A Halloween cheating wife story

I woke up in be next to my lovely wife and glanced at the alarm clock — 3:30 am, October 31 — Halloween. Neither my wife nor I celebrate Halloween, but we don’t judge those who do. That wasn’t always the case. Both of us celebrated it with gusto when we were younger, dressing up for parties and trick or treating.

But not anymore. Only two people know why and one of them is currently laying next to me. I haven’t told anyone else because frankly, they’d probably think I was crazy.

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Let me start at the beginning. My name is Jim Patterson. My wife and I come from a small town in rural Kentucky. It’s a very tight, close-knit community that revolves around two things — the coal mines and church.

My father worked in the mines until he died in a tunnel collapse. The community came together and helped my mother get on her feet. That’s just the way things were in those days. Our pastor, Bob, became something of a surrogate father to me and helped us out tremendously. His wife frequently came by the house with food or other offers of help, which my mother accepted graciously.

I decided I wanted to do something other than work in the mines and joined the service after I graduated from high school. Bob supported my decision, telling me that a man has to do what he thinks is right. Jenny, the girl I loved since childhood, felt the same way and went to college back east to become a nurse. We promised to stay in touch with each other and get back together in four years to see where our relationship would go, or if there was any relationship at all. In our community, a promise was as good as gold.

It was a tearful goodbye for both of us. The night before we went our separate ways, we gave our bodies to each other and promised to love each other for all time.

Two years later, I was given a medical discharge after being wounded in Iraq. After my discharge, I went to school in California and got a two-year degree in networking and computer science. I also spent a great deal of time in physical therapy and that’s where I met Marissa.

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What happened with Jenny, you ask. Good question. It turned out Jenny had met a medical student and the two of them were talking marriage. He proposed to her after I returned from Iraq and she accepted. She informed me of this in a long letter that was full of apologies and platitudes of unending friendship. I was glad she found someone, but was heartbroken at the same time.

Marissa figured out the basics and began working on me. It took a while, but eventually, I fell for her. Yeah, I still thought about Jenny, and we wrote each other a few times but Marissa had managed to take Jenny’s place in my heart. Before I knew it, she had me moved into her condo, which saved me quite a bit on rent.

Having been raised in church, I tried to find a church I could call “home,” but was unsuccessful. None of them had the feel of the old country church I was used to. The pastors all seemed to be full of themselves, and the parishioners all acted like they were in some kind of competition to see who could act the holiest.

I guess you would have to experience my old church to understand. Bob was a great teacher who would read a passage from the Bible, then explain it in a way we could all understand. He never put on airs, treated everyone the same way and better yet, he could play a mean guitar. Every Sunday after service, he would pull that old thing out and entertain the congregation as we gathered around picnic tables outside, enjoying the food that everyone brought. Yeah, for me, church was a fun time with friends and family.

Marissa didn’t attend church, and she never understood my desire to find one. I never quite understood her feelings on the subject, but I respected them. Sometimes, though, I felt as though she never respected my opinion. All she would do is roll her eyes and admonish church-going people as prudes and hypocrites. Granted, some of them were, but I still thought her characterization was a bit unfair.

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I asked her several times to come with me on Sunday, but she always refused. Finally, one day, she told me that she never felt comfortable in church, so I quit asking. I didn’t understand why at the time, but I figured, to each his or her own.

I did notice, though, that she would take off three times a year for two or three days at a time. She told me she would be with her mother, sisters and cousins for a “girl’s time out.” I figured there wasn’t any harm in that — after all, she would be with her mother, so what could possibly happen? Surely she wasn’t cheating on me with her mother there, right?

After the second year, I realized she was gone the same time — at the end of June, the end of October (including Halloween) and the end of February. When I asked her about it, she just shrugged her shoulders and gave a flippant answer. Then when I asked if I could come with her, she gave me a look that could melt the Arctic ice cap.

“No,” she said. “It’s not your time yet.” When I pressed her, she clammed up even more. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she said. “Besides, we’re not married yet.”

So I shut up about it. I did notice, though, that she would take some odd-looking jewelry with her — mostly bracelets and necklaces with strange pendants. I asked her about them, but she dismissed my questions, telling me they were heirlooms.

So she would leave for two or three days and come back ready to screw me into oblivion. I’ll never forget the time she came into the bedroom late at night, jumping on top of me. She had shaved her pussy bare and mashed it against my face, growling at me to eat her to orgasm. Naturally, I did, and it looked to me as though her eyes actually glowed when her orgasm hit.

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“Just wait till we’re married,” she whispered. “I’m going to fuck your brains out in ways you can’t even imagine.” Part of me liked the idea, but another part of me was a bit worried.

I once made the mistake of asking her father about these time-outs. He looked at me with fire in his eyes as he spoke.

“I can’t talk about it,” he said.

“So you’ve been with them before?” I asked.

“I said, I can’t talk about it,” he hissed. “You’ll find out when it’s your turn — after you and Marissa are married.” Marissa’s mother caught up to me afterward.

“Don’t ask about things that don’t concern you,” she said. “You will come to know all soon enough.” She smiled as she said it, but her eyes scared the hell out of me.

It was late June, a few days before their next “time out,” when Greg, Marissa’s oldest brother-in-law, came by the house. He looked scared as I ushered him into the house. I wondered why he seemed scared. From what I knew, he had served in combat in the Gulf War and nothing scared him.

“Is Marissa here?” he asked.

“No, she’s doing some shopping for their trip out,” I said.

“Good,” he said. “Listen, you didn’t hear this from me, but if you’re smart, you’d dump Marissa as fast as you can.”

“Why?” I asked. “She’s always been good to me and we love each other.”

“It’s these time outs,” he said. “There’s nothing innocent or good about them. At all. Do yourself a favor and get far away from this entire family as fast as you can.”

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