Chapter 3

Over the next few days, we got settled into the apartment. That's 'we' – as in both of us together. Somehow, we skipped over several parts of the mating dance: dating, boyfriend/girlfriend, being exclusive, etc. And moved right along to living together. We even skipped over getting to know each other.

Now, this is the 21^st century. People – well, at least some people – are more easy going about sexual relations. But Cynthia and I had gone from sharing a cup of coffee to living together, with only a short stop at a hospital where I was de-legged. I thought that was a little strange. Too fast.

Of course, I didn't complain. I was getting prime pussy, something with which I was unfamiliar. I wasn't a virgin or anything close. I was shed of that condition back in high school. But I had been in the army in a female-hating Arab country for several years – that's my categorization, in case you didn't know – any place that arrests women for getting an education and condones 'honor' killing, counts as female-hating in my book. I don't think I'll put that in my journal. But seriously, who else do you think would make categorizations here?

Anyway, point is, I hadn't had any volunteer pussy except when I was on leave. That was damn rare, and it was only bar maids and junior officers at the base's unofficial bar. So, Cynthia, being Cynthia, had my unequivocal approval as a live in sex toy.

And boy was she ever. Maybe she hadn't had any opportunities lately either. She liked sex. Period. Any way, any time. Regular (vaginal) was very popular. Oral of course, coming (excuse the pun) in a close second. We discovered that she liked anal when I was mounting her missionary style, once, and slipped. And, well ... plunged into her back door. It hurt like hell, she said. It was dry, with only a little of her pussy juice for lube, and she didn't want me to evacuate the premises, so to speak. She said it would hurt. By the time she got over the initial pain – and me, being mentally fortified by lots of internet porn showing women who loved it – I suggested that we explore a bit. We did. She liked it a lot. So that became an option for us, with adequate lube, in future sessions.

The strangest thing happened, after our anal adventure. She began to love what I can only call 'rough sex.' I'd pinch and pull at her nipples. Once, when I had her on her back, above me, she was leaning back against my torso as I plundered her ass. I was stroking or maybe she was, and I slapped her pussy. She erupted. More, more, she said. And that began to be a regular thing with us. Me slapping her breasts, and her pussy.

What she loved most – I'd honestly say, more than even vaginal sex – was me turning her over my lap and getting her ass cherry-red from spanking. She could have a nice cum just from that, and then she'd fall to her knees and begin giving me the most exquisite blow job. I rested my hand on the back of her head, just to feel the motion. One time, when she hit her gag point, she reached back, took my hand, curled in her auburn tresses, and pushed hard. I quickly got the idea, and pulled her nose into my pubes, and, of course, pushed my cock down her throat. She loved that, when she popped her head off and regained her breath.

Don't misunderstand. Those were the spicy moments in a gourmand's delight of 'normal' sex.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into several months. I was getting nearly continuous rehab at the VA hospital and was learning to get around with my new fake legs. I had, naturally, absolutely no sense of balance – maybe it was like walking on stilts. I don't know, 'cause I never walked on stilts. Anyway, it was tough. And, of course, I was getting nearly continuous sex at home when Cyn wasn't at work at Carbunkle.

One thing of significance took place about a month after I started rehab. We were gonna have a speaker at rehab – a member of the Black Knights, the Army's parachute team. Okay, I figured, go and hear another jock. Out walked Sgt. Dana Bowman. A normal man, with two arms and two legs, and a chest full of medals. He told a story about a jumper who'd collided in mid-air with another jumper. One man died when his chute opened and he was dropped into a tree. The other man had both legs amputated in mid-air, landed face down in a parking lot, but survived. Then he pulled up the pants legs to show two prosthetics. He was the man who survived. The audience gasped. I listened to the rest of the story with great attention. I had already spent more time getting over my injury than he had before he reenlisted and was jumping out of airplanes again.

[True. You can look him up – it's an inspiring story. www.danabowman.com]

Thereafter, after making some progress with the prosthetics, I brought them home. The next morning I strapped them on my legs and tried to walk over to the rehab center. It was all of two blocks away. I fell thirty times just getting to the front door of the building. Thankfully, Cyn was not there, or she'd have turned my ass red. I had to give up, fall thirty more times getting back to the apartment and getting in my wheelchair and appearing at rehab late for my appointment. My therapist knew what had happened by the scratches and scrapes on my hands. He just laughed it off, and said I'd get it.

Meanwhile, Cynthia started her job in 'Situation Evaluation – Overseas Division' for Carbunkle Oil. I had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, except she couldn't talk about it. She made occasional trips to Houston, to meet with the 'higher ups' she said, but those were just day trips.

I bought a van, specially modified so I could drive with no legs. It would handle my wheelchair or, of course, I could just walk in and drive. The Lions Club and Rotary Club of Waxahachie decided I would benefit from having a service dog. That's when I met Bear, the nicest black and white and cream colored Swiss Mountain Dog there ever was – actually he was part Greater Swiss Mountain Dog and part momma's-boyfriend-the-traveling-salesman.

