                        THE SNOOP
                   by Mr. and Mrs. Ovid
                             
                             
        The story that follows is, except for name changes and some modest artistic
   license, a true story.  It describes events that played a critical role in my marriage. 
   Because these events had such a traumatic effect on me, I decided to write the story as
   a way of exorcizing the demons that the events had evoked.  I have not found it easy. 
   In preparation for writing this (or perhaps as a way of procrastinating), I first wrote
   three fantasies (The Candyman, Drawing It In, and Tiger Ass).  Those stories were
   fiction, although the astute reader will recognize the origin of some themes upon
   reading the following story, which is not fiction.
   
        When I discussed with my wife my intention to write this story (which, after
   all, involved her) she had some reservations.  Finally, she encouraged me but insisted
   that I append her version of the story.  That way, she could also work out her own
   feelings about the events, and the reader would gain a more objective (or at least a
   different subjective) view of what transpired.  Therefore, Part I of the story is my
   version, written first.  Part II will be my wife's version, written after she reads my
   version, which may repeat some of the incidents of Part I and will describe the final
   events.
   
   
   Part I - His Version
   
        I have been a snoop for quite some time, eavesdropping, peering into my
   neighbors' windows, and sneaking around so as to gain a view into other people's
   lives.  I've always been curious, but the serious snooping began with an accidental
   view through my telescope.
   
        Let me provide the background.  My wife and I live in a suburban townhouse
   development.  My wife is a freelance business consultant, usually working out of the
   offices of the companies for which she consults, but occasionally at home.  I repair
   TVs and work out of our home.  I've converted our spare bedroom into my shop. 
   What once was a bedroom is now filled with shelves, workbenches, a cot, and a
   plethora of equipment, not to mention TVs.  Because of my concern for the security
   of the considerable amount of expensive equipment, and because I hate to be
   interrupted when I'm working, I keep the shop locked whether or not I'm in it.  I've
   covered the windows with blackout shades, both to keep out daylight (which can
   often get in the way of my work) and to keep outside eyes from discovering how
   much equipment is in the room.
   
        Thus, my shop has become my private den, my lair, a place to which I can
   retreat for privacy and secrecy.  Because it is secure, I've taken to keeping any
   expensive equipment there, even if it has nothing to do with TVs.  In particular, I keep
   my telescope there, a spotting scope that I originally bought for bird watching.  It was
   that scope that really began it all.
   
        One night, for no particular reason, I decided to look around the neighborhood
   with the scope.  Turning off all the lights in my shop, I partially raised one blackout
   shade, and looked through the scope at any illuminated windows in view.  Mostly
   what I saw was uninteresting, people eating, watching TV, just sitting around. 
   However, in one window in a house in the next block, I lucked out.  There, seen
   clearly through my scope, was a woman taking off her clothes.  At first, all I saw was
   her back, just as she was unhooking her bra.  Her dark hair had a few streaks of gray,
   suggesting she was in her forties or fifties.  But when she stepped out of her panties,
   her tight ass was either that of a younger woman or of one who worked hard to keep
   fit.  When she turned to put her underwear down, she revealed modest-sized, firm
   breasts that barely sagged at all.  Her nipples and areolas were small and pink.  She
   quickly turned back, so I didn't get much of a view of her snatch, except to note the
   dark thatch there.  I also saw enough of her face to realize that I didn't know her.  She
   disappeared from view soon after and, though I peered through the scope for the rest
   of the evening, I didn't see her again.
   
        Nevertheless, that was enough encouragement to get me peering through the
   scope every night.  I saw her a number of times after that, mostly dressed, but partially
   or fully naked often enough so I didn't get discouraged.  I became familiar with her
   ass and tits, and even had a few opportunities to focus on her cunt.  When she wasn't
   there, I searched the rest of the neighborhood.  Not often but occasionally, I caught
   other neighbors without their clothes.  I had a special thrill when I caught someone I
   knew.
   
        With these successes, I began to upgrade my technology.  I got a better scope,
   with zoom capability.  From a local surveillance store (which I'll call Spies R Us), I
   bought a parabolic microphone so I could pick up distant conversations.  With that,
   when it was warm and windows were open, I was able to hear the sounds of
   lovemaking coming from darkened rooms.  I was intrigued by some of the squeals I
   heard coming from the bedrooms of people who had always struck me as being rather
   reserved.
   
        All of this meant that I was spending more time at night in my shop, peering,
   listening, or just searching the catalog of Spies R Us looking for better ways to
   observe my neighbors, and of course less time with my wife.  I had become fascinated
   with the comings and goings of my neighbors' private lives.  
   
        So when Ed and Irmgard asked me to water their house plants and look after
   their house while they were gone on their vacation, I leapt at the opportunity to do
   some first-hand snooping.  Ed and Irmgard were our next-door neighbors, their
   townhouse sharing a wall with ours, a wall of my shop.  We didn't know them too
   well, just to talk to when we were working in our yards or, occasionally, to give them
   a lift or get one from them.  Ed was a jogging nut, I'd frequently see him running
   around the neighborhood, but still had only an average physique.  Irmgard was a
   different story.  She was of amazonian proportions.  With her big, blond teutonic
   build, she could have been one of the Valkyrie.  She was tall, well built, and quite
   buxom, with long blond hair that she usually wore in one long braid down her back. 
   Just the idea of being free, under the cover of looking after their plants, to rummage
   through her underwear, to actually see and touch the material that supported those
   magnificent breasts, that encased that superb ass, got me tremendously excited.  I tried
   to conceal my enthusiasm while Ed gave me the keys and instructions for watering the
   various plants.
   
        The first day they were gone, I began a careful search through their house.  I
   wanted to be careful to leave everything exactly as I found it, and to look at
   everything else while saving Irmgard's underwear for last, so my search was a slow
   one.  And, of course, I did have to water the damn plants.  It took me a good part of
   the day to decide that they had no polaroid pictures, no videotapes of themselves in
   the nude, no interesting letters, no fascinating secrets of any kind anywhere in the
   house, at least outside of their bedroom.  Finally, in mid-afternoon, I entered the
   bedroom.  
   
        It was a dark, solid bedroom.  The curtains and bedspread were deep
   burgundy, and made of a heavy material.  The wooden molding was dark oak.  The
   solemn feeling that it gave was very different than that of the light, airy bedroom my
   wife had designed for us.  I felt as if I had to walk on tip toes through the thick
   oriental rug.  If I had expected to find vibrators or dildos in their night tables, I was to
   be disappointed.  Nothing but tissues, birth control pills, a flashlight, and other
   uninteresting items.  
   
