Looking back on my life, I find it strange how completely random events have charted the course of my life more than the ones I planned and prepared for. When they happen, I’m almost always unprepared for the outcome. This story is about one of those times.
Ever since I was a pre-teen, it was always my dream to own a Harley Davidson motorcycle, not some dirt bike or crotch-rocket, but a fully dressed custom hog. I can’t remember exactly where this obsession came from, but it has persisted throughout my life.
I considered myself different than the trending yuppies that viewed ownership of a Harley Davidson motorcycle as some sort of upper middle-class status symbol. Unlike them, I truly yearned to ride. Yes, I was the corporate suit and tie type also, but I knew if I owned a Harley, I wouldn’t just park it in the driveway to impress my neighbors. I couldn’t think of anything on earth that felt more powerful and exciting between my legs... except my gorgeous wife, of course.
Problem was, my wife Carol was completely against me owning a motorcycle in any form. I can’t really fault her. She had her reasons and I knew about them long before I asked her to marry me. Several years ago, Carol’s uncle was severely injured in a motorcycle accident and was confined to a wheelchair for life. It didn’t matter what I said, she was unbending in her position and there seemed virtually no chance of ever changing her mind.
Then, after our girls Trisha and Anne were born, Carol made it absolutely clear it would be irresponsible for a father of two to take such a selfish risk as to ride a motorcycle. So, for the sake of family harmony, I didn’t push the issue, but privately my obsession never diminished.
Unknown to Carol, I secretly saved until I finally had enough cash put aside to buy a Harley outright. I knew it was futile to believe she would ever change her mind, but the mere act of saving the money kept my dream alive.
Then, with money in hand, I mustered up enough courage to approach her one last time. I was prepared to receive the usual rebuff, but to my utter amazement, she agreed to at least discuss it with me. I think having saved the money must have enhanced my position somewhat because she knew I was serious. When she agreed to go to the showroom with me, I was speechless. However, I knew the real reason she volunteered to go was to make sure I didn’t come home with one.
When Carol got angry, she didn’t demonstrate emotion, but usually withdrew and would go silent. Thus, our ride to the Harley shop was made in deafening silence, even the children were unusually quiet. However, when we finally arrived, things dramatically changed. Although I had been here several times before, this time it was different. I felt like a kid at Disneyland for the first time.
For me, this was biker’s heaven, but for Carol it was more like purgatory. As we walked around looking at the various models, I learned quickly that this was not the place to take a three and five-year-old. They were climbing on anything and everything in sight. On the plus side, there were no high-pressure salesmen like at an auto dealership. The workers were courteous and answered any questions we asked.
What didn’t get past me was that they seemed more interested in flirting with my wife than selling me a motorcycle. Over the years, I became accustomed to men hitting on her, but I still found it annoying. I guess that’s the price you pay for marrying up.
After about a half-hour of looking around and chasing the kids, Carol whispered to me, “David, this is crazy. There are so many other sensible things we could spend this money on. Trish wants piano lessons and the orthodontist says Anne will need braces to correct her overbite.” Then she gave me the look most married guys know well; it is the one where she knows she’s right... and even if I believed I was, I wasn’t.
I wasn’t going to argue with her, but as soon as I saw that purple and silver beauty dressed out in shiny chrome, it was love at first sight. A sales representative told me it was his best-selling model. So, I did what any responsible husband would do… I agreed to the braces and piano lessons but negotiated with her to put a motorcycle on a layaway plan.
It would be another eleven long months before my dream machine was parked in my driveway. I was never so proud of any possession in my life. I even carried pictures in my wallet like a new dad. I must have sounded like a Harley salesman to anyone that would listen to me, and I polished it until there was a chance the chrome might rub off.
Problem was, Carol seemed to view my purchasing the bike as some sort of personal betrayal to her. I tried everything I could to mend fences, but it was tough going. Flowers and gifts seemed to have no effect on her. Whenever I attempted to have a conversation about anything but the kids, she wouldn’t participate. I was starting to think we’d never have a civil discussion again.
To make things worse, her attitude followed us into the bedroom. At one point, I thought I might never get laid again. It was like a cruel punishment to lay next to my voluptuous wife night after night and be put off time and time again by every lame excuse she could conjure up. No one could possibly have that many headaches and I’m pretty sure a woman only has her period once a month.
I loved the bike, but I loved my wife more and considered on many occasions selling it. However, for some unexplained reason, I held out hope things would improve, and eventually they did… very slowly. I never did ride my bike to work as originally planned. I usually confined my outings to weekends while Carol was either shopping or running errands.
