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From: Bradley Stoke <bradley_stoke@hushmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Her Husband's Ex (MF) (Bradley Stoke)
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{ASSM} Her Husband's Ex (MF) (Bradley Stoke)

Title: Her Husband's Ex
Author: Bradley Stoke
Keywords: MF
Short Summary: Caitlin discovers her husband's ex..

[This story has been previously published on Ruthie's Club
(www.ruthiesclub.com) where it was edited by Father Ignatius and
illustrated by Nina.]



Story: Her Husband's Ex (4,777 words)


Although Ken had never introduced her to his ex-wife nor even
discussed her very much at all, his wife knew a great deal
about Sonya. In fact, Caitlin knew much more about her husband's
ex than she really should have done.

For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www



            Her Husband's Ex
            ================

Although Ken had never introduced her to his ex-wife nor
even discussed her very much at all, his wife knew a great
deal about Sonya. In fact, Caitlin knew much more about
her husband's ex than she really should have done.

In a sense, Ken was as much to blame as Caitlin's curiosity
and jealousy. He was the one with the woeful
understanding of data security. Had it never crossed his
mind that his wife of two years' marriage and a total of
three years' acquaintance might want to know more about
Sonya? After all, they'd been married for over seven years.

When Caitlin first met Ken at that fateful office party, he
was a huddled diminished figure still moping about his
recent divorce to his first wife - and clearly not yet
reconciled to it. Nevertheless, Ken revealed to his second
wife only the sketchiest of details about the woman who
had been central to his life for so long, a woman whose
name occasionally and accidentally surfaced during their
lovemaking, and to whom she sometimes felt as if she
were just a successor. But she wasn't Sonya Version 2. She
wasn't just an upgrade from the previous model. She was
her own independent woman, even if it was an
independence that had persisted more or less uninterrupted
all her life until she met Ken.

Originally, it must have been quite different for Ken and
Sonya. They were both marketing executives, more at
home with the nonsense they were responsible for mailing
to existing or potential customers than they were with the
real facts they also gathered about the public's perception
of the products they marketed. Neither of them worked in
an industry where results were tested by an army of
analysts rather than by vacuous statistics. Caitlin worked as
a systems administrator and couldn't understand the ethos
of a profession focused on customer perception and market
penetration rather than such reliable indicators as
productivity and reliability.

However, just as Caitlin had no real appreciation for the
value of marketing neither had Ken any but the most
rudimentary knowledge about the operating system or
software on the laptop computers he'd acquired over the
years, either for personal use or for work. He never
bothered with passwords unless they were mandatory and,
even then, he invariably used the same three letters for the
password as he did for his first name. And Ken stored
everything on his laptops, which was secure only in that
the data was never backed up and therefore could only be
found on the laptop on which the files were first created.

At first, it was mere nosiness that tempted Caitlin to turn
on Ken's laptop when he wasn't home and skim through the
directories that radiated from his My Documents folder.
They'd been living together for three months by then and
Ken had just the night before proposed marriage. It was
only to be expected that Caitlin might want to explore
Ken's computer to discover all the facts about her fiance
that he had been so reluctant to divulge.

And that was the first time that Caitlin ever saw an image
of Sonya. As his ex-wife's marriage to Ken had been a
childless one, despite all those years of opportunity and
effort, there had never been a good reason for Ken to see
her again and Caitlin could see even less reason why she
should be invited to their wedding. The Sonya in the
hundreds of photos stored haphazardly in Ken's My
Pictures folder was a woman who, Caitlin was gratified to
see, she resembled in almost no detail. Sonya was a slight
woman with short dark hair and with almost nothing to
match Caitlin's rather more splendid bosom. She dressed in
jeans and tee-shirts - but, like almost everyone Caitlin had
met in marketing, was eager to flaunt the designer labels of
her otherwise undistinguished clothes. The thin nose on her
small face was brilliantly complemented by a perfect set of
teeth and wide green eyes. It didn't comfort Caitlin one bit
to admit that Sonya was a very pretty woman. And,
although no one could say that Caitlin was unattractive,
even if she was less slim than her predecessor in marriage,
Sonya was patently the prettier of her husband's two wives.

