Diary of a Fallen Woman

DIARY OF A FALLEN WOMAN

When we divorced my wife kept the house, the family car and I was made to pay her a generous alimony payment. I've got to admit, reluctantly, that she deserved the lot for having put up with me for longer than even my parents did. I was the original son from Hell and it is no wonder they (my parents) were hugely relieved when I left home, at seventeen. I'm an artist and my art comes before everything else. I'm completely self-absorbed and neglected my wife spending more time in my studio than I did with her and, in true artistic tradition, slept with as many women as were willing to share my bed and they were many of all shapes and size but that is all you’re going to get to know about me because this is not my story.

I have a studio in a run-down part of town and, when I was looking for an apartment, it made sense to look for one in the neighbourhood so that I could walk between home and the studio. I found one, in a large block, which was suitable and which I could afford. It belonged to an actor, I'd never heard of, but I never met him as the sale was handled by an agent and he was absent when I viewed the apartment.

I moved in but didn't spend much time there as I was preparing for an important exhibition. A year had passed before I got round to remodelling the place to my taste. I'd sold every piece at the exhibition which meant that, for once, I had time and money to spend on my home. Except for the electrics and the plumbing I had the intention of doing the work myself. The first thing I tackled was to rip out a hideous 50's, tiled fireplace in the living room and, behind it in a recess, I discovered a package wrapped in plastic. I opened it to discover a thick exercise book and an audio cassette. I opened the book and saw that it was a diary and right away realised that it was very steamy. I decided to start by listening to the cassette which had been made by the man from whom I bought the apartment.It turned out that is name was Adam and he was one of the stars of a soap opera on TV and he had discovered his wife's diary and that it was had been so shocking that it nearly caused him to have a nervous breakdown. I was intrigued and fascinated that he'd taped his reaction then again he's an actor and they do love the sound of their own voices, which might explain it.

That evening I sat down to read the diary and play the cassette in full. The secret lives of the previous occupants of the flat, Adam and Chantal, were revealed in all its sordid details and it turned me on tremendously. I've returned to it many times since with the same effect. Their surname was mentioned many times so I began watching the soap, on TV, and I've got to admit the husband is rather good looking and exudes charisma. I contacted his agent and found out that he was divorced but the man either didn't know or would not give me the address of the wife. On the Internet I searched for the man she called Gilles and discovered that he'd died suddenly, from a heart attack, about six months previously. Using clues from the diary I searched for her work-place and located it but was disappointed that the receptionist was definitely not the author of the diary. Using the pretext that there was some important mail for Chantal, at her old flat, I managed to make contact with the manageress but she was rather suspicious, about my motives, and unforthcoming. Nevertheless I persisted and eventually learnt that Chantal had left her employment, on the day that Gilles died, and she claimed that she had no idea where she'd gone. I've tried to trace various people, mentioned in the diary, but got absolutely nowhere. I know that in novels the amateur detective always gets the answers, while the professional policeman flounders around, but let me tell you that, unless you have special knowledge or are incredibly lucky, it is almost impossible to trace someone especially if they don't want to be found. After wasting a lot of time trying to trace Chantal I decided that if I changed the names it would not only make a terrific book but if Chantal was to read it she might contact me so I've made a transcript of the cassette, to fit in the right places in the narrative, so my dear Chantal, here in your own words is the shocking tale of the actor and his wife.

(The following I’ve transcribed from the audio cassette.)

My name is Adam and I'm an actor.Last year, during a long spell 'resting', my lovely wife came to the rescue by going out and getting herself a job to help bolster our fast diminishing cash flow. I've got to be honest and admit that I wasn't too happy about her working however necessity soon overcame my chauvinist objections. Even worse was the job she chose. I'm sure that most men will sympathise with me when I tell them that a receptionist in a massage parlour isn't what I would call a reasonable or proper job for a beautiful and sexy-looking, married woman.

Would you allow your wife or partner to take such a job?

Despite my qualms and fierce jealousy the money was so desperately needed that I swallowed my pride and fears and reluctantly accepted the situation. Intellectually I might have accepted it but emotionally I was eaten by fierce jealousy and recurring anxiety.

My agent put me up for a part in a 'soap' but it can take quite a long time before they tell you whether you've got it or not and meanwhile you can't afford to accept another role in case they do select you and want you to start right away. Mind you there wasn't really a conflict of interest because I wasn't offered any other work, at that time. Actors are fragile characters and it only takes a short while being unemployed before they lose their confidence and start to believe that they will never work again.

My unemployment money hardly covered the mortgage and soon we'd used our meagre savings and went massively into debts. It was the first time since I'd married Chantal that I'd been out of work and I hated it as it left me too much time to think and nothing to do. I became depressed and they do say that the first thing which diminishes when you're down is one's sex drive and it's exactly what happened to me. Although I was aware that I was neglecting Chantal's needs I couldn't seem to find the will or energy to make love to my sexy wife. She, bless her heart, was very sympathetic and supportive but it didn't make up for my massive loss of confidence. To be up front about my emotions, at the time, I have to admit that I was madly jealous and angry because Chantal was in daily contact with so many men in a situation which frankly is almost entirely sexual. Men don't go to massage parlour just to be massaged, after all do they?

At the time I believed that my wife was faithful but I also think that everyone has a chink in their armour which can be exploited by the right person, in the right circumstances, and in her job she was in the front line for such an opportunity to arise almost daily. Because I was unable to relieve her sexual frustration my fears of losing her were heightened.

My wife is extremely beautiful and radiates that old fashioned thing, sex appeal, by the bucket load. In her capacity as receptionist she was the first woman the customers came in contact with and there was no doubt in my mind that any man with balls would lust after her like a dog after a bitch on heat. The only reason for men entering a massage parlour is a search for relief from their sexual frustration. I think that adding those factors together was a valid reason for my jealousy and anxiety.

Chantal is half French and half Swedish combining the best attributes of both nationalities. She's very elegant and, as I said before, exudes sexuality. Strangely when I first met her she never seemed aware of her effect on men and certainly did nothing to draw attention to her superb body. In a way I suppose that her demeanour could have been described as rather prim and proper in contrast with a body which most women would give their eye teeth for. She's had men drooling after her since she turned fourteen and blossomed into a beautiful woman. Strangely she wasn't interested in exercising her power over men and it was one of things which had made her even more appealing to me when I first met her. Marilyn Monroe had that quality of sexuality blended with innocence and look what happened to her.

Working as a receptionist in a sauna and massage parlour while being sexually frustrated I believed could soon start to erode her naivety and make it hard for her to resist temptation so I was doubly apprehensive. I know what I'm talking about because as an actor I'm often tempted when working with actresses who make it clear that they wouldn't object to a fling with me. Okay I'll be honest I've had more than one affair, since being married to Chantal, but they haven't meant a thing to me and anyway it's different for women. I know it's sexist but it's an undeniable fact that women get involved while men can just fuck and walk away.

Chantal was fully aware of my misgivings and went out of her way to try to dampen my fears by being extra loving and supportive. She assured me that her duties as a receptionist were to make the customer feel at ease and encourage him to spend more than he'd intended but once he had chosen the service he required she took his money before passing him on to the women who were going to take care of his physical needs. The dirty deeds took place in the basement of the establishment. When I asked what she meant by physical needs she giggled and replied that I knew and, when pressed, admitted that the women gave hand-jobs and blow-jobs. Noting my distress she took great pains to emphasise that she had nothing to do with that part of the business and that it was done out of her sight and stressed that there was no full intercourse, as if this was going to allay my misgivings. I asked her if she'd ever seen anything going on and she replied that she never went to the working parts of the establishment when it was open to the public. Despite her assurances nothing she said managed to dampen my fierce jealousy and anxiety.

I remember noticing that on the first day she started work she'd dressed rather smartly, like a professional career woman, but a couple of days later she ditched that image and began to wear clothes which showed off her very large breasts and pouting bottom. When I confronted her with my misgivings about this disturbing dress change she replied that her boss wanted her to make a sexy impression on the customers so that they would spend more money. She went to great lengths to emphasise that as she was working for a small basic wage and that the real money was the commission and that she was going to make sure the men spent a lot even though it meant flirting with them. She must have seen the expression of intense jealousy on my face because she quickly reminded me how much we needed the money and assured me it was strictly a hand-off kind of flirting and that she was only doing it for us and had no interest in any other man but me.