*****
After several months of receiving flyers from the local Harley club, I decided to check out one of their meetings. They called themselves the Hell Cats, but the name didn’t fit their looks. The club consisted mostly of middle-aged and older guys who were living out their mid-life fantasies. Even though wives and girlfriends were invited to attend the meetings, I didn’t even bother to ask Carol. With things improving on the home front, I didn’t want to upset the Applecart.
When she saw the club mailer that had a group picture on the front, her reaction was predictable. She laughed and said, “You all look ridiculous with your sagging bellies and thinning gray hair trying to be bad-ass.”
When I decided to grow a beard, she told me, “You look like some homeless bum. You’re not intending on going to work looking like that, are you?”
As expected, Carol’s family totally backed her concerning my motorcycle, especially her mom. My mother-in-law never did care for me, even though I went out of my way to please her. Purchasing a motorcycle just reinforced her opinion that her precious daughter married below her station. They always hoped she’d marry into money and status. It made little difference to them that I was a well-respected investor and could support my family in a comfortable lifestyle.
When I decided to join the club, Carol totally surprised me by agreeing to go to my initiation meeting. I considered that a reconciliatory gesture from her to mend bridges. While I was happy she was going, I was also apprehensive of what her reaction to the group might be.
From the time we walked in the banquet hall, all eyes were on Carol. Not just the men, but women, too. It always fascinated me the way women seemed to size up their competition. As soon as Carol got a glimpse of the other women in the club wearing tight biker outfits, she whispered to me, “I’d look better than any of them in leather.”
Of course, she was correct, but I played to her vanity and said, “Prove it then!”
Carol looked at me defiantly and I could tell she took my comment as a challenge when she replied, “You do know I’ll be using your credit card?”
The rest of the evening went well with virtually everyone introducing themselves. I could tell she enjoyed the attention; she was in full flirt mode. It reminded me of her college days.
*****
The very next day we went on a shopping spree purchasing several new outfits and some other miscellaneous items like high heel boots. Seeing Carol for the first time in leathers took my breath away. She looked almost pornographic, reminding me of the movie Catwoman. For a thirty-four-year-old mother of two, she was incredible. The black leather full body outfit had a zipper down the front. When she she opened it enough to show a generous amount of her cleavage, I was speechless.
I choked out, “Holy crap! You’re not actually going to wear that in public… are you?”
“I thought you wanted me to be your biker girl,” she said spinning around shaking her butt.
“How about something a little more conservative?” I said as she disappeared into the changing stall.
Carol tried on several more outfits, but I quickly realized that it wasn’t the clothes that were sexy, it was the woman in them.
At the next regular meeting, her new leathers didn’t go unnoticed. When we first walked in, she wore a full-length trench coat. As soon as she slipped it off and handed it to me, there was silence in the room, except for some low volume murmurs. I couldn’t explain it, but I was so proud seeing the attention my wife attracted from all those men, as well as the looks of jealousy from their wives.
Carol wasn’t much of a drinker. As the evening wore on, I saw her stumble a few times and knew she had reached her limit. I abandoned an innocuous conversation I was having about who was the best quarterback in the NFL and pushed my way through her admiring fans to rescue her. She was too intoxicated to realize she was being felt up. When I reached her, she had already accepted another cocktail.
I gently took her wrist and whispered, “Hon, that’s enough.”
Rich put his arm around her waist possessively and told me, “She’s doing fine, buddy! Leave her alone.”
I took Carol’s drink away, sloshing some on the floor and set it on the table.
“I’m not your buddy, and I think you should remove your hands from my wife… now!”
He released her and I led my staggering wife to our car. On the way home she berated me for embarrassing her, but I was quiet and let her vent. I knew better than to argue with drunks. By the time we reached the house she had passed out. I carried her to the bedroom.
*****
The next morning, Carol had a massive headache as she sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands.
“I can’t hardly remember a thing,” she said. “Did I make a terrible fool of myself?”
“Can I plead the fifth on that question?” I answered.
“Oh God, I did… Wha… What happened?”
“Well… let’s say your outfit was very popular and… every guy there wanted to get a feel of the fabric.”
“I made a fool of myself, didn’t I? Why didn’t you stop me? You know I can’t hold my liquor.”
“I did try to stop you—and almost had to fight them off. Things could have escalated to more than just ‘groping’ if I hadn’t stepped in. We won’t be going to any more biker meetings, I guarantee you.”
