June was giggling on the phone in the next room. 'She must be talking to Betty, ' I thought.
Betty is my wife's best friend. They make a rather odd pair, actually; in many ways they are about as unlike each other as you could imagine. My June is quiet, almost mousy, while Betty is outgoing and loud. June is a number of years on the far side of fifty (she won't let me say how many), and Betty is probably about the same number of years in front of that milestone (though that's just a guess on my part). But June has taken very good care of herself, while Betty has let herself go.
To put it politely, Betty is more than a bit plump. No, I take that back. I'm going to tell it like it is here. Betty is grossly overweight. She has huge rolls of fat that bounce up and down as she waddles across a room. I swear her waist line must be at least 80 inches. June's waistline has swelled a bit over the years, but at 29 inches it still sets off her large (36-D) breasts very nicely. Betty's breasts, such as they are, are hardly detectable among all the other fatty bulges on her body.
Their husbands (that's Tom and me) are also quite a contrast. I've worked at a desk all my life, while Tom has worked outdoors with his hands. That difference in lifestyles is reflected in our bodies. My pale skin is wrapped around a body that weighs more than twice June's 135 pounds, while it's a safe guess that Tom's tanned muscular frame weighs less than half his wife's. I try to tell myself I'm not really fat, and it's true that I'm much trimmer than someone like Betty, but I have to admit my waistline is an unseemly 50 inches. Tom's is probably somewhere around 32 inches.
But back to that phone conversation...
I usually don't pay much attention to June's phone calls, but it was nice to hear her laugh, and I was curious as to what might have tickled her so much. I didn't find out, though, because at that point her voice turned more serious.
"You mean to say he just sat there? After you explained nicely what you needed?"
"Bob's the same way. Maybe all men are like that. Or did we just pick the wrong ones?"
"Well, yes, once in a while Bob does a few things, too, but usually only at his mother's house. He hasn't really done anything around here for years."
"OK, OK, you're right. I agree, he did a great job on our deck, but that was two years ago. Betty, do you know that he started rebuilding our back fence last fall? That was, what, nine months ago, and he still hasn't finished it!"
"Yeah, I think you're right, that's the only way it'll ever get finished. What was that ad I saw a while back? 'Rent a husband, ' I think it was. Maybe that's what I need."
"Betty! Shame on you! I didn't mean that way. 'Rent a husband' was just a handyman that would do all the things around the house that your husband should do, but never seems to get around to."
"That's crazy! I don't know about Tom, but do you think Bob would work any harder at your house than he does here?"
"Well, yes, you've got a point. They do both seem to get things done at someone else's house. I guess maybe we could try it and see if it works." June giggled again. "I know, we could call it 'Swap a husband.'"
Me and my dirty mind. That was enough to push me off into my own fantasies, and I have no idea what they said after that. True, I don't consider Betty a bit attractive, with all that blubber, but hell, I hadn't had any sex for ages, and even Betty would be better than nothing.
I guess I should explain. When I say "no sex for ages" I mean literally not for several years. It seems that June finds my weight even more repulsive than I find Betty's. She usually won't even let me touch her, let alone get intimate. And I'm not talking about intimate touches, either. If I try to reach out and touch her arm, she'll cringe and move away.
So, you ask, why haven't I gone somewhere else to get some nookie? To tell you the truth, I ask myself that question all the time, and I don't know the answer. Call it an overdose of commitment, or maybe a fear that anybody else I turned to would be as repelled as June is, or maybe I'm just afraid of hurting June. Whatever the reason is, I've been faithful all this time, unless you count the nearly daily fantasies I have as I get myself off.
I've fantasized about nearly every woman I know, and now, much to my surprise, I found myself starting to fantasize about Betty. Hell, with her weight it's a good bet that Tom finds her very repulsive. It could very well be that they're not getting any more sex together than June and I are. And while Tom may be going elsewhere, Betty would probably have at least as much trouble as I would in finding an extramarital partner.
So in my fantasy she is dying to have sex with someone, anyone. She's so horny that if we were to be alone together at her house she would be climbing all over me and ripping my clothes off! What man could resist a fantasy like that?
