thought.

"I hope you had a good time," Joanne greeted me. "Cause I sure did."

"That's nice," I said, unsure whether revealing my whereabouts was wise.

"I was so horny tonight," she confessed, slipping her palms inside my shirt, softly caressing my chest. "I really wanted you...but you weren't here."

"And?" I whispered, as she pressed up against me, belly to belly.

"We've been away from home all week and we haven't made love at all," she said, pausing to kiss my neck with a warm smacking of her full lips. "At home, how often do we do it anymore?"

"I don't know," I spoke stiffly, worried she could detect Honey's scent on me. "Once a week?"

"Once a month, maybe!" She snagged a handful of my chest hair and twisted.

I yelped, "Ow!" and she turned away, laughing deviously.

"So, what's a girl to do?" she sang, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Since you acted like I cheated on you when I let Larry Cole cop a feel, I said, What the hell? So, I went out and got laid."

"Oh, no, sweetheart," I whined, my heart sinking. "Now I have to go kill the guy."

"Stop it," she chuckled. "This isn't the olden days."

"What did you do with him?"

"You really wanna know?"

"Yeah, damn right I do." I was pissed because she one-upped me.

Jo-Jo unbuttoned her purple blouse as she started to tell me how she went up to Mr. Cole's room.

"He was so nervous and sweaty and excited," she laughed. "I told him to put on some music. I wanted to do a striptease for him, but he was so worked up that he couldn't wait. He started pulling my pants down."

"Did he see your ass?"

"You bet he saw my ass," she howled, stepping Casibom Yeni Giriş out of her slacks and kicking off her shoes.

"Foreplay?" I asked, unbuttoning my shirt.

"I tried to kiss him and stuff, but he was too overexcited," she wore only her lacey beige bra and matching full-cut panties.

"Did you suck his dick?"

"Well, what do you think?" she teased, fluttering her tongue in the air.

"Did he come in your mouth?" I demanded to know as I pulled my arms from my shirtsleeves.

"You know me too well," she chided. Then she rubbed her tummy and said, "Yum!"

"Now I have to castrate him before I kill him." I unbuckled my belt and unzipped my fly.

Joanne reached behind her back and unhooked the clasp of her bra. She let it fall and her globes tumbled free, dangling just above the slight swell of her stomach.

"Did he lick you between your legs?" I asked, dropping my drawers to the floor, now wearing only my socks and boxers.

"He was really sweet, tender, gentle," she smiled serenely. She lowered her panties to mid thigh and twisted her fingers around her curly pubies. "He said he loved my hairy bush..." Her middle finger started to flutter. "And the way I smell..." She buried her middle finger inside the vee. "And the way I taste..." Joanne closed her eyes and her entire womanly body quivered.

"So, then, now I have to cut out his tongue."

"Stop it," my lady laughed. "You'll do no such thing."

"I hope you used protection." I was suddenly soberly concerned.

"We most certainly did. I told you he was very nice, a perfect gentleman. He even made sure he used a fresh condom each time he came in me."

"Oh, my god!" I gasped. "How many times did he fuck you?"

"Let's see." My pretty, mature, lusty wife tilted her head and put up one, two, three fingers. "Front, back, front...Top, bottom, sideways. Three times, I guess."

After slipping off her undies, Jo twirled them in her hand and sniffed them in longstanding habit, and swayed her hips as she walked across the room.

"Don't worry. His cock is short and fat, a lot smaller than yours, babe."

She walked toward me, switching off the lights. We were both fully naked in the darkened room.

"You act upset," she said reaching for me. "But look at that erection of yours."

Joanne rhythmically stroked my penis, which swelled still more in response to her touch.

"You cuckolded me with some little fat guy."

"So? Little old Larry Cole got to screw me for one night." She pulled me down, cock in hand, on top of the bed and spread her vaginal wings. "You get to screw me for a lifetime."

"I guess I win," I said with a grunt.

"You sure do, big guy."