“I’m so embarrassed.” Carol groaned. “They groped me?”
“It’s not all your fault, sweetheart. I should have stopped you from wearing that skintight jumpsuit. I could see that train wreck coming before it happened.”
Life seemed to go back to normal after we dropped the club. When I say “normal” I mean we were back to our normal routine. However, Carol seemed changed in ways I really couldn’t define. The attention and compliments she’d received at that disastrous party seemed to bolster her self-confidence.
My wife was approaching thirty-five and was determined to chase her youth. She became obsessed with diet and exercise. Her plan to fend off aging was paying off as her body was in better shape now than I could ever remember.
Problem was that whenever I’d compliment her, she would always reply, “You’re required to say that. You’re my husband.”
It seemed praise from others held greater credibility than mine. I couldn’t help but notice her wardrobe was getting bolder with her increased confidence. The changes in her were slight at first— just lots of little things like the little extra sway of her hips or her flirty smiles at strangers.
When she finally agreed to ride on my bike, I was ecstatic; it was a dream come true. At first, we just rode around the neighborhood, but eventually she was confident enough for us to make it out on the highway. We even took a trip up the coast to San Francisco. Occasionally, we’d see one of the club members and pleasantly wave at them or flash our headlights. I was content with my biker experience to be just Carol and I, but that was about to change in ways I never could have imagined.
*****
One afternoon after work, I pulled into my driveway to find several Harleys parked next to mine. When I came in there were several club members in our living room drinking coffee and chatting with Carol.
As soon as she saw me, she said, “Look who stopped by! They brought us some wine.”
Rich smiled and said, “It’s a peace offering. I apologize personally for what happened at the party and hope you’ll both consider coming back.”
I hadn’t recognized him at first in his tailored business suit as I replied, “I’ll have to give that some thought.” I set my briefcase down on the entry table and loosened my tie.
“I can understand your reluctance, but I will vouch that nothing like that will ever happen again.
I propose you join us on our next rally and see how it goes.”
I looked at Carol to see her reaction. She shrugged her shoulders, thus leaving the decision up to me.
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
*****
All the club members were married, except for Rich who was recently divorced. I wasn’t sure of his age, but he was older than me and was obviously the alpha male of this fledgling club. Physically, he was a tall, imposing man in terrific shape for his age, with his barrel chest and bulging biceps. Usually, he wore tight t-shirts and jeans with well-worn biker boots, but after I saw him in an expensive suit it made me believe he was a professional of some sort.
Over time I noticed that Rich flirted with all the wives—nothing that seemed too overt or offensive. However, I still felt he was a bit too touchy-feely around my wife. Whenever they talked, he didn’t try to hide his interest in her, and she seemed to do little to discourage him. I remained silent, trusting Carol to set the boundaries because she was not flirtatious by nature. However, I was still concerned and kept a watchful eye.
As time passed, our social life grew. We were constantly being asked to parties hosted by club members as well as business functions for my job. It seemed having a vivacious wife meant we were on everyone’s invitation list. I was traditionally more of a voyeur than participant, whereas Carol was popular as a dance partner. More than once I had to “steady her” while going to the car.
I knew I should have been alarmed about my wife’s increased exhibitionist behavior, but I was either confident in her faithfulness or just plain foolish. It must have been my passive attitude that seemed to embolden so many men to flirt with her. Why else would other men overtly proposition my wife in my presence?
Then, something completely unexpected happened while we were on our Pacific Coast Highway ride; something that would profoundly change the course of our lives forever.
The PCH was a favorite place for the club to ride. While we were getting dressed to meet them at the rally point, Carol put on one of the skimpiest, jaw dropping bikini I’d ever seen. Her butt seemed totally bare in the thong-style bottom. I felt this was going too far. I wasn’t about to have her exposed like that, so I insisted she wear leathers instead. Carol made it clear she didn’t like being told what to do.
“Where do you get off thinking you can order me around?”
“I’m not ordering you around. It’s all about safety, hon. Do you have a clue what could happen if you fell off the bike wearing that bikini? You’d be scarred for life.”
I knew she was angry with me because she gave me her silent treatment. I also knew better than to push the issue. I figured she would eventually calm down, but she remained aloof for the first half of the ride. Then, at the midway point, Carol informed me she would be riding back with Rich.