        Irmgard's underwear drawer was also disappointing.  It contained only plain
   cotton bras and panties, generally white.  While I did learn that her bra size was 38C,
   there was scant joy in seeing, feeling, or smelling those un-enticing plain items.  Still,
   I continued my search.  Finally, at the back of a shelf in her closet, I discovered a box. 
   In it were the items I was looking for:  split-crotch red, transparent panties with black
   lace trim; matching bras with holes at the center of each cup, so they provided support
   but still let her bare nipples show through; transparent teddies; and more.  In short,
   she appeared to have a good sampling of Frederick's of Hollywood fare in that
   concealed box in her closet.
   
        This discovery only increased my desires.  I had to find some way to actually
   see her in those clothes, to see Ed sucking her nipples through one of those bras, to
   see him sticking his fingers up through the split crotch.  But this posed a problem. 
   Because their house was next to ours, there was no way I could see into any of their
   windows, even if they left the shades up and the lights on.  So, after making sure that
   there were no signs of my incursions into her costume cache, I went back to my shop
   to see if the Spies R Us catalog offered any help.  
   
        I quickly discovered that, through the wonders of fiber optics and
   miniaturization, I could easily put a video bug in their bedroom that they would never
   discover.  I would have to make a small hole in their wall, which I could easily
   conceal in the molding.  The camera would look like just another nail in the molding. 
   Since their bedroom was just on the other side of the wall from my shop, I only had to
   make a small hole in the wall to feed the cable through with its miniature camera. 
   The cable could be removed whenever it wasn't it use, so even if they tore the
   molding down, all they would find was a small hole in the molding.  I got an erection
   just thinking about what I'd be able to see.
   
        I spent the next several days buying the equipment, making the holes,
   installing the camera and cable, and making sure there was no dust or plaster in their
   bedroom that would reveal my efforts.  By the time they returned at the end of the
   week, everything was in place and I had thoroughly tested the system.  The optics left
   a good deal to be desired, but they would be good enough.  On a video monitor in my
   shop, I got a respectable image of practically all of their bedroom, even under low-
   light conditions.  I was all set to watch.
   
        It was only moderately difficult not to feel embarrassed as they thanked me
   profusely for caring for their house plants.  I couldn't wait for the evening.  Even if
   they didn't fuck immediately, I would still get to see Irmgard's magnificent body when
   she undressed.  
   
        But that night I was to be disappointed.  Once she had stripped to her plain
   cotton underwear, Irmgard stood with her back to me and unhooked her bra.  Without
   turning around, she slipped a flannel nightgown over her head.  Only when the
   nightgown completely covered her did she remove her panties.  Even Ed managed to
   get into his pajamas without revealing more than a fleeting glance at his bare ass. 
   Once in bed, Irmgard turned on her side away from Ed and went to sleep.  A few
   minutes later, Ed climbed into his side of the bed and turned the light off.  I saw
   nothing.
   
        Night after night, essentially the same scene was repeated.  They never spent
   more than a moment getting into their night clothes.  They might as well have
   undressed in the closet.  And they never fucked.  What kind of a life was that?  How
   could Ed just ignore that voluptuous woman?  How could a body like that not require
   servicing?  They must fuck sometime, I thought.  Maybe during the day.  I don't know
   what kind of jobs they had, but often one or both of them was home during the day.  I
   would have to keep my eye on them all day long.
   
        I spent more and more time in my shop, trying to get my work done while
   keeping one eye on the monitor attached to my spy camera in their room.  Of course, I
   now saw even less of my wife.  It was only after about four days of watching that I
   finally saw something, but it certainly wasn't what I expected.
   
        In the middle of the afternoon, at a time when I was pretty sure Irmgard wasn't home,
   Ed walked into the bedroom rubbing his crotch.  He sort of wandered around aimlessly,
   running his hand up and down over what was clearly a hard-on.  Then he pulled all the
   heavy curtains shut, evidently under the mistaken impression that this would grant him
   privacy.  He next stopped in front of their big mirror and stood there rubbing his prick
   though his pants.  After a while, he stopped rubbing and dropped his pants and underpants. 
   His erection stood out stiff in front of him, angled upwards.  Because of the inferior optics in
   my system, I didn't have a great view, but his prick appeared to be of about average size,
   perhaps a mite smaller.  It was soon encased in his fist, which slid up and down on it.
   
        At first he seemed to be posing in front of the mirror, as if to see what a man jerking
   off looked like.  Gradually, he seemed to become more aware of the sensations he was
   generating and less concerned with how he looked.  His eyes, as well as I could tell,
   appeared to become less focused.  His mouth opened slightly.  His fist moved faster.  His
   knees bent slightly as he focused his efforts on his prick.  In another moment he was
   coming.  He quickly brought his other hand up to catch the spurting come, barely preventing
   it from falling on the rug.  He continued milking his cock, trying to squeeze out the last
   drops of come.  Then he disappeared from view, evidently into the bathroom, because when
   I next saw him he was washed and dressed.
   
        After all that period of sexual inactivity that I had witnessed, I could understand why
   he needed to jerk off.  But why jerk off when every night he had that marvel of Teutonic
   splendor just inches away in his bed?  I didn't understand it.
   
        Two days later, in the early afternoon, I finally got a clue.  This time I had seen Ed
   drive off so I knew he wasn't home.  Irmgard came into the bedroom.  In full view of me, she
   took off her dress and her uninspiring cotton underwear.  There she stood.  Those
   magnificent pendulous breasts had large, dark areolas and proportionately large nipples.  Her
   body, while large and well padded, was nevertheless in marvelous shape, with a relatively
   flat stomach, and hips and thighs that I wanted to dive into.  Like most blonds, she had
   comparatively little pubic hair, just a row running up from her cunt like a mohawk haircut. 
   Her ass, while huge, was solid, something you could really grab hold of.  Oh..., that one
   view of her body was worth the days of watching and waiting!
   
        She went into the bathroom and, a short time later, came out toweling herself off. 
   She had evidently showered.  She went to her closet and took down her box of sexy
   underwear.  In a few minutes, the split-crotch lace panties and the open-nipple bra were
   caressing her body.  I would have died to trade places with them.  Then she carefully put
   everything away, straightened up her bed, and stepped into a pair of high-healed slippers and
   a lace peignoir that barely concealed anything.  She stood in front of the mirror combing her
   hair out, letting it flow freely down her back.
   
