THE HUNG EX-HUSBAND

"What s in this shoebox?" I asked.

Megan slammed the top shut and ripped the box out of my hands.

" . . . It s nothing," she said.

I stared at her. My pulse quickened. What was in that shoebox?

"I totally forgot about this box," she said, her eyes cast down.

". . . What is it?" I asked.

She let out a sigh.

"Just . . . promise you won t be mad."

"Okay. I guess."

". . . It has a bunch of dirty pictures. From when Tom and I were married," she said.

"Oh. Hunh."

She winced as she tried to gauge my reaction.

"Pictures of the two of you?" I asked.

She nodded.

"I had totally forgot," she said. "You believe me, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Of course I trust you. Plus, that box has been buried in the garage since I moved in five years ago."

"But, I mean, I wasn t secretly saving them or anything."

"I know." I said.

"I ll throw them out right now." She took the shoebox and carried it out to the trash.

I slept fitfully that night. I couldn t put the shoebox out of my mind. Buried in our trashcan was a glimpse into my wife s secret, sexual past.

The next morning, after she left for work and I got the kids fed and off to school, I went straight to the garbage can. I dug through it and quickly found the shoebox and brought it inside.

I sat on the couch in my robe with the shoebox on my lap. I desperately wanted to see the contents, but I wasn t entirely sure it was a good idea. Did I really want to see pictures of my wife getting fucked by her ex-husband? Once I looked, I wouldn t be able to unsee it.

After a few minutes of deliberation, I took the box back out to the trash.

I was an author who worked from home, so I had the house to myself while the kids were at school. I got dressed and made myself a cup of coffee and then sat down to try and crank out a few pages.

I didn t even finish a paragraph before I caved and went back out to the trashcan. I rushed back inside and poured the photos out on the living room floor, before I could lose my nerve.

I grabbed one at random.

It was a picture of Megan. A Polaroid. She was lying naked on a bed. Her blonde hair was in a pixie cut, much shorter than she had ever worn it since I had known her. She looked young. Maybe just out of college.

I grabbed another pic. It was nearly the same as the first only in this one she had her hand between her legs. She had two fingers buried in her pussy.

I was hard as a rock. This was like finding a sexual time machine. I rubbed my erection through my jeans.

The next picture made my jaw drop. She was still naked, but the cameraman was visible in this one. At least his cock was. It laid across her pussy. And her stomach. AND her navel.

My heart was racing. My mouth felt dry. I had entertained the idea that her first husband might be a little bigger than me, but this was absurd.

I quickly put all the photos back in the box. My hand trembled as I took a sip of coffee . . . it had to be a foot long. It felt hard to breathe.

I decided to take a shower. I hurried to the bathroom and turned the water on. Then I quickly shed my clothes and climbed in.

I stood there for a long time. The hot water cascaded over me.

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Why not have the complete story here? Why do we have to buy the book?

The book author want to earn some money. This is his position.