RUTH UNDERSTANDS MY PROBLEM

RUTH UNDERSTANDS MY PROBLEM by Senorlongo

Does she? Does she really?

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This is a story about the consequences of cheating. There are allusions to sex, but no actual descriptive sex scenes. If you’re looking for that I suggest you look elsewhere. If you’re looking for an entertaining story with revenge and justice, please continue.

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I’d made a small fortune as a mechanical engineer for a major corporation that worked almost exclusively with the Department of Defense. I’d started at the bottom—welder’s apprentice–then was invited to get my degree in engineering once management had recognized my skills. I had to pay for my courses, but they reimbursed me for all expenses if I earned a “B” or better. Talk about having an incentive! I graduated Cum Laude, making Dean’s List every semester.

I had a lot of “on the job” training, first as a welder and later as a machinist before earning relatively big money as an engineer. Over the years I moved up the ladder, retiring last year as Executive Vice President for Project Development. Unfortunately, the firm was acquired by a competitor and many of the upper echelon positions were eliminated. I wasn’t complaining. They gave me an excellent package to just fade away into the sunset. My wife Ruth and I would never worry about money again.

One of the things about retirement is that you have a lot of time on your hands and, in my case, I also had my cock in my hands much more than I’d had in the past forty years—more about the reason later. Inevitably, I was sure to get caught. It was a Wednesday in early May and I was seated on the lawn swing I’d purchased from WalMart, gazing at the pond on the other side of the thirteenth hole. My hand was up the leg of my shorts stroking my hardening cock. I should have been paying attention, but I wasn’t until Ruth was almost beside me.

“Martin! I can’t believe you’re out here playing with yourself. What is wrong with you?” Okay, I was embarrassed, but I obviously had needs so I remained calm as I answered my wife.

“Yes, dear…I am playing with myself. I’m taking Cialis for my BPH, you know the problem I’ve been having with my prostate. Last week my urologist told me I had the testosterone level of a twenty year old thanks to the hormone replacement therapy I also have to take. Between the two my dick is often hard and my hormones are raging. We are only making love twice a week at most. I’m not blaming you. Twice a week is probably much more than average for people like us in our mid-fifties, but I have all this time on my hands.”

“That’s not all you have.” The remark could have been biting, but she said it with a smile. I shrugged my shoulders then she continued. “If you must you might as well do it in front of me rather than sneaking around like this. Who knows…maybe I’ll even help you.” She leaned over for a quick kiss then helped me up. “I’m going onto the computer for a little research. I’m sure that this problem must be more common than we think. Someone must have a solution. Go into the den and keep it up. I’ll be out in an hour or so to help you.”

“Thank you, Ruth. I can’t believe you’re so understanding about this.”
 
“You have a problem, Darling. A wife is supposed to help her husband. That’s the way it’s supposed to work.” She kissed me again and walked into our home office where we had our desktop computer, printer, modem, and router for our home network. We also had a laptop that I often used and two tablets. I sat back in the comfortable leather sofa and opened my shorts. I had my cock out and hard in just seconds.

She returned about thirty minutes later with a smile on her face. “Since you’re doing it openly now, I’d like if you would keep track of the date and times in this notebook. Then I’ll know for sure that you’re being completely open and honest about it with me.” She handed me a small spiral notebook. I was dubious about the whole idea, but agreed once she began to fondle my balls. “Go ahead, Martin—I want to see you spurt.” I rubbed one out quickly, almost covering my abdomen in semen by the time I was done. I dutifully entered the data into the book, something I’d come to regret in the future.

Yes—I had a problem, but it really wasn’t what Ruth thought it was. I had always enjoyed golf and had often closed a big deal on the course. It made sense that we join a country club once we had moved from New York to our new home in western Virginia. I was surprised and pleased when Ruth had told me that she wanted to take lessons.

I was still a new member and almost totally unknown when I had played about two weeks ago. I was the only member of our foursome to stay and shower so I was alone when I sat at the bar for a beer. A group of four guys was seated right behind me—not more than three feet away–at a table and they’d obviously had a few—maybe a few too many. They were loud even though the topic of their conversation would have been best the subject of whispers. I couldn’t help but overhear every word.

“Yeah, I was talking with Gary Orton yesterday. He’s got a new fish on the hook.”

“Doesn’t he always?”

“Yeah, but this one’s a member and she’s at least twenty years older than he is.”

“Let me guess—golf lessons.”

They all laughed as he continued. “Well…I’m sure they spend some time on golf. She does have to show her husband SOME improvement—on the course if not in the bedroom.” I heard their raucous laughter behind my back as I ordered another draft Budweiser from the bartender.

“Anyway, I understand that she’s a fox even though she’s in her fifties. I forget her name. I think it’s something from the bible although her behavior with Gary is anything but religious. Damn, I wish I could remember it.”

“Mary? Sarah?

“No, not either of them, but something old testament…I’m pretty sure.”

“How about Ruth? Wasn’t she in the Old Testament?”

“You know…I think that was it. Ruth…yes, I’m sure of it. I want to keep my eyes open for her. I’m usually more than happy to take Gary’s cast-offs. He has excellent taste and he does a really good job of training his bitches.” I left my half-finished beer on the bar along with a twenty and staggered away.

