My wife Patricia, Pat to her friends and family, strode confidently into the den where I was trying to watch Clemson get the shit kicked out of them by Alabama’s Tide. She was twenty years younger than me and built like the proverbial “Brick Shithouse.”
“What are you doing with that junk?’ she asked. It was the first time she’d seen me exercising my arms and grip. Usually I do it only when she’s not around–too much temptation to test my progress by squeezing around her neck. Naw, let me stop my crap; I wouldn’t hurt her for the world but sometime that woman’s bossiness can drive me to distraction.
“Just trying to build my muscles a little.”
“You? Build muscles?” She laughed. “Honey, you’re sweet and I love you to death, but a muscle man you’re not. You’re not the ninety pound weakling we used to see getting sand kicked in his face in the advertisements, but you’ll never be the guy who decks the bully.”
Damn! She was never going to forget that time, about ten years ago, when we were on the beach and some bastard had balls enough to sneak a feel of her ass. I saw it and started to protest when he sucker punched me and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back and the bastard was face down in the sand, whimpering like a baby that his arm was broken, and Pat was standing over him saying, “Serves you right, you big bully. Next time pick on somebody your own size.”
I never forgot the way she kissed the welt on my jaw as she helped me to my feet. “See,” she said, “Told you that martial arts training would come in handy.” Then with a final kick right in his balls, she led me back to our car while the cop’s sirens were still in the distance.
That incident taught me two things; don’t piss off Pat, at least not when she’s up close, and it was time for me to start working out. I never could beef up like most guys, guess I just wasn’t that into it that much, but I could run five miles without needing EMS and when us guys at work started arm wrestling I got so I could win over half the time.
I snapped back to reality when she came closer and caressed my cheek with the back of her hand saying, “But it doesn’t make any difference, I love you anyway, even if you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”
Wow! She really knew how to make a guy feel good about himself. I wonder what she’d say if she knew when us guys got to horsing around at lunchtime I could make every one of them cry “Uncle!” in the hand squeeze contest.
Aw, what the crap? It don’t make no difference anyway. I know I’m a wimp, she knows I’m a wimp and everyone else knows I’m a wimp. I don’t like confrontation and that’s all it is to it. Yep, Go with the flow–go along to get along–and all that other crap guys like us spout to keep from admitting we’re out and out cowards.
Sweet, tender Pat had disappeared and Hurricane Pat was saying, “We have to hurry and get dressed, Honey. Mr. Jamison is depending on me make a final check to assure this office party is perfect. You know he has invited several important clients to attend tonight and he’s depending on me to help land them.”
I tried to watch just one more possession, in the desperate hope the Tigers could pull another ‘rabbit out of the hat’ but Pat was having none of that. Pulling me by the hand, she led me upstairs where she had outfits spread out on the bed for both of us.
“Do you think these will look good on me?” She indicated a pair of lacy black panties, that wouldn’t cover the hair around her pussy, much less anything else, and a black bra that was almost there; it might hide her nipples, but I doubted it.
“They’ll look sexy on you, but sure ain’t gonna cover much.”
“Sure they will–they’ll look great. Let me show you.” In a flash she’d shed her regular undies and turned toward me. That’s when I realized she wasn’t concerned about the sexy black panties not hiding her hair; she’d shaved it all off. Her mons was as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
“You like?” she gave me a good look before slithering into them. “Here, help me snap this thing.” She was trying to corral her breast into that black bra. It was like trying to stuff ten pounds of meat in a five pound bag.
After getting her snapped up she gave a twirl, displaying all her assets, and giving me an instant hard-on. I reached for her, but she adroitly dodged my hands. “No, no, no–no touching; this is for looking only.” Then she wiggled into the LBD she’d laid out earlier. “Zip me up. Then you can get dressed while I finish my hair.”
In my mind I screamed, ‘No you stupid Bitch! I’ve had enough of your shit. That’s my pussy and I’m getting some now.’ That’s what I thought, but what I really said was, “Yes Honey.”
Okay, so you think I’m not just a wimp, but a pussy whipped wimp–news flash, you’re right. I hate confrontation with a capital H. Why? I don’t know, but I always have, I’d always take the path of less resistance–guess I’m like an electron in that respect. Yeah, I’m an electronic nerd–love the crap. It makes more sense to me than a lot of people and the crap thy do–like my wife Pat, for instance.
Why would she act like she does? I make a good salary, in fact a very good salary; I don’t give her a bunch of shit about spending money on her wild whims–things like taking a couple of her girlfriends on a shopping trip to NYC, at my expense.