Caitlin resisted the temptation to delete the photo files
from Ken's hard drive, even if their memory was so vivid
when she regarded the rather fewer photos of her that Ken
took on his digital camera and mobile phone. How could
Ken bear to be parted from Sonya? However much Caitlin
resisted the calories, however much she spent on
manicures and haircuts, however much she invested in face
cream and make-up, she could never hope to match
Sonya's unadorned beauty. She ruffled her blonde hair over
her face or pulled it tightly back. She drew in her breath so
that her breasts became even more prominent and her
stomach temporarily less so. But whatever she did couldn't
change the facts. Ken had left a woman that few men
would ever be so lucky to have known and was now living
with a woman who very few men before him had ever
chosen to sleep with.

No wonder Ken had found the break-up so difficult.

"Why did you and Sonya separate?" Caitlin asked Ken
after they had made love and he was at his most
vulnerable.

"Divorce," corrected Ken bitterly, with a grunt.

"Divorce, then," said Caitlin, not to be distracted. "Why?"

"Well, you know," said Ken as inarticulate and evasive as
ever. "Things. Stuff. It just wasn't to be."

"Did she split from you or did you split from her?" Caitlin
persisted.

"Neither. Both. I don't know. Mutual. Why do you ask?"

"I just want to know about the man I'm about to marry,"
said Caitlin, tweaking her fiance's still slightly tumescent
penis. "Is there some dark secret I should know about?
Why did you and your ex-wife divorce? Was there
something you did?"

"Erm..." said Ken, whose penis was beginning to twitch
with reawakened desire. "It wasn't me."

"Are you sure?" asked Caitlin with a teasing smile as she
cupped Ken's testicles in her palm and pecked her lips on
its awakening glans. "You weren't unfaithful, were you?
You weren't playing the field?"

"No, I wasn't," confessed Ken. "It wasn't me who was
unfaithful. It was Sonya."

"And who was she unfaithful with?" persisted Caitlin,
pushing her advantage as she lifted herself up over her
fiance. "Not your best friend, was it? The usual cliche?"

"No, not at all," said Ken increasingly desperate to return
to the lovemaking Caitlin was directing his desire towards.
"It was a work colleague. Someone in advertising."

When Caitlin next accessed her fiance's laptop, she pored
through the photos for any evidence of the man from
advertising that tempted Sonya from her husband. But,
although Sonya was photographed with many men, both
friends and colleagues, there was no man whom Sonya
seemed any closer to than the husband so clearly besotted
with her.

Caitlin still had access to Ken's private data after they
married, though there was no evidence of Sonya on the
newer laptops and a great deal more of Caitlin. Which is
how it should be. Sonya was becoming a progressively
distant memory and Caitlin was now the woman in Ken's
life. But was it merely a guilty and secret jealousy that
returned Caitlin to those old photos on Ken's old Sony
Vaio? And why did she have a persistent curiosity about
her husband's former life? Caitlin recognised it as a
symptom of her insecurity. After all, she had got together
with Ken on his rebound. What was there to ensure that she
wouldn't just be wife number two in what could be an ever-
longer series of wives stretching into the future?

Every now and then, Caitlin would turn on Ken's old
laptop and scan through the pictures stored there. Unlike
printed copies they didn't fade at all with time and looked
as fresh and immediate as when they were first taken on
what must once have been an expensive digital camera.
And there was Sonya, smiling and tightly gripping Ken's
hand. Or was Ken responsible the one for the tight grip?
There was something desperate about it. His body language
didn't suggest confidence and contentment. He must have
known the end of their relationship was nigh. But who was
the one who would take his wife from him?

"Don't you know?" said Ken's marketing colleague,
Vincent, when Caitlin discreetly asked him while her
husband was in the pub toilet. "You two have been
together yonks and you don't know! It was quite a scandal
in its own small way."

"What was?" asked Caitlin, anxiously eyeing the swing
door where Ken had left the crowded pub. He wasn't a man
who usually wasted time on the lavatory.

"The person who Sonya left Ken for wasn't a man at all,"
said Vincent.

"A woman?" guessed Caitlin.