        Then she suddenly looked up, looked at the clock by her bed, and left the room, as if
   the phone or doorbell had rung.  About five minutes later, she returned with her arms around
   someone.  She was kissing him as they backed into the room.  I couldn't see who it was, but
   it clearly wasn't Ed.  A few minutes later I got a clear view.  It was Roberto.  Roberto lived
   on the next block.  He occasionally came around raising funds for some good cause, or
   trying to get signatures for some petition or volunteers to help in some worthwhile endeavor. 
   I had once helped him and others clean up a nearby park.  He was tall, taller than Irmgard,
   but thinner.  He had a long narrow face and long, curly dark hair.
   
        What he was doing now with Irmgard struck me as a very worthwhile endeavor for
   which I'd gladly volunteer.  He was running his hands up and down her back, paying
   particular attention to her ass, while she was unbuttoning first his shirt and then his pants. 
   Soon she had freed him of these items while he had managed to step out of his shoes.  He
   stood now in only his socks and his bikini briefs, from which his stiff prick peeked out over
   the top.  In a moment those items of clothes were gone.  Now, completely naked he turned to
   Irmgard's peignoir.  Slowly, he removed it from her shoulders.  Pressing his hands along her
   back, he lowered it more and more as she let it slip off her arms.  As he lowered it past her
   hands and let it drop, his mouth came down to the level of her nipples.  His tongue shot out
   and began to lick around an areola.  For a moment I could see the nipple grow, but then it
   disappeared into his mouth.  
   
        Irmgard's head was now thrown back, her hair flowing halfway down her back.  One
   of her hands pressed his head to her breast, the other groped for his prick, which stood out in
   front of him, with a slight downward bend.  It was clearly larger than Ed's (or mine, for that
   matter).  Irmgard slid her hand over it, wrapping her fingers around its base, then bringing
   them up to his bulging cock-head, then down again.  All the while, Roberto was sucking
   away at her nipple.
   
        But he wanted more than the tip of her breast.  He wanted it all, in its full unshackled
   glory.  His hands fumbled with the bra snap.  Then his mouth released the nipple just long
   enough to free her breasts of the bra.  In an instant, his head was back at her nipple, sinking
   into the softness of that magnificent tit.
   
        Now, while Irmgard continued to stroke his cock, Roberto's hand sought the opening
   in her panties.  She spread her legs to assist him in his search.  He quickly arrived at his goal
   and I could see his fingers moving back and forth in her pussy.  They soon glistened with her
   juices.
   
        All this time I gazed at my video monitor spellbound.  My own stiff prick had been
   furiously pressing against my pants, so I had opened my pants and released it.  As Irmgard
   stroked Roberto's prick, I stroked mine.  When Roberto began delving in her cunt, I lost
   control and came.  I was to come again before they were finished.
   
        Now Roberto gently pushed her back onto the burgundy bedspread and pulled her
   panties off.  She spread her wonderful, columnar thighs and he buried his head between
   them.  Oh, I thought, to have your head entrapped by those thighs, one could easily
   suffocate.  What a way to go!  Somehow, Roberto was not suffocated.  His head bobbed up
   and down.  I could see flashes of this tongue going into and around her cunt.  Irmgard's head
   thrashed from side to side.  She flung her arms out, then brought them in and began to pull
   Roberto up onto her body - that body!  Roberto edged his way up, across the nirvana of her
   breasts, until he could sink his cock into her cunt.  Then, as she wrapped arms and legs
   around him, he began to pump his ass up and down, driving his cock in and out of her.
   
        I can't imagine what pulled my attention away from the action on the bed, but I
   suddenly noticed that there was someone just visible to me, standing outside their bedroom
   door.  There, motionless and rigid, as if turned to stone, was Ed.  He had an expression of
   horror on his face.  How long had he been standing there?  He must have returned
   unexpectedly and accidently come upon this vivid evidence of Irmgard's unfaithfulness.  I
   watched him for a moment but, as he didn't move, soon returned my attention to the people
   on the bed who very much were moving.
   
        Slowly at first, then faster and faster, Roberto was thrusting his pelvis into Irmgard's. 
   She seemed to grip him tighter into her all-encompassing embrace, forcing his head further
   into the soft pillow of her breasts.  I thought I'd lose sight of him.  Then her eyes closed, her
   mouth opened, she flung her arms out and then back around him and began to come.  It was
   like a earthquake.  The whole world seemed to shake.  This was followed by a series of
   incredible aftershocks that I thought would bring the house down, or at least crush Roberto. 
   Finally, Roberto gave one long thrust and, raising his head and clenching his jaws, he came. 
   Watching my monitor, I came for the second time.  When I finally looked back at the
   doorway, Ed was gone.  
   
        I couldn't believe what I had witnessed.  Had Ed known all along?  From his
   expression, it certainly didn't look like it.  Where had he gone?  The thought that he might
   have gone to get a weapon froze me with terror.  Perhaps he decided to slink away silently
   and deal with it later.  I certainly hoped so.
   
        Meanwhile, the lovers had fallen into a sweaty heap on the bed.  Eventually Roberto
   rolled off and they got up, evidently to shower.  While they did, I cleaned up the mess I had
   made and began to think how I could improve the optics to get a better image.  Too much
   had been blurred, too many details hadn't been visible.  I wanted optics that would crawl in
   there with them.
   
        They returned from their showers toweling each other off.  They dressed, Irmgard
   once again in her usual drab underwear and her everyday clothing.  The Frederick's of
   Hollywood outfit went back into the closet, and they walked out of the bedroom arm in arm. 
   That night it was the usual undressing act with nothing showing and into bed without
   touching, as if nothing had happened that day.  It was the same as it had been all the time I
   had been watching them.  If Ed had let Irmgard know that he had witnessed the action, there
   was no indication.  
   
        I wondered how many Roberto visits I had missed before I started watching during
   the day.  And, now that Ed knew of them, I wondered what would happen next.  Never in a
   thousand years would I have anticipated what actually was going to happen.
   
        I stayed up late fussing with the optics.  I wanted them good enough so I could
   videotape any more such afternoon goings on.  It was probably 3 a.m. before I had improved
   them to my satisfaction.  So as not to wake my wife, I slept on the cot in my shop, where I
   often slept when I had to work late or, lately, when I was spying on the neighbors.  In the
   morning, I grabbed a cup of coffee with my wife, barely talking to her, and returned to my
   shop.  I wanted to check out the optics one last time, fine tune the system, and hook up the
   VCR with a blank tape so I'd be ready to catch the next act.  Within an hour or two, that act
   started.
   
