I’m one of the primary ‘in house’ doctors at our local hospital. The hospital is a mid-sized facility just about fifty miles from Baltimore, Maryland. For a hospital we’re small in comparison to the giants up and down the eastern seaboard, but we have a decent reputation, and we’ve gotten some pretty good press lately thanks to the hard work of our rank and file personnel.

One advantage we have that most hospitals in our size and financial range has that others don’t is our proximity to Johns Hopkins. Hopkins is considered one of the top three hospitals in the world; it’s like a mecca of medical care and research. That doesn’t make it perfect; far from it, accidents happen all the time even at the best places. I mean a heart surgeon can just as easily lose a patient at Hopkins as anywhere. One misstep by an overtired P.A. when inserting a catheter in an eighty year old man and all the skill and experience in the world probably won’t save him; I mean that’s just one of the tragic facts of life.

Anyway what did John Kennedy say, “A rising tide raises all ships, and our closeness to Hopkins gives us access to some pretty talented medical minds not to mention the technologies of the place. Too bad, I just wished it were helpful as it relates to the problems me and my wife have had over the past two decades.

Not too bored yet I hope? Then let’s get to the story.

Like I said I’m a tier one doctor at a pretty good hospital. At our facility we like everybody to pitch in everywhere they can. I’m good for the emergency room. I’m ‘on call’ off and on two or three days a week. That might seem odd to some, but that’s how I’ve worked out my schedule. Trust me; I know what I’m doing.

Most of my surgeries are scheduled for Tuesdays. Mondays and Wednesdays I meet and greet patients and on Fridays I’m usually at a satellite facility further west. Thursday I go to the hospital in the mornings for a very brief ‘look in’, and the rest of the day I reserve for family or whatever comes up. The weekends are when I’m ‘on call’ at the emergency room. Most of the time I’m never bothered, but sometimes it can be pretty stressful. This is going to be one of those weekends; Monday is Memorial Day.

Here’s where the fun begins.

My wife Serena is, and always has been a homemaker. We have three daughters; our oldest is Alaina, she’s fourteen, next up is Renee who’s thirteen, and last on the list is Danielle who just happens to be three. I know what everyone’s thinking; fourteen, thirteen, and three! Well shit happens! Damn that’s part of the story!

All four of my girls look basically the same; remember Serena to me is one of my girls. They all have this sandy brownish blondish hair. They used to call the stuff strawberry blond. They all have light blue eyes, and all four of them are knock outs!

My wife is a splendid 5’5”, wasp waist, nice firm 34Bs, and legs that go all the way up to her perfect heart shaped ass. She also has a perfect heart shaped face, pert little nose, tiny ears with only one piercing, a long swanlike neck, high cheek bones, and eye lashes that are so long they make my mouth water. I guess everyone can see on the physical side she makes me gush with pride.

Serena’s an only child; a late in life baby. Her dad died just a few weeks ago, and her mom, Rebecca, has never been a very independent woman. Serena tells me since her dad died her mom calls maybe two or three times a day. She constantly has to traipse back and forth between her mom’s and our house to check on her. She probably visits the supermarket four or five times a week to pick up things for her mom or she’s constantly at the library taking out books for her. It’s like she’s gone all the time.

How Serena and I met and our interesting sex lives are matters I’ll bring up later. This is a scary story; it involves some unbelievable events and infidelity is only a part, arguably an unusual part, of the whole tale. By the way, if there’s anyone who thinks I’m calm and in control about what I’m about to detail then they don’t know me. Honestly, I’m the scaredest and most confused son of a bitch this side of Kalamazoo, wherever that is.

Like I said Serena’s mainly a homemaker, but what even with Danielle and our older girls and now her mom Serena decided she needed to get out of the house a little just, as she described it, ‘to give her some perspective’. Anyway she got a little part time job at the public library. She goes in three afternoons a week; Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays. We hired a baby sitter to watch Danielle and pick up Renee and Alaina. I guess what I’m saying is since her dad died Serena’s schedule has gotten a little erratic. Sometimes I find it hard to keep up with her, and that’s a problem as everyone may soon realize.