"I guess it couldn't be anything else, could it?" said
Vincent. "It's not likely to be something other than a man
or a woman. Yeah, it was Liz. What's more, she worked for
our company. Not for Sonya's. She's still around - though,
luckily for Ken, she's not based in the Burgess Street
office. Advertising moved over to North Road about two
years ago. Just before you and Ken got married."

Caitlin nodded. Then she noticed the toilet door open and
Ken emerge. He was shaking the dampness off his hands
that the drier hadn't blown away.

"Don't tell Ken I asked," hissed Caitlin. "I don't want him
to think I've been prying or anything."

"Of course not," said Vincent standing up to let Ken
squeeze through to the seat next to Caitlin. "Want another
drink?" he asked the couple. "It's my round."

This new revelation radically changed Caitlin's view of the
people who surrounded Sonya in the photographs on Ken's
hard drive. It wasn't a man she was looking for in the
smiling posed figures that tempted Sonya away from her
husband. And it wasn't one of Sonya's less frequently
featured friends or colleagues. It was one of those sharp-
dressed advertising women who hovered around the
periphery of Ken's marketing colleagues. But which one?

Was it the woman in the too-short skirt and the too-red
lipstick? Was it the one with the twiggy legs that were not
at all flattering in her ridiculously short skirt? Was it the
slightly chubby woman in checked trousers and short hair?
It was a cliche, of course, to assume that Sonya's lesbian
lover would have short hair and wear trousers. Plenty of
straight women preferred to cut their hair short and not
wear a skirt. It might well be that the woman whose
qualities were deemed greater than even those of Ken's
might be the woman with mousy hair that fell straight onto
her shoulders and had a predilection for lace and tortoise-
shell.

Up until now, Caitlin had viewed Sonya as some kind of a
rival. She wasn't a rival in the sense that she and Sonya
were actively vying for her husband's hand in marriage, but
more one for the primacy of his affection. Caitlin never
before had any real sympathy for the woman, although she
reluctantly recognised a debt of gratitude to Sonya's
infidelity for releasing Ken from wedlock and blessing
Caitlin with three years of pre-nuptial and marital bliss. It
was true that Caitlin found Sonya attractive, but that had
rather the opposite effect of endearing the woman to her.
Only now had Caitlin discovered an unsuspected allegiance
with her husband's ex that softened her hitherto negative
attitude.

Despite her love for Ken and her undeniable appetite for
sex with him, there had been a time in Caitlin's
adolescence when she wasn't convinced that this was the
flavour of sex for which she was destined. Caitlin wasn't
certain she found men attractive at all. Although her
friends gushed about the supposed merits of the boys they
fancied, whether in real life or in the movies, whether
exhibited in the school playing field or in the glossy girls'
magazines, Caitlin wasn't convinced. She had less
difficulty in appreciating the allure of other women, a
preference that still remained with her however much she
now associated sexual satisfaction with a man's body and,
most of all, his penis.

But, in these early confused days when Caitlin's bosom
merely hinted at the glories to come, when her closest
friends and confidantes were other girls and when boys
were distantly viewed acne-covered figures, Caitlin was
persuaded that it might be other girls rather than boys
towards whom she was most drawn. However, despite a
few discouraging fumbles and an embarrassed kiss and
cuddle with her closest friends, this phase of Caitlin's youth
was soon behind her. She now believed she was
heterosexual and that, although she still didn't really find
much physical appeal in men, there was a whole lot that
more than compensated. After all, what tackle did a
woman carry that could compare with what a man had
between his legs?

Caitlin's interest in her husband's ex-wife remained mostly
academic until she noticed a new and different pattern
emerge in Ken's behaviour. The bouquets of roses and the
passionate lovemaking may have been designed to allay
Caitlin's suspicions - but combined as they were with late
night meetings in the office and a new need to work extra
hours they had rather the opposite effect. Caitlin had read
her women's magazines carefully and knew that it was a
common phenomenon for a cheating husband to try and
compensate for his guilt by being more rather than less
romantic with his wife. And, in any case, Caitlin detected
cat's hairs on Ken's suit. They didn't own a cat and none
were likely to be wandering about the office. There was
also a slight whiff of perfume quite unlike any that Caitlin
used but which invariably accompanied Ken after a late
night out. And always the same brand of perfume.