I don’t know if she’s screwing around on me yet, but if she ain’t, she soon will be. Shit, I don’t know why I said that. She really hasn’t done anything yet–that I know of, but then she’s slick; she wouldn’t blatantly do anything. No, not her, she’d be too slick to get caught, at least that’s how she’d see herself.
Well maybe she wasn’t as slick as she thought. Just this afternoon, while I was working on strengthening my grip, I’d overheard her on the phone with Mr. Jamison, her boss, except this afternoon she’d called him “Harry, honey.” After that she added “You’re such a bad boy,” and the way she giggled really pissed me off. I’d heard that giggle and tone of voice before, usually when she’s horny and needing a good screwing, but like the wimp I am, instead of throwing her on the bed and fucking her until she’s screaming for mercy, (Hey a guy can dream, can’t he?) I’m here now helping her get dressed.
I don’t understand the big deal; what’s he got that I haven’t got? I mean, I looked it up on google; my cock rates well up in the higher percentage on size, and she always cums before I do–well most times–okay maybe seven out of ten times or so, but she always claimed she was satisfied and if I finished first I never failed to use my fingers and tongue until I had her screaming how good it was, before she collapsed like a limp rag–so what the crap was wrong?
I was struggling with my tie and thoughts when Hurricane Pat swept into the room. “Aren’t you dressed yet?” She immediately set about to remedy that problem. Within minutes she had that stupid bow tie fixed like she thought was right, (Damn I hate those things.) my shirt re-tucked to suit ‘Her Majesty,’ my coat adjusted just so, and a fancy triangle of a handkerchief peeping out the breast pocket. (There’s a name for that damn thing, but I don’t know it and don’t give a sh*t.)
With five minutes to spare–her timetable, actually thirty minutes before anyone else, except “Mr. Jamison” would be there–we were backing out our driveway.
We pulled into the parking lot of the Carolina Pines, the hotel where everything was being held, just as Mr. Jamison was getting out of his car. He hurried around to open Pat’s door. I noticed his eyes were not on her face as she twisted her legs around to get out. Knowing how short Pat’s dress was, I’m sure he was getting a good look at an outstanding pair of legs.
I hurried around to escort my wife, but was only partly successful. I got one arm, he claimed the other, and with all the charm of a snake he offered his hand saying, “If I remember correctly, you must be Alfred, of course. Any husband of Pat’s is a friend of mine.” The bastard almost looked sincere.
Naturally I had to release Pat’s arm in order to shake his hand, and as I did he pulled her around so they were face to face as he hugged her tightly and said, “I don’t know how the business could run without this little lady.”
Taking his hand, I said, “My friends call me Al.”
“And I’m just plain Harry to my friends; and Al, I just know we’re going to be friends.”
The look on Pat’s face said she was just eating that crap up. When I tried to take her arm again to escort her in, she sort of pulled away–not blatantly, but I knew whose arm she was really on.
As soon as we got inside, Pat handed me a couple sheets of paper containing names and table numbers. “Al, will you check each table’s nameplates and things in general, just to make sure everything is perfect; can’t have any boo-boos on a big night like this.”
I double checked everything and even stuck my long nose into what the caterers were doing. Judging by the aromas filling the serving area set aside for them, they were doing a fine job. I guess I was making too much a pest of myself because before too long one of them headed my way menacingly waving a long handled ladle.
“Okay! Okay! I get the picture; I think I hear my wife calling anyway,” I said. I moved out of the area. I say moved because sauntered sounds too slow, and scurried sounds too undignified. At any rate I got the hell away from that spoon wielding character.
That’s when I started wondering just what the crap happened to Pat, so not being very imaginative I wandered into the main hall, where doors opened into smaller rooms. I peeked in the first one and saw it contained what looked like a high class game table, four chairs, and a sofa. The next two were similarly furnished and there was no sign of Pat.
I turned away from the third door and was just about to give up when I thought I heard that giggle again; it was coming from the far end of the hall so I eased down that way. Sure enough I found some kind of storage room, the door half open, and inside, joking as they searched some kind of trunk, was my two missing characters–the one who liked ‘bad boys’ and the ‘bad boy’ himself.
I can’t say they were doing much that would fail the husband test, but damn it; they just seemed to be having a lot of fun and doing just too much flirting and his hands were ‘innocently’ touching the body that only I should have been touching.
Damn Right! I’m jealous; but I’m a wimp–remember? I’m the guy who hates confrontation; the ‘good guy’ who lets the Alpha Males shit all over him. So I didn’t rush inside and rescue the fair maiden, instead I stood outside and listened to see what would happen next. Boy did I get an earful!
“Pat, when are you going to tell the worm you’re married to about us?”
“Harry! I’ve asked you not to say humiliating things about Al. He’s a good guy, a great dad, a good provider, and I love him.”