        The first thing I saw on the monitor was Ed, wearing a loosely tied bathrobe, at the
   bedroom door.  He had his arm around someone, who I couldn't make out because his body
   was in the way.  Clearly, however, it was not anyone as tall as Irmgard.  I turned to start up
   the VCR, and when I turned back to the monitor I experienced the shock of my life.  The
   person with him, ...in his arms in his bedroom,...was my wife!  
   
        They sat down on the burgundy bed with their backs to me, arms around each other,
   his head resting on her shoulder, his face nested in her neck.  She was running her hand up
   and down his back while he gripped her tightly.  Then, as I watched in utter dismay, she
   seemed to ease him backward onto the bed and lower her head to his abdomen.  When he
   was finally lying flat on the bed, I could clearly see her face.  It was at his crotch and she had
   his entire prick in her mouth.  None of it was showing.  My wife!
   
        What could I do?  In plain view of me she was blowing my next door neighbor.  She
   raised her head slowly so I could see the base of his cock.  Then further so all of his stiff rod
   was visible except for the cock-head, which she retained in her mouth.  Then her head
   moved up and down on it.  I wanted to shout at her.  I wanted to run in and stop her.  But I
   was trapped.  It was like the military intelligence that intercepts the enemy's signals during
   the war but can't act on the information they get without revealing how they got it.  I couldn't
   run in and stop them without them knowing I had bugged Ed's bedroom.  I wouldn't even be
   able to say anything to my wife later without acknowledging that the long hours I spent
   "working" in my shop, to her neglect, were actually spent spying.  There was nothing I could
   do.
   
        While these thoughts raced through my mind, Ed's hands had begun to race over my
   wife's body.  They were massaging her breasts through the sweat shirt she was wearing. 
   Then they were under it, pulling it off.  She released his prick just long enough to pull the
   sweat shirt over her head.  Then she took it back into her mouth while his hands groped at
   her now naked tits.  His thumb pressed at her nipple, pushing it around and around.  Then
   his index finger joined his thumb and together they pulled the nipple, rolling it between
   them.  Now he raised his head to her tit and began to suckle at it.  She let go of his prick
   again and struggled out of her jeans and panties.  Still suckling, Ed brought his hand to her
   naked cunt and his fingers worked in and out of it.  The juices from it shining on his hand
   were clearly visible on my monitor.
   
        "No!" I cried, but it had no effect on them.  Ed now had my wife on her back and his
   mouth was moving down from her breast to her pussy.  My wife lay back, one arm thrown
   across her eyes, while he began licking her clit.  Around and around his tongue went.  Her
   hips began to rock from side to side, pushing her cunt up at his tongue, trying to capture it. 
   Her hips were soon successful in their efforts; Ed was now burying his tongue deeply into
   her twat, and his hands were grasping at her tits.  My wife thrust her pelvis up at his mouth,
   trying to force him even deeper into her juicy recesses.  
   
        Then, as I watched, he climbed on the bed between her legs.
   
        "He's going to fuck my wife!" I screamed, but only I could hear my forlorn cry. 
   Oblivious to it, Ed was slowly burying his rigid tool into my wife's ready cunt.  I became
   aware that, despite the agony this was causing me, I had a raging hard-on.  The scene before
   me had engendered in me not only pain, but also an immense excitement.  I opened my pants
   with tears rolling down from my eyes as Ed slid his prick in and out of my wife's pussy.  Her
   hands grabbed at him, pulling him to her, then scratching and clawing at his back.  Almost
   without consciousness, my fist stroked my cock up and down as I watched their wild fuck. 
   "What are you doing?" I said to her image on the monitor, but I knew full well what she was
   doing.  And while she was humping away, thrusting her groin up to meet his downward
   strokes, I was stroking away at my own cock and crying all the time, simultaneously excited
   and dismayed.
   
        Through my tears I could see the tremors running through her body. I could see her
   body twitch and spasm, even as my prick began to spurt.  I could see her orgasm torturing
   her body while the rest of my come dribbled down my hand.  "Oh no," I cried as Ed thrust
   his pelvis one last time against my wife's cunt and convulsions racked his body.  I sat there,
   my hand and leg covered with come, tears pouring down my face, while he slowly pulled his
   still oozing prick out of her and she reached down to squeeze the last drops from it.  I was no
   longer looking at the monitor.  My eyes were buried in my come-covered hands and all I
   could do was cry.
   
        By the time I finally stopped crying and looked up, they were no longer in sight.  I
   had cleaned myself up and was zipping up my pants when I realized that the VCR was still
   running.  I had taped the whole thing and now had a videotape of my wife being fucked by
   my neighbor!  I rewound the tape, hid it, and then sat there, staring off in space for hours.  
   
        I finally managed to pull myself together.  Except for a cup of coffee, I hadn't eaten
   since the night before.  I left my shop and went to the kitchen to make myself a sandwich. 
   My wife was there, calmly straightening up after her lunch.  How could she be so calm after
   such a momentous scene?  I couldn't bring myself to say anything to her, so I quickly made
   the sandwich and brought it back to my shop.  It took me several hours to eat it.  Each bite
   seemed dry in my mouth and wouldn't go down.  Between bites, I stared off into space again.
   
        Eventually, I finished the sandwich and continued staring.  Then, without realizing
   how it happened, I found myself holding the video tape in my hand.  I didn't want to look at
   it.  I wanted to destroy it and, with it, the memory of the events recorded on it.  I wanted to
   destroy the events themselves.  But some perverse power forced me to put it in the VCR and
   press the play button.  Was it the desire to torture myself or was it the same excitement I had
   felt when watching the original events that led me to watch the video reconstruction of
   them?
   
        The effect this viewing produced on me was the same as that produced by the
   original events.  I again experienced the dual emotions of painful agony and erotic
   excitement.  Before the tape was finished, I was again sitting there crying and jerking off.
   
        This sequence of events was to repeat itself over and over during the next several
   weeks.  I tried to busy myself with my work.  I repaired TVs, I delivered the repaired ones
   and picked up the broken ones.  I fussed over the repairs, fine-tuning the TVs far more than I
   had ever done.  I avoided my wife as much as possible, sleeping in my shop, eating on the
   run.  And yet, I would often find myself sitting there stationary, staring into space.  And
   sooner or later, every single day, I would take out the tape and play it.  I would then feel the
   emptiness in the pit of my stomach, the adrenalin would flow through my body, and the
   blood would pulsate through my prick.  It always ended with my hand covered with come
   and my eyes blinded by tears.  
   
