by Krymzen Hall

Created on: March 01, 2011   Last Updated: December 16, 2011

I work for a swallowing beast, one that makes people lose control and judgment, pride and morality, and (worst case scenario), life and family. 

Now don't get it twisted.  I'm not talking "beast" in the sense of flesh and bone.  I don't work for a human who (in the tragedy of never finding himself), takes his regrets and rage out on a lowly worker.  No.  This beast has no tangible properties.  It has no specific gender.  It occupies man one day, woman the next; yet it is always self-serving, ready to satisfy the need for validation through hours of countless, covert sex. 

Welcome to infidelity, the beast inside the unfulfilled.  

It's sad given the lies I've witnessed, the pain I've seen in victims.  But for a private investigator like me, the job is stable, the employment prospects abundant, and the pay - sweet.   Being female gives me an edge.  I can poke, prod, intrude, stalk, study, and transmit information easier than a male ever could.  Why you ask?  Girls aren't associated with espionage, especially ones like me who look like the girl next door.  

Tonight, infidelity's host is a red-hot female wearing a short dress colored richer than cherry licorice.  Judging the way she tilts her glass, slowly twirling it, allowing the alcohol to spin in a cyclonic fashion, she’s contemplating her next move unaware that I'm standing outside the window of the bar snapping her, frame by illicit frame.

I think I'll go inside.  I need some action.

The bartender asks her if she would like another drink.  They talk as if they are comfortable with each other.  Oh yeah, she’s been here before, no doubt.  The bartender smiles while leaning over the counter.  She smiles back.  He pours her second drink.

Thirty-minutes pass.  Is her lover ever going to show up?  Her husband has paid good money to catch her.  And I can't bank on her suspicious demeanor.  She must be caught in the act because denial rules too many victims.  Her waiting for him only fuels the speculation.  I need the affair, the concrete, not the soil.    

And thus he arrives, dapper, suave, and ever so cool.  He walks over to her and kisses her while slyly sliding his hand

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