“If you love him so much, why do you welcome me into your bed every chance we get?”
“I, I” she stumbled over the words. “I don’t really know. Al’s tender and loving. When I’m with him he treats me like a precious china doll–don’t get me wrong, I love that, I really do…”
“What do you call what we do, if not making love?”
“Seriously? You just fuck me–fuck me without any consideration for what I want, but you know what–I like that too. I guess I need to be treated like a queen most times, that’s Al’s job; but once in a while I need to be treated like a whore, like a fuck toy, and that’s where you come in. I just love it when you demand what you want without considering me.”
I couldn’t believe my ears; that was my wife, the woman who vowed to be true to me, admitting she liked to be fucked by another man–not just another man, but a Neanderthal like this asshole. I didn’t want them to catch me listening, but I simple couldn’t walk away.
“Humph!” Asshole had to run his mouth some more. “Good thing you got me, then, no way that worm you’re married to is going to act like a man.” He gave a derisive snort. Man! Did I wish I had balls enough to walk right in there and slap the shit out of him. I guess the thing that really pissed me off the most was hearing Pat, the woman I loved with all my heart, telling another man I didn’t supply what she needed.
“Don’t call Al a wimp, Harry. I love him, even if I do need rough sex from a ‘Bad Boy’ like you occasionally.”
“You still haven’t answered my question of when you’re gonna tell him about us.”
“I…I…It’s just so hard. I’m torn between you and Al. I’m trying to keep him in the dark as long as possible.”
“Yeah, but having to dodge around him is keeping me from getting your pussy every time I want it. That’s going to come to an end.”
“But…but…”
“No buts about it. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll let him catch us, that way he’ll know without you having to tell him, and I’ll explain to him that while I’ll be fucking you several times a week, you’ll make the off days very special for him.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?”
“Nope. You wanted a ‘Bad Boy’ shoving the dick to you and you got one–me. My women do what I say.”
I couldn’t believe my ears; was Pat really going to put up with that kind’a shit? The woman I’d married sure wouldn’t have.
“What about me?” Pat asked. “What do I get out of the deal, ‘Mr. High and Mighty’?”
“You get to stay married to the worm and I get to fuck you when I want.” He grabbed her hand and started leading her my way, saying, “Hell, that ain’t a bad deal.”
Thank God they halted for him to run his mouth a bit more, giving me time to hide behind a couple tall lockers someone had left in the hallway, where I’m sure they should not have been.
“I tell you one thing though, Baby; I’m tired of this hiding around shit. I’m spending tonight at your place, I’m gonna fuck you in the wimp’s bed; he can stay and watch if he wants to, but tonight that pussy is mine.
“You…you can’t do that…” I could hear the tension in her voice.
“And why not, I’d like to know?”
“Cause he might leave me, and I told you I love him; he’s my always man–a married guy like you is just a bit of entertainment. Before long you’ll tire of me or your wife will find out about us and I won’t see you again. Al and I are for life, even if I do need a bit of strange once in a while.”
Their voices faded away as they continued walking and I stepped from behind the lockers and followed. My mind was all awhirl from hearing Pat confirm she really loved me–so why does she have to fuck that assshole? What does he give her that I don’t? Shit! She just answered that; she likes to be treated rough sometimes. Realizing that didn’t make me feel any better, because I just don’t think I could possibly treat a woman rough. My momma just didn’t raise me that way.
One thing for sure, a guy like me would never find another woman who’d take care of me like Pat does, so I guess I’ll just have to resign myself to letting her continue fucking other men.
My brother was right, all those years ago when he said, “Al, your problem is you just ain’t got no self-confidence. Boy, you need to stand up for yourself; it don’t hurt but a little while when you get your ass kicked.”
I knew he was right, he didn’t take no shit off anybody and nobody fucked with him. He also had his pick of women–I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could be like my brother, but I just couldn’t do it.
Anyway, the party was a great success–at least to hear Pat and the Asshole tell it. I guess it was pretty good too, the food was good, the drinks free, although I didn’t have but a couple, and early on I even got to dance with Pat several times,–on the slow ones. When the modern dances started all I could do was sit back and watch.
And watch I did; watch Pat and Harry really put on an exhibition of how it should be done. A few times they were the only ones on the floor while others just looked on and clapped. I gotta admit, I felt proud of Pat watching her and Harry perform.
Later pride gave way to pissed as the music became softer and slower and every time Pat came back to our table to rest a minute, while downing another drink, she’d refuse dance with me, claiming she was too tried, but as soon as Harry Baby reached for her hand she quite willingly followed him out on the floor.