It would be a waste of time to confront Ken directly. It
might, after all, precipitate exactly the breakdown in their
relationship that Caitlin dreaded most. Instead, she took the
easier option of logging onto her husband's poorly secured
laptops. Caitlin was able not only to browse through the
data files Ken had saved, but also to view his mail. In any
case, the files were generally rather boring. There were a
few downloaded pictures and movies that did little more
than confirm to Caitlin that her husband shared the same
general sexual fantasies as most other men. The e-mails
stored in Outlook were not really much more interesting.
Ken was no more forthcoming and articulate in print than
he was in person. However, when Caitlin switched to
Internet Explorer and clicked on the Hotmail bookmark
then she found what she was looking for.

In truth, it wasn't that compromising. The woman that Ken
was corresponding with - assuming that Q18-Sunshine was
a female nym - was quite discreet and Ken - imaginatively
known here as Ken123456 - stretched his prose only as far
as specifying dates and places at which they could meet.
But what disturbed Caitlin the most was that although the
woman Ken wrote to had a nym beginning with a different
letter, she signed off as S and was addressed as such by
Ken - who signed off, inevitably, as K.

However, nothing was conclusive. Many women's names
began with S, not just Sonya, and it was just possible -
although this was an increasingly slim hope - that Ken was
not so much having an affair but simply a platonic
friendship that he understandably didn't want his jealous
wife to know about. But when, one day, Caitlin found
Ken's mobile phone lying on the floor while he was
watching a football match on television, the temptation to
find out more was overwhelming.

The phone was no more secure than the laptop and Caitlin
had no difficulty in scanning through the list of received
and sent calls. There were rather a lot associated with the
single initial 'S'. There were also many associated with 'C',
which Caitlin assumed was herself, but that was little
comfort to her. Who was 'S'?

"Ken!" answered an excited female voice at the end of the
line when Caitlin speed-dialled the number. The
respondent obviously also kept a name in her list of
Contacts.

"Sonya," said a rather less excited voice when Caitlin
redialled the number from her landline, after she had
abruptly cut off the earlier call. "Hello. Who is it?" the
voice asked more cautiously as Caitlin paused while she
wondered what to say.

"It's Ken's wife," said Caitlin baldly.

There was embarrassed silence from the other end of the
line, followed by a hesitant: "Erm...?"

"I found your number on Ken's phone," continued Caitlin.

"It was you who just...?"

"Yes."

"Erm..."

"I think we've got something to talk about," said Caitlin.

"Yes," said the thoughtful voice at the other end. "Caitlin,
isn't it? Yes. I guess we do have something to discuss..."

In the many films and television programmes Caitlin had
seen, few of them gave her any practical advice on how
best to react to her current situation. Generally, the bad
news of discovering one's husband's infidelity was
associated with a scene cut-off usually accompanied by
some kind of a tune. This would sometimes be
melodramatic, sometimes melancholic and never
celebratory. However, when Caitlin put down the phone
she didn't burst into tears, as she always imagined she
would. Nor did she feel especially inclined to smash any
crockery. Several cups and plates had already been secretly
destroyed on the basis of rather less conclusive evidence of
her husband's infidelity. In fact, Caitlin felt something
rather akin to excitement in her anticipation of at last
meeting her husband's ex.

Ken didn't suspect a thing. Caitlin imagined he'd make the
perfect foil in a movie about aliens masquerading as
normal people. The only thing he did notice was Caitlin's
renewed enthusiasm for sex. This was not quite what
Caitlin imagined would be the case. Wasn't she supposed
to be tearful, resentful and, above all, reluctant to indulge
in that most intimate of intimacies? Instead, she persuaded
her husband to fuck her more and for longer and with more
variety than she normally did. Anal intercourse was usually
a special treat, reserved for anniversaries, but as Ken's
penis slid into her from behind Caitlin reflected that fairly
soon there may no longer be a suitable occasion.

