Hi Folks. As I warned you last week this story is kind of out there. I'm prepared already for the "But it wasn't her fault," chorus. And the "violence is not the answer," choir as well. Normally my stories tend to be in the middle, neither BTB nor "let her get away with it," stories but this one is on the crazy side. It bears absolutley no resemblance to anything I'd suggest or admit to in real life so let's look at this as kind of a "What if" fantasy. Those of you who don't like violence or BTB and all of her friends stories should probably skip this one. If you choose to read it anyway, you don't get to whine about it, because I did warn you. Thanks as usual to mikothebaby for editing this story with her usual skill and sense of humor. Once again try to remember this is only a story.
"What's the last thing you remember?" asked the voice. The lights in my eyes were so bright that I couldn't see who was barking the questions at me. I had a feeling that something bad had happened though.
Throughout my life, a lot of bad things had happened to me. They always say that God never gives us more than we can handle. The problem is that God thinks we can handle hurricanes, floods, cancer and losing the people we love most.
"I remember so many things," I said.
"Let's just start with this evening," he spat. I heard a touch of a southern accent. And the voice was raspy like a guy who'd spent too many nights nursing scotch while smoking.
"I had a date," I began. "I met her at the restaurant. First dates are weird. You never know what to expect or whether or not there'll be any chemistry. But I wasn't interested in chemistry with this woman. You see I knew that she was a whore just like the rest of them."
"I didn't always feel that way. It took me a long time to realize it. But once I did, it was an epiphany of sorts. I knew I had a calling. That was when I realized that I'd been called by the Lord."
I noticed then even through the haze and glare of the lights that they were looking at each other.
"I started out life as plain old Aidan Williams. I was married to my high school sweetheart and we lived in a nice house. I worked as a CNC set up man for one of the largest automotive after-market parts companies in the state. I guess you can say that I'm average. I'm just not the kind of person who stands out in a crowd. I kind of blend into the background."
"Over the years, I've tried to do things to make myself stand out more. Some of my friends told me that the reason I kept getting passed over for promotions and things like that at work isn't because of my work. The quality of my work and the quantity of it seems to suggest that I should have advance far beyond my station years ago. My personality, or lack of one, is what's holding me back."
"Bill, my friend, told me that I didn't necessarily need to change my personality, I just needed to do or get something that people would remember so they'd remember me. He told me that at several of the manager's meetings when positions came up, they could never remember that I'd be perfect for them. He said that it was mostly because they simply didn't remember me. I was like a chair or any other piece of furniture. I was extremely necessary to have around but no one spent a lot of time thinking about furniture."
"I racked my brain trying to think of something to make myself more memorable. Finally I decided to ask my wife, Wendy, what I could do."
"She just smiled and ran her finger across my arm. Her face and her touch radiated so much love that I could feel it even when we weren't together. Wendy's not a world class beauty. She's just a typical suburban housewife. She's more of a MSOGF than a MILF. She's not a troll but she's not one of those Victoria's Secret models turned moms either. She's short and kind of chunky. She has big boobs and a big butt and she wears glasses. She can look pretty good in a tight black dress, but I suspect that most women can, if given the right motivation."
"I'm not trying to downplay her attractiveness because to me she was the best looking woman, ever. I loved her and I still do. I'm just trying to be honest about what she looked like. Wendy told me to just be myself. She said that I was a nice guy and sooner or later, if I just kept on doing the right things, good things would happen for me."
"Wendy," I said. "In my whole life, only one good thing has ever happened to me."
"What's that?" she asked.
"I got you," I said. Her smile brightened up the room and she came over and hugged me. She rubbed those huge boobs of hers against me and I was ready.
"Calm down cowboy," she said. "We're going to have to wait until later for that. Two other very good things that happened to us aren't asleep yet. We don't want them to hear their mommy grunting and moaning like a slut and begging to be fucked, do we?"