Oh yeah–the drunker they got the more they rubbed on each other, while dancing. His hands were all over her, I’m pretty sure he was finger fucking her right there on the floor one time. I was getting pissed and in my head I imagined how I’d go over there slap Harry and drag Pat back to our table, kicking and screaming.
Of course, all that only took place in my mind; each time I tried to fetch her, my legs just wouldn’t lift my body, so I just sat through the humiliation until they announced the last call for drinks and the singer said, “Okay men, last chance to claim a dance with the girl you’ll be taking home.”
There was a lot of shifting about as most women shifted back to the fellow who brought them. I could only go mostly by sound, because I kept clenching my eyes closed, trying to keep the tears from dripping down my cheeks. That’s when I got the shock of my life.
“Don’t you want to claim the last dance?” My eyes flew open–Pat was standing there, her hand extended.
I was up in a flash and we moved to the music, her body pressed against mine, her arm around my neck and her lips nibbling on my ear. Lord it was wonderful! Even if she had been playing up to Harry most of the night, at least for these few minutes it was like it had been back in the old days.
As the last strains faded and we all headed for the exit, Pat pulled me to a halt, saying, “It’ll be just a few minutes till Harry is ready.”
“Why do we care how long it takes for Harry to get ready? He has his own car, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, but since he’s had so much to drink, it only makes sense for him to ride with us.”
“Oh! We taking him by his place–guess that makes sense, he does look like he’s ‘three sheets into the wind.’
“No, we’re not taking him by his house; his wife would raise hell if he walked in like he is now.”
“Well where are we taking him?” I asked the question, but had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.
“He’s sleeping with us tonight. I will not let his wife see him like this; she’ll make his life miserable.”
“She was right there at the party–don’t you think she already saw him?”
“Fat lot of attention you were paying! She left before things got started getting good–claimed she had one of her many migraines coming on. So, No! He’s sleeping at our house tonight and that’s all there is to it.”
“Where? In the guest room, I suppose.”
“Don’t be silly, he’ll be sleeping with us in our big king sized bed. I always did want to see how it felt to do a threesome.”
The way she said it told me there was no use to argue, but I had to give it a try anyway. “Don’t you think it’ll get a bit crowded?”
“Naw,” She answered, “There’ll be plenty of room; I suspect he and I will be atop one another most of the night anyway.” She giggled like a school girl. The alcohol will do that to her.
“LIKE HELL HE IS! HE DRAGS HIS ASS IN ONE OF OUR BEDS I BLOW A HOLE IN HIM BIG ENOUGH TO DRIVE A MACK TRUCK THROUGH THE BASTARD!” That what I wish I had guts enough to say. What I really did was keep my mouth shut and waited for the asshole to finally stumble out to our car.
“You don’t mind driving, do you Honey? I’ll just sit back here in the back with Harry, if that’s okay with you,” Pat was crawling into the back seat beside him even as she spoke.
“I…I don’t know–I think it’d be better if you rode up here with me, Honey.”
“Don’t be absurd, Al. Harry needs me much more than you do right now.” She slammed the door shut and we are on our way home with me trying to drive, one eye on the road and the other on the rear view mirror as I tried to keep my eye on what my wife and Asshole was doing in the back seat.
We barely started when I saw her trying to hold Harry upright while he was busy trying to feel her tits. About that time it dawned on me that Harry wasn’t nearly as drunk as he pretended to be. For instance he got her top off and her Bra undone just as quickly as I’d ever done it stone sober.
It’s a wonder I didn’t pile us up alongside the road someplace, since I was having such a time keeping my eyes off the rear view mirror watching ‘Good ole Harry’ trying to play with her tits and Pat trying to keep an eye on me and fight him off at the same time.
I’m not sure why she kept up the pretense of fighting him off–maybe she just didn’t want to appear too easy in front of me, but that didn’t make much sense, since she’d already declared her intention of fucking us both tonight–or at least that’s what I thought I heard. With Pat you can never tell.
She continued the fight, however, but it was a losing effort. Before we were halfway home, he had managed to get his hand under her dress and I’m sure his fingers must have found their way to pay dirt because she started to moan, even though she was trying her best to keep it down. The odor of turned on pussy started filling the car and from the way she was squirming I knew he was he really hitting the right spots.
AS we turned into our driveway she gave up all restraint. The wheels had hardly stopped turning when she popped open the door. She almost fell out of the car while trying to pull Asshole after her, and lead him up the walk saying, “Come on Harry–I gotta have that dick and I gotta have it now.”
I followed along, feeling lower than a snake’s belly. Pushing shut the door they didn’t bother to close; then I followed their trail of discarded clothes to the bedroom–our bedroom–the frigging bed where Pat and I made love. Man! That pissed me off. Tell you the truth, it was a toss-up as to which I was the most: scared or mad.
I’d read stories which claimed husbands got turned on by knowing their wives were fucking someone else. One thing for sure, I sure wasn’t turned on one bit.
Turned on? No! But curious, yes! I admit I just had to see for myself what Harry was doing different from what I did to her. Why she’d throw away our marriage for him; it just didn’t make sense.
At least I didn’t peek around trying to spy on them; instead I stood right there in the doorway watching as she locked her legs around his back and heard her moan as she tried to lift her pussy to meet his long strokes.
It hurt, but I was right there watching as Pat unwrapped her legs and then, with her feet flat on the bed started fucking upward just as franticly as he was driving his cock into her. I saw her start to shudder and heard her screaming gibberish as her eyes rolled back in her head and she acted like a wild woman before finally collapsing and lying so still that the first time it happened with me, I thought she was dead.
I wanted to kill her, I wanted to kill him, Crap! I even wanted to kill myself, but I knew I was too much the coward to do either. Instead I just watched as she slowly came around. I was standing over her, my face not a foot from hers when her eyes suddenly popped open.
“Why?” I asked.
“I’m sorry you had to see this,” She whispered. Now that she had her rocks off I guess a little of her senses returned–just a little though.
“It’s just so good, Honey. You can’t imagine how he makes me feel. Now step back and let us finish, then I’ll take care of you.”
She spread wide and ‘Good ole Harry’ kneeled between her legs ready to guide his cock into her again. I don’t think I’ll ever forget how his cock looked, pushing her labia apart while his oversized balls dangled beneath.
“Not tonight, you won’t.” Asshole sneered. “But you can just sit over there in that chair and watch–maybe you’ll learn something about satisfying a woman like a real man. If you’re a good little cucky I may even let you clean both of us up after I finish fucking her.”
His words, “Little Cucky” ate at me as I started to move away. It started with a strange ringing in my ears, followed by shortness of breath then an abundance of it. I knew I was sucking in air while a strange aching began in the pit of my stomach…
“FUCK YOU, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Someone screamed those words. Somehow it was like I was standing aside watching another ‘me’ grab Asshole’s ball sack and starting to twist and squeeze it. Asshole was screaming and crying–I could clearly see him in the wall mirror as his facial features began to look like something out of a horror movie.
I somehow knew just what the ‘me’ was feeling–how much he was enjoying getting back at my tormenter–wait, why did he care what Asshole had done to me?
Someplace–far in the back of my mind, I wondered if it was really me doing the things I was seeing, but how could that be? I was a wimp, a coward, nothing but a worm–I’d never do anything like this.
Still–Pat was pulling at the ‘me’ telling him to stop before he killed Asshole, saying she was sorry, that she really love…
But how could that be? She always claimed to love me, so how could she be telling that ‘me’ how much she loved him and how she didn’t want to see him in prison. Man! I was confused.
By now the Asshole was lying limp with his balls, what I could still see of them, still covered by that other ‘Me’s hand and he was twisting and tugging on them like he was trying to pull his balls off. That’s when this silly thought crossed my mind, ‘He’s gonn’a have a bad case of blue balls’.
Then the buzzing in my head as fading and I realized it was my hand on Asshole’s nut sack. Was I really the one doing all that to him? Hell, I hoped I was–it’d be the first time I ever stood up for myself and it felt damn good!
Then I realized the wailing I’d been hearing wasn’t in my head at all, it was sirens, probably police sirens, and they sounded like they were winding down right in front of my house. And Pat was staring into my eyes and shaking me, trying desperately to get something across to me.
“Listen to me Al and do what I tell you, if you don’t want’a spend the next five years locked up. When they get in here all you know is you caught him raping me, then you blacked out. I’ll do the rest of the talking.”
“Open up! Police!” There was a loud banging and while Pat took her time going to open the door I got off the bed, straightened my clothes up as best I could and took a seat in the chair against the wall.
“Back this way, officers; back to the bedroom.” I could hear Pat as she led the way to where I was sitting. The room exploded with activity; first to para-medics, with their equipment, followed by a detective and a deputy sheriff, who I recognized as Detective Boone and Deputy Devanski, or ‘Ski’ to almost everyone who had any dealing with him.
Nobody asked me anything at first. Detective Boone and Deputy Ski took a bunch of pictures while the Medics were busy checking Asshole out. He must have not been too bad because while they were loading him onto the gurney, he started cussing and swearing about what he was going to do to me.
“I’d say he’s gonn’a make it.” One Medic said to no one in particular.
“Yeah,” his partner agreed, as they wheeled him out the room, “but if I’m any judge of it, I don’t think he’s gonn’a be doing what he was obviously doing here, any time soon–if ever.”