        I saw no way out.
   
   
   Part II - Her Version
   
        I don't really know how to do this.  I said I'd write this after my husband convinced
   me that it would be good for us to work it out of our systems, and I guess I don't really want
   you to hear his version without hearing mine, but this is all very strange to me to be writing
   to people I don't even know and who don't know me and telling them about intimate details
   in my life.  I don't know whether this will work.  All I can do is try.  Here goes.
   
        You've already heard what my husband has to say.  If you haven't, you better go back
   and read Part I because what I write probably won't make a lot of sense to you without
   knowing what he wrote.  I'm not going to repeat things he said, but there are things he didn't
   know about that you need to know.  And I certainly saw things differently than he did. 
   Maybe what we really need from Spies R Us is a device that lets you see things through
   other people's eyes.  Maybe that would make it easier to understand what's going on with
   other people and maybe we wouldn't mess things up so much then.
   
        One thing you need to know about my husband.  He's a lovely man and I love him,
   but he's a nut.  What I mean is, he's a video nut.  I know that's the way he earns his living,
   but really he earns his living that way because he's a video nut.  He has to have every video
   device there is.  I don't know what half the things are we've got around the house.  I can
   barely work the VCR (I can't set the timer).  But he's got big TVs and little TVs and VCRs
   and camcorders and I don't know what all.  It's the camcorder I want to tell you about.  He's
   had several, as newer and better models came out he had to get the latest gizmo.  But the
   thing is, he had to use them.  What I mean is, he used them on us when we were making
   love.  He set up a camcorder on a tripod with some sort of remote control or timer or
   something and he videotaped us in the act.  He kept adding to the tape with every new
   camcorder he got, saying that each successive taping would be better than the last because of
   the new gizmos on the camcorders.  I don't know about that, but he sure made a raunchy
   videotape of us.  I didn't want to do it with a camera pointing at us, but you know after a
   while you don't pay attention to the camera anymore, you forget it's there.  At first he needed
   lots of lights and that was distracting, but with the newer models we could dim the lights and
   he still got a good picture.
   
        I was always afraid someone else would see that tape, so I kept it hidden.  But every
   once in a while, he'd pull it out and play in on the big TV and I must say it got me horny. 
   Pornographic pictures don't usually do that to me, but seeing people you know, especially
   yourself, having a good time is different.  It got to be that sometimes if one of us was in the
   mood they'd put the tape in the VCR and say, "Let's watch a videotape."  Sort of like
   Pavlov's dog, just those words would make me wet.
   
        Another thing I have to tell you is, he didn't know it, but I have a key to his shop.  He
   was always locking himself in there and I was afraid he'd have an accident or a stroke or
   something and I wouldn't be able to get in there to help him, so once, when he was sick, I
   secretly had a duplicate key made, which I kept hidden.  Until these events, I never used it.
   
        Anyway, what I want to tell you about is this period when I began to see less and less
   of my husband.  He'd lock himself into his shop until late at night and since I usually had to
   go to work I couldn't stay up to all hours of the night, so I'd go to bed and he'd be sleeping
   when I got up, so I didn't even get to talk to him.   Sometimes he'd still be in his shop,
   sleeping on his cot, so I wouldn't even SEE him.  And when I'd come home at night he might
   be locked in his shop or maybe come out and grab a quick bite and disappear again.
   
        I didn't know what he was doing in there, because he didn't seem to have that much
   repair business, but I thought maybe he was getting more business when I wasn't around or
   maybe he was just playing with his high-priced toys.  Frankly, I was getting lonely.  It's nice
   to have someone to talk to and unwind with at the end of the day.  And I like waking up
   together so the first thing you do is cuddle a little before you get up.  But this was like he
   wasn't even there.  And of course, I have a sex drive like everyone else and he sure wasn't
   satisfying it.  The less we saw of each other, the hornier I got.  The few times we were
   actually together I'd give him a few hints but he seemed to have his mind elsewhere.  So
   then I'd slip that videotape of us in the VCR and said "Let's watch some videotape," but he'd
   find some excuse like "I have to get that job done" or something, so nothing came of my
   attempts.  I was beginning to think maybe he had a mistress who was wearing him out
   during the day, but even when I stayed home all day (sometimes I worked at home) and he
   was there all day it didn't make any difference.  So the upshot of this was that I was feeling
   lonely and unwanted and horny and deprived and resentful.
   
        It was while this was going on that the business with Eddie happened.  Eddie, as you
   know, was our next door neighbor.  In our townhouse complex, they deliver the mail to
   boxes down by the street.  Occasionally I'd pick up the mail and discover that they'd
   mistakenly put some of a neighbor's mail in our box.  If I didn't notice this until I was back
   in the house, it was easier just to bring it to the neighbor rather than go back to the mail
   boxes. And besides, it's always nice to talk to your neighbors.  So on this particular Saturday
   morning that I want to tell you about, I found some mail for Eddie and Irmgard and went
   over to their house to give it to them.  I could see Irmgard's car was gone, but Eddie's was
   still there, so I knew he'd probably be home.  I rang the bell and no one answered at first, but
   I thought maybe he was in the bathroom or something so I rang it a few more times.  When
   he still didn't answer, I tried to slip the mail under the door, so I was kind of embarrassed
   when Eddie opened the door and found me bent over at his feet with the letters in my hand.  
   
        I started to stammer my apology when I looked at him.  He looked so terribly sad. 
   He was bare foot and wearing a bathrobe that was barely tied around him.  He hadn't shaved
   and he had been crying.  His eyes were red and wet, and he just stood there looking at me
   and sort of snuffling, like he couldn't really stop crying.  "What's the matter, Eddie?" I asked. 
   This just seemed to make him cry more.  I felt so sorry for him, and a little embarrassed for
   him to be standing at his doorway like that.  It was bad enough for me to see him like this,
   all the other neighbors didn't need to see.  So I put my arm around him and sort of led him
   inside, saying things like you'd say to a child.  "There, there, Eddie, I'm sure it's not so bad. 
   Come sit down and I'll get you a drink of water and maybe I can help."  I didn't really have
   anything in mind except it pains me to see a grown man cry because I know what a big deal
   it is for men to cry in front of other people, so I know it must really hurt when they do it.
   