When Caitlin lay on her side with her back to her
husband's back as Ken breathed gently in his sleep, the
thoughts that preoccupied her were as perverse as any she'd
ever had. She had an image in her mind, not so much of
letting rip with her bitterness and anger at Sonya when the
two would meet, but of something altogether different.
After all, Sonya was an extremely attractive woman and it
was unlikely that Ken would ever truly lose his love for the
woman he'd lived with for so long. Perhaps the only way to
resolve the situation would not be by conflict and
eventually, almost certainly, another divorce - only this
time rather more acrimonious - but by some kind of
compromise. And given that Sonya was so beautiful and,
Caitlin had to admit, exactly the sort of woman she could
envisage getting to know in a physical way, perhaps there
was a satisfactory outcome that would be amenable to all
interested parties. To Sonya. To Caitlin. And, given the
nature of some of the images stored on his laptop, of some
satisfaction to Ken - the apex of this triangle.

When sleep eventually overwhelmed Caitlin in the early
hours, the erotic image that remained with her was not of
Ken's penis thrusting into her but one of the more innocent
photos on the laptop of an office party which showed
Sonya smiling and laughing in the arms of one of her
female colleagues.

"It's Sonya, isn't it?" asked Caitlin the following day of the
slender woman who was nervously looking around at the
sofas arraigned in the Starbucks where they'd agreed to
meet. She was wearing a denim jacket and crushed velvet
trousers, and what Caitlin thought was a terribly
pretentious peaked cap over her short hair.

The woman nodded her head. "Yes," she said nervously.
"I'm here. You know. Here to face the music."

The two women sat next to each other on the double sofa
that was all that remained available in the relatively
crowded coffee shop that Saturday lunchtime. Ken was
with his friends, preparing to watch a football match in the
living room of a friend whose long-suffering wife was
either more accommodating than Caitlin or had found ways
of being elsewhere when her home was invaded by a mass
of testosterone and alcohol.

Both women had rehearsed their lines and contemplated
their respective strategies. Caitlin recognised from her
husband the marketing mentality in Sonya's approach,
which was essentially to emphasise the positive aspects of
the situation while glossing over the negatives. Not that
there were many such positives. But what the two women
had in common was that they had both independently
reconciled themselves to admitting that mistakes had been
made and to finding a painless way out of the situation.

"You must understand," said Sonya, who Caitlin found
steadily more enchanting as she became less tense and
more relaxed. "Ken and I...We were married for so long...
It was sort of inevitable... I know it's not good for you,
but..."

"It's not that I don't understand," said Caitlin who found
Sonya's habit of fiddling with her dangling ear-rings
endearing, even while reflecting that the same personality
tic could just as easily be considered irritating. "But why
then did you leave Ken for... for this other... Why did you
leave him for this woman?"

"You mean Liz? Yes, I thought... Well, I'd always been
attracting to women... I thought she was the one. But it just
didn't work out in the end."

"And why was that?"

"I guess I wasn't as much a lesbian as I thought I was."

"Oh!" said Caitlin, who was actually quite disappointed by
this discovery.

The conversation with Sonya went remarkably well. That
is, considering that the two women were ostensibly on
opposing sides of what was a situation with no room for
compromise. Sonya's view, and one which Caitlin couldn't
really argue with, was that, in practical terms, it was Ken
who would have to decide. Sonya might agree to no longer
see Ken, but would Ken necessarily agree not to see
Sonya? And Caitlin made it fairly clear that she would
much rather that Ken stayed with her, however much she
privately believed it unlikely.

"I live just round the corner," said Sonya when the two
women had stared long enough at their empty mugs of
mocachino. "We can continue discussing things there."

Caitlin's heart jumped. What was there left to discuss?
Surely this was just an excuse which would be a prelude to
realising the sexual triangle whose possibilities she had
been subconsciously considering as she studied Sonya's
small tapering fingers, her long arching neck and that little
mole just under her lip?

However, when Caitlin followed Sonya up three flights of
stairs to her small one-bedroom apartment just two streets
behind the main road, she soon knew for sure that sex was
most certainly not uppermost in Sonya's mind. At least, not
sex with Caitlin. It was more an opportunity to break open
a bottle of Argentinean red wine, sit on her battered old
sofa and, against the backdrop of a wall lined with
paperbacks and CDs lit up by countless low wattage lamps.
And for Sonya to reminisce about her life with Ken,
agonise about her foolishness in divorcing him, and
apologise, profusely, for having resuscitated their
relationship.