"I shook my head but my dick got even harder when she said that. I went outside and worked on my then current home improvement project. It seems like I'm always doing something around the house. Anyway, as I worked, I thought about what I could do to be more noticeable, maybe not to my family, but to the people at work."
"And it finally hit me. It struck me like lightning. And it was something that I wanted anyway. The Mustang would be perfect for that. Every day, as I made the drive to work, I passed a car dealership. For the past week, I'd noticed a bright shiny yellow Mustang on the lot. It wasn't a brand new car. It was a couple of years old. It was a 2009 GT. I wanted it badly. It was the car of my dreams. Sometimes as I sat there at that red light, I imagined myself driving it."
"Until that day, imagining was as far as it had gotten. I knew every single reason why I couldn't have the car. It was expensive. The car, at north of thirty thousand dollars, though inexpensive for a dream, cost almost twice what we'd paid for our Toyota."
"It was also impractical. There was no way that, my wife and I, plus our two small children were going to fit in that car. Even though our children were barely school aged we just wouldn't all fit. Then there was the cost of gas. Instead of my fuel sipping econo-box with its tiny and very practical four cylinder engine; that beast was powered by a gas guzzling V-8 that until it was tamed, would shred tires as quickly as it drank fuel."
"Somehow just the thought of the car's ungodly shrieking as I smoked the tires and left a trail of blackened road surface behind me at a stop light made me giddy. I imagined myself as I flipped down my sunglasses at the next light and apologized to the driver next to me."
"Sorry, this thing gets away from me sometimes," I said to her with a boyish smile.
"Shit, I'd have to buy just the right sunglasses for that," I thought. "But anyway I couldn't have the car. My insurance costs would also go through the fucking roof. And we live in the snow belt. What the hell would I drive in the winter? Controlling or trying to control all of that horsepower on ice was ludicrous."
"If we were going to do it at all, it would mean that we couldn't trade the Toyota in. We'd have to keep it for winter transportation. With no trade in, that would make the price even steeper and even further outside of my budget. Yep, I knew every reason why I couldn't buy the car. I couldn't think of a single reason that I should."
"But maybe the problem wasn't the car. That Mustang had never done anyone on this planet wrong. Perhaps the problem was with me. Maybe the real reason that I couldn't have the car was my lack of imagination. That, coupled with my lack of balls and my lack of personality, was why I was in the position I was in."
"One good reason for me having the car was the fact that everyone would notice it. Wasn't that my goal here in the first place? And having the car would instantly catapult me from being plain old Aidan that no one remembered, to Aidan with the Mustang. Shit, no one would forget, Mustang Aidan. Everyone would look at me like that woman from the stop light. That bitch knew she wanted me. Or at least she would have if she'd actually existed."
"I could still see her sitting there in her lesser vehicle with her panties so wet she was in danger of drowning. I could smell her pussy from here. But there was no way I'd take her up on what her imaginary eyes were offering. I was a family man. I would use the awesome power of the Mustang for good and..."
"Aidan... ?" the sound of Wendy's voice dragged me back to reality. "Aidan uhm, Honey dinner is ready. Aidan, why'd you hammer ten or twelve nails right there in the same spot?"
"I uh, was lost in my thoughts," I gushed.
"I'll bet I know what you were thinking about," she smirked. "I didn't realize that I was marrying a sex maniac. You're acting like you haven' had any in a while. It's only been since last night Tiger. Are you trying to get me pregnant again?"
"She had an extra little hitch in her giddy up as she sashayed away from me. I decided to put off telling her about the car until I got some hard figures."
"On my way home the next day, I stopped to look at the car. Up close, it was even more awesome. The car was clearly not stock. The thing I'd thought was a hood scoop was the top of the engine sticking through a hole in the hood that was designed for the purpose."