        I got him some water and he stood there drinking it and snuffling some more and
   eventually managed to calm down enough to finally say something.  "It's Ir...Ir...Irmgard," he
   stuttered, "she's...."  "She's what?  Is she hurt?  What is it?"  "She's sleeping with another
   man," he eventually got out.  "Oh, no," I confidently said, "I'm sure she isn't.  Not Irmgard." 
   Irmgard was such a nice, friendly person who seemed to be deeply in love with her husband,
   I just couldn't imagine her doing anything like that.  "Oh yes she is," Eddie insisted, "I saw
   her doing it!"   The last statement was a such cry of agony that I couldn't doubt it.
   
        Well, the upshot of it was that he told me in fits and starts that he had come home
   early the day before (as you already know) and when he went into the bedroom, there was
   Irmgard making love to Roberto.  (Roberto!, I thought.  Ugh.  I found him to be one of the
   least attractive men around.  If I was going to be unfaithful, it certainly wouldn't have been
   with Roberto!)  Anyway, Eddie hadn't known what to do so he had quietly left and just
   driven around.  When he finally got home, Irmgard greeted him in her usual way, as if
   nothing had happened.  He couldn't bring himself to say anything to her.  It was as if not
   talking about it could somehow make it go away, make it not have happened in the first
   place.  I knew the feeling because sometimes I don't want to talk about bad things that have
   happened to me.  But of course it had happened.  And then he realized that he and Irmgard
   hadn't made love in weeks, even though he had wanted to, so maybe this thing with Roberto
   had been going on all that time and that's why Irmgard didn't show any interest in him.
   
        As he told me this, he started crying all over again.  I didn't know what to do.  You
   can imagine how I felt with this grown man crying like that.  I thought the best thing to do
   would be to get him to his bed and let him lie down.  I couldn't think what to say.  What do
   you say to a man who has come home and found his wife in bed with another man?  I
   certainly didn't know, but I felt so sorry for him that I couldn't leave him like this.  So I put
   my arm around him and helped him upstairs toward his bedroom.  He was so pitiful.  He
   wrapped his arms around me and held on as if I was his only source of security.  That made
   it difficult for us to walk up the stairs, but I didn't want to deprive him of the little bit of
   comfort he was getting, so I just sort of struggled along.
   
        We finally got to his bedroom and I managed to get him sitting down on the bed by
   sitting down with him.  I was sort of patting him on the back, saying things like "There,
   there," and he was leaning against me, still sobbing and still holding on to me, when I
   noticed that his robe had come open.  He wasn't wearing anything underneath it.  But what
   really caught my eye was his penis.  It was the smallest penis I had ever seen on a grown
   man, smaller than my thumb, peeking up at me all shrunken, like a pink mushroom in a
   turtle-neck sweater.
   
        If I had felt sorry for Eddie when he told me about Irmgard and Roberto, I really felt
   sorry for him now.  I know what a big deal men make about their penises.  It's like all their
   pride of manhood comes from the size of that organ.  To have his wife unfaithful AND to
   have a tiny penis must have left poor Eddie with absolutely no self respect, and then to have
   me see him break down and cry would just make it worse.
   
        Now I have to tell you what emotions were driving me at that time.  First, as I've
   said, was a tremendous feeling of pity for poor Eddie.  The fates were treating him so badly. 
   But on top of that was a different feeling.  I couldn't help but notice how cute that little penis
   was.  It was adorable, the cutest little thing.  I just wanted to kiss it all over, like you feel
   when you see a cute little baby.  You just have to hold it and love it.  So there was pity for
   Eddie and an innocent love for that small cuddly, benign-looking piece of flesh.  But in
   addition, there was something rather more shameful.  Remember, I had been feeling horny
   for a week or so because my husband wouldn't come near me.  All of a sudden here was a
   man near me, a nice man with his arms around me, a man who was almost naked and who
   had the most adorable little penis, and a man who I felt so sorry for.
   
        It just seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for me to ease him back on
   the bed and bend my head down and take that little penis in my mouth.  I just wanted to hold
   it there, just to cuddle it a bit in my mouth.  It seemed like nothing more than an innocent
   way of giving Eddie a little self confidence, just like you hug a child to give them the
   strength to face the world.
   
        Well, of course it seems stupid now when I think about it, but it came as a surprise
   when it began to grow in my mouth, as if someone were blowing up the balloon.  But the
   real surprise was how much it grew.  It didn't take long for it to fill my mouth, and when I
   pulled my head away slightly it STILL filled my mouth.  I didn't want to pull completely
   away suddenly because I thought that would just be another blow to Eddie's self esteem. 
   Now, however, it was getting hard and it wasn't so innocent anymore.  And it wasn't so
   small anymore either.  It was really expanded, more than I would have thought possible. 
   Once it was hard, it was a full-sized penis.  But it was too late to stop.  Here I was, a horny
   woman who hadn't been embraced in weeks, and I found myself with a lovely erect penis in
   my mouth.  I did the natural thing, I sucked it and licked its head and along its shaft and
   moved my mouth up and down on it.  After the last few weeks it felt wonderful.
   
        And it felt just as natural when Eddie began to respond.  His hand caressed my body,
   my back, my sides, my breasts.  Soon they were under my sweat shirt and I wasn't wearing a
   bra, so I could feel his bare fingers squeezing my breasts and rubbing the nipples.  My
   nipples are normally very sensitive.  Most of the time, all you have to do is rub them a few
   time and a tingling sensation runs through my body, down to my crotch, and I'm yours. 
   After weeks of enforced celibacy, when Eddie's fingers found my nipples I was gone.  There
   was no longer any pity involved, or any feelings of innocent cuddliness.  It was pure lust. 
   He had touched my button and I was on fire.
   
        I let go of his erection just long enough to get my sweat shirt over my head and then I
   returned to that lovely organ with a vengeance.  His hands were all over my breasts,
   kneading them, caressing, pinching, and squeezing my nipples, while I worked my head up
   and down on what had grown into a stiff, man-sized penis.  And just as Eddie's penis had
   recovered its manhood, so had Eddie.  He was no longer the sobbing victim.  Now he was
   taking the lead, and he did the thing best calculated to drive me wild.  He took a nipple into
   his mouth and sucked on it.  He sucked out of me all the loneliness and the feeling of being
   unwanted that my husband's neglect of me had induced.
   
