Chaos erupted as Alex suddenly bolted from his office, sprinting out the front door, leaving a trail of smoke and tire marks behind. He vanished from the driveway without warning. Emily and I rushed to the front door in a panic, anxiety flooding the foyer as I struggled to process what had just happened to my husband of twenty years. My hand shook as I reached into my pocket, fumbling to pull out my phone to call Alex. Just as I was about to dial, my phone began to vibrate. It was him calling at the exact moment I needed reassurance the most.
“Is everything alright?” I asked anxiously, concern evident in my voice.
I quickly learned that he was rushing to the hospital to meet his elderly mother, who had just suffered another slip-and-fall accident and was currently being transported there by ambulance. He had been alerted by her neighbor. Over the phone, I tried to comfort him, assuring him everything would be alright while also keeping Emily informed, who was still in a state of panic. Balancing my attention between my anxious husband and our distressed daughter, I did my best to keep everyone calm, eventually getting off the phone to allow him to focus on getting to the hospital.
“Please keep me updated, and drive safe,” I urged, ending the call.
Twenty minutes had passed since our conversation, during which Emily gradually calmed down and resumed whatever she had been doing upstairs in her room. Anxious, I sat on the living room couch, awaiting an update from Alex. Soon enough, my phone buzzed with a text message.
“Hey, I’m here,” it read.
“Hey! Any update?” I replied
After five minutes of anxiously waiting, my phone buzzed again.
“Well, the good news is, she’s okay. It was more precautionary,” Alex texted.
“That’s great! Is there bad news?” I replied.
“Oh, there is an issue with her insurance. They’re harassing her because she doesn’t have her information with her,” Alex responded.
“That is awful. Anything I can do?” I quickly texted back.
After a two-minute pause, my phone buzzed again.
“Actually, there is. On my computer, there’s a folder called “Mom Stuff” under “Documents” with all of her information. Can you check if her insurance details are there?” he replied.
“Sure, give me a few minutes,” I shot back.
I got off the couch and made my way to his office, tucked just off the foyer where all the recent drama had unfolded. I rarely ventured into his office, which he reserved for work. Under normal circumstances, I likely wouldn’t have been there at all. Stepping inside, I circled the desk and sank into the plush executive chair, where he seemed to spend half his day. With a gentle nudge of the wireless mouse, the large thirty-inch monitor flickered to life, revealing the meticulously organized Windows desktop of a man who had jokingly self-diagnosed with OCD. As I aimed for the yellow folder in the taskbar to access the Documents folder, my cursor passed over the Chrome browser icon, and something unusual caught my eye, distracting me.
I hadn’t yet opened the folder containing the information Alex urgently needed. Curiosity led my cursor in the opposite direction, lingering over the Chrome icon that had just triggered a warning in my mind. My heart sank as a preview window popped up. Lush Stories? What in the world was this? Clicking the icon, the window expanded, revealing categories the likes of Cuckold, Cheating, Incest, and MILF staring me in the face. Was this some dating site? Was Alex cheating on me? What on earth was I looking at? Before I could even process what was happening, my shock was interrupted by my phone buzzing, the sound amplified by the solid oak desk.
“Any luck?” the text message read.
Having nearly forgotten why I was there in the first place, I managed to brush aside my shock, snap back into reality, refocus my thoughts, and quickly move to assist Alex. Clicking into the Documents folder, I immediately saw the “Mom Stuff” folder he had mentioned earlier. Within moments, I found the scanned image of my mother-in-law’s Medicare card. I snapped a picture of it and promptly texted it back to Alex.
“Thanks! You’re the best!” he quickly replied.
I couldn’t put my phone down quickly enough and return to his computer, my curiosity killing me as I refocused on the large, glaring monitor. Clicking around, I soon realized that Lush Stories was a website for erotic stories, chats, webcams, message boards, and similar content. With each click, I encountered increasingly explicit material, fueling my anger and disbelief. What was Alex doing on this site? The question gnawed at me, each click intensifying my confusion and frustration.
