I suddenly found myself short of breath, much like when I first discovered Alex’s secret life on lushstories.com. My heart raced as I retrieved my phone from the bed beside me, where it had slipped from my hand in my initial shock at the picture Gloria had just sent. It was a reaction reminiscent of my first glimpse at the porn star my husband had vividly described in his hall pass story. Barely regaining control of my fingers, I scrolled to the top of Gloria's new messages.

“Some added context to our conversation, Amy, lol,” the message from Gloria read, followed by a picture of a penis that didn’t even look like it belonged to a normal human being.

“Tommy Salami!” Jill immediately responded, met with simultaneous laughing emojis from Gloria and Beth.

“It still looks like that, I can confirm,” Beth replied, sparking additional laughing emojis. As the quiet one of the group, her playful reminder of her very recent encounter with Tommy just a few hours ago was quite surprising.

My loathing of Alex had unexpectedly fueled a new curiosity, seemingly against my will. What was happening? I couldn’t turn away from the God-like anatomy staring back at me, gradually vanishing from the screen as more messages from the ladies reminiscing about our tennis coach came across. The way the ladies used the analogy of giant cylindrical meat to describe Tommy, just as Alex did to describe the men in his stories, made me chuckle and brought me right back to Alex’s demented narratives.

“Fuck me, lol. Tomorrow can’t get here soon enough,” Jill responded, the exuberance of a mother of a six-month-old infant evident even through the chat.

I couldn’t help myself as my thumb seemed to scroll back up the chat on its own, driven by a shameful eagerness to take a closer look at the picture Gloria had sent. While I didn’t necessarily agree with the lifestyle these ladies led behind their husbands' backs, I suddenly understood it as I landed on the picture. I would have never believed in a million years that I was actually looking at Tommy if it weren’t for his face, adorned with an arrogant smirk, serving as the backdrop to one of the most magnificent pieces of male anatomy I had ever seen. 

Tommy Salami was a fitting nickname for the man whose intelligence I often likened to a box of rocks. Whoever said a picture is worth a thousand words was spot on; it was truly enormous. There’s no other way to put it. Though I never paid much attention to Tommy during practice, it suddenly dawned on me why he wore those silly basketball shorts while every other tennis employee wore the stereotypical tiny tennis shorts that seemed standard at every country club across the country.

“What time is that happening?” Gloria chimed in, the vibration of my phone snapping me out of my current daze.

“Early, like 7:00 AM,” Jill replied, met with a heart emoji from Gloria and Beth.

“Speaking of, it’s getting late. I’m gonna hit the bed,” Jill followed up.

“Goodnight!” Gloria replied.

“Night, guys. See you all at noon!” Beth interjected, implying our team practice the next day.

“Goodnight, ladies,” I said, met with a trio of heart emojis, feeling as if I had seemingly been a voyeur in the chat.

As I closed Signal, I realized I lacked the energy or motivation to finish Alex’s story about his Footlong Frank character. My mind was racing, and my heart pounded in my chest. Not long ago, I was a newcomer trying to fit into a well-established trio on a low-skilled tennis team, and now I was witnessing them openly discuss and schedule sessions of infidelity with our tennis coach. The whole situation felt surreal, and I had no idea how to process the overwhelming shock I had experienced throughout that day.

As morning arrived and I rolled out of bed around 7:15, my family was typically the first thing on my mind, despite my turmoil with Alex. Today, however, was different. My thoughts returned to the chat last night and immediately to the picture of Tommy that had become etched into my brain. The satisfaction Jill must have received at that very moment weighed heavily on my mind. Yesterday had altered something inside me. I felt as if I were undergoing a mental shift, almost against my control. Maybe it was intrigue; perhaps it was curiosity, I didn't know, but what I did know was that I couldn't control it.