I was shocked to say the least because for a woman to ride with a man on his bike was considered almost an intimate gesture. I said nothing, not wanting to cause a scene. I did notice a little smirk from Rich when she slipped in behind him. For the first time, I felt a strong twinge of jealousy knowing my wife’s pert breasts were going to be pressed against his back. In retrospect, it’s a good thing she did ride with him on that particular day.
I took the lead bike position for the first time ever. I gunned the throttle and off we went. Rich and Carol were a couple bikes behind. It was a beautiful day on the California coastline, and I was proud to lead the pack for the first time as we roared down the twisting coastal highway two-by-two.
*****
A strange voice came to me like out of dream, saying, “Mr. Grayson. Mr. Grayson, can you hear me?”
With great effort, I cracked my eyes open and the light stabbed my brain like a spike. Then, incredible pain coursed throughout my body. I hurt everywhere at once. Slowly, images appeared before me like in a kaleidoscope of color. I was confused. Where was I? Carol’s blurry image started to appear in front of me as my eyes began to focus. I tried to speak but couldn’t. I was able to only slightly turn my head.
Her voice seemed like out of an echo chamber when she spoke. “Hon, can you hear me?”
I nodded my head, unable to utter a sound.
“Welcome back. You’re in the hospital.”
As my mind started to clear, I was confused. It was hard to pinpoint my pain. I hurt literally everywhere, and it was relentless. After I was conscious enough to realize I was in a hospital bed, a nurse began removing the tube from my throat. I attempted to speak, but my voice was but a whisper.
“Wh… what happened?” I asked, hoarsely.
A deep, unfamiliar voice replied, “I’m Doctor Copeland and you’re in St. John’s Hospital.”
“Why?”
“You were in a motorcycle accident and have been unconscious in a coma for three weeks. Can you recall anything that happened?”
“No… nothing. How bad am I?”
“You were in grave condition when they brought you in. You suffered a severe concussion, several compound fractures, a punctured lung, and lacerated liver. However, after surgery, you were upgraded from critical to stable. Given time and therapy, I am hopeful for your recovery. You are a very lucky man.”
I didn’t feel lucky. Carol’s pretty face was red and swollen from crying, or lack of sleep… or both. Our kids, Trisha and Anne were standing by the bed in tears. All I could think of was what the hell happened? Did I have a permanent disability?
The next several months were nothing but a blur of pain drugs and therapy; they kept me heavily sedated, so my sense of time was skewed. The casts came off at seven weeks and that’s when the real battle began to reclaim my life.
My therapist, Mindy, was a small woman of Asian descent who had the slim fit body of a model, the face of an angel, and the personality of a hard-ass Marine drill instructor. Mindy was merciless in her therapy, pushing me like no one ever had before in my life. I spent almost all day everyday with her harassing me. The progress was slow but steady. She was as unrelenting as the pain was. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months.
Despite her strict professionalism, we eventually became very good friends over time. It was inevitable that we shared our lives with one another and that created a special bond between us. I got stronger day by day through her efforts. About five months into my recovery, I was showing enough improvement that I knew they would soon discharge me to return home. That was bittersweet for me. I should have been elated to go home to my wife and children but the thought of losing Mindy saddened me. I had become dependent on her.
None of this went by unnoticed by Carol. She treated Mindy like a leper. Suddenly, my flirtatious wife was acting jealous of me. After one of my routines was finished and I was wheeled back to my room, Carol blindsided me by saying, “Just so you know, if you touch her boney ass, I’ll cut your dick off.”
“You mean like when Rich had his hands all over your ass? Mindy is my therapist and nothing more.”
“Bullshit! I’m not blind—and Rich is that way with all the wives, you know that.”
“Well, you finally got your wish. No more motorcycle and no more club. I should have listened to you in the first place.”
“Why do we need to quit the club?” she asked.
“The way I see it, with no motorcycle, why do I need a motorcycle club?”
“You can buy another one.”
“Says the woman who hated motorcycles. Did it escape you that I almost died on one? If you were riding with me instead of your boyfriend, you surely would have. By the way, why are we even discussing this?”
“He’s not my boyfriend, and you never once said anything to stop him.”
“You’re my wife. I trust you, but I don’t trust him. What is it you want from me? What’s done is done.”
She paused before giving me a kiss and answered, “I just want you to be happy.”
*****
When the time came for me to graduate my therapy and go home, I had mixed emotions. At the end of my last therapy session, Mindy rewarded me with a huge hug and a genuine kiss on the lips: a kiss that perhaps lingered a bit too long. She gave me her private number and suggested I call her if I needed private home therapy or just wanted to talk to someone. The staff lined up in the hallway. They were all applauding and cheering as I was wheeled out.