"Something just felt weird. As I approached the car, I felt as if I was being watched. There was probably a salesman around. I reached out to touch the shiny yellow paint that was broken up only by black racing stripes and it almost seemed as if the car backed away from my touch. When I finally got my hand on it, the car felt warm to the touch. That freaked me out. The car felt as if it was a sentient being. It had to be the heat of the sun that warmed the cool metal up ... didn't it."
"A very jovial, fat salesman leaped out of the bushes with vision of sugar plums ... I mean commission dancing before his eyes."
"So How ya doin' buddy?" he asked. "Would ya like to test drive this beauty?"
"Well I'm not..." I began.
"Come on," he cajoled. "Whattaya got ta lose?" He tilted his head and nodded it. I started wondering which game show he was the host of."
"Here, relax, just sit down on this thick rich leather and then tell me you don't want to drive it?" he said. "Let me open the..."
"He started reaching for the door handle and both door locks snapped into the locked position. It was the weirdest fucking thing I've ever seen."
"He just looked at me and then erupted in that huge fake ass smile again." He pointed at me with both of his thumbs pointed skywards while both index fingers were aimed straight at me as if they were pistols."
"I don't have the keys to this one on me," he said. "Let me show you this nice Camaro. I think I have one with that exact color scheme."
"My face soured and he noticed it."
"How about a Lincoln?" he asked.
"I really had my heart set on that yellow Mustang?" I told him.
"Okay, Bud, I'll go and get the keys. It's a great car, but it's kind of finicky. I think it has a short in the electrical panel. If you want to buy it, I'll have my electrical guys go over it. Maybe we can shave a little off of the price. I can't go too far though because that's a pretty God damned special car. It's got that Ford Racing engine in it."
"You should hear that motor. The one time we test drove it, it sounded like the gates of hell opening up when the guy chirped the tires."
"He came back a few minutes later and tentatively pointed an electronic key fob at the car. The look on his face was anything but confident as he pressed the button. I listened, expecting to hear the locks open, but heard nothing. It was as if the car had just decided that it didn't want to open."
"The frustration was written all over his face as he approached the car."
"Hope you don't mind doing this the old fashioned way until I get this God damned electrical system sorted out," he said. "It's still an awesome car though ... are you sure you don't want to at least try that Camaro?"
"He inserted the key into the lock and twisted it, then reached to open the door, which still refused to open. He yanked on the door handle so hard I thought it might come off but it wouldn't open. He grabbed the keys from his pocket again. "God damned car," I heard him utter under his breath. He re-inserted the key and twisted it viciously as if he was trying to hurt the car. I heard a loud snap and he doubled over in pain, holding his wrist."
"It appeared that he had sprained or broken his wrist trying to unlock the car."
"Joe," he screamed at the top of his lungs. "He was rubbing his wrist which appeared to be swelling quickly. It also appeared that he had no movement in his fingers. A huge hulking guy came from the service department."
"Whut do ya want?" he asked the salesman.
"I want this God damned car open," screamed the now red-faced salesman.
"Yuh should probably try the key," said Joe.
"Try the key," mimicked the angry salesman mimicking Joe's voice accent and delivery. He gave Joe the keys then.
"Joe pointed the fob at the car and nothing happened. Then he took the keys and tried to open the door manually."
"The 'lectronic thingy don't work," said Joe. "The key don't work either."
"I already know that," said the steaming salesman.
"Well you should get somebody from the servicer department over here pronto, chief," said Joe.
"Joe," grimaced the salesman. "Where do you work?"
"Ah work in the service depart ... Oh, I get yuh. You want me ta fix her, right?"
"You're a genius," smirked the salesman. He led me away from the car. I kept looking over my shoulder. Joe had gone and retrieved a huge crowbar. I was afraid for the car but I probably shouldn't have been. Joe put his nearly four hundred pounds of body into the crowbar trying to pop the door loose."
"He's not going to damage the car is he?" I asked.
"He's a professional," said the salesman. "Can you come back first thing in the morning to test drive it?"
"How about, this same time tomorrow?" I asked.