The urgency of my mother-in-law's condition and the distant sound of Emily chatting with one of her friends on the phone in her bedroom above me faded into the background as I delved deeper into the website. A user icon caught my eye in the upper right-hand corner of the screen. Its familiar appearance, like those on any typical website indicating someone was logged in, heightened my curiosity further. Compelled to uncover more, I hesitated briefly before clicking on the icon, unsure of what I might discover next.
Who in the hell was “carlsnap12?” I thought to myself. My husband's name was Alex! My mind raced with confusion and disbelief. This had to be some mistake. The “Profile” link seemed to scream out to be clicked, urging me forward. As I did, I landed on a page with tabs across the top: Stories, Friends, Follows. Why were there numbers next to these tabs? I was puzzled. My heart sank as my eyes suddenly fixated on the phrase “Bi-curious Male,” prominently displayed under my husband's pictureless profile. A wave of disbelief washed over me as I struggled to comprehend what I was looking at. I had caught my husband red-handed, his secret online life exposed amid his rush to see his elderly mother in the hospital. How long had this been going on? What else didn’t I know about the father of my child and husband of twenty years?
I couldn’t help myself as I instinctively clicked on “Stories,” noticing the little red badge with a “2” inside, indicating there was content to be seen. Curiosity mixed with dread as I was led to a page that made my stomach churn. My husband had authored what appeared to be a multi-part story for this website called “The Hall Pass.” The title alone was enough to make my heart race. I was confused and horrified. What in the world was happening?
Was this what Alex had been doing during all those late evenings in his office he claimed to be working? I was shell-shocked, almost short of breath. Despite my turmoil, curiosity overwhelmed me. My finger hovered over the title “The Hall Pass: Part I,” nearly clicking it against my will. I was fully immersed, my mind racing with questions and emotions, trying to process what was happening. Just as I was about to give into the temptation and delve into the story, the loud vibration of my cell phone on the solid oak desk abruptly broke my concentration, snapping me back into reality.
“Hey, I’ll be home in like ten minutes. Do you need anything?” the text from Alex read.
“No thanks,” I replied, wrestling with how I was going to handle this situation.
Realizing there was no time to plunge into the story Alex had written, I swiftly closed the incognito window in Chrome, ensuring it appeared as if he had closed it himself before rushing out the door earlier. At this point, I knew it was crucial to avoid any suspicion that I had stumbled upon his secret life while searching for his mother’s insurance documents. After carefully restoring the Windows desktop to its original state and repositioning the chair to the position it was in when Alex abruptly left the office, I returned to the living room and sank into the couch. With Alex due back any moment now, I had a million thoughts racing through my mind, yet I hadn’t the faintest clue how I intended to handle what I had just witnessed.
Alex and I, both forty years old and parents to our aforementioned eighteen-year-old daughter Emily, have been married for nearly twenty years. We tied the knot right out of college in Boise, Idaho, and chose to start our family earlier than most. Last year, our lives took a significant turn when Alex, who works in IT, received a fantastic job offer in Orlando, Florida. It was a tough decision as we had already established a solid base in Boise, with a great group of friends and my parents nearby. However, the opportunity to be closer to Alex's elderly mom, who already lived in Orlando, and the fact that his new opportunity would allow me the option not to work made the move very appealing. Having just graduated high school, Emily had already decided to live with us for another year while figuring out what she wanted to do with her life. Her friends were moving away anyway, which made the decision easy for her. She seemed unfazed by the prospect of moving to a more exciting city.
Alex’s new job not only provided us with financial stability but also allowed us to settle into a beautiful country club community in Orlando. Although we weren’t avid golf or tennis players, we saw it as an opportunity to explore new activities and enjoy the lively, family-friendly atmosphere, a stark contrast to the quieter life we had in Idaho. The previous owners even included a golf cart with the house, which made exploring the community even more fun. Adjusting to life in a city known as a tourist trap was initially challenging, with its congested traffic and bustling streets; however, we quickly grew accustomed to the hustle and bustle.
