My dearest,

This is a hard letter to write. I'm afraid it's going to hurt you. In fact I know it will. Perhaps it would be better to tell you what I have to say in person. But I'm not sure I could stop myself from sugar coating it or distorting it. And I think we owe each other the truth, don't you?

And I know you have something that you need to tell me too. I'd like to think that, if I weren't sending you this now, you'd have the courage to tell me anyway. That you respect me enough not to try and hide something like that from me. But at least this way there's no chance of me having to face not just of your unfaithfulness but also that you're willing to deceive me. I couldn't bear that, I really couldn't.

Yes, Toby, I know about you and Sofia. I overheard your conversation in the afternoon in the kitchen and saw you too. I know you're having an affair with her. And you can't imagine how much it hurt me. It still hurts, very badly, but what I've done has deadened a little of the humiliation that went with the pain. Maybe my little revenge will be the thing that allows us to survive all this. Before I did it, the humiliation was so great that I couldn't even imagine continuing to live with you. But as I drove home afterwards, I realized that it would be just as hard leaving you as staying. I don't think there's any easy way out now. I'm still in pain, still angry with you, but I don't know want to lose you.

And her? I haven't even started to grapple with that properly. That betrayal feels almost deeper than your own, because it feels so much less natural. Husbands and wives cheat on each other. It happens every day -- god, if a couple can get through a lifetime without either of them slipping up, that's something, that's a real achievement. But for her to do that to me? She's my cousin, my friend, I've always been there for her. Why would she do that to me?

Of course, I knew you were attracted to her. You remember I've even made some little jokes about it to you. I saw the way you looked at her sometimes and of course I noticed that some kind of intensity was developing between you. Those intense discussions in the evenings. I know you, Toby, I know that kind of spark makes almost as much difference to you as the way she looks. And I know you like that too. She's so pretty and so much younger than me -- in more ways than one. Is the difference in our looks part of the attraction too? Is it the novelty of that part of the attraction? I guess I can understand that.

There's all sorts of things I don't know. I don't know how it started between you, or how long it's been going on for, or anything really. I just know that it is happening. I hope you'll have the guts to tell me everything truthfully, as I'm going to tell you everything I have to tell, and that when you do you'll take my anger like a man. I'm ready to face yours, though it scares me.

You told me once that you thought you would be able to forgive me if something like this happened. I remember what you said so clearly. That you demanded faithfulness, that you weren't willing to be in a marriage where it wasn't understood that I wasn't exclusively yours sexually. But that you knew that mistakes could happen, that you would find it hard to forgive, but would do your best if -- what was that phrase you used, it was very you, oh, yes - "the unfaithfulness was in good faith." Well, I have been unfaithful, but it was in good faith, it was in anger and hurt and despair, and without premeditation. And I hope you really can forgive it.

Ok, enough hedging and delay, I need to just write as baldly as I can what happened like I said I was going to. After you went inside, I followed you in. I'd suddenly felt the urge to make love to you, and I wanted to catch you in the bedroom getting changed. But as I came in, I heard you and Sofia. I don't like spying, but it was so obvious from the first word that it related to something going on between you, and so I couldn't just walk away and pretend not to have noticed. I listened and I looked through the kitchen window, and saw you together.

Afterwards you both disappeared, and I didn't even know if the two of you had gone separate ways or if you'd followed her to her bedroom and were making love. I was totally distraught, I couldn't think even remotely straight. I just jumped in the car and drove. And I was in no state to drive. I wasn't really paying much attention to the road, and somehow a car went into the back of me. It wasn't actually so bad, you saw the dent, but it was actually really scary. I think the crash on top of what I'd just found out combined to put me into a state of real shock. I was shaking. And I got out the car, and of course I found I'd gone out still in my bikini from the pool, just with a towel over the top. And that fell off as I was getting out the car, so that I was standing there in the road almost naked facing this guy I'd crashed.

It had definitely been my fault that we'd crashed. And he could have been irate. He must have thought I was totally mad. I can't imagine what he must have thought. But he was very kind. He gave me a jacket from his car to cover myself up. And we exchange insurance details and everything. But my hand was shaking so much. He told me that I wasn't in a fit state to drive again, that I was in shock. And he lived just round the corner, so he said he'd just park the car for me safely in the layby and then drive me round the corner and I could have a cup of tea and wait till I felt better. And I really was scared about what might happened if I tried driving again, so I let him take me back to his.

He wasn't someone I'd have looked twice at in the street. Middle aged, I'd guess he was a bit over forty, quite tall, in decent shape. His name was David and he's an architect. He specialized in eco-houses -- you know grass rooves and sustainable materials and things like that. We talked about that a bit and then somehow I was crying and telling him that I'd just found out you were cheating on me. And he put his arm round me, to comfort me, and then we were kissing.

I don't know how much detail to go into -- how much detail would be too much. But you've told me before, more than once, that you'd want to know everything. He'd seen me on the road in just my bikini and I think that image must have been in his mind the whole time we'd been talking -- almost immediately he had his hands all over my breasts, pretty soon he'd exposed both my breasts and was sucking my nipples. None of it was very subtle; when he kissed me his stubble was scratchy, the skin on his hands were surprisingly rough and I was still sobbing. But somehow I also found that I was turned on -- it kind of surprised me. This is actually almost the thing that I'm most ashamed of: I wasn't really even thinking about him, I was thinking about you and Sofia. It felt good to be getting some kind of pale revenge on the two of you with this stranger -- to be hitting back. And I couldn't get the image of the two of you together out of my head the whole time I was with him.

What else? Yes, I gave him a blow job. Like I say, I was trying to concentrate on the feeling of inflicting revenge, and then suddenly I had this pang where I just felt so dirty and degraded by the whole thing, so disgusted with myself. And I didn't know what to do. And somehow, in that moment, it felt like the only thing to do was to take the degradation to its max, almost like owning the humiliation of everything -- of you and her, of this sordid incident. So I stood up -- I think he thought I was leaving for a moment -- and then I just unbuckled his belt and pulled his jeans down far enough that I could pull out his cock. He lay slumped back on the sofa and I knelt between his legs and sucked his cock. It was long, but quite thin, and curved kind of upwards, I'd never been with a man who had a cock quite like that. I was touching myself while I sucked him.

Yes, he did cum. Yes, in my mouth. Yes, I swallowed it. And, yes, I came too. But no, he never entered me. I'm not saying I wouldn't have let him if the circumstances had played out differently, that's just how it was. After I came I gave him my fingers and he sucked the juices off them. And I stood up and found I wasn't shaking any more. I finished my cup of tea and he drove me back to where my car was parked. I gave him back his jacket -- he offered to let me keep it -- and then I got in and drove back home. We barely said anything after we'd made out. You know everything else.

I don't think this is the right way to do a discussion on "what next". So I'll leave it here. You have the facts. You know what I know and you know what I've done. When you're ready let's talk.

This is all so fucked up, darling. I'm sorry and I'm hurting. I do love you.

Yours,

Anabelle

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