As noon quickly approached, Emily had yet to return from her overnight stay at her friend’s house. Surprisingly, Alex wasn’t in his office; instead, he had been out checking in on his mom at her house. This unexpected solitude was a rare treat, prompting me to reach for my phone, open the chat, and scroll up to the picture Gloria had sent last evening. It felt as though I was being controlled, unable to resist looking at Tommy’s picture again. In my closet, I set my phone down, the picture never leaving the screen as I grabbed my tennis skirt and top, never taking my eyes off my phone while I got dressed. In a twist of irony, my husband's disturbing, detailed description of his Footlong Frank character’s anatomy seemed as if he had been describing Tommy. It was simply perfect. Tanned as his body, uniformly toned and thick as my wrist, with a smooth, imposing shaft and a helmet resembling a gigantic, flesh-colored mushroom cap. His balls hung heavy, each the size of Grade-A eggs, together forming a sack resembling an evenly toned, oversized cantaloupe.

I dressed quickly, resisting the strong urge to linger in my closet any longer, Tommy’s picture tempting me to stay.  After applying sunblock, I headed downstairs into the garage and hopped into the golf cart, making my way toward the tennis court. The ride was tense, made more so by the oppressive Florida humidity covering me in a sheet of sweat. I felt a nervous knot in my stomach, knowing it was the first time I would see the ladies again in person since stepping out of Gloria’s car after our defeat at Pine Ridge yesterday. A lot had transpired between then and now; not only had I been immersed in their infidelity-laced taboo chat the evening before, but I had also learned that both Jill and Beth had been intimate with Tommy since our last encounter. In just a few moments, I would have to confront them face-to-face again and see Tommy, whom I knew I could never look at in the same light ever again.

Arriving at the tennis court, I tried my best to act as if it were any other ordinary day. The ladies greeted me in their usual manner, seemingly as if our recent chat had never happened. While this might have been a routine for them, it weighed heavily on my mind as I processed everything. Beth and Jill, the most recent recipients of Tommy’s gigantic member, wore almost permanent smiles that radiated a contagious energy. Their ability to compartmentalize their marriages and carry on without any guilt felt strange and surreal to me, yet it was oddly intriguing.

As practice was about to begin, Tommy emerged from the tennis building where the pro shop and offices were housed, just like every other session. Truth be told, I hadn’t paid much attention to Tommy before, and why would I? I was happily married. He was more like an absentee coach who kicked off our practices, gave us quick drills, and disappeared until the next session. I often thought I could find better instruction on YouTube. Ironically, sometimes I wondered if he even liked our group or if it was merely caution that kept him distant. He wasn’t even flirtatious, which added to the mystery. But being human, my eyes were drawn to his crotch, trying to make out the shape of what I had seen on my phone a mere twenty minutes ago in his oversized navy blue basketball shorts, but I was unable to see anything.

The following week passed in a blur. Nightly chats suddenly replaced my obsession with monitoring Alex’s online activity with the ladies on Signal. I sporadically glanced at lushstories.com, knowing a new story from Alex would eventually appear, but it no longer consumed my thoughts. I no longer needed the visual evidence of that green “online now” icon to know what my demented husband was doing in his office at all hours of the evening while Emily and I slept right above him. I suddenly had something else to occupy my mind.

I quickly grew accustomed to the nonchalant way these married women shared their encounters with Tommy. Initially repulsed by the idea of multiple women sharing one man, I found myself strangely intrigued. They supported each other, cheering on their exploits and openly discussing their experiences in great detail. Surprisingly, there wasn’t a trace of jealousy. Beth and Jill reported to Gloria as if she were the puppet master of the whole operation. Listening to multiple women quantify more orgasms received in one “practice” with Tommy than I had experienced over three years with Alex began to wear me down. Their candid conversations offered me a voyeuristic glimpse into the dynamics of country club life for affluent housewives in Florida, a world that starkly contrasted with my more reserved approach.