While Caitlin sat opposite Sonya, sipping her wine and
regarding the CD collection that in so many ways was
much more to her husband's taste and not at all her own,
she contemplated the facts of her situation. It was no longer
theoretical. It was real. Sonya wasn't going to leave Ken.
And Ken wasn't going to leave Sonya. It was Caitlin who
was the anomaly in the triangle, not Sonya. All that was
required was for her to step aside so that Sonya and Ken
could resume their relationship from where they left off.
Then they could cuddle up on the sofa listening to those
awful Oasis albums, watch those horrible Robin Williams
movies and, no doubt, also watch those violent American
television programmes that Ken loved and Caitlin found so
disagreeable. And that huge white cat cuddled up against
the radiator could now shed its fur on Ken's suits with
impunity.

It was halfway through the second bottle of wine that the
time came for Caitlin to leave. Sonya was now rather
maudlin as she reflected on the love for Ken she claimed to
have now accepted would never be the same again. In any
case, Caitlin knew she really must get home, although she
was far too inebriated to confront her husband about his
infidelity this evening. A conversation with Ken after he
had spent an afternoon of drinking cans of beer with his
friends was unlikely to be very productive.

That confrontation would have to wait until tomorrow.

"So it's up to Ken," slurred Sonya as she accompanied her
guest to the door.

Caitlin hesitated. All through the previous hour she had got
steadily quieter and more reserved. What was there for her
to say? She had maintained the pretence, partly for own
sake as well as for Sonya's, that this was an incident that
could be patched over. And, inappropriate as it must have
been, Caitlin's thoughts vacillated from imagining her
husband having sex with his ex to imagining what it would
be like for Sonya and her to be making love. Never,
curiously enough, of the three of them in bed together. She
gazed into Sonya's eyes as she stood by the door, and past
her at the room where they had been sitting for so long and
where she had mostly spent her time looking for evidence
of Ken, not only as the philandering husband but also as
the man whose earlier soulmate was the beautiful woman
in front of her.

She knew Sonya was saying something. It seemed to be yet
more of the stream of apologies by which she had been
purging herself of guilt. But what Caitlin wanted to do was
take advantage of the small and vanishing window of
opportunity that would surely be closed altogether once she
and Ken separated and had initiated the legal proceedings
that she now knew was inevitable, and which she was
already relishing as her revenge on the man for stealing
three years of her life.

Caitlin squeezed Sonya's hand in hers. The woman seemed
confused, but continued to speak about how much she
hoped this conversation would help patch their
misunderstanding - as she now termed it. Sonya was even
more confused when Caitlin grabbed the slighter woman
around the waist, her fuller bosom against Sonya's much
smaller one. And she was distinctly alarmed when Caitlin's
lips pressed against hers and her guest forced her tongue
onto the teeth whose whiteness and perfect symmetry had
so mesmerised her.

There was a moment, not too long but certainly not to be
forgotten, when Sonya abandoned herself to the affects of
the wine and her own confusion. This was brief but long
enough for two mouths to tangle savagely, teeth clashing
on teeth, tongue on tongue, and mascara and eyeliner to
smudge. This was the small opportunity that became the
only moment of pleasure, however sourly it might be later
recalled, in the many months of separation, suspicion,
pleading and resentment that would soon accompany the
breakdown of Caitlin's marriage to Ken.

The two women disengaged the one from the other,
panting and red with both unresolved passion and
embarrassment.

"I don't know what happened to me..." said Sonya, who had
already forgotten that it wasn't she who had initiated this
moment of passion. "It must be my anxieties... It's just..."

Caitlin pressed her hand on Sonya's shoulder.

"It's all right," she said. "I understand."

And with that Caitlin left, turning her head back just the
once to see her husband's ex for one last time. Ever.

As she now knew so well, Sonya may once have been her
husband's past, but she was now destined to also be her
husband's future.




For More : http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Bradley_Stoke/www

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