Normally I go in to the hospital on Saturdays regardless of the circumstances. I like to use my time to check up on the weekend just to make sure everything’s running smoothly. Of course I do this because of the usual increases in activity on weekends, but I also like to keep ahead on anything else that might be coming up for the week. I guess I show up around 8:00 a.m. and get things finished by around 2:00 in the afternoon. After that I go home and hang out. This time of year I might slip over to one of the high schools to catch a lacrosse game, and hopefully later watch a little TV with my wife, probably get a little nookie, and hope I don’t get called back to the hospital.

Well I tooled on in to the hospital to see how things were going. Like I said its Memorial Day weekend and I expected there might be a little added activity; what with the barbeques, drunk drivers, new motorcycles, crazy high school seniors, and the usual summer stuff. You’d think people would know better, but they don’t.

I checked the situation out, and felt like since it was Memorial Day I’d try to get back home a little earlier than my usual 2:00 p.m. I mean there’s a good chance I’d be back at the hospital later anyway so why shouldn’t I get some free time in with my wife and littlest girl. By the way Alaina and Renee were at a church picnic. Serena might have gone too, but she said she was afraid to be very far from her mother. That made sense I guess. The hospital’s only about eight miles from home, and even with the added traffic I knew I could still make some pretty good time.

I got back home just after 11:00. I backed my GMC HD diesel pick-up in the driveway. I’d bought a little sunfish a couple years ago. I thought I could hook it up, Serena could pack a picnic lunch, and the three of us could scoot around out on the lake at the nearby state park. Sure Danielle was still kind of small, but she’d done it before and liked it. I have life vests for everyone anyway.

I parked my truck in front of the tow trailer my sunfish sat on, got out, and walked around to the kitchen door, pulled it open, and I got the surprise of my life!

I stood there stunned while I watched my wife as she sat in a chair propped at the edge of the kitchen table with Tim Austin, my sister’s ‘good for nothing’ husband standing in front of her. I think he was trying to plow my fields with his six inch rod.

Honestly, in hindsight, his meat package didn’t look all that impressive. I’d measured myself while I was in graduate school. I came in at a very respectable seven inches. Serena and I, until now, had always happily called my little fellow ‘Her Magnificent Seven’. At the moment I didn’t feel very magnificent.

Serena was laughing and giggling like she was some kind of idiot.

I heard Tim, my erstwhile brother in law, laugh and say, “Now watch this.”

Serena had her hands in her lap; her face couldn’t have been more than three inches from Tim’s meat. He was waving it back and forth in front of her like it was an American flag.

“Come on,” he said, “give the old stable boy’s horse a little kiss right there on his head.”

She was gasping and giggling. She took one of her hands and put a finger up close to it, not quite touching it. She giggled again, “You know I can’t do that.”

I was amazed, no stunned! I know my wife. I mean if he got any closer, just its proximity would cause her to have an orgasm. Tim was pumping away with his hand as fast as he could. I thought she was getting ready to lean forward and kiss him. If she did she’d be kissing him right on the head of his dick! That’s when she saw me.

It had been maybe six seconds, and I still hadn’t said anything. Shit, like I said, I was stunned!

Serena looked at me, she giggled again, and said, “Oh hi honey.” She had this stupid shit eating grin on her face. She was still laughing. She thought the whole thing was funny! She pointed at my brother in law’s dick and said, “Look!”

I don’t think even I fully understood what exactly it was I was seeing. I looked at Tim who’d turned around to look at me. I said, “Tim I think it’s time for you to leave.”

He was grinning like the asshole he was, “Oh hey man. Yeah,” he whipped his Johnson away from my wife. He started ejaculating. His skunk piss flew all over my wife’s face and the kitchen table.

I looked around and saw my wife’s recipe tin. This was a file box where she kept her recipes on these little index cards. My wife is a terrific cook. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I should have been pissed to shit. I just wasn’t in that mode yet. I found her little file box, opened it, got out an unused index card and scraped some of Tim’s spunk off the table.