"Even better," he said.
"I looked back at the car and Joe was putting so much pressure on the heavy crow bar that it was bending. As I turned to leave, the crowbar suddenly snapped back towards Joe, striking him in the center of his forehead. Joe's body hit the ground before the crowbar did and he wasn't moving."
"See you tomorrow," said the salesman, waving an arm where the wrist was as big as Popeye's.
"I didn't mention the car to Wendy when I got home. But I was even more determined to have it. And I had a couple of ways I might get the money for the down payment."
"The next day, I returned to the lot after work. I noticed then that the car wasn't on the lot. I figured that they must've moved into the service area to work on the electrical system."
"I'd barely gotten out of my car when my salesman came over. His wrist was in a cast, but he still tried to smile."
"Where's my car?" I asked.
"We uhm sold it," he said. "It was one of the other salesmen. I tried to hold it for you. I even kept the keys. It was the weirdest thing. Remember how we couldn't get the God damned doors to open? Some guy named Tim just walked up to that car and it opened right up, like it was his pet pony. He bought the damned thing without even test driving it. I did call our other lot, though. I'll have another Mustang over here for you to try out in a couple of days."
"I think he could tell that I was disappointed."
"Hey, maybe that car just wasn't for you. Shit, I wouldn't have wanted it. That fucking car broke my God damned wrist and I got off lucky. The fucking thing is weird. Usually I can sell a Mustang in a couple of days or less. That car sat on my lot for over two weeks. First off, that loud ass yellow just isn't everyone's cup of tea. With that big assed motor in it, I have to sell that car at a premium price just to get my investment back and it's not this year's model or even last year's. And third, please don't look at me like I'm crazy, but there's something odd about that car. It's like it got a mind of its own. You're a nice guy. I'll find you something but that car just wasn't for you. The truck driver who delivered it is still in the hospital. He has noting good to say about it."
"What happened to him?" I asked.
"He delivered the car along with five others on his car hauler. When he took the chains off of it and rolled it down the ramp ... it must've been one of those weird scientific anomalies. I think he parked the truck on a hill so that the ramp was actually facing uphill. Anyway he put it in neutral and rolled it off of the truck and a little bit away from the truck so he could get the next car off. He turned around and the car rolled back up the ramp and crushed him between it and the other car. He has all kinds of internal injuries. The weird thing is that his body actually cushioned the blow enough that there wasn't a scratch on the car. And then, there's uh Joe..." he said looking downwards.
"As I left the lot that day, I realized that maybe the car was right. Perhaps I had been judged, I had been measured and I'd been found wanting. Perhaps I just wasn't Mustang material."
"When I drove home, the nineteen year old girl from down the street was taking care of my kids. She told me that Wendy had gone out grocery shopping and hadn't wanted to take the kids with her. There was nothing unusual about that. Wendy often borrowed her sister's car and did our shopping or ran errands while I was at work. What was unusual was that she wasn't back by the time I got home."
"Becky, the babysitter, looked me over and smiled."
"Where's Wendy?" I asked.
"She's out shopping," said Becky. "I guess it's just you and me."
"And the kids," I interjected, feeling nervous. "So how's, uh school?"
"I'm out," she said. "She moved closer to me then."
"Oh, so what college are you going to in the fall?" I asked.
"I'm not going to college," she said moving closer again. "I want to experience what life has to offer. I feel that experiential learning imparts its subject matter on a more primal level. And the lessons stay with us for far longer than things we simply memorize and regurgitate on demand."
"Uh, what kind of degree do you get from that?" I gulped. "I noticed that Becky was wetting her lips and looking up at me. Her lithe teenaged body was very ripe. Her breasts, while not nearly as large as Wendy's were upturned and hadn't been ravaged by gravity or child birth. Her legs were long and lean and so tan that they seemed impossibly beautiful in the casual shorts she wore."