“Sorry folks, but I’ll have to take you down to the station for your statements. Pat, you might should get dressed; Al, you’re okay, if you’re comfortable.” Boone gave me a pat on the shoulder as he walked over to sit and wait for Pat to dress.
I thought I might have pulled the lucky card when I saw Boone and Ski walk in–now I was sure of it. Boone had caught his wife in his bed with another cop about three years ago and after she finished crying and lying in court the ‘injustice’ system had took him to the cleaners. Last year Ski had caught his wife fucking her boss and he’d stayed with her for the sake of their small children, so I was pretty sure I’d get fair treatment as far as the police was concerned.
Why would I say that? Well, the three of us belonged to same hunt & fish club and while we weren’t close enough for anyone to suspect any bias, we were more than just acquaintances, so I didn’t expect the cops to shit on me this time–not so long as those two stayed on the case.
I must say, for a woman who’d just been caught doing what Pat had been doing, she came out dressed pretty darn sexy. She walked right up to Boone saying, “Can we please just follow you to the station? After all, this might be the last time we get together for quite a while.”
“I…uh…” Boone looked over at Ski as if he didn’t quite know what to say. “Weeelll,” he was hesitant if he was anything. “It would be breaking just about every rule in the book…”
“Hell, why not?” Ski finally voiced an opinion. We’ll stick right behind them and it’s very unlikely anybody will be in the parking lot this time of day, so why not?”
So that’s how we got to talk a few minutes before the shit would hit the fan. “Listen Al,” Either the events of the night had sobered her up awful quickly or she wasn’t as drunk as she seemed to be earlier. “I know you’re pissed with me and I can’t say I blame you. I really have no excuse for my actions, but even though I know you won’t believe me, I really do love you and only you. Harry was just–hell I don’t know how to describe it…” She hesitated before finishing, “just a good fuck, maybe. I guess the old, ‘Devil made me do it,’ wouldn’t be far off.
“But we got bigger problems just now. Listen and listen good, when they question you, just claim you walked in the room and caught him raping me. Remember–no matter what, you thought he was raping me and when you tried to stop it, he wouldn’t quit. You were just trying to get him off me.”
“Do you think anyone will believe that?”
“They will after I tell my story…”
That’s when that strange ringing/buzzing noise started. I remember thinking, it’s getting dark awfully early for this time of year, and I believe I thought something like, ‘I better stop this damn car’ but that was it. My next rational thought was, ‘where the heck am I and why is all this crap hooked up to me?’
My next surprise was not being able to move my head, that’s when I started to panic. About that time a woman leaned over me and I realized she was a nurse, so that must mean I was in a hospital.
“Why, hello, Mr. Baxter. Good to see you back with us.”
I tried to speak, but couldn’t. I panicked. Obviously she noted my concern.
“Don’t worry about not being able to talk; we have a tube in you and that’s preventing it. The doctor is on his way and I expect he’ll remove it and answer all the questions you might have.”
I sure hoped so, cause I had a jillion of em.
“Don’t worry, Honey. I already spoke with him and he assures me you’ll be as good as new–maybe even better.”
That was the first time I realized someone else was in the room, and that someone was Pat. What was she doing here?
“Oh, you know this lady, Mr. Baxter?” The nurse looked amused. “You must, or at least she must know you–she has hardly left this room for almost two weeks.”
Two weeks! I’ve been here two weeks? I wanted to shout it, but the best I could do was a gurgling noise.
Minutes later the doctor walked in and started pushing and probing on me while reading my chart, all the while going ‘Muummm’ and asking if it hurt here or there or wherever. Finally he must have been satisfied, cause he and the nurse started jerking off most of those lines they had hooked to me.
Doc must have taken some of his training in a Dental School; because all the time he was unhooking me, he was talking–just like a dentist that asks you questions while he’s working in your mouth. Finally he removed that damn tube from down my throat.
“Feel better?” He asked when he and the nurse had me cut loose from most of the crap I’d been hooked up to. “Don’t try to talk just yet; your throat will be sore for a while. I’ll be back with the surgeon in a couple hours to explain everything. Meanwhile we’ll get you some ice chips to suck on–wet your throat that way. Maybe by dinner time you’ll feel like some broth.”
Doc had a good bedside manner–at least he loved to talk. I tried to ask him what happened but found my words just didn’t come out right. He and the nurse left the room and Pat moved closer. They had taken away the contraption holding my head fixed, so I could turn it to look at her.
As I gazed into her face I realized this was the first time in a long time I’d looked at her–I mean really looked at her. What I saw in her eyes was love; the same expression that’d been there on our wedding day.