Rebecca had stopped laughing and giggling, but she still had this stupid look on her face. I knew she had to be on something. She said, “Hey sweetie you’re home early, ‘ then she started giggling again. She was acting all wavy like she was about to fall off her chair. She coughed. Some of his semen was on her nose and left cheek. She took her hand and tried to wipe it off. She shook her hand and evinced a little grimace, “Ooh.”

Tim was still standing there like the shithead he was. He was blocking my ability to reach under the sink and get a plastic baggie. I told him, “You’re in my way. Why don’t you just get the fuck out of here?”

I guess by then another whole fifteen seconds had passed. Tim is a big man. He’s easily 6’4”, and certainly weighs well over 300 pounds. Big guy, but he has a big gut. He always thought he was tough as nails, but in reality he’s a tub of lard.

Me? Nope I’m not a big man. I’m a thin 5’11”. I bet I don’t weigh 170 pounds soaking wet.

I suppose up to about that second I had still been in the doctor-clinician frame of mind, what getting the index card to get a sample and all. But then I really started to zone in what had been happening. My hair was really getting up. I told him, “You better get the fuck out of here Tim before I hurt you!”

I said I already knew he was a stupid asshole. Serena was staring from me to Tim and giggling again. Tim smirked like he was Muhammad Ali. He started to say something like, “What makes you...”

He was going to say ‘you’ll what, like do something’, but I cut him off. OK so he’s big, but he’s mostly flab. I’m small.

I guess now is when I’m supposed to tell everybody; hey, I’m a former Navy SEAL, or an ex-marine, or I was a decorated hero from the Iraq war, or I knew Karate or something, but none of that would be true. Hell, I don’t know Karate; I used to teach fucking Karate! Honestly, anybody who knows anything understands how lethal someone can be with even a little martial knowledge. Seriously, people with martial skills keep a low profile; they don’t throw what they know around. Well I’m a sixth degree black belt!

Yeah a lot of people saw me as this small, thin, scrawny guy, but I could be lean and mean when I wanted to be, and right then looking at Tim looking at me I really wanted to be the meanest bastard alive!

Tim earned what he was about to get! I played it cool. Though I was losing my aplomb I still didn’t want to break every fucking bone in his body. Actually I did want to break every fucking bone in his body, but he was married to my stupid sister. I quickly, in the blink of an eye, reached forward with my left hand; I’m right handed, and wrapped it around his Adam’s apple. I started to wrench it around as hard and as firmly as I could. Tim, gasping for air and already in panic mode did the expected. He reached for my hand.

What a waste. I dropped the index card on the table and smashed the heel of my right hand into his nose; it exploded! I let go of his Adam’s apple, I picked the index card back up, and retreated a few paces. I yelled at him, “Get the fuck out of here!”

He wanted to say something, but by then he was too busy trying to stanch the flow of blood out of his nose. He was crying too, crying like a baby, “You broke my nose! You hit me!” He ran out of the kitchen like the whipped cur he was.

Serena had stopped laughing. She looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. I really did wonder if she recognized me. Was she on something? Of course she had to be. Tim was a fucking pharmacist; he’d always wanted to get in my wife’s pants. He’d apparently figured out a way! It looked like he’d almost succeeded. My wife didn’t look like she’d been trying to stop him! That was for sure!

It was Serena’s turn to be stunned. She knew I used to teach Karate, but she’d never seen me or anybody do anything, except maybe on television. And certainly the things she’d just seen me do to Tim were I have to admit, not what most people would have done.

Serena looked at me with this confused expression on her face, “You hurt him.”

I scooped the sperm soaked index card back up, opened the lower cupboard, pulled out a plastic baggie, and dropped the card inside. Then I turned to my loving wife, “Where’s our daughter?”

She stared back at me blankly, “Daughter?”

I replied, “Yeah, remember, our littlest girl, Danielle.”

“Oh,” she still looked confused, “Danielle’s the baby.”

“Yeah, where is she?”

“Uh, at my mom’s I think.”

I was incredulous. She took her to Rebecca’s? What, did she want to kill her? Serena’s mother was a real nut case; at least I thought so. I tried again, “You mean my mom and dad’s.”

She nodded her head as if to confirm what I’d just said, “Yes, I meant your mom and dad’s.”

“Good,” I replied, “you go out and get in my car.”

It was her turn to ask a dumb question, “Why? Where are we going?”

“I’m taking you to your mother’s.”

She hesitated and started to get this defiant look on her face. I honestly still couldn’t figure out exactly what was going on with her. She stood up and put her hands on her hips, with arms akimbo she spouted, “You can’t be mad about this.”

I said, “Go out to my car, get in, sit down, and shut the fuck up!” I never cuss at Serena so I knew this had to have startled her.

She stood stock still, mouth agape, “Travis you’re not serious. This was just...”

I wasn’t listening. She was really fucked up. Like the dawn the sun had risen and I knew where we were. I pointed toward the door, “Car!”

“I have to get my purse,” she exclaimed.

“No you don’t. Just get in my car.”

“You ... no ... you ... don’t ... I mean.”

I started toward her with my hands up like I was going to hit her. She ran out to my car. I wouldn’t have hit her, honest. I’ve never raised a finger to her, not ever!

This is where I have to back up and fill in some of the gaps in the story; like how we met, how we got married, and some of the more startling, confusing, and yes, heart-wrenching events in our lives.

I was twenty-seven when I first met Serena. I was in my first year of residency at a pretty good hospital in Philadelphia. Serena was an undergraduate student at the University of Pennsylvania. She was twenty-one when I met her, and to be completely honest at the time I had no idea how deep into her studies she was. I found out later Pennsylvania was her third college, having already bailed on Maryland and Penn State. I guess that more or less reflected her commitment to her education. Even today I don’t know how many majors she might have listed. I’ve seen her transcripts, and they’re all over the place.

I was invited to a party by some friends of mine. Of course, everyone’s heard about the outrageous life styles of young doctors, but for me that had never been the case. All my life I’ve had to work hard for everything I’ve gotten. There wasn’t any money; my mom and dad were just regular hardworking people. Everything I got came through scholarships, internships, part time jobs, and just plain sweat. This party was certainly nothing like what they show on television or in the movies; there weren’t any drugs, no lascivious females looking to hook up with the first young stud who happened along, and the alcohol was minimal. Truthfully, this was no wild fraternity or sorority bash; this was a pretty staid affair.

Here I was at this party holding a glass of red wine, I prefer a nice tart red to the whites most people like, at least I did then, when this absolutely gorgeous young woman walked in to the party. As soon as I saw her I just had to smile. She had one of those beautiful smiling laughing faces that demanded it.

I found out her name was Serena, and she simply blew my socks off. I paid no attention to her after a friend told me her name. I continued what I had been doing; wandering about the room engaging in small talk with anyone who’d listen.

Every now and then I’d catch her out of the corner of my eye. I must have been a magnet, or she was; because every time I caught a glimpse of her she must have somehow figured it out since to she’d turn and look at me. I’d smile, and then she’d smile back, it was uncanny.

After about an hour, wherever I was I found myself looking for her. If I didn’t immediately see her I’d start to look around. By 10:00 o’clock I think she was doing the same thing with me. Whenever I looked up to get another glimpse she’d already found me, then she’d smile and turn back to whoever she was with.

At one point I looked up and she was nowhere to be found. I sort of panicked; I was turning this way and that trying to find her when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I heard someone say in this soft lyrical voice, “Hello handsome.”

From out of the blue my olfactory senses were overwhelmed by her sweet fragrance; it was like new mown hay. I turned and there she was. She had the most vivid light blue eyes. Everyone knows sometimes blue eyes evoke a foreboding iciness; but not these, they were warm and inviting. I was lost in a sea of blue loveliness; they were like the sea foam in the morning as the breakers would wash over me at the beach.

She’d called me handsome! Believe me I’m no catch; my dark brown eyes and dark brown hair labeled me ‘troll’. I was ‘a Morlock’; a creature from one of the darker corners of an H.G. Wells novel. For someone this delightful to pay any attention to me was nothing short of amazing.