"Her young ass was a work of art. One of her legs brushed against mine as she moved yet again. The stirrings in my nether regions told me that although my mind wasn't interested, my body was fully capable of accepting the situation."
"The phone rang and saved me from what could have been a tragic and ultimately premature situation."
"Hello," I gulped out. "The voice on the phone immediately snapped me back to reality. "I'll be right there," I practically screamed.
"I hung the phone up and turned to Becky. She was still looking at me like I was a chocolate dripped brownie during the craving point of her period."
"Can you watch the kids for a little bit longer?" I asked. "Wendy's in the hospital."
"When I got to the hospital, I was directed to a room where a bunch of cops both in and out of uniforms were swarming. As I approached the group, they all looked at me with the same mixture of pity and suspicion on their faces. I didn't have time for any of their bullshit so I started to just move through them and into the room."
"Cops apparently react to certain situations the same way that dogs do. It's just hard wired into their brains. When they see something run, they chase it. In this situation, they saw me as moving into the area that they thought they controlled, so they had to question me. Although I hadn't done anything wrong and had a perfect right to be there, they needed to establish control over the situation."
"Who are you?" asked one Alpha male. "Unlike in nature, the alpha males among the police force are determined by rank. In Nature, the strongest, fastest, and smartest survive. Among cops, it's the one with the most rank. Unfortunately, in my case, that was the officer who was also the most rank. He smelled like old piss and new cheese as he and his belly stepped into my path. I had to categorize them separately because his belly confronted me a full three seconds before the rest of his body."
"I smiled as he stepped in front of me, mostly because I could see a trace of white residue on one side of his mouth. It had to be either cocaine or powdered sugar left over from a recent visit to a donut shop."
"I'm the guy who you called and told to come down here because his wife was in the hospital," I said.
"Do you have any ID?" he asked.
"Yes I do," I said, stepping around him.
"He followed me and was obviously getting pissed. I don't blame him though because forcing that much weight to move quickly has to violate all kinds of physics laws."
"Hey, smartass," he yelled. "I asked you to see your ID."
"I turned and looked at him."
"No you didn't," I said smiling. "You asked me if I had any and I told you I did. You never asked if you could see it."
"Several of the cops and all of the medical personnel in the area laughed."
"Can I see your fucking ID SIR?" he grumbled. "He enunciated each syllable as if he was talking to a three year old. I truly believe that was supposed to intimidate me. I actually don't know why I was acting that way. I truly believe that not getting that Mustang had fundamentally changed me in some way."
"Probably not from where you're standing I said. My license is in my wallet, which is in my pocket, so unless you have x-ray vision, I don't think you can see it."
"Then I just walked into the room, leaving him standing there fuming."
"Inside the room, Wendy was lying down on a bed. She was being examined by a female doctor and a couple of nurses. They turned to regard me as I stepped into the room."
"He's my husband," said Wendy in a tear filled voice. The look they gave me after that was another of those mixed things. It was partly relief, partly acceptance, with a big dose of that pity thrown in."
"The next few moments filled me with shock, rage and pain. Wendy had been shopping at the supermarket that was only a few blocks from her sister's house. On her way back to the car, several young men, had forced her into an alley where they stole her purse, her cellphone and her credit cards. She'd thought that they were done with her. They'd actually started to walk away when two of them came back and forced her into a car. They drove her somewhere that she couldn't remember due to shock and panic. It was a musty old garage or warehouse."
"There, they'd stripped her and repeatedly gang raped her until they got tired of her. Then they'd simply left. Wendy had gotten up and put her damaged clothes back on and gone out into the street. She kept asking people for help until she finally got one woman to call the police."
"As I looked at her, she was in tears. She couldn't look me in the eye."
"None of this was your fault, Honey," I said. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's the animals who attacked you who have to pay for this."
"The nurses and technicians from the police department were taking pictures and measurements of the bruises and bite marks all over Wendy's body. Her breasts were bruised and her ass had been slapped so hard there were hand prints on it. There were numerous bite marks all over her body as well."