The following week at home was a strange one. For the first time, Alex suddenly acknowledged my new love for tennis and the amount of time I spent at the club, his tone seemingly annoyed. Maybe the invoice from the country club sparked his sudden curiosity. It was as if lushstories.com were down for maintenance, and Alex finally had time to analyze the world around him, noticing my frequent absences. I had to reemphasize the tennis league I had joined as if he had been so consumed with his new secret life as an erotic writer that he hadn’t heard me the first time. The sudden demand for my attention caused a palpable tension.

That week quickly became a turning point in our marriage and my life as Alex began making subtle comments that felt like veiled insults about my fitness and tennis performance. He would remark how "interesting" it was to see me putting so much effort into the sport as if questioning my dedication or abilities. I hadn’t seen this side of him before in our twenty years of marriage, mocking me and casting doubt on my efforts. It seemed as though he was intentionally trolling me, almost daring me to confront him about his secret life. Where was this coming from? Until then, I had naively hoped to avoid this confrontation forever. While I knew I couldn’t evade it indefinitely, even in my anger, I still couldn’t bring myself to address it, even though the opportunity had presented itself on a silver platter.

It was early Thursday evening when the topic of tennis came up over dinner with Alex and Emily. I found myself passionately explaining the dynamics of doubles play versus the singles matches you typically see on TV and my newfound friendship with three ladies from the neighborhood. As I enthusiastically shared my experiences, Alex suddenly made a soul-crushing comment about it being good that I didn’t have to move around the court much since it was doubles play. His blatant insult infuriated me. Maybe he didn’t realize he was insulting me, but based on his previous remarks, it was the only way I could take it.

His comment, made in front of our teenage daughter, who was also surprised, was hurtful. It was as if Alex were oblivious to the rudeness of his words, treating my physical condition as fair game for jokes. Thursday was a non-practice day for the team, but I struggled to get through dinner, putting on a brave face and pretending his comment hadn’t stung as much as it did. Afterward, I decided to head to the club and practice on my own with the ball machine, even though they were closing in an hour, if only to escape and focus on something that might offer a bit of solace.

Arriving at the courts, I found them as deserted as I had expected, with the club closing in just forty-five minutes. Walking up the steps to the pro shop to rent a ball machine, I spotted Gloria sitting alone at a table on the veranda, seemingly enjoying the peaceful evening with a glass of white wine.

“Hey!” I said to Gloria, startled by my presence, almost surprised to see me.

“Hey Amy, what are you doing here?” Gloria responded, looking at her watch.

“Just figured I’d get some practice in,” I replied.

“Great! Wanna have a quick drink first?” Gloria laughed, seemingly acknowledging the too-often social activity that plagued us from getting any better.

“Sure, why not,” I laughed, sitting in the chair beside her on the empty veranda overlooking the vacant tennis courts. At that moment, I knew I wouldn’t be seeing a tennis ball that evening.

Strangely, it was the first time I had been alone with any of the ladies since meeting them. Everything had always been done in a group, whether practices or matches. I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a subtle tension in the air, as if Gloria, the “mother” of our team, could instinctively sense that something was off with me.  She wore our home uniform: a white one-piece skirt and tank top that emphasized her long legs, which seemed more tan than usual and highlighted her toned sixty-year-old arms. It almost felt like she was dressed up. It was hard to explain, but despite her vibrant appearance, something seemed different.

“Everything alright, girlie?” Gloria inquired with a sincere, almost motherly tone, clearly noticing a difference in me from what she was used to.

“Yeah, I think so,” I responded, struggling to hide my frustration with Alex in my voice.

“Well, I’m always here for a listening ear if you need one,” she responded, followed by a ten-second awkward silence.

“Sorry if the Tommy stuff freaked you out,” she said, quickly changing the subject.

“It was surprising for sure,” I responded with an uncomfortable laugh.

“I suppose at some point I became immune to the fact this wasn’t normal,” she laughed.

“How did that come about anyway?” I asked.