After our move, the first few months were incredible as we settled into our new life in Orlando seamlessly. Emily and I found fulfillment in exploring the city, particularly the world-renowned theme parks like Disney and Universal Studios, taking advantage of the ample free time afforded by not working. In addition to exploring the city, I began taking random tennis clinics at the country club, which was an enjoyable and great way to stay active. Meanwhile, Alex became increasingly absorbed in his work, often spending late nights in his home office after everyone else had gone to sleep. His dedication to his work didn’t concern me much at the time; he remained present at home and allowed me to fully enjoy the freedom of not working, a lifestyle I had quickly become addicted to.
Physically, what can I say? That’s me on the story cover. Run if you dare! As a typical mother approaching my mid-forties, my dedication to staying in shape extends to the occasional tennis clinic at the club or walking around theme parks with our daughter. I wouldn’t describe myself as fat, but more on the chubby side, if I’m honest. Standing at 5’6” and weighing around 170 pounds, I sport C-cup breasts, brown hair tinged with a reddish hue, and a complexion adorned with freckles that blend into a tan. My body carries a subtle softness, a reminder of the baby weight that never entirely disappeared after eighteen years. Take it as you will, but that’s me, fairly ordinary, often with my hair pulled back into a bun, much to Alex’s dismay. Nevertheless, I am comfortable and confident in my own skin, completely unfazed by others’ judgment.
Now, onto our sex life, or rather the lack thereof. It became non-existent. It hadn’t always been this way; not much changed from when it was great. I looked the same, and Alex looked the same. Things were great until about three months after our move to Florida. There was a noticeable shift as Alex began working long hours, often into the night, and it felt as if we lost that spark seemingly overnight. When we did make love, it felt planned, almost like a scheduled meeting or a task on a checklist. Afterward, he seemed relieved to get it over with, nearly as if he was happy to reset the clock until he had to do it again. Despite these intimacy issues, I loved Alex deeply, and our marriage remained strong. I was willing to overlook our lack of intimacy because of the life Alex now provided for us. We laughed together, raised a fantastic daughter, shared activities, went on vacations, and enjoyed dinners out; essentially everything happy couples do. The only thing missing was an active sex life, which seemed to fade into our new routine.
Back in the living room, I sat on the couch, contemplating whether to confront Alex when he arrived home or if I should even bring it up at all. Despite my anger, I had to bottle it up, remaining clear-headed enough to recognize that I couldn’t not only overlook the fact that Emily was home but also the fact that his mother’s recent hospitalization had become a recurring concern, given her age and health. Alex would likely be in a fragile state of mind when he walked through that door, and I needed to approach the situation with sensitivity.
Headlights pierced through the house, casting their glow through the frosted glass front door, signaling Alex’s arrival. As Emily came down the stairs to join me, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what would undoubtedly be a strained attempt at pretending I hadn’t seen what I did. Moments later, the front door creaked open and shut as Alex entered the living room. Seeing him filled me with a mixture of disappointment and disgust. Even in our daughter's presence, it took every ounce of self-control to suppress the abundance of questions swirling in my mind. I knew this moment required patience and tact despite the anger brewing within me.
“How’s she doing?” I asked, looking toward a man I wasn’t even sure I knew anymore.
“She will be fine. They wanted to keep her overnight for observation, so I will go back and check on her in the morning,” Alex replied.
Emily greeted her father with a big hug before heading back upstairs to get on the computer, call a friend, or whatever eighteen-year-old girls did in their bedrooms. While I sympathized with Alex’s concern for his mom, my mind was consumed by the thoughts of “bi-curious male” and a story about hall passes he had authored, burned into my brain from his office monitor. Holding back from saying what was on my mind took every ounce of restraint I had as Alex navigated around the couch to settle into his chair. My thoughts raced, gripped with how to address what I had discovered while trying to maintain composure on the sofa, my nerves making me fidget uncontrollably. The details of the hall pass story remained unknown to me, but its mere existence gnawed at my thoughts, leaving me restless and unsettled. It was late, exhaustion was setting in, and I couldn’t wait to get upstairs.
“Well, I am glad she is ok. I’m gonna hit the bed,” I said, unable to get out of that living room fast enough.
“Sounds good. I have some work to do. Sorry for running out in a panic,” Alex replied.