"I was filled with rage as she described the incident. They'd made her suck them all off and they'd each fucked her several times. A couple of them had even taken her anally, which was something that Wendy and I never cared for. As she described the incident she couldn't look me in the eye."
"Afterward, while I spoke to the doctor, I was too shocked to even know what my feelings about the incident were. A host of conflicting emotions went through me. I felt anger that this had happened to the person I loved more than anyone else on the planet. I felt a violent rage that made me want to find the men responsible and kill them all."
"I wanted to make sure they were all punished as severely as possible for what they'd done. At the same time, I just wanted to take my wife in my arms and protect her from all of this. I wanted to move away to a place that was secure and safe from all of this. As the thoughts ran through my mind, as if she could read them in my skull the doctor stroked my arm and spoke to me."
"The best thing for her," she said. " ... Is for you to let her know that you still love her. What you said when you first found out was perfect. You let her know that none of this was her fault. You let her know that you don't blame her for this. I hate to tell you this, but this is only the tip of the iceberg. The two of you are going to go through hell over the next few years trying to put this behind you."
"There are going to be periods of time that she holds onto you like a child. She'll be too afraid to have you very far away from her. She may show up at your job at all times of the day, just needing to be with you or be held by you. There will be other periods of time where she can't stand to be around you just because you're a man. There will be times when the two of you don't have sex because she can't get past what was done to her. Or times when she just wants to fuck the shit out of you to show you that the two of you won't let this beat you." I nodded.
"And after all of that, she's going to go through an emotional rollercoaster that your marriage may simply not survive. I'm going to give her several prescriptions both for the pain and to help her sleep. I'm going to give you the name of a great therapist that I hope can help the two of you through this."
"And that's how the nightmare started. And a nightmare is what it truly was. There were times when Wendy would wake up in the middle of the night screaming her lungs out as she dreamed about or remembered in great detail what had happened to her. There were other times when she folded herself so completely around me that I couldn't breathe. She needed to be held and couldn't get to sleep otherwise."
"I think the scariest time though was when she woke screaming and pushed me out of the bed demanding that I leave the house. She screamed so loudly that the police were called by a concerned neighbor. When the police arrived unexpectedly, Wendy was still screaming at me to leave."
"I was handcuffed and marched outside to a waiting cruiser in full view of my neighbors. Several of the neighbors attempted to explain to the police who I was. During this time a couple of the officers noticed several pictures in the house of Wendy and me together, including our wedding pictures. My kids woke up and came outside crying about the police taking their daddy away. The police had begun to listen then. They spoke to Wendy again and finally asked me some questions."
"I think the most telling moment was when Wendy started crying and asked them where her husband was. They escorted her out to the car that I was still handcuffed in, only to have her start screaming at them."
"Why have you locked my husband up," she screamed. "He didn't do anything wrong. I can't get to sleep without him."
"They released me from the cuffs then and sat down with me and I gave them the whole story about Wendy's tragic incident a few weeks earlier. They apologized and suggested counseling. I explained to them that "WE," and "SHE," were already in counseling. And that I was also undergoing counseling to help me process and deal with both what she was going through and how best to help her."
"During those first two months after the incident, I blindly held onto the hope that the turnaround was right around the corner. I hoped above hope that some tiny little thing would happen to snap Wendy back to the way she'd always been. There were signs that my Wendy was still there. There were mornings when I'd come downstairs and she'd be holding one of our kids and she'd look across the room to me and mouth the words, "I love you."
"I was sure that a return to normal was coming and it would be there soon. But there were also other times that let me know that we had a long way to go. There were points in time that made me feel like I was banging my fucking head against a wall for nothing. The times I hated the most were those when she just pointedly shut both me and our children out for no reason. She had days when she'd simply wake up and call Becky over to watch the kids and she'd just simply ignore us all while she remained locked inside her head."