Gloria’s eyes lit up at my first genuine inquiry into her situation. Away from the other ladies, she seemed almost eager to reveal the personal story of an insatiable sixty-year-old whose uncanny sex drive for a woman her age wasn’t being fulfilled at home by a husband who prioritized golf over her. Tommy had become an unexpected but convenient solution, seamlessly fitting into the existing routine of her life without raising any suspicion.

“So, how did Beth and Jill become involved?” I asked.

Again, her eyes brightened as if I were asking questions from a script she had meticulously planned. She detailed the timeline of how she met Tommy and the formation of their league, which had somehow consisted of just the three of them over the past two years. Due to the uneven number, one had to sit out each match weekly. The club’s lackluster efforts in recruiting new players and expanding the leagues were part of why they warmly welcomed me as a newcomer.

She explained that Beth and Jill’s eventual involvement with Tommy also hadn’t been planned but happened organically. Over their first year of bonding as a team, it became natural for the women to confide in each other, whether it was Jill’s sex life, which felt more like a business transaction as she and her husband tried to conceive, or Beth’s situation, where her husband, like mine, had lost all physical interest in her. Almost like a pimp, Gloria had offered up Tommy as a solution for women struggling with unmet physical needs at home, offering an alternative they found impossible to resist.

“No guilt though?” I asked, my tone almost too probing as if I were seeking advice on how to handle the guilt.

“Well, of course, there was guilt. Initially, at least,” Gloria responded with a sly grin, followed by another ten-second silence as I took a sip from my wine, attempting to digest the current conversation.

“You saw that thing,” Gloria laughed, looking down at my phone on the small table between our chairs, clearly referring to the picture of Tommy she had sent weeks ago.

“Hard to miss,” I laughed, putting my wine down and doing my best to conceal the fact I had looked at it almost daily since she shared that picture.

“Eleven inches,” she quickly whispered, her hand covering her mouth even though nobody was within a hundred yards to overhear our conversation. It was clear that our casual chat on the veranda, which had quickly taken an unplanned turn, was exciting to Gloria as she reveled in disclosing Tommy’s length.

“That is crazy,” I shot back, stunned to receive a tangible measurement of what I had seen as Gloria began to open up.

The conversation escalated as she shared regrets of not prioritizing her sex life during the prime years of her thirties and forties. She expressed gratitude for having managed to maintain a strong sex drive into her late fifties, which led her to someone like Tommy, who transformed her outlook on life. She saw the same look of yearning in Beth and Jill’s eyes that she had once recognized on her own and felt a responsibility to help them avoid the same mistake she had made, ensuring they could fulfill their desires before it was too late.

“So, what’s your story, girl?” Gloria asked abruptly, cutting through the tension. Her directness was prompted by the subtle hurt she sensed in me, an easily detectable emotion to someone with her experience, especially given my line of probing questions.

“Oh, you know. Just life,” I responded with a sigh, glancing at my watch and realizing it was nearly 9:00 PM and almost closing time.

“Problems at home?” she shot back, seemingly genuinely concerned.

While Gloria exuded an aura that made me feel comfortable opening up to her, I wasn’t sure if I felt ready to share the entire reality of my life. I could have easily mentioned my sexless marriage to move things along, but airing my family’s dirty laundry and especially Alex’s secret online life to a neighbor who would likely be a part of my life as long as we remained in Florida felt risky. However, there was something about that evening: the serenity of the veranda, our conversation, and the anger I felt toward Alex that made me want to spill everything that had been building up inside me since discovering my husband's secret online life.

“Well…,” I started, on the verge of spilling my guts, my words cut short by the squeak of the pro shop door opening, a sound desperately in need of some WD-40.

Both Gloria and I turned around, wine in hand, as Tommy emerged from the pro shop, moving toward us in what felt like slow motion, causing me to nearly drop my glass on the veranda’s elegant pavers as my gaze fixed on his crotch. Tommy was suddenly wearing the same tiny tennis shorts as the rest of the staff, and it quickly became apparent why he had previously opted for baggy basketball shorts.