It took June a couple of days to work up the courage to mention their scheme to me. Naturally, she had no idea that I had overheard their conversation, so I tried to look puzzled and then incredulous.
I finally shrugged and said, "Whatever."
It's a good thing she couldn't read my mind, or sense the tension in my belly, not to mention other parts of my anatomy.
After some calls between the two friends, interspersed with checks back with their husbands, it was finally all arranged. I would drive over to Betty's house at 10 AM a week from Saturday, and at the same time Tom would drive over to our house. We'd stay until 3. The only pay we'd get would be lunch and the knowledge that our own honey-do lists would be shorter when we got home.
June was quite adamant on that "only" point. "No fringe benefits," she said, glaring at me.
Finally the day arrived, and I drove over to see what Betty had planned for me. No, she didn't rip my clothes off. Instead she started in the kitchen with a cabinet door that was sticking, and another that wouldn't stay closed. Then there was a window that was hard to lock, and several windows that needed washing.
You may remember that I hinted earlier that I weigh well over 250 pounds. When I add that I'm only 5' 7" and remind you that I have a very sedentary job, you can appreciate that by this time I was pooped, and my legs and feet were killing me. I kept going as long as I could, but then told Betty I needed a break.
She allowed as how it was about lunch time, anyway, and suggested that I lie down on the sofa while she fixed me a sandwich. I told her that at the moment all I wanted was a big glass of water and a chance to put my feet up.
She went for the water and I went for the sofa, and when she brought the glass she found me flat on my back with my shoes kicked off and my feet up on the sofa's arm rest.
"I hope you don't mind," I said.
"No," she giggled. (She giggles a lot; I guess that's why June ends up giggling when they talk on the phone.) "I sometimes get mad at Tom when he does that, but he never takes his shoes off first."
"Oh, no, I didn't think. Do my socks stink?"
"No, no, I'm glad you took your shoes off. With Tom I'm always wondering what he may have stepped on, and imagining that it's going to end up on the sofa."
After a pause she added, "You know, June is always putting you down, but I'm getting the feeling that you're really ... what's the word I'm looking for? ... thoughtful, that's what."
I sat up so I could drink the water, and looked her straight in the eyes.
"Do you wanna know the truth? I really feel like I have to walk on eggshells all the time around her. It's like I spend half my time trying not to make her mad at me."
"Oh my god!" she exclaimed, her hand going to her mouth. "That's exactly the way I feel with Tom."
She watched while I drank the whole glass of water, then said a bit tentatively, "Bob ... I know how you must feel when you spend a lot of time on your feet, because ... I know how standing makes me feel. And I also realize you've done a lot of work this morning. Would you ... I mean, I could, you know, like, rub your feet a bit, if you'd like that."
"I'd love it," I sighed.
I lay back down with my head at the right end of the sofa, then pulled my knees up so she could sit where my legs had been. I dropped my calves onto her ample lap, and she began stroking and squeezing one leg.
"Ooh! My muscle's so tight. Push my pants leg up so you can work on it better. Ouch! No, don't stop. It hurts a bit, but it hurts so good. You know what I mean? Yes! Like that."
She spent several minutes on each of my calf muscles, then slipped my socks off and started working on my feet. It was fantastic! After five minutes of that I felt like a new man.
"Betty, you were on your feet almost as much as I was this morning. Wouldn't you like me to return the favor?"
"Would you? Oh, yes, I'd love to have you do it!"
I sat up, and Betty kicked her slippers off, pivoted around, and dropped her feet in my lap. She sighed with satisfaction as she lay back and was enveloped by the soft sofa cushions.
I started with the ball of her left foot and the tendons leading to her toes; then gradually worked my way back to her arch and her heel.
When I started massaging her Achilles tendon she groaned and said, "Oh yeah! I needed that!"
I applied some real pressure there, which kept her moaning and asking for more. I finally decided it was time to repeat the process with the other foot, and she was equally appreciative of my efforts there.
.... There is more of this story ...