Cheating Wife Caught, Husband Beats The Lover To A Pulp! 

Glowering at me, he spits out that he has suspended the interview, tells me to stay put, and leaves the room. 5 minutes later, he comes storming back into the room. You knew I was out on my calculations, didn’t you? I say nothing.

My only reply being a wide grin as I imagine him shouting, “Whoa, wo!” firing six guns and claiming to be the rottenest, tootinest, chutnest detective in all of East England. It’s a real shame he doesn’t have a droopy orange mustache. I do chuckle a bit when I think of his knowledge of geography and math skills being recorded for prosperity. He leaves the room again and after 10 minutes I decide to try and get my head down again. It does me no good.

I can’t stop sniggering eventually and somewhat subdued and tells me that I can go. It’s not that simple. Of course, I have to be formally dearrested and sign forms before I am allowed to go about my merry way. Parts of me are happy the cheating woman is still at home when I get there. The part of me that forgot to pick up my keys last night. And the part that didn’t want to make the choice of breaking into my own house and have a window to repair or camping out on the mattress on the front lawn. To be honest, it doesn’t look like she has had much more sleep than I have. Of course, as she lets me in, she’s full of apologies. How it was a mistake and she would never do it again. I managed to contain myself even when she said it was the first time. I had to be careful and maintain my ignorance. After all, if I had known about it beforehand, it may have been possible to have instigated the attack in some way. Ignoring her platitudes, I go up and have that shower I had promised myself last night. As the warm water washes over me, I start to plan my day. The first thing I think of is to see a solicitor. Do they work on Saturdays? I resolve to hit the net when I’ve done one other job and have a look.

I towel myself dry and go into the bedroom for a clean shirt, shreddies, and socks. Nothing has changed since I was last in here. I cast a look out of the window and give a nod of satisfaction, seeing her clothes still adorning our and two neighbors gardens.

Seeking a solicitor becomes third on the to-do list. As I get to the bottom of the stairs, she calls through, telling me she has made a coffee. I must admit, I could really use one. I join her in the living room. She is standing looking at me. Her eyes are red and streaks from them run down her cheeks. “Who is he?” I asked. “No one. I mean, no one, you know,” she replied.

I stand looking back at her, waiting for an answer to my question. I’m not sure how long it is before she breaks.

Don Don Stebins.

Armed with the name, I walk over to the phone and dial the hospital. A few words with someone on the other end, and I am put through to his ward. I inquire about his health, and of course, they spout the normal nonsense about how they can’t tell me anything at all. So, I ask if he has any family with him. I smile when they tell me his wife is there and she will go and fetch her. I listen to the clip clip of her footsteps leaving and then returning before the receiver is picked up. Hello, this is Julie Stebings. Who is this? Hi Julie, my name is Cole Colin Dugan. You don’t know me for that matter. Neither does your husband. I am calling to let you know where I live. I don’t understand why would I want to know your address, she asked. I thought you might like to come and meet my wife, Anne Dugan. And why, Mr. Dugan, would I want to meet your wife? She asked. Oh, I just thought you would prefer somewhere a little more private than a hospital ward when you first meet. You know, you can talk about things. You know, things that women talk about, knitting, housework, and such.

Maybe swap recipes and discuss the length and width of your husband’s activity and what it is exactly that makes him such a terrific lover that my wife has chosen to be my ex-wife for the love of it. Anne had been watching me, listening to my every word in disbelief.

But finally, she screamed, “No.” I expect Mrs. Stebings to slam the receiver back in its cradle. Instead, she asks me for my address. I give it to her along with my mobile number and she tells me she will come right away. I tell her I will put the kettle on. While waiting, I think about spreading a plastic sheet down on the living room floor. But after checking how much yogurt and whipped cream is in the fridge, I decided against it. Much quicker than I would have thought possible, a screech of tires announces her arrival. I hope she allowed for the two-speed cameras. I would rather she not get any tickets on top of everything else. I open the front door before she gets to it. I’m pleased I have. The way she comes in, I think she may have knocked it down if it were closed.