        I had to get out of the rest of my clothes.  I stood up and pulled my jeans and panties
   off in one motion and he never stopped sucking.  There was nothing coy about me now, I
   wanted him in my long-vacant vagina.  It didn't take long for Eddie's hands to find my vulva. 
   His fingers caressed my labia, which were swollen and soaking wet by this time.  He rubbed
   my clitoris and I wanted to scream.  Finally his fingers invaded my vagina.  That felt so
   wonderful now, I had almost forgotten the feeling you get when you have something hard
   rubbing inside you.
   
        I can't really tell you what happened next.  What followed were periods of
   consciousness and periods where I just floated away.  I was on may back and Eddie was
   running his tongue around my clitoris.  I wanted that tongue in me.  I pushed my pelvis
   toward his mouth, trying to capture his tongue, to drive it deep into me.  Then it was in me,
   but it wasn't his tongue.  It was his penis.  What had been a tiny innocent little button was
   now a full-grown, hard erection, plenty big enough to satisfy me, and satisfying me was just
   what it was doing.  He was sliding it in and out of me and then plunging it in and out and I
   was pushing up to get him and wriggling and groaning and then a rumbling started
   somewhere deep inside me and I was shaking and trembling and now I was a roaring
   volcano.  It was if all the tension that had built up within me during the period of enforced
   abstinence suddenly came rushing out.  I felt like I had burst.  
   
        Somewhere, buried in my orgasm, Eddie also had his, because the next thing I knew
   we were both lying next to each other on his bed with our breathing and pulse rates slowly
   coming back to normal and semen dripping out of the end of his now shrinking penis.  I lay
   there for a few minutes, relaxing in a sort of ecstacy, when all of a sudden it hit me.  I
   realized what I had done.  With a loud groan, I grabbed my clothes up and raced out of the
   bedroom and down the stairs.  Eddie followed me, dragging his bathrobe behind him.  We
   stood in the front hallway, trying to get our clothes back on, with me crying "What have I
   done?" and Eddie crying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
   
        I managed to pull myself together enough to check in the mirror that I looked ok and
   to say "It's ok, Eddie, it wasn't your fault.  It's ok."  And then I ran out of his house.
   
        For once, it was a good thing that my husband was in his shop.  I managed to shower
   and remove any signs of my terrible indiscretion, and even to get some sort of lunch down,
   before he came out for a quick lunch.
   
        What followed then was the worst period of my life.  At first, I was glad that my
   husband and I barely saw each other so I didn't have to face him with the guilt showing in
   my face.  But then I realized that I had to see him, to tell him what happened and how and
   why it happened, to beg for forgiveness, and to work things out somehow.  I couldn't stand
   this almost complete isolation from each other.  He wasn't sleeping in our bed at all these
   days.  We were essentially strangers.  I didn't want that anymore.  I wanted things to be like
   they were during the early years of our marriage.
   
        About a week or two after Eddie and I had made love, I ran into him at the mail
   boxes.  I didn't want to talk to him, but he came up to me and said, "I want you to know how
   sorry I am about what happened between us.  But you don't have to worry about seeing me
   anymore.  Irmgard and I broke up.  She moved out last week and by next week I'll be
   moving out, too.  We've already sold the house.  I'm going back to my home town.  I just
   have to get things ready for settlement with the young couple that's buying the house.  I'm
   really sorry that I let things get out of hand. I was feeling so sorry for myself that I didn't
   think of you.  Goodbye."  And he walked away before I could think of how to respond.
   
        I had hoped that Eddie's moving away would make it easier to tell my husband, but I
   never saw him enough to start a conversation.  I couldn't just blurt out "I was unfaithful to
   you" as he was heading out the door.  I arranged my work so I could work at home, figuring
   I'd have a better chance of seeing him.  I needed us to sit down calmly and talk seriously. 
   But I could never find a time to do that.  He simply was never available.  What was he
   doing?  He was either locked in his shop or was out of the house.  It felt as if somehow he
   knew what I had done and this was his reaction to it.  Of course, I knew there was no way he
   could know, but I had this terrible feeling.
   
        Somehow I had to get back together with my husband.  I needed him in a hundred
   different ways.  I had to tell him, to explain, to beg his forgiveness.  I swore that what
   happened with Eddie would never happen again, but I was afraid, afraid of my own body. 
   The longer the time away from my husband, the more my body would crave some attention. 
   If another opportunity arose, would I be able to withstand the urgings of my body?  I knew I
   must, but I also knew that I had do everything I could to avoid such a possibility by getting
   back with my husband as soon as possible.
   
        Finally, I just had to know what he was doing in his shop that occupied so much of
   his time and kept him away from me.  So, the next time he left the house, I got out my key
   and went into the shop.  I don't know what I expected to find.  Somehow I felt that I would
   have some great revelation as soon as I got in there.  I was disappointed.  There was the
   usual clutter of TVs, VCRs, and other equipment, but nothing that would reveal to me the
   secret of his isolation.  The only thing unusual was, on one of his work benches, a catalog
   from a company called Spies R Us.  That name struck me as sufficiently peculiar that I
   started flipping through the pages.  Suddenly, there in front of me, was just what I would
   need to unravel the mystery.  It was a system for seeing into another room.  They advertised
   it for police and scientists to use instead of a one-way mirror, even for parents to monitor
   their babies without the clutter of a big camcorder.  The ad claimed that it was easy to use
   and could be bought with or without installation.
   
        I put the catalog back where I found it, locked up the shop, and went to visit Spies R
   Us.  The man there was very helpful.  He showed me how it worked, even let me turn on the
   store model and try it out.  He asked about how I wanted to use it and when I told him it was
   to look inside a room in my own house without my husband seeing me, he assured me that it
   would probably be a very easy installation.  He would set everything up beforehand and
   then, anytime my husband was out, he could find a location, drill the hole, and install the
   system in about a half hour or less.  I was so desperate that I bought the system then and
   there.
   
        The next day, as soon as my husband went out, I called the man at Spies R Us.  He
   was able to come over immediately and, true to his word, had the whole thing installed,
   hooked up to our living room TV, and working in practically no time.  We had concocted an
   elaborate story about me smelling gas and him being the gas man in case my husband
   returned while he was still there, but we didn't need it.  He was finished and gone long
   before my husband returned.  I was glad, because I didn't want to add to my adultery by lying
   to my husband.
   
        When my husband finally did return, he, of course, went directly into his shop.  The
   minute I heard the lock catch, I turned on my spying system.  Now I would find out what he
   was doing in the shop.  But I found out nothing.  I watched him for the rest of the afternoon
   but all I saw was him fixing TVs or sitting and staring apparently at nothing at all.
   