When I finally entered our home using a cane, it was a momentous occasion. I was greeted by our family and friends, almost like I was some sort of conquering hero. The house was decorated with welcome home banners. Carol immediately took me to the garage to show me the remains of my Harley. It was nothing but twisted steel with my dried blood stains still coating the chrome. The crushed helmet rested on top of the wreckage. I was suddenly thankful for my lack of memory.
“Why is this here?” I asked.
“Your attorney said we needed to keep it for the lawsuit,” Carol replied.
“What attorney? What lawsuit? Am I being sued?”
“Heavens, no! We are suing the driver. He was a driving a Lamborghini while drunk, crossed over the line and hit you on a curve. We all saw it happen. If you hadn’t swerved at the last moment you would have been killed for sure. We are suing him for thirty million, plus legal costs.”
“What the hell? How come I’m just now finding this out?”
“The doctor said we should wait to tell you and not interfere with your therapy.”
“What else have you kept from me?” I asked with a frown.
“Dave, I wanted to tell you about the lawsuit, but the doctor told us wait to see how much memory you recovered. He also told us that forcing you to regain lost memory too quickly might result in traumatic psychological damage. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Come inside, I’m sure everyone wants to talk with you.”
I sat in my recliner and talked with my friends, but all I did was answer the same questions over and over. I had absolutely no recall of what happened; it was frustrating at best. All I wanted was quiet solitude.
What didn’t slip by me unnoticed was the amount of attention Rich was paying to Carol. Around nine o’clock when the crowd began to thin, my wife went up to tuck the kids in while I said goodbye to the remaining visitors. Finally, it was just Rich and me. He seemed extremely nervous.
“So, how long have you been single now, Rich?” I asked.
“Uh, well, let’s see… I guess I was divorced about a year and a half ago. Why do you ask?”
“I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want to inform you that my wife is not available.”
He looked somewhat stunned by my frankness but quickly regained his footing and replied, “I don’t have a clue what you are hinting at, pal, but I’ll let that accusation slide because you’ve suffered head trauma.”
“Let it slide? I’m not delusional and I’m certainly not blind or stupid. I’ll say it again, my wife is not available.”
“That sounds like a threat to me. I think your wife is a consenting adult and she can speak for herself. Just so we’re clear, if I ever wanted to take her from you, you wouldn’t have a fucking chance,” he said, just before Carol entered the room.
“What are you two discussing?”
“Nothing important, really,” I said before Rich could speak. “Rich was just about to leave, right, pal?”
“Yeah—just leaving.” He looked directly at Carol and added, “I’ll talk with you tomorrow. There is a lot for us to discuss before the trial.” He smirked at me as he left.
What the hell is he talking about? I wondered. What do they need to discuss?
*****
It had been months since I was intimate with my wife. After I showered and cleaned up, I sat on the bed and waited while she took her turn. I felt like a virgin on his honeymoon night. We both knew we needed this time to reacquaint ourselves with each other.
Hearing Carol getting ready in the bathroom made me nervous as I waited. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally stepped into the bedroom. The sight of her took my breath away. She was wearing a sexy sheer nightgown that I didn’t recall ever seeing before. She slowly approached me with her large breasts jiggling in their minimal confinement. I couldn’t remember her looking this gorgeous, ever. It had been a very long time since I’d touched my wife’s body and I was insane with desire. She seemed to be as aware as I was that this was a momentous occasion in our relationship. She walked across the room to pose in front of me. Impatient as a child at Christmas, I reached out and pulled her to me. Our lips crushed together in a passion.
“Did you miss me?” she whispered, already knowing the answer.
After not being with my wife for over six months, my desire was off the charts. I smothered my face in her breasts and caressed her supple skin while rediscovering the body I dreamt of for so long. I craved her smell, her touch, and her taste. She trembled at my caressing as I sucked in one nipple and pinched the other, alternating from one to the other.
“Yes… I missed you… more than I can say,” I breathlessly declared between kisses.
“I missed you more,” Carol whispered huskily as she tossed her flimsy nightgown aside. Then, I saw for the first time a tattoo on her shoulder.
“What’s this?” I asked, rubbing her design.
“Don’t make a big deal of it. You know I always wanted one... Lick me.”
