I did his laundry. Yup. Laundry.

All the signs were there. Hang up phone calls. This was before caller id, \*69, etc. Finally there were blatant remarks about his gf, made to me his wife. Hickies on his neck.

I didn’t say anything. I did his laundry. And rinsed every pair of tightie whities in a heapin helpin of bleach. In case you’re not quite realizing what I mean and what it does. I poured the bleach into the rinse water. After the spin cycle, I dried them.

They looked clean. They smelled very clean. They were very white. He was pleased with my skills. And, soon, he was too red, raw and swollen in his private region to even think of having sex. He was probably worried to death he had some terrible std, she probably broke up with him and ran to get herself checked.

I just stayed and did laundry. Soon he healed, for awhile he behaved. Things were good. Then he stepped out again. I didn’t accuse. I didn’t cry. I didn’t hide in bushes trying to catch him in the act. I did laundry.

Soon his balls were swollen and raw, as was his member. He had a hard, hot, sweaty job and the bleach did a number on him. He and his side piece weren’t having fun anymore. Maybe they were wondering who gave who what.

 I really don’t think the woman got red or raw, but the shape of HIS private area probably scared them both. It was a mystery to me, MY private region was fine.

Eventually, he learned he just felt better and was safer at home. Eventually, I got sick of the game and got a divorce.