Dear diary, my husband is a cheater. I’m Judith, a woman in my fifties, blessed with a body that still turns heads.
My husband, Junior, is a filthy rich man who’s forgotten he’s married, his insatiable appetite for pleasure often leading him astray. His once virile body has succumbed to the ravages of time, his manhood barely rising to the occasion, a half-deflated balloon, a sad sight indeed.
I often travel to Canada for work, leaving him alone in our palatial home. Upon my return, I’d hear tales from neighbors about meeting my ‘cousin’ Heather, a young woman who’d been seen entering our home. I knew Heather wasn’t a relative, but I played along, feigning ignorance.
One day, I decided to play a little game. I packed my bags, kissed Junior goodbye, and left for the airport, only to double back and sneak into
the house through the back door. I could hear moans of pleasure coming from our bedroom. I peeked in to find Heather, her lips wrapped around Junior’s limp member, trying her best to coax it to life.