She leaned back on the bed and spread her legs in anticipation. I started kissing at her feet and slowly made my way toward the prize. The aroma of her sex was fueling my passion. My tongue seemed to gain a life of its own. Her pussy was shaved bare; that was something I always wanted. All other thoughts escaped me as I focused on the task of pleasuring her.
She shuddered as I ran the tip of my tongue on the length of her soaking sex and tweaked her clit.
Damn, I miss that taste, I thought.
Carol gripped my hair, pulling me in tight as she panted out her first orgasm. I dug my exploring tongue as deeply as it could reach in the folds of her soaking womanhood. She shuddered again and again.
“Fuck me… I need you in me now!” She panted loudly.
I covered her mouth with mine to muffle her cries of pleasure so as not to wake the kids.
Then came the moment I’d waited five long months for. I crawled between her legs and reached down to position my cock in her opening. She lifted her hips to accommodate me.
Suddenly, I was overcome with panic as I held my semi-erect cock in my hand.
No fucking way. This can’t be happening.
I should have been hard as steel. I pushed forward thinking a little penetration would solve the problem. It didn’t. My useless cock bent like a wet noodle against her folds.
“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.” I apologized profusely, confused at what was happening.
“Sweetheart don’t fret. Your body has suffered a lot of trauma. Let me help you out.”
Carol went down on me, giving me the first of what I considered to be mercy sucks. So began the quest of attempting to recover what was lost. She seemed a lot less bothered about my lack of performance than I did. I was devastated.
I had a sleepless night worrying about the future of my marriage while Carol slept like a log, oblivious to my struggle. I guess the fact she responded in such a cavalier manner to my problem bothered me also. She was always a highly sexual person. In fact, it was her that usually instigated our lovemaking. In the long run, I knew being limited to oral sex was not going to cut it.
I quietly slipped out of bed and went down to the kitchen to make coffee but decided to cook pancakes, bacon and eggs also. Going through the pantry for the ingredients, I noticed a six-pack of Guinness beer which I didn’t drink—pretty sure Carol didn’t either. Maybe it was her fathers, I thought.
My breakfast was close to being finished, with the aroma of the frying bacon filling the house. The first to enter the kitchen was my older daughter, Trish. She climbed on the barstool, stretched her arms and yawned. She sipped her orange juice as Carol was just coming down the stairs, approaching the kitchen.
I said to Trish, “Morning, princess. I made some pancakes, bacon and eggs.”
Carol smiled and said, “What brought this on?”
“I’ve been waited on like an invalid for months. I think it’s time I earned my keep,” I replied, as I pushed a stack of pancakes toward Trish.
She stared at the plate, looked up at me and said, “Uncle Rich makes them with a happy face!”
What the fuck?
Carol froze in place, as if someone had punched her in the gut.
Trying to maintain my composure, I looked at my wife and asked, “Is that right? Rich makes better pancakes than me? What else does he do better? Never mind, I don’t want to know.”
“Oh, Dave, he… he just helped us out while you were in the hospital,” Carol stammered.
“Let me get this right: for the six months I was confined to the hospital, Rich drove across town early in the morning just to cook my family breakfast? Pretty fuckin magnanimous of him,” I said sarcastically.
“Daddy! You swore!”
I ignored my daughter’s comment, silently fuming with anger and jealousy. I took the can of whipped cream and made a sad face on Trisha’s pancake. Then, I grabbed my keys off the entry table and walked towards the front door.
“Dave, you’re blowing this way out of perspective,” Carol pleaded. “And you aren’t supposed to drive yet. We can talk about this. It’s not what it appears.”
I walked out the front door, slamming it behind me. I didn’t have a clue where I was going.
I drove around to nowhere in particular, thinking about my options. I cursed the day I bought that damn motorcycle. I couldn’t help but think this could be the end of my marriage. I didn’t know what attorney to call. Divorce would be terrible on the kids, but it would be easier in the long run since they were young.
If Rich had been there in the morning, then it was very likely that he’d spent the night, also—and I highly doubted it was on the couch. I grimaced at the thought of him fucking my wife on our bed.
My cell continued to ring but I ignored it. I had to think. Before I knew it, I was parked at the supermarket for five hours. I headed home, still not sure what I was going to do.
When I entered the house, Carol was waiting with a look of stress I hadn’t ever seen before. She practically screamed, “Where have you been? I tried calling you over and over!”
“I needed to think. Where are the kids?”
“I had my mom pick them up and take them to the theater. Trisha was upset. She thinks you’re mad at her.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her she didn’t do anything wrong. There was just a big misunderstanding.”