“I’m so sorry, Honey,” she whispered. “I know you can’t forgive me but I am sorry.” Then she started feeding me ice–some of the best ice I’d ever tasted.
Sorry, she said she was sorry–sorry about what? That’s when I realized not only couldn’t I remember anything about why I was in here. When I tried to ask, I mostly babbled and she didn’t understand.
“Don’t worry about not being able to talk right now, you’ve had a bad two weeks and went through a serious brain operation, but they all say you’re on the mend. Now it’s just a matter of time and a lot of good nursing, and I’m here for that, if you want me.”
Her words didn’t make sense to me; why wouldn’t I want her? I pondered on that most of the afternoon, while she planted kisses on my forehead between feeding me spoonfuls of ice.
The clock seemed to be backing up as I waited for the doctor to come back and talk, like he promised. As I waited I realized my throat was improving and I could actually carry on a short conversation with Pat, between spoonfuls of ice.
“What happened, Baby,” was my first question.
“Don’t you remember?” Pat had a strange look on her face. “You don’t remember attacking Harry?”
“Why would I attack Harry?”
“Well–hummnn…” She obviously didn’t want to answer–maybe they were afraid I couldn’t handle the answer. After all, I’d been in a coma, or something for two weeks. “You don’t remember?”
“If I did I wouldn’t have to ask, would I?”
“What do you remember about going to the party?”
“What party?”
“Shit! You can’t remember going to Harry’s big party?”
“Harry? Harry–yeah, that’s the name of your boss, isn’t it? I seem to remember you just got a big promotion…”
“Al, that was months ago…”
“Months? Can’t be–You came home the other day all excited telling me about this great new job you got as Mr. Jamison’s personal assistant. You were on top of the world-and now you’re telling me that was months ago? No way!” I couldn’t understand Pat’s facial expression upon hearing my words.
“Just what do you remember?”
“What’a ya mean, what do I remember? I remember a lot of stuff–stuff like growing up, like going to school and college, like marrying you, and how I always thought you were the prettiest woman I’d ever seen. We’d be together forever…”
“No, no–just start with the past couple weeks and think back–say start with us getting ready for the big party.”
“Party? Oh yeah! Your birthday party. Yeah, I remember–it was a great party, what with all our friends over and all–oh yeah, that’s the first time I met your boss, Mr. Jamison.”
“No, no, my birthday party was months ago. What do you remember about the week before you came in here?”
“I–I don’t understand. We had your birthday party yesterday and I woke up in here.”
Oh shit!” She looked shocked. “Where is that darn doctor? I wish he’d hurry up.”
Well, Dr. Sunshine and another doctor, who introduced as the surgeon, breezed at the same time my supper was delivered, so both of them poked and prodded on me, while asking, “This hurt–that hurt?” and my supper got cold.
At long last they got around to the real business of trying to find out just how much of my memory was gone. Bottom line was, after some days of testing, they concluded I didn’t remember anything that happened after Pat’s birthday party four months ago.
It was strange how relieved Pat looked when Doc was telling me they actually found and a tumor on my brain that accounted for my irrational behavior, and I’d probably never regain full memory of that missing time.
Both doctors left after assuring me that while I had to re-learn a lot of the things I’d always taken for granted, with a lot of rehab and even more TLC and almost around the clock nursing, I’d soon be as good as new–almost.
“Don’t worry about a thing, Honey.” Pat assured me after they closed the door. “I’m ready to take care of you twenty four/seven as long as you need it.”
I was almost sure I heard her mutter, “I just hope that’s time enough for you to forgive me,” but I couldn’t be sure. What would she need me to forgive her for?
I tried to ask her, but I guess I was still loopy, cause my words didn’t come out like I wanted them and I fell asleep again. No, I never did eat that meal they’d brought, at least I don’t think I did, but the almost empty dishes were sitting off to the side, when I awoke, and Detective Boone was walking in the door, and it was dark enough outside that I knew several hours had to have passed.
“How you feeling, Al?” Boone and I had graduated from school together, and while we were no longer best buddies, we did still see each other a lot during hunting and fishing seasons. “Boy, you’re one lucky SOB.” He kept right on talking without giving me a chance to respond.
“How, you ask? Well I’ll tell you. First you almost tore Jamison’s balls off on a night me and Ski could make the call.” He extended one finger of his left hand to indicate ‘one’. “Two” the second finger extended, “You did it in a jurisdiction where O’Brian is the DA. The same O’Brian, whose wife that asshole Jamison talked into going on a month long European vacation with him; you can imagine how much credit the DA gave to Jamison’s claims…”
“But won’t they simply take O’Brian off the case claiming conflict of interest?”