“No worries. I understand. I'm just glad she's okay,” I responded as I got up from the couch and headed toward the foyer to head upstairs.
Arriving upstairs, I brushed my teeth and went through my regular bedtime routine. As I settled into bed, the familiar sound of the office door closing downstairs echoed, just as it had every night for months, with Alex locking himself inside. The faint sound of Emily talking to her friend on the phone penetrated her door across the hall from our bedroom. My fingers couldn’t move fast enough as I navigated to my phone’s browser, typing in lushstories.com. The anxiety and unease about delving into a story that had been eating away at me for the past hour filled me with apprehension and dread, each moment amplifying my anger over the discovery of Alex’s secret life.
The search bar loomed large on the screen. “Hall Pass,” I typed and pressed enter. There they were, “The Hall Pass,” parts one and two by carlsnap12, my husband. Clicking on part one, it was my first deliberate dive into the story, reading the teaser about a wife using her hall pass on a cruise ship with a porn star in front of her husband. The unusual description alone unsettled me and rang strangely familiar, as we had vacationed on a cruise ship shortly after moving to Florida. Opening the first story revealed a 4,500-word tale with a polished cover depicting Royal Caribbean’s Oasis of the Seas, coincidentally the ship we had sailed on.
Taking a deep breath and starting to read, a flood of unsettling questions filled my mind, with each paragraph sinking my heart deeper. Alex had crafted characters disturbingly close to our family, each bearing first names that matched our real-life middle names. The character named Melissa, an eighteen-year-old daughter sharing our own daughter’s middle name brought a lump to my throat. Disgust set in as fiction blurred into an eerie resemblance to reality. In his story, Alex depicted us as successful lawyers, replacing my appearance with that of a younger, slimmer, freckled Hollywood actress while portraying himself as an out-of-shape slob on the brink of losing control of his wife.
My stomach turned as Alex described in vivid detail a fictitious sexless marriage that mirrored our own. It seemed as if he had intentionally sabotaged our relationship for the sole purpose of creating a real-life twisted narrative to write about in his story. Each paragraph felt like a betrayal, as he injected our real-life struggles into his tale, attempting to fictionalize and perhaps improve it through his warped mind without ever attempting to address or mend our issues in real life. It was as though he found solace in crafting a fantasy world rather than facing the challenges of our actual lives.
Continuing on, I quickly learned that the stomach-churning intro had been benign compared to what lay ahead. Alex introduced the porn star mentioned in the teaser: a man called Danny D. I hadn’t watched much porn, and any I had seen was way before marriage and long forgotten, so I had no idea who this man was. Naturally, curiosity immediately got the better of me, and I opened another browser tab to search for porn star Alex had included in the story. Another lump formed in my throat as I unblurred the images that had appeared. I had never seen anything like it before. This wasn’t a man; this was a freak of nature. What in the hell was that thing between his legs, and why had my husband included him in his story?
As Alex crafted a vivid and intricate conversation between this porn star and the character that had clearly represented me, albeit a far more attractive version, I was utterly floored by the dialogue he had written. The level of detail was astonishing, every word and gesture meticulously described, drawing me into a scene that felt disturbingly real. He repeatedly referenced the porn star’s Speedo, making me uncomfortable. In his narrative, he depicted me as a drunken floozie who callously ignored her husband to pursue a porn star for her supposed hall pass. The story’s conclusion, with the three of them heading towards the porn star’s room, left my heart burning with anger. The final, devastating touch was the mention of our daughter witnessing this scene during a deck party, a detail that twisted the knife deeper and made my blood boil.
I dropped the phone on the bed, took a deep breath, and tried to process what I had just read. It felt like Alex was living out some kinky desire through these erotic tales, replacing our once-passionate relationship with his disturbing fantasies. It all seemed surreal and deeply unsettling. Despite needing a break, I knew there was zero chance I would be able to fall asleep, consumed by thoughts of what the second part of his story might reveal.