Stopping just short of our chairs, he looked down at us with the same sly grin I had seen in the picture. Even someone as clueless as Tommy couldn’t miss the fact that my eyes were locked onto his crotch. I quickly tried to correct myself and looked back up at him.

“Hey Amy, how are you? New shirt?” he asked, his expression a mix of surprise at my presence and an even larger grin, clearly aware that he had caught me staring.

“Hey Tommy, doing well. Thanks,” I replied, surprised that he not only remembered my name but also noticed the new tennis top I had just gotten. I tried my best to avoid looking at his crotch, which was at eye level with my seated position. His cantaloupe-sized balls filled the front of his tiny shorts, and the outline of the flaccid eleven-inch monstrosity struggled to fit within the confines of the remaining fabric.

“Hey, Gloria,” Tommy said, followed by a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Are you ready for our lesson?” Tommy asked, looking down at Gloria with another arrogant smile.

My heart began to race as the gravity of the situation I had stumbled into finally sank in. It was closing time, and everyone was supposed to be gone. I wasn’t even supposed to be here; I had accidentally run into Gloria, who was there solely because it was her turn in the rotation with Tommy. I felt incredibly awkward as she gave me the same look I had seen in the rear-view mirror that day on the way to Pine Ridge, seemingly turned on by the fact that I now witnessed the logistics of a “lesson” within the circle of ladies I now called my best friends.

“So, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Gloria said, her tone indicating it was time for me to leave without directly saying it.

“Sounds good,” I replied, catching the hint and standing up, leaving my half-empty wine glass behind.

“I’ve got the drinks, sweetie,” she responded.

“Thanks,” I said, glancing back at a smiling Gloria and taking one last unavoidable look at Tommy’s crotch, which earned me another wry smile.

My mind was in knots as I walked back to the golf cart, tennis bag in hand, having neither broken a sweat nor seen a single ball. The ten-minute ride home was a whirlwind of emotions, with the warm Florida breeze blowing through my hair. Still overwhelmed by my anger toward Alex, I was simultaneously hit with a wave of horniness I had done my best to suppress for months, and it had finally boiled over as I drove through the neighborhood. Nearing the house, the reality of returning to a husband who had secretly turned homosexual and now openly mocked my appearance and fitness level weighed heavily on me.

Pulling into the garage, I sat in the golf cart, shutting the door behind me. The white noise of the buzzing garage light was the only sound remaining. The front-row seat I had just experienced into Gloria and Tommy’s infidelity-laden rendezvous suddenly overwhelmed my thoughts. It was the first moment I had to collect my thoughts and process the snapshot my brain had taken of Tommy’s crotch. Before I knew what was happening, I had Signal opened on my phone, going back to the picture I had looked at a hundred times over the past few days. My mind fixated on what Gloria might be doing with Tommy at that very moment as I resisted every urge to touch myself right then and there in the garage.

Entering the house, it felt as if everything had reverted to the unsettling normalcy of the past few months. Alex, who had been so overbearing and insulting earlier, was now shut away in his office, typing away at his keyboard while pretending to work. Emily was out with the same friend she had stayed with the previous week. My mind was still reeling, and the events of that evening hadn’t even warranted a shower as I trudged upstairs to collapse into bed.

As I lay in bed trying to sort through my thoughts, something strange began to happen. Flashbacks of my conversation with Gloria on the veranda replayed in my mind, with images of Tommy’s eleven inches disappearing inside her sixty-year-old body etched into my brain. I had never thought of something like this in such vivid detail before. What was happening to me? Her tale of guiding Beth and Jill to avoid the same mistakes she had made by not prioritizing her own happiness during her sexual prime almost seemed directed at me. It was the very first time in my marriage that I had contemplated the idea of being with another man, even if only in my thoughts. This unsettling realization was impossible to ignore.