“Nope, that’s the beauty part; O’Brian pretended to buy his wife’s bullshit about winning a free vacation. As far as anyone except me and a couple of good friends know, O’Brian doesn’t know a thing about his wife’s misadventures.”
“Okay, that’s great–no criminal charges; but if I hurt somebody like you say, won’t he be pressing civil charges?”
“Civil charges my ass! Look at this. After me and that wife of yours talked with him he was glad to drop all charges. By the way, that little lady is a real keeper–you ever decide to get rid of her let me know.”
I looked over at Pat, who was sitting in a corner looking like she was going to fall apart any minute. “I don’t understand,” I said to Boone. “Let me in on what happened.”
“Me and Pat there had a long talk with Jamison. He was a bit touchy at first, making noises about suing you for everything you had–until Pat explained you really thought he was raping her and if he insisted on pushing the point she’d have to explain how even though they might have fooled around before…Oh shit! I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”
I heard a quick intake of breath as Pat leaped up out of her chair and covered the couple feet between us faster than I thought possible.
“I’m so sorry, Honey.” The tears were draining down her cheeks when she planted kiss after kiss on my forehead. “Please forgive me, please, please.”
With that, she left me alone in the room with Boone. “Look man, I’m sorry,” tried to apologize once more, “but it can’t be a surprise to you about her and Jamison. I’ll tell you one thing though, that’s a hella’ve woman you have there. Man! You should have seen the way she crawled Jamison’s ass…” He studied the ceiling intently, obviously weighing his next words. “Anyway during the time you were in a coma, that little woman put the fear of God into Mr. Jamison. Seems the money in that family came from Mrs. Jamison’s folks and if she gets wind of what he did, she’d kick his ass out without a cent. Between your wife, your lawyer, and with me and the DA slipping a remark or two into the conversation, Mr. Jamison has agreed to pay all your medical bills resulting from this problem AND to never bring it up again.” With that, he left me to consider my next steps.
Now I may have been in a coma, but I’m not stupid. Putting all the little clues, I managed to pick up, together I had a pretty good idea about what must have happened between Pat and ‘Good ole Harry Boy’.
For the next two days I had nothing but time to think. Pat called for a few minutes twice a day and we made small talk, but she didn’t bring up the ‘elephant in the room’ except to promise we’d have a long talk when she brought me home and she’d abide exactly by my decision, no matter what it might be.
*****
Well, no matter how much you wish to put off an unpleasant situation, it still stinks unless you dispose of it. I decided the best time was the first day I got back home. As soon as the well-wishers had left and we were alone from my recliner in front of the TV I called, “Pat! Can you come in here a minute?”
She came, but she looked like she wished she was someplace–make that anyplace–else.
“Yeah?” Her voice had a catch in it and she cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
“What’s up? What’s up? Don’t you think we need to sit down and have a talk?” I patted the chair that sat so close to my recliner we often held hand while watching TV. She nodded and letting out a long sigh she came to me, much like I pictured an old west bank robber climbing the gallows in Dodge City.
“Al, I’m so sorry…” I stopped her before she began.
“Just hold it Pat, I’ll give you chance to talk in a minute. You see, Boone is an old friend of mine and he told me what you did–how you saved my ass from a big lawsuit by that asshole Jamison. You didn’t have to do that, and I want you to know I appreciate it. Right now I only want to know one thing; do you want to stay married to me?”
“With all my heart.” Tears dripping down her cheeks. “I promise that if you forgive me I’ll never do anything like that again.”
“That’s good enough for me–except for one little thing.” I handed her an official looking envelope I’d had our lawyer bring over before I left the Hospital.. “That’s what they call a post nuptial or some crap like that. Simply put, it says if either of us are ever caught cheating after we both sign this thing, the cheating partner gets Fifty Thousand dollars and their personal belongings. Everything else, even what they may have brought into the marriage is forfeit. Sign it and we’ll never mention this incident again, refuse and we can fight it out in court.”
Pat let out a squeal and almost jumped into my lap. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she managed to say while trying to smother me with kisses.
Epilogue
Well, that’s the way it happened. All that was years ago; since then we’ve faded into old age gracefully and I’ve thanked God many times, as I’ve aged into an octogenarian and needed help and care, that I had my sixty something year old wife at my side.
Did we have fights? Damn right we did, but we never went to bed still mad. I love that woman and I don’t give a damn what others may think. A while back, at my birthday party thrown by some old friends one of them started teasing me about what I thought I could do with a hot younger woman like Pat.
“I’ll tell you sucker,” I replied, licking the tip of my nose with my tongue. “This still works.” Then lifting my right hand with forefinger extended,. I said, “And this gets just as hard as it ever did.”
THE END
May all of you have a good day and get to find out ways to make do at eighty.
LIFE’S A BLAST!
