Your Cheatin' Heart - Sex Stories

Your Cheatin' Heart

“YOUR CHEATIN’ HEART” Your cheatin' heart Will make you weep You'll cry and cry And try to sleep But sleep won't come The whole night through Your cheatin' heart Will tell on you When tears come down Like falling rain You'll toss around And call my name You'll walk the floor The way I do Your cheatin' heart Will tell on you Written and Performed by Hank Williams, Sr. YOUR CHEATIN’ HEART By SENORLONGO There seems to be an old saying to cover virtually every situation. In this case it’s “the husband is always the last to know.” Looking back I realized now that I should have seen the signs—the conversations at parties that stopped suddenly when I approached, the tittering behind my back, the knowing glances from our so-called friends, people turning away when I walked near. Why didn’t I see them? It’s simple—I trusted my wife and I couldn’t imagine that anyone would be stupid enough to cross me. My name is Rocco Fabbri. My parents and I immigrated to the United States from Sicily where vendetta is the way of life. Sicilians always get even and we usually get even more. I’ve been known to completely destroy my adversaries. The second reason is that I’m one of the nation’s top criminal defense attorneys. I don’t care if my client if guilty or innocent. The system demands that all accused have an active and capable defense. I always give my client my best effort and that is almost always outstanding. I’ve defended some of the biggest scumbags and most ardent criminals known to ...

... man. I have dozens of contacts on the wrong side of the law and almost all owe me favors. I’d had many discussions with my wife Jill from before we became engaged, as well as over the ten years we’d been married about the sanctity of marriage vows. I’d made it totally clear that adultery was a deal breaker for me and to date she’d always agreed. In spite of my unsavory clients I was a very religious man, attending early Mass almost every morning, maybe because of the slime I had to deal with on a daily basis. It was through an accident—a series of seemingly unrelated events—that I first learned of Jill’s adultery. Eric Hoffman was a sophomore at one of our local universities. I would have been able to get his DUI arrest reduced to a misdemeanor, usually public intoxication, if not for the bags of crack and meth in his pocket when he was stopped. Now Eric was looking at hard time, even as a first-time offender. Eric’s dad was Bernard Hoffman, a real estate magnate from upstate near Albany. We spoke on the phone several times, but he wanted a face-to-face. I didn’t mind; I was charging him $500 an hour. The meeting was set for Tuesday, the seventeenth. I was expecting him at 1:00, but he phoned at ten that morning. “Rocky (nobody calls me Rocco), listen…I got gout in my foot. I’m in agony and I can’t walk. Can we meet in my hotel room?” “Of course, Bernard; I should be able to see you a bit after one if that’s okay.” “Thanks, Rocky; I’m at the Marriott, room 502. I’ll see you ...