Stan was in the bar when he received a text from wife, Lynn.

In alley. Come quickly! Honey, I am naked under my coat.

Damn! This was his own fault for suggesting their sex was getting stale.

He downed his scotch and ordered another. He could wait, so could she.

In the dimly lit alley, Stan could see Lynn’s coat lying on the ground. He could make out a guy, pants down, hammering into her. Her arms around his neck.

“Hey Buddy, wait your turn, this chick’s begging for it,” the guy said.

“Too late, you bastard.” Lynn glared at Stan.