Bear was fully trained as a service dog, although I didn't need one really. But they wanted to do it, so Bear moved in. He could answer the door, pick up the phone when it rang, turn off the light, and he barked at intruders and would bark at any danger in the house (like a fire, for example) – I'd train him to do more useful things for me. Like I said, I didn't really need a service dog and felt badly 'cause somebody who needed one could have had Bear. The guy who had trained Bear said that he couldn't be certified as a service dog, since he was too large. Bear was 125 lbs. and still growing. Every once in a while, I'd get into my wheelchair and let him pull me around in the park. I'd grab his harness and just turn him lose to run. I felt like Ben Hur as he pulled me around the park at breakneck speeds. Usually I had a contingent of kids running along side.

In my sixth month in big D, Cyn, I and Bear decided to move into a house halfway to little W (Waxahachie). With Dana Bowman as my example, I got myself up and walking in my fake legs. With Cynthia as my coach, I got myself set up as a computer networking consultant. I could work from home most days and visit clients when needed.

I asked Cynthia to marry me in October, about a month later. She looked at me like she was deciding, and having a difficult decision.

"I don't know. Are you asking me forever or just..." she started.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her sharply toward me. She lost her balance and I quickly manhandled her across my lap. I flipped her skirt up and started paddling her ass with my hand. The red thong that she wore didn't interfere at all. I spanked her as fast as I could manage, raising a nice rosy color in no time flat.

She was screaming – partly out of surprise and partly as a contribution to our little game. Bear was concerned, since we'd never done that in his presence before. "Yes! Yes! I'll marry you, you brute. But you have to promise to do this at least weekly," she cried.

With that, I swung her around and kissed her soundly. Bear was relieved, I'm sure. We decided to get hitched on Valentine's Day. Mom just smiled when we told her on her next visit.

As I said, most days I worked at home. Cynthia would go to the office in Dallas every morning – she'd leave about seven in the morning and get home about six at night. Once in a while she'd have to go to Houston, usually for the day but occasionally it would be for two or three days.

One Friday in December, Cyn approached me as we were getting to bed.

"I know that Friday or Saturday is usually spankies day," she started. 'Spankies' was what we called it when I spanked her 'til her ass was so red and bruised that she couldn't sit. "Please let's not do it this week. I have to go to Houston all week starting on Sunday night, and I don't want to be uncomfortable sitting in meetings."

Well, that didn't sound like such a strange request to me, so we skipped it. When she got back on Friday next, I gave her a double dose. She couldn't even stand straight for two days. She loved it, by the way, and asked me to spank her titties as well. Which, of course, I did. She came three times during my 'abuse, ' and I was very well rewarded for giving her the attention that she craved.

Don't get me wrong. I fucked her in every hole she had, too. In fact, we didn't leave the house except to take Bear to the park.

Same thing in January, about four weeks later. I didn't think anything of it, that time either.

She didn't go on any trips in February, except our honeymoon: a cruise to Grand Cayman. For one of my wedding presents, I got her (or me, [evil laugh]) a light weight flogger that would hurt a bit more than my hand; since I wouldn't have to stop because of damage to me, it would take longer to bruise her, which meant more pleasure/pain for her. I didn't want to hurt my hand, you see, because I'm such a delicate flower. (!!)

When Cyn went back to work, she said she'd have to go to Houston for a longer period this time. Apparently, in addition to the normal full week meeting, there was an off-site meeting on a cruise ship that would sail around for two days and there'd be a team-building event there. So, she'd be gone over the weekend, too.

All that struck me as very strange. We were only a long car ride from Houston – about three hours. Why did she have to be there over the weekend? And what kind of company had off-site meetings on a cruise ship?

I'd never had any reason to doubt what she told me. At least until this b.s. story about the next meeting / cruise ship was concerned. Now, I was worried. It occurred to me that I didn't know her at all. Just that she loved sex and, seemingly, loved sex with me. Did she really love me? Was she a stable person? She liked kinky sex, so maybe she took a week off now and then from the 'vanilla' sex with me and visited a BDSM club. Who knew?

Christ! We'd just gotten married; we were about to have the one year anniversary of her coming to meet me in Germany. Now I had to deal with the 'Why is my wife telling lies?' issue.

Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your point of view – I had developed a friend who knew about electronics – all kinds of electronics. So when Cynthia decided to tell me a lie, I decided to bug her.

She had told me on Monday. I called Jackson Rey, my friend in the electronics bug business, and offered to take him out to a lunch on Tuesday.

"Jack," I started our lunch discussion, "did I ever tell you how I met Cyn?"

"No, not the whole story. You met when you were in the service, didn't you?" he replied.

"Yep," I said. "We met when she was assigned to my unit in Abu Dhabi. I got to know her pretty well over the next year and a half. Then I got blown up in a terrorist bombing. I guess I saved her life, but she saved mine as well. When I got to Germany, she just appeared at my hospital.

"I was very depressed, and there she was. A beautiful angel and she seemed to be attracted to me. I was angry at the world, including her, and sometimes pretty mean. But she kept coming back.

"Then she got on the plane back to the States with me, and just moved into my apartment. BAM! There she was.

"You've seen her. Would you throw her out of bed?"

"Not a chance in hell, man," he said.

"Me neither. She was and still is a dynamo in bed. There's nothing she won't do. For months I kept asking myself: WHY? Why would a beautiful woman like her pick a crippled Vet with marginal business prospects like me?"

"Did you ever come up with an answer?" he asked.

I thought about an answer for a long time, during which our $12 hamburgers arrived. "Jack, let me tell you about a story I once heard," I said by way of answer.