My wife traded me
I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who ends up telling a story like this. My name’s Tim, and if you saw me on the street, you’d probably forget me two seconds later. Average height, average build—soft around the middle from too many desk hours and takeout nights. Glasses that always slip down my nose, hair that’s starting to thin at the crown even though I’m not even forty yet. I’m the guy who apologizes when someone else bumps into me. Safe. Reliable. Boring, probably. And then there’s Kristen. We met at a mutual friend’s boring office party a couple of years back. She was there in this simple black dress that hugged her in all the ways that made my mouth go dry. Curvy hips, full breasts, long dark hair that fell …