How many women these days were named Ruth? To find out I walked into the club’s business office and asked to see a copy of the membership list. “You can use the computer on that desk if you wish, Mr. Gates. There’s a database if you want to do some kind of sort.”

Talk about service: I had my answer in less than a minute. There were three Ruth’s in the club—Ruth Mason, age 78; Ruth Gordon, age 27, and Ruth Gates, age 54. That fucking golf pro was teeing off with my wife! Worse, she had allowed herself to be seduced by a real pussy hound.

I didn’t rise in business by acting without thinking so I drove to our nearby lake where I sat on a boulder for almost an hour. First, I needed to be tested. If this guy was fucking as many women as he claimed there was a real risk of contracting some STD.

Second, either way I needed to avoid sexual contact with my wife until I was able to sort out the facts of the situation. I wasn’t going to cheat so that left masturbation as my only outlet.

Third, I needed to prove whether the allegations were true or false. If true I’d go one way—after my slut wife—if false I go after the big-mouthed SOB who’d started this rumor. Actually, I’d go after him either way.

So, I embarked on my masturbation crusade. I jerked off almost every morning, but especially on those mornings when Ruth had one of her “golf lessons.” I’d never paid much attention in the past, but now I noticed how sexily she would dress on those days. I’d read a long time ago that a woman who wears matching bra and panties was one who was looking for, even expecting, sex. Ruth wore matching and sexy lingerie to every lesson.

I’d gone to a state-run clinic about thirty miles away the first week after learning of my wife’s deceit. Ten days later I had the first step in the proof I would need. Ruth had given me gonorrhea, no doubt a gift from her wonderful and generous lover.

I had all of the knowledge I needed, but none of the conclusive proof. I asked my attorney if he could recommend a private detective. He could and I met with Joseph Mullin when Ruth had her next “golf lesson.” I was sure that they were fucking somewhere in the club, but I had no idea where or what I could do about it. “It’s not all that difficult a problem,” Mr. Mullin explained. “I think we should wire your home for video and audio. I have a release here that gives your permission. I assume your name is on the deed.”

“Yes, it is. I actually own the house. Ruth owns a condo in Fort Lauderdale…our winter residence—well, it was until this.”

“You need to be your usual self for a couple of weeks. Leave the detective work to me. I belong to the same country club and I’ve been a member for years so I have some ideas where they’re doing it. I’m sure you know that Virginia is a ‘no-fault’ divorce state, but I’ll bet you don’t know that adultery can be a major factor in the split of assets. Are you still having relations with her?”

“Hell, no—she gave me gonorrhea.”

“Well, stay away from her. If you have relations with her it will invalidate your allegations of adultery. Now, I should tell you that I’m on the country club board. I tried to have Orton fired the last two times he was fucking one of the members, but the assholes on the board voted to keep him. I have an idea how we can video them on the club grounds.

“If I had to guess I’d say he was doing it in the pro shop store room. It has doors from the pro shop and from the hallway and nobody ever goes in there. Let me try this out right now.” He picked up his phone and dialed. A few seconds later he spoke again. “George…Joe Mullin here; I just became aware of a problem at the club. I saw several people walk out of the pro shop store room. Yeah, that’s right…we must have close to $75,000 in clubs, balls, shoes, and clothing in there. We need to take some precautions. I’m thinking we might install some surveillance cameras. I know a guy from my business. He could do it for a few hundred. If you agree I’ll call the others and get an informal vote. Okay, thanks George.

“Pretty simple wasn’t it? We’ll get it done before the end of the week…your house, too.” I gave him a retainer for $5,000 and returned home.

I played golf again the following morning with the same result. I was showered and alone at the bar listening to the same four assholes talk about my wife. Their conversation was a bit different this time. I recorded it on my digital recorder, the one I had used on the job for several years.

“Have I got some news for you; I had a chat with Orton over the weekend and he sort of arranged for me to join him and this Ruth cunt.”

“What do you mean…sort of arranged?”

“He told me he does it in the storeroom…you know the one at the pro shop? Well, last time they replaced the massage tables he put an old one in the storeroom. He just covers it with one of the sheets and it’s perfect. He had her on it yesterday morning and, after fucking her silly, she was so out of it that I just walked in, dropped my pants, and rammed it into her. She was a bit shocked at first, but she warmed up real fast. I tell you guys…she’s as tight as a teenager and what a body. No wonder Orton was attracted to her.

“He’s gonna do her again Saturday morning and again on Monday at ten. I’m going both days and he suggested one or more of you join us. We can make her airtight, if you get my meaning.” Two of his pals turned him down, citing work and problems with their wives, but the last said he could get away from work and he didn’t give a shit if his wife caught him. I turned back to the bar to finish my beer, shutting off the recorder and returning it to my pocket.

I finished the beer and drove to my lawyer’s office, bringing Sean up to date on what the private detective had told me. I shared the conversation on the recorder. “That’s good, but not good enough. It will be good once we get a video of them in action, but right now it’s just a bunch of guys shooting their mouths off.