Seeing my wife, she demands, “Is it true?” “Look, it’s not like.” My wife started to say something. A sound reminiscent of a bullhip fills my ears.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, you cheating woman.” Julie screams. “You have to understand.” Anne sobs. We didn’t mean it to happen. What? I wonder. You didn’t mean to dress in underwear for him.

Didn’t mean to invite him here when I wasn’t here. I wonder silently to myself as the little drama plays out before me.

We You mean you? And you did nothing to stop it. Julie’s voice now a mere 90 dB.

We just could. Anne blusters until I hear that sound again. You You could have said no, I am married. or no, you are married. He should have said the same. But no, instead you chose to be a cheating woman. Julie’s voice now low enough to be called shouting. No, no, it wasn’t like my wife started. Well, I hope you’ll be happy with him, look after him when they let him out of hospital. They tell me he will need a lot of looking after. You’ll have to dress him, feed him, even wipe his fat back. Your husband has done a damn fine job educating him. She looks over to me and says sweetly, “Thank you. Excuse me, but as I told Detective Brain Surgeon last night, if I had done it, he wouldn’t still have his private parts.” “Nah, I’ll wait till he’s back on his feet before I let him know how much he has annoyed me.” “Ta or coffee?” “Coffee, please,” she says with a smile.

We leave the cheating woman and go sit in the kitchen. The innocent and cheated partners to talk of many things, of sleazy cheating women and faithless husbands, of marriages and things. Of why the cheats are lying and the tarnishing of our rings. We speak for a while. Several times I hear Anne come out to the hallway and then go back into the living room. Perhaps she doesn’t enjoy listening to us sharing our hurt and betrayal. When we feel we have said enough, I walk her to the door and say goodbye. I follow her out and drag the mattress around to the back garden. I pick up the cheating woman’s clothes and other bits and bobs and pile them on top. When I fetch the green petrol can out of the shed, I hear her scream, “No!” again. I start pouring the contents over the pile as she runs to me. “Have you got a light?” I ask her and then add, “Not the red one you hang outside when I’m not here.” “No, please don’t. Don’t burn my stuff. Please, no.

I’ve got one job to do that I was leaving until after this was burning.

I’ll do that first. But when I get it done, I’ll come back and burn whatever is still here.” “Please, Doug, don’t do this. I’m sorry. I love you.” “Yeah, sure you do,” I replied. “I do, Doug. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t think. Didn’t think what? Didn’t think I’d find out.

Didn’t think it mattered. No, you cheating woman. You didn’t think I mattered. Well, damn you. Now, pick up your stuff and get the hell out before I throw you on the pile with the rest of the crap. I go inside and a few minutes later, I’m looking up solicitors. I settled on one, but it’s not open today, so I will have to wait until Monday. I go back outside to find Anne has picked up most of her clothes and other stuff and gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, I set the mattress al light and pick up any bits she has dropped and throw them on top.

14 months go by before I receive the decree absolute, changing my status to single. Anne’s brats are now 6 months old and they are definitely not mine, so I haven’t got to pay for the little bastards, which is nice. Pastor Donald Stebings is still trying to get his wife to forgive him. Personally, I think he just wants a familiar hand to wipe his back because he can’t do it for himself yet. As for Detective Brian Small, seriously, that is his name. He has never found out who did it, although he did pull me in a couple more times to help him with his inquiries, but I wasn’t very helpful. There are a few things I didn’t tell him. I didn’t tell him that my mate Stu called on me a couple of weeks earlier. I didn’t tell him that she had answered the door to him dressed in a negligier and told him to get on his bike or that Stu had hung around by his bike for a smoke and to call another mate and just happened to see the pastor roll up and get greeted by Anne. I didn’t tell him that Stuart met me up in Newcastle with a very quick motorcycle, a Hayabusa if you’re interested, or that we switched vehicles and I got home as the pastor was finishing worshiping at my wife’s altar.

And I definitely did not tell him how I explained a couple of the ten commandments to him, or that I rode to a pre-arranged spot, took of the coveralls I wore for the ride down, etc. How I then met Stuart in a layby a few miles down a dark country road and swapped vehicles again before I went home. And that’s the end of today’s story.