"What I hadn't considered at that time was Becky. I guess we never really look too closely at the people around us unless we're in a relationship of some sort with them. There were things going on in Becky's life that I had never considered. Becky was the younger of two daughters. Her sister had gone to college and come home saddled with debt to go with her bright shiny new degree. She couldn't get a job in anything resembling the field that she'd chosen. So now she'd fallen back on that old standard and become a waitress. The funny thing about it is that waitressing barely paid her enough to cover the monthly payments on her college loans and cover a few expenses. She wasn't making enough to put anything away. If she'd simply started waitressing instead of going to college, not only would she not have the massive debt, she'd be a more experienced waitress so she'd make more money."
"Her social life was also awful. Most of the guys she dated were assholes. They were serial daters. She hadn't found one guy who was interested in settling down and building a life. All they wanted was to date and to fuck. No commitment, no relationships. It was even getting hard to nail a guy down to an FWB situation. They were actually more like acquaintances with benefits. And even when they got the benefits, it didn't often benefit her. She'd once gone out with a guy who had taken her to a marginal restaurant, where they'd gone Dutch."
"I'll get it next time," he assured her. "I wanted to go out with you badly, but I don't get paid until next week, you know?"
"She'd appreciated his candor and the fact that he wasn't lying to her or trying to make himself seem like a big shot. Honesty goes a long way with a woman. They, or he, had sex after that. She'd spent nearly forty minutes giving him a blow job, to have him zip his pants up and leave after that."
"Becky wasn't a fool. She'd seen what her supposedly smarter sister was going through and saw a far easier path to a good life. Becky realized that she didn't need to compete against hundreds of thousands of smart college educated people to have a good life. She didn't need to drag her tired ass in to work every day whether she wanted to or not. She didn't have to compete with all of the other people in some company who were all equally motivated and competitive. She also didn't have to compete with thousands of young women for the very few available emotionally stable and motivated men out there. She realized that there was an easier path to success."
"All Becky had to do was compete with one broken down, almost fat old woman and take what she had. She'd looked around the neighborhood and figured that I was the best of the available stock and Wendy was probably one of the easier women to replace. Once the incident had occurred, Wendy seemed even easier to replace. So, young Becky had been putting her full court press on lately."
"I was resisting mightily, of course, because I loved Wendy. But Becky was determined. Over the next few weeks, between all of our therapy and Wendy's episodes, Becky had practically moved in with us. As you can imagine, Becky began spending a lot more time with me. At night, after the kids went to sleep, I'd offer to drive Becky home. She'd remind me that Wendy had an early therapy session and had asked her to stay over so she could make breakfast for the kids."
"She'd then ask if I minded if she watched TV with me. Sheer politeness would, of course, force me to say that I didn't mind. And, of course, what mid-thirties, red blooded male would mind having a hot young nineteen year old pressing herself against them on the couch. Sooner or later my rational mind would intrude and I'd head off to bed to join a medication zonked Wendy."
"As time went on, Wendy didn't seem to be improving. In fact, her good days seemed to be getting further between and her medications seemed to get stronger. Becky's attacks grew more blatant by the day. And the proportions of Wendy's descent and Becky's assent were or at least they seemed directly related."
"If I hadn't known that Becky had nothing to do with Wendy's condition, I'd have suspected that she was somehow responsible. The therapist, when I asked about it, also seemed puzzled. She seemed to think that the shock of Wendy's attack had worn off and we should be getting back to normal. The problem was that there was some awful guilt that Wendy couldn't seem to let go of and even the therapist was worried that it was driving Wendy into a steadily deepening depression."
"While I wondered what Wendy had to feel guilty about, Becky went into full frontal assault mode. She'd started showing up to watch TV with me at night wearing nothing more than a T-shirt and panties. The shorts and all pretense at civility were gone."
"I tried to retreat once, only to have Becky follow me into the bedroom supposedly to give Wendy her pill. She looked up at me as Wendy swallowed the pill as if to say, "She doesn't care what I wear around you so why should you?"