        I made dinner, ate it, and cleaned up, all with one eye on the TV, watching my
   husband doing nothing very revealing.  Finally, just as I was going to give up and go to bed,
   cursing myself for wasting all that money, he did something different.  He took out a
   videotape from a cabinet and held it in his hand, looking at it as if he could see the content
   of the tape by staring at the cassette.  Then he inserted it in a VCR and just stood there, not
   turning it on.  After about five minutes or so, he finally reached forward to press a button on
   the VCR and began watching a TV screen, which faced away from me.
   
        At first I couldn't tell what he was doing next because he was sort of turned away
   from me, but then it finally dawned on me.  He was masturbating.  He must have put a
   pornographic videotape on and he had opened his pants and was masturbating.  I had never
   seen him do that before, and at first I couldn't really see.  But then he changed his position
   slightly and there he was in plain view stroking his fist up and down on his erect penis with
   his eyes glued to the TV screen.  Why was he doing that when I was twenty feet away?
   
        Then I noticed the most surprising thing of all.  While he was watching that
   videotape, while he was masturbating, he was crying.  I could clearly see tears running down
   his face.  It was the strangest combination of actions I could imagine.  Finally, he reached his
   orgasm, stopped the videotape and put it away, wiped up the semen and the tears, lay down
   on his cot, and turned off the lights.  I went to bed that night thoroughly perplexed.  Now I
   knew what he was doing in the shop, but it made no sense to me at all.
   
         I lay awake half the night thinking about the scene I had witnessed.  Finally, I
   decided that there must be something on that videotape to explain it.  I had to see the tape.
   
        The following morning, I waited until he left and then went into his shop and straight
   to the cabinet to get the videotape.  
   At first, when I opened the cabinet, I didn't see any videotapes.  Then I realized that the tape
   I was looking for had been tucked away behind some equipment.  It was an ordinary looking
   videotape, like the kind we had for taping TV programs.  It had no label on it.  I slipped it
   into the VCR and started playing it.
   
        Suddenly I got the shock of my life.  There on the screen was Eddie's bedroom and
   coming into the room were Eddie and me!   In a flash, I understood everything.  The same
   Spies R Us device that I was using to spy on my husband, my husband had used to spy on
   Eddie and Irmgard and he had caught me and Eddie in the act.  No wonder he acted as if he
   knew.  He did know!  No wonder he avoided me.  No wonder that videotape produced such
   a strange affect on him.  What was I going to do now?, I wondered, as I watched my image
   on the videotape taking Eddie's penis in its mouth.
   
        I didn't have much time, my husband might be coming back any minute now. 
   Quickly, I ran back to our living room and found the videotape he had made of the two of us
   making love in happier days.  I peeled the label off it, so it looked just like the one he had
   made of Eddie and me, and switched the two tapes.  In another two minutes, I was back in
   the living room, the shop was locked, and everything was exactly as it had been except for
   the fact that the tape in the shop cabinet was not of me and Eddie but of me and my husband. 
   Now, with my heart beating so loud I could almost hear it, I sat there waiting for my
   husband to return, and trying to imagine what would happen.
   
        After a while, he returned and, of course, he went directly into his shop.  I turned on
   my spying system and waited.  There seemed to be a hole in the bottom of my stomach.  My
   pulsed raced.  This was it, one way or another.  When he saw that tape he would know that I
   had been in his shop, that I knew about his tape, that I knew he had spied on me, that I knew
   that he had watched Eddie thrusting his stiff penis into me while I gave him my full and
   passionate encouragement.  I had crossed my Rubicon.  How would my husband react? 
   What happened next was going to determine what happened to our marriage.  Was it to
   follow the same road as that of Eddie and Irmgard, or was there a different direction for us?
   
        But, of course, instead of watching the tape, my husband had to putter around with
   his TVs.  While I was sitting there in suspense, with my heart fluttering and sweat beading
   on my forehead, waiting for him to look at the videotape, he was fixing the damned TVs. 
   This went on for several hours, during which I almost died every time he looked in the
   direction of the cabinet with the tape in it.  I didn't know how much longer I could take it.  I
   wanted to yell at him, "Forget the TVs!  Look at the tape!"
   
        Finally, he stopped working and began staring again.  I knew what would happen
   next.  He went to the cabinet and took out the tape.  It felt like mice were running up and
   down my spine as he inserted the tape.  My pulse stopped.  He waited.  Then, at last, he
   pushed the play button and sat down to watch.  I couldn't see the TV screen, but I could see
   his eyes widen as he saw the tape and realized first that it wasn't his usual tape, then that
   only I could have switched his tape with our special tape, and then that I must know what
   was on his tape and all that that implied.
   
        Now or never, I said to myself.  If I was ever going to do it, this was when I had to
   make contact with him.  With my heart thumping, I unlocked his shop door and, tears
   running down my eyes, I went to him.  Kneeling on the floor, I put my head on his lap and
   keened away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry," I sobbed, over and over again, shaking and crying and
   waiting for his reaction, the reaction that would determine the rest of our lives.
   
        It took a few moments.  Save for my sobs and the long-ago-captured sounds of our
   past lovemaking coming from the still-playing videotape, the room was quiet.  Then he
   pulled me up alongside him on the bench.  
   
        We clutched at each other.  Our tears ran down and mingled as we pressed our faces
   together.  We cried, we confessed, we apologized, we forgave, while on the screen our
   naked bodies bucked and heaved and thrust into one another.  There was hope for us.  We
   couldn't undo the past, but maybe we could live with it.
   
        I slowly unbuttoned my blouse and brought his mouth to my naked nipple.  As he
   suckled at my breast, a shiver ran through my body and I knew that we would work things
   out.  We would have some rough times, but eventually we'd be okay.  There would be no
   more Eddies for me.  The isolation was over.  My husband would be back, no longer locked
   away from me, no longer avoiding me.
   
        From the TV screen came the sounds of our orgasms - the grunting, the panting, the
   crying, the screaming.  To the  accompaniment of these past noises, my hand found his
   present erection.  On the screen, his glistening, hard penis was sliding in and out of me.  In
   real life, I could feel the pre-orgasmic secretion from the tip of his organ, and with my
   thumb I spread it around the head.  His hand slid into my pants towards the dampness of my
   crotch, and as it did I knew that when my husband started to watch the bedroom games of
   the young couple who would soon move in next door, I would be next to him, watching with
   him, and then we would be playing our own games.
   
                            THE END