Picking up my phone again, I felt trapped in a nightmarish reality I couldn’t escape as I navigated back to my husband's profile. A lump again formed in my throat, this time nearly choking me, when I saw a green “Online now” next to his name. Not even a recent hospital scare for his elderly mother had been enough to break a habit that now stood confirmed in what he did in his office after our family went to sleep. Anger surged within me as I imagined Alex downstairs in his office, pretending to work while his wife and daughter lay just above him. Was he crafting part three of this deranged hall pass story I was reading? Was he chatting with people on the website? I couldn’t understand why I continued to torture myself. Why couldn’t I just put the phone down and confront him?
The “bi-curious male” label stamped on my husband's profile suddenly became clear, barely two paragraphs into part two of his hall pass story. It was surreal to witness a man I’d shared two decades of marriage with write vividly about a Speedo-clad porn star dancing around a cruise ship room to disco music. It had been over six months since Alex touched me physically. Yet, his detailed description of this woman who represented me, sniffing this porn star’s gigantic penis through his speedo, was more vivid than I could have ever imagined. If I hadn’t known any better, my husband transforming into a homosexual before my very eyes had suddenly entered the realm of possibility.
As the story unfolded, it became increasingly clear that this tale served as a veil for Alex’s suppressed homosexual desires, using the female character to embody roles he may have yearned to experience firsthand. Each paragraph intensified my discomfort as he delved deeper into explicit descriptions, meticulously detailing the porn star's anatomy with terms like ‘kielbasa,’ ‘sausage,’ and ‘wiener,’ vividly portraying not just its size and vein pattern but also his fascination with details such as the tip, often likening it to a mushroom with a continued focus on the imagery of ejaculate seeping out. It felt as though his fingertips had become a conduit for his homosexual desires, pouring onto the page with an unsettling clarity.
I struggled to make it through the rest of the story, my blood pressure increasing with each remaining paragraph, until I could barely hold the phone. The narrative had taken an unsettling turn, culminating in explicit descriptions that shook me to my core. Alex wrote about squirting female orgasms and depicted the character portraying me as being screwed into a state of mental vegetation, including cruelly describing me as a "women of Wal-Mart" website-worthy candidate. The story concluded with the most unnerving, detailed depiction of a male orgasm that I never could have imagined coming from the mind of a straight man. Each paragraph felt like a betrayal, challenging the very foundation of our marriage and leaving me reeling with disbelief and hurt.
In the aftermath, as I lay there, swirling questions haunted me. The uncertainty gnawed at me, amplified by the distant sound of Emily’s laughter seeping through her closed bedroom door, a stark reminder of normalcy amid my unsettling discovery. The situation was not only overwhelming but also deeply embarrassing, casting a shadow over our family’s stability. As I wrestled with how to confront Alex, a part of me wanted to storm downstairs, kick open his office door, and demand answers. Yet, I knew that impulsiveness wouldn’t solve anything. How would Emily react to such a revelation? What impact would this have on her innocence and sense of security? Having seen the toll divorce takes on families, even those with older children, I knew I had to approach this with a long-term perspective, carefully considering the best way to address this.
Despite the unsettling knowledge that Alex was in the office directly below me and would eventually join me in bed, I somehow managed to fall asleep. I knew he was likely staring at videos of this porn star, inching toward an inevitable future of homosexuality, using them as inspiration and fuel for the next installment of his twisted hall pass story. I could picture him pausing frequently to pleasure himself before returning to his writing. The thought of him being so engrossed in his fantasies while I lay there trying to process everything felt like a betrayal, especially knowing that his very own daughter was in the room right next to me. Despite the turmoil, exhaustion eventually took over, and I drifted into a restless sleep filled with fragmented nightmares and unresolved questions.
The following morning greeted me with a heavy sense of dread, clinging to the hope that the previous day had been nothing more than a surreal nightmare. Waking up to find an empty bed and a note on the nightstand from Alex, explaining he had gone to the hospital to check on his mom, confirmed the harsh reality I was facing. Descending the stairs, my eyes involuntarily drifted towards the office, now a symbolic focal point of our crumbling marriage. Uncertainty clouded my thoughts about how to navigate the aftermath. I wasn’t sure what action to take next, but I knew I couldn’t afford to remain passive in the face of this new reality.
To be continued...