Can you understand my dilemma?

Beside the uncertainty of my profession and the recent lack of roles I was very unhappy that my wife's job was to deliberately cock-tease men, even if she called it flirting. That she was supporting us greatly added to my depression. Let's face it how can a man be uplifted knowing that everyday his wife is being ogled by men who've come to her place of work to get their rocks off. Okay I know that some men do but I wasn't one of them.

Time went by and I didn't hear from the producers of the soap and my agent had no other work for me so I became more and more insecure and depressed. In contrast my wife was blooming and seemed to really enjoy going to work each morning. Too much time to think about what Chantal might be up to daily fed my jealousy and insecurity until I could hardly stand it anymore. One day, sick to my stomach with bilious jealousy, I decided to check her out even though I knew that I would betray her trust. Checking up on her could further damage our relationship but I was no longer a reasonable being and fear and jealousy were the driving force behind my desperate action.

Having been an actor for many years it was easy for me to disguise myself so that Chantal wouldn't recognise me. I was so nervous and felt so guilty, that I was betraying my wife's trust and demeaning her by checking up on her, that I threw up just before leaving the house but nothing on earth could have stopped me. All the way to her place of work I tried to control my jealousy but to no avail. By the time I reached the place I was a bundle of nerves. I paced up and down the pavement outside the massage parlour for at least half hour before gathering up enough courage to go inside. Twice I started to walk away then came back. During my vigil I counted three men furtively entering and four leaving looking relaxed so obviously the place was popular which made me feel even worse. Shaking with nerves and with my stomach doing somersaults, while sweat beaded my brow, I pressed the buzzer and the door opened.

I entered the reception area. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered wildly when I was confronted by my beautiful wife, who was sitting at a small table with a phone and cash register in front of her. I could hardly breathe but it did not stop me noticing that Chantal had more make-up on than when she'd left the house that morning. The use of the extra makeup made her look slutty. She was wearing a blouse, I'd never seen before, which was so sheer that I could clearly see that she wasn't wearing a bra. Her very firm breasts were clearly visible in all their gorgeous splendour with the large, pink nipples outlined by the sheer fabric. I nearly threw up when I noticed that her nipples were erect which, from experience, I knew meant that she was sexually aroused.

Looking at me Chantal smiled sexily while brazenly arching her back to make sure that I got an eyeful of her large tits. The sheer material stretched and clung to every inch of her large globes, like a second skin, and the nipples especially were prominently displayed. Of course I'd seen those fabulous breasts naked and had felt them many times however in that the setting and context plus the fact that there was another man sitting there openly ogling them seemed to make them even sexier and more desirable. Even though I was fuming inside with rage and jealousy I felt my cock swiftly stiffening as I gazed at the erect nipples topping the heavy globes of her breasts which were gently moving up and down with her breathing.

Chantal did not recognise me!

My wife stared at my crotch, as if to let me know that she was aware of my arousal, then, smiling broadly, she made me welcome. She bent across the table and handed me a list of the services the parlour offered and told me to take my time deciding. As she leant towards me her flimsy blouse billowed out and fell away from her chest as her large, fleshy globes dangled and I was stunned to see that I could clearly see the two nipples in all their naked glory and that they seemed much redder than usual. My theatrical experience quickly led me to realise that she musthave used lipstick or rouge to enhance their natural colour. I've always likened Chantal's nipples to organ stops because they are so large and so sensitive but I couldn't remember having ever seen them look larger or more succulent and it made my mouth go dry with a desire to take them between my lips and suck frantically.

Shaking like a leaf I sat down next to the other man, on a low couch, opposite the table behind which Chantal sat. I'd seen him going in and had waited for a couple of minutes before following him because I wanted to see how she responded to a real customer. He paid me no attention when I sat next to him instead continued intently staring at my wife. I followed his gaze and understood why and the obvious reason why the management had arranged for the receptionist to sit at a table and not at a desk. From where I was sitting I could clearly see Chantal's lower body from the waist down beneath the tabletop. Her very short, flared skirt had ridden up or had deliberately been hiked up so that most of her legs were visible up to where the black, hold-up stockings ended and the white flesh bulged over the stocking-tops. Like most men I'm very attracted by stockings and hate pantyhose and the sight set my cock crazily pulsing.