“Is that what it is, a big misunderstanding?”
“That’s exactly what it is.”
I couldn’t believe her, so I blurted out, “How many times did you fuck him while I was in the hospital?”
She responded to my accusation by slapping me hard across the face.
“You’re an asshole!” Carol screamed. “Nothing happened. Nothing! In fact, you owe him a lot.”
“Owe him? For what? Entertaining my wife while I was unable?”
“If you bothered to even ask what he was doing here, I would have told you.”
“Is that right? So, tell me now!” I folded my arms across my chest.
“You do know Rich is an attorney, don’t you? He’s the one who initiated the lawsuit that is going to make you a very rich man.”
“He’s a lawyer? Why was he spending the night?”
“What? He never did any such thing! Rich came over in the morning before he went to work so he could represent us pro-bono.”
I couldn’t speak after I digested what she said. Could this be true? How could I have not trusted my wife like that? I wanted to crawl under a rock. Could I have completely misjudged Rich?
Carol glared at me and asked, “Well? Say something!”
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? No, it’s me that’s sorry! I’m sorry I married a man who thinks I’m a whore!”
A chill ripped through me when I realized what a fool I was. I looked in her teary eyes and begged, “Can you forgive me? I’ll do anything to make this right.”
Carol thought about my plea and replied, “Let’s just say you owe me one. Don’t make me regret this… but I still think you’re an asshole.” She reached out and hugged me.
*****
Over the next few weeks we tried everything to solve my erectile dysfunction, even Viagra pills seemed almost useless. Carol tried her best to convince me she was happy with what we were doing, but it didn’t do much to console me. The more I obsessed about my problem, the worse it became. My doctor called it, “fight or flight” syndrome.
In the meantime, life moved on. Rich was quite magnificent as our attorney. I must admit he knew his stuff. He had the jury eating out of his hand. After he presented the photos of my injuries and my crushed bike, there was nothing the defense could say. When it was all finished, we ended up with an award substantially more than the initial asking amount because Rich used my erectile dysfunction as part of the lawsuit.
Of course, that meant everyone in the court room was acutely aware of my problem. I could see the sympathetic looks on the faces of the jury as they considered my inability to service my gorgeous wife. I also knew it wouldn’t be long before my “disability” would become common knowledge.
Physically, the rest of my body was recovering nicely. Except for a few scars and a slight limp in my right leg, I appeared to be back close to normal. My doctor testified that my fitness level at the time of the accident was a major factor in my survival and the initial prognosis only gave me a five percent chance of survival.
With our sudden financial windfall, Carol convinced me I should take an indefinite leave of absence from our business. I turned over the majority of operations to my CFO, along with a substantial raise. Relinquishing that amount of control was difficult for me to do because I had built the business from the ground up. I guess I could have sold it, but that would have been like selling part of my body.
When Carol insisted that we purchase a gargantuan new home for a staggering sum, I was extremely apprehensive. It had a pool with a waterfall, and a private gym that would make Jack LaLanne jealous. My wife seemed very happy living the life of luxury, and the kids loved having their own rooms. Even Carol’s mom seemed to soften her attitude towards me somewhat, but we were cordial at best. A witch will always be a witch.
Carol spent most of her time decorating the house and making new friends in our affluent neighborhood. Unlike her, it took some time for me time to build relationships. I never considered wealth to be a trait I looked for in friendships.
Occasionally, we still had visits from my old biker club. Most of them were anxious for me to purchase a new bike and ride with them again, but I was still terrified at the thought of it.
With our new-found wealth I was now able to take my condition to the best professionals. The urologist scanned me and said I had great blood flow. He suggested my problem was more than likely not physical but psychological. The multitude of tests he ran found no anatomical reason for my dysfunction. The doctor said that reinforced his hypotheses that my problem was psychosomatic and suggested I see a psychiatrist. That didn’t bode well with me, but I scheduled an appointment anyway.
Dr. Mandelson met with me right away. I chuckled to myself because he looked exactly like what I pictured a shrink would look like, with his white hair and beard. He even had a slight German accent. There were enough diplomas on his wall to paper a small bedroom.
Our sessions focused mostly on my youth and early puberty. It seemed like I was negatively influenced by my parents' divorce more than I ever knew.
My mother had found another man long before they separated. My father became a drunk and my mother went on dates. The fights were loud and constant. I remembered I used to put a pillow over my ears to block out the screaming. She would call my dad a loser because he’d lost his job and she had to support us. Then there was the run of three stepfathers. My mother had a problem in picking men.