She was dressed a little oddly for the time of year. She had on a dark brown woolen two piece outfit, and an austere looking dark green blouse. It was the most unflattering outfit imaginable, but even so, she looked devastating, at least she did to me.

She had tiny feminine delicate hands and fingers. If she was wearing any nail polish it must have been clear.

We started talking and I found I enjoyed her company immensely. Let me clarify that just a mite. I enjoyed listening to her sweet melodic voice. The way she articulated her comments, and the manner in which she held herself were nothing short of angelic. On the other hand some of the things she wanted to talk about didn’t make a lot of sense. She seemed to be all in on ‘Area 51’, aliens taking humans up in their spaceships, and things like ghostly apparitions. Like I said I enjoyed listening to the sound of her voice and in watching the way she expressed herself, her mannerism, her facial expressions, but as far as the content went I was off the board.

After our first introductions she clung to me all night, and I enjoyed it. I’d just broken up with a girl whose sexual appetites were a little too wayward, so Serena seemed like a good transitional person. As the party wound down she told me she had no way of getting home. She apparently knew fewer people at the event than I did so I agreed to take her home. I thought, she was one hot number, she acted like she liked me, and I was just a little horny, maybe tonight I’d hit a homerun?

I mean I felt great; it was like some cad had brought her to the party and I was rescuing her. It was weeks later when I found out she’d driven herself; the whole thing about having no way home turned out to be a subterfuge.

I walked her out to my car, a raggedy old Chevy Cavalier, helped her inside, and she gave me directions to where she lived. When I dropped her off she asked me to step inside for a few minutes. As it turned out she shared several rooms with a somewhat older woman who I found served as a kind of servant and companion. I thought the whole thing seemed a little odd, I got the impression she came from a wealthy family and having a personal servant might not be that unusual among people from her social background. At any rate I got her phone number and soon thereafter called and asked her out.

We started dating. I found her to be a wonderful and entertaining, if not an occasionally somewhat oddly opinioned, date. I mean she was beautiful, and as I said, marvelous to listen to. I wasn’t falling in love, but I was certainly drifting into deep like.

On the other hand there were things about her that should have raised some suspicions. Her clothing was always so extraordinarily juxtaposed to her very obvious beauty; it was like she was trying to hide her allure behind a façade of drabness. Her hair was lustrous and the coloring was like wheat ready to be harvested, but it never looked quite finished. I mean it was marvelous, but it looked like she needed to run a comb through it a few dozen more times; it wasn’t what I would call unkempt just unfinished.

She had beautiful blue eyes, lashes that would have stopped traffic, lips that cried out to be kissed, and cheeks that begged to be pinched between my thumbs and index fingers, but she never wore a speck of makeup. I believe if she tried even a tad of makeup she’d have been on the cover of Vogue. For sure, that was how luscious she was.

Our first serious sexual encounter was most extraordinary, and I suppose that was when I should have realized something a little more murky was in play. I’d been invited to a country club dance. Being somewhat impecunious, hell I was poor, I belonged to no such organizations, but I had several friends and acquaintances who did. I asked Serena to go as my date.

We got to the dance, found a table, and I thought we proceeded to have a pretty good time, at least I did. Serena was an excellent dancer. By then I realized she was gifted in most things of a social nature. We danced several times, and in due course several gentlemen came by our table and asked if they might have a turn with her. I was delighted that my date attracted so much attention; it made me feel proud.

I guess Serena didn’t see it quite the same way. While she danced I made the rounds talking and sharing conversation with a few friends. I should have paid closer attention. Though Serena seemed to enjoy the dancing and the flirting she watched me like a hawk. Anyway, while I was busy having light repartee with another young lady Serena stepped up near to where I was seated and slowly began to undress. She was wearing a rather plain black dress, high heels, and black nylons. First she ditched her shoes, then her stockings came off, and then she started to slowly slide her dress off her shoulders. By then she had everybody’s attention. I turned around just in time to see her dress fall to the floor around her ankles.

I jumped from my seat and immediately went to pull her dress back up. All I can say is her strapless black brassiere and soft silken French cut panties left me breathless. As I got her dress back up I asked her, “Serena, what are you doing?”

She pressed her right hand against my cheek, smiled and softly laughed, “I was afraid you’d forgotten me.”

I was flabbergasted. I walked her back to our table amidst something of a minor tumult asking, “What made you think that?”

By then she was holding my arm so tightly I thought she was angry, but her response was anything but. She posited, “I thought you’d handed me off so you could be with that other woman.”

I saw the beginnings of tears in her eyes. I also noticed that quite a few of the other partiers seemed like they’d be happy to see us leave so that’s what we did. We walked to the checkout. I got our coats, asked the valet to bring around my car, and I started to take her home. On the way she asked if I might take her back to my place. This was what I’d been hoping for. I agreed.

When we got to my place she didn’t seem a bit put off by the paucity of furniture. She asked if she could use my bathroom. I showed her where it was, and she disappeared. Only moments later she reappeared at the doorway completely undressed. Framed by the soft yellow light from the bathroom I swear she looked like the angelic Fiametta the long dead Italian writer Boccaccio described in one of his Renaissance love stories. Long shapely legs, exquisite hips, perfect breasts, and her long strawberry blonde hair hanging down below her shoulders, man I was completely blown away. I knew that my warmth toward her had blossomed into something much more profound.

She stepped toward me, and in her uniquely melodious tone of voice she asked, “You won’t leave me like that again will you?”

I was already out of my shirt and was dropping my pants when I answered, “No, never.”

She hesitated but a second and asked again somewhat more timorously, “You promise, you’ll never leave me.”

I swore, “No, I’ll never leave you.” At the moment I had no idea what that would end up meaning.

We climbed on my bed, and I thought I was about to have the greatest sexual experience of my life. It didn’t quite work out that way; at least not at first.

To this day, though she’s never admitted it, I’m sure she was virgin when I took her that night, but in all candor at first she pretended to behave as though she’d been with hundreds of men. She acted like she knew every position, every move, every way to touch a man to make him feel the greatest gratification, but at the same time there was something profoundly wrong.

It started with our first, what I considered sexual, kiss. She puckered up and we embraced, but it was as though she was running through some series of steps in her head. I guess everyone remembers the first time they took the dance floor to do the Fox Trot. Everybody sort of correctly does the steps, but it comes across stilted and not at all enjoyable. Serena’s opening kisses were like that. She knew the movements, but there was no joy or enthusiasm.

We were lying there, side by side on my rickety little bed and I felt like I was with a robot. I stopped, sat up, and pulled her up too. I asked her, “What are you doing?”

She replied, “I’m kissing you.”

I answered, “No you’re not, you’re just going through the motions.”

I could tell I’d hurt her feelings. I backed off a little, “Look here,” I said, “pucker up.”

She puckered up.

I took my right hand, reached over, and very gently squeezed her lips together so they slightly protruded, “Now take you tongue and lick your lips.”

She licked her lips.

I leaned forward and planted my moist and puckered lips on hers and started to kiss. She knelt there like a wooden Indian so I took my lips and sucked hers so they came slightly into my mouth. My action managed to loosen her lips up a tiny bit. I did this several times and pretty soon we were kissing like two honest to god love birds.

It occurred to me then, what with the clothes, the makeup, the kissing; my beautiful adorable goddess must have spent the bulk of her life living in a shoe box. We lay back down and continued to kiss. She was getting the kissing part down good, but the touching and cuddling, you know the foreplay, was as mechanical as her opening kisses had been. Yes, this beautiful woman knew the moves, but I figured she got the moves from romance novels. I was her first real experience, and she knew ‘the what’ just not ‘the how’. I was just a little incredulous. I always thought this stuff came naturally; well I guess I was wrong.

So we got the kissing part, now we had to get the cuddling piece. I rolled back and told her, “I want to snuggle and cuddle before we do anything.”

She grinned, “Me too.”

“OK,” I said, “I’m kind of rusty at this, so I want you to lie back on your back, put your hands up over your head, and pretend I’ve tied your wrists to the headboard.”