"After that things quickly escalated. And one night I noticed that even the panties were gone. Becky came to watch TV with me in a T-shirt that barely covered her ass in the back and nothing under it. I was watching, "The Walking Dead," and Becky snuggled up beside me. The T-shirt rose "accidentally," and I saw nothing under it but her lightly furred pussy. She noticed where I was looking and our eyes met. She smiled and showed no sign of embarrassment."
"I can never make up my mind between hairy and shaved," she said. "So I just trim it. I guess my man will decide."
"I gulped so loudly, I was sure the kids could have heard me if they hadn't been asleep."
"I should check on the..." I began.
"I just did. They're fine," she said. "Our little angels are fast asleep."
"I was going to say Wendy, she..." I began again.
" ... Had her pill about an hour ago," she interrupted again. "If the house was on fire we'd probably have to carry her out of here. Relax it's just us."
"I sighed and tried to relax and watch the show. But every time there was a zombie attack or even the sight of a zombie on the screen she pulled herself more tightly against me. I could see her nipples through the T-shirt now and smell the scent of aroused female. My dick was so hard it was painful."
"What I thought was Becky's attack had only been a prelude though. Her real attack began on the next commercial."
"God, I don't know how you stand it," she said.
"Well, I know the zombies aren't real and this is only a TV show," I said.
"That isn't what I was talking about Aidan," she giggled. "I was talking about not having sex."
"The gulp I let out then, had doubled the previous one in terms of volume."
"Ever since I broke up with Jerry, I feel like I'm crawling up the walls. I just have this itch that I need to have scratched really badly," she said. Her fingers were oh so slowly crawling up her own leg towards the promised-land."
"How do you do it?" she asked.
"It's hard," I gulped again.
"I'll bet it is," she gushed. "I'll bet it's long and fat too, huh?"
"Uhm that's kind of personal," I said. "And how do you know that I haven't..."
"I've been sitting for you two for a long time," she said. "I can tell how you get the day after you get lucky and that hasn't happened since..."
"The incident is what we call it," I said. "She nodded."
"That's been months ago, you must be going crazy too," she said. "It really is, isn't it?"
"It is what?" I asked. "And then I saw what she was looking at. My dick was standing up in my pants and her eyes were focused on it like a falcon on its prey."
"Society is so fucked up," she said, taking my hand. "I was so glad that she'd changed the subject to give my dick a chance to go down that I leaped right into the new subject."
"Well, society for thousands of years used nature as a guide, and common sense played a role in rules and laws too. But today we've become so sophisticated that we now force ourselves to go against nature and what's really good for us. We spew chemicals into the air. We're fucking around with the way we grow food and the things we put into our bodies..."
"You're so right," I gushed not realizing the trap she'd set for me. "I was so elated not to be talking about sex with my defenses against her nearly destroyed by lust, that I fell right into a trap that was so deftly laid that no nineteen year old girl should have been able to conceive it, let alone pull it off."
"And we also sometimes don't put the things into our bodies that will help us the most mentally and emotionally. I nodded my head absent mindedly until I noticed that my hand she has holding onto, was now resting on pussy hair with her hand on top of it. And that she'd reached out and grabbed her prey in the other."
"This," she said, gently squeezing my again rampant erection. "Should be in here," she rubbed the hand she pressed against her pussy for emphasis."
"It would make both of us feel much better and it wouldn't hurt Wendy at all."
"So why'd you break up with Jerry," I squeaked out. My mouth was as dry as the Sahara. "You guys were a cute couple. I think he was really into you."
"He was," she said, staring directly into my eyes. "Jerry was a means to an end. He broke me in so my husband won't have to. Jerry did all the work so the right man can just come along and scoop up all of the benefits."
"What do you mean?" I said. "Oh, I get it. Jerry got you used to relationships and dealing with other people."