Dr. Mandelson suggested that there was a correlation between my dominant mother and my strong-willed wife. He also said my passive behavior was a problem and wanted me to be more assertive.
“Describe to me how you feel about your wife, Mr. Grayson?” he asked, with pad and pen in hand.
“In what way?”
“Describe her to me the best you can.”
I went on to tell him how beautiful I thought she was, but I never really felt I was her equal. I went on to describe how she was the center of attention wherever we went, and I felt almost invisible. I told him how much I loved her but was bothered by her flirtatious nature.
He just nodded occasionally and wrote in his notebook, then asked, “How does her flirting make you feel?”
“I really can’t describe it... I guess I feel helpless and frustrated.”
“Frustrated? Not angry or jealous?” he asked, tapping his pipe in the ashtray.
“I… I’m not sure. I don’t think so.”
“Hmmm, let me ask, does her flirtatious behavior arouse you?”
“What kind of question is that? Are you suggesting I’m some freak who gets off on seeing his wife with other men?”
He calmly exhaled and replied, “I’m not suggesting anything of the sort. You didn’t answer my question, Mr. Grayson. Does her behavior arouse you?”
“No! hell no!” I paused for a minute and quietly added, “Ummm… actually… maybe—just a little.”
*****
After yet another sleepless night, thinking about what the shrink had asked me, I couldn’t explain why I did nothing to stop my wife’s exhibitionist behavior. Did my silence make me complicit? Was that tantamount to encouraging her?
I yawned as I eased my way out of bed and looked down at Carol’s sleeping form. She was snoring lightly, oblivious to my lustful stares. Her shape was incredibly alluring beneath the thin covering she'd pulled over herself. l still found her to be highly erotic after all these years. The sheet conformed to her shapely body. Her hair was spread in a mess around her head, almost like the halo of an angel. One breast was uncovered, the other hidden seductively beneath the sheet. Reaching down, I gently slid the sheet slowly off her.
I felt myself getting aroused as I watched her sleep, admiring the gentle rise and fall of her supple breasts. Her pale skin shimmered in the dim moonlight streaming through the thin curtains. I could see the cool air raise little goosebumps on her skin, and her nipples hardened prominently. I would estimate her breasts were larger than average, but not too big for her body type; they were topped by the cutest little rosy nipples that begged to be kissed.
Suddenly, I realized I was sporting an erection like stone. Why was I so hard while spying on her but unable to perform when we made love?
She stirred and shifted onto her side, unaware of her midnight admirer. I pulled the sheet back up over her and quietly went to the living room to read.
Things changed dramatically over the next few months. I could hardly recognize our previous life in comparison. I wasn’t a superficial person that liked to impress others, but somehow we managed to hire a cook, a maid, a pool boy, a landscaper, and a personal trainer. I was a hands-on type of guy that liked to do things myself and lounge around wearing my T-shirt with boxers. Having all this staff around the house seemed to take our casual living away.
It appeared so pretentious to me. In particular, I wasn’t very fond of Carol’s personal trainer hanging around our place twice a week. I saw no reason for it because her body was close to perfection already.
The fact that he was a tall blond Adonis that looked like a cross between Arnold Schwarzenegger and a Chippendale dancer didn’t help either. His name was Derek. I had checked his credentials and he appeared to be a legitimate licensed trainer. He seemed very professional, but I noticed when he was around, Carol constantly had a Charlie-horse on her thigh that needed rubbing out and he was more than willing to help.
Sporadic nightmares continued to haunt me. Occasionally, bits of memories of the accident would jar me awake. I remember one night I had a flashback of this bright yellow car crushing my arm to my chest and flipping me through the air. I recall looking directly in the drivers face at impact. Then I woke suddenly out of the nightmare, thrashing around like a wild man. Carol held me until I calmed down and sleep overcame me.
I felt something had changed between us since we received the settlement. Carol seemed preoccupied most of the time and it appeared to me she spent more time with her new friends and less time with me or the kids. With our declining communication, I worried about our marriage. My doctor suggested I talk to her and not dwell over it. So, one night while we were both reading in bed, I took her book from her and said, “We need to talk.”
“What the hell are you doing? I was reading! Give me my book back!” she demanded.
“We need to talk more than you need to read.”
“About what?”
“What’s happening to us?” I asked.
“I don’t have a clue what you are talking about, Dave.”
“We are becoming more like roommates than husