My Best Friends Hot Wife

I live in a condo complex with about a dozen units and a great pool and exercise facility. I’m single, thirty years old, and have a good job with one of the top airlines. A close friend and former college buddy is a pilot with the same airline and he and his wife Renee live just a couple of doors down from me. Renee is twenty-six and a real beauty. Sam and Renee have been happily married for three years. When she’s at the pool in her bikini it’s hard for me to take my eyes off of her, but as my buddy’s wife I can’t even think about that body — at least I shouldn’t think about that body. Sam is a copilot with a lot of hours and gets his share of international flights, mostly to Europe, so he’s gone several times a month for three or four days at a time.

About three months ago I was coming home about ten or eleven one night and I saw Renee’s car drive out of the parking lot. Sam had just left that day on a flight to Paris. I didn’t think much about it until early the next morning when I saw her car was not back in the lot. Perhaps she was up to something with some guy, but their marriage seemed so solid I had trouble believing that. Being interested in her myself and curious about that night away from home, I began to watch her closely when Sam was out of town.

The first thing I noticed was that she always went out the first night he was away. That was the night he was flying the Atlantic all night and could not make a phone call home. The next time Sam left on a flight I waited in my car down the street a block or so. Sure enough, her car passed me and I followed her. She drove to a high-end motel near the airport that was frequented by a large number of traveling businessmen. There was a real nice bar and I followed her into it. Keeping out of sight, I watched her. She was wearing a sexy outfit and was sitting at the bar, barely sipping her drink. From time to time a guy would sit next to her and they would have a brief conversation. Then the guy would walk away. Finally one guy stayed and they talked for almost an hour. Then they left together and I followed them to the elevator. They went upstairs and I went home. The next morning she drove into the parking lot about eight o’clock.

I started keeping a log on her activities. Her pattern was consistent. She went to the same motel on the night of Sam’s overseas flight. At the bar she talked with several guys before selecting one to go upstairs with. On two occasions she did not go upstairs with any guy, but drove back home. I kept a written log of her activities for three months, during which time I figured she had fucked almost a dozen guys. This was the exact pattern of a hooker, but somehow I knew that Renee was not a hooker. It was time to confront her. So the next time Sam left for an overseas flight, I took a day off and dropped in on her shortly after noon.

“Hi Renee. Did Sam get off for Paris this morning?”

“Yeah, he’s on his way.” She invited me into the living room and we sat down.

“I wanted to catch you before you went out tonight so we could talk.”

She gave me a funny look. “Went out?”

I did not answer but stood up, walked over to her, and handed her my log of her activities for the past three months. She looked puzzled. Then she started to read it. After a couple of minutes she looked up at me with a frightened look on her face, then dove back into it again and read it carefully to the end. When she finished, tears were running down her cheeks.

“What are you going to do?” She was crying quietly and dabbing her cheeks with a tiny blue handkerchief that she had taken out of her purse.

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