As Friday morning arrived, I found myself alone in bed, with Alex having already gone downstairs to his office to work. We never seemed to wake up in the same bed these days, almost as if he could sense my disdain toward him even though I hadn’t officially communicated it. I was surprised to wake up to a new Signal message, but instead of the usual group chat, it was a direct message from Gloria.

“Hey girlie, enjoyed talking to you last night! Sorry for the awkward goodbye, lol,” it read.

“No worries! I hope you had a good lesson,” I replied, followed by a laughing emoji.

Fridays were practice days, with an upcoming match at home the next day. Although I knew I would see Gloria in a couple of hours, the thought of continuing our chat, which Tommy’s arrival had abruptly cut off, excited me. It was almost as if Glorida knew I had been longing to keep our conversation going, even if only virtually.

“Freaking AMAZING as always, girlie,” she replied.

“I’ll bet,” I responded, still adjusting to having erotic conversations with someone my mother’s age.

“At this point, I assume you won’t be offended, lol,” she replied, temporarily confusing me.

Suddenly, two pictures of Tommy appeared back-to-back in the chat, nearly making me drop my phone again. The first image was similar to the one she had sent weeks ago; Tommy at full attention, but this time with a tape measure alongside it, confirming the validity of its eleven-inch length. The second picture was a close-up of his cock head that matched the exact description of the fictitious Footlong Frank, my husband had written about.

“Oh, my goodness,” I responded, followed by a “scared” emoji.

“Endless orgasms, lol,” she wrote back, making me squirm in the bed as I immediately scrolled back up to look at his pictures. Subconsciously, I cross-referenced what I was looking at with the mental snapshot my brain had taken of his tiny tennis shorts stretched to their seams on the veranda the night before.

Gloria had tactically broken down my walls just as she had with Jill and Beth nearly a year ago. Her skillful approach had begun weeks ago with the first picture of Tommy. Gloria was calculated, understanding that even the strongest and most loyal housewife would eventually crack at the sight of it. She understood the female mind and was a master of manipulation.

Though she was coy about her intentions, they became clear:  her ultimate goal was to have the entire tennis team under Tommy’s sexual spell with her as puppet master. Even the most moral of women could only endure so much of what I had experienced with these ladies over the past several months.

“I’ll see you at practice in a couple of hours,” she responded, seemingly an expert at knowing when to end a conversation.

As I rolled out of bed and began dressing for practice, Tommy's compliment on my new shirt the night before rang fresh in my head. Even though it was a simple remark, the fact that he had noticed such a minute detail meant the world to me, as it was the first praise I had received from a man since moving to Florida. Inspired by his comment, I decided to wear my new Adidas tank top and tennis skirt, the same outfit depicted in the story picture above. Although I had recently bought several new tennis clothes, this one was notably more revealing than I would have typically preferred. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I hesitated but ultimately made the decision to wear my most revealing outfit to date to practice that morning. After pulling my hair into a bun and applying my sunblock, I headed downstairs, feeling a mix of excitement and slight self-consciousness.

Grabbing a quick bite to eat, I approached the garage and crossed paths with Alex as he exited the downstairs bathroom, heading back to his office. His face immediately registered a look of unmistakable distaste, more of a “yuck” than a “wow.” It was evident his own wife repulsed him as his gaze raked over me, lingering on my exposed midriff. Despite his effort to hide it, his reaction was impossible to conceal.

“Match today?” he asked, attempting to recover from a reaction that was already impossible to retract.

“No, just practice,” I responded, feeling both defeated and self-conscious.

“Cool, hope you have fun!” he said, his face reflecting a look of having screwed up as he completed his walk back to his office.

As I left the mudroom and entered the garage, I unhooked the charger from the golf cart and climbed in, taking a moment to collect my thoughts. I was an emotional mess; angry, embarrassed, humiliated, and self-conscious. The look of repulsion from my husband of twenty years was etched in my mind. The urge to change clothes was soon overshadowed by a more compelling thought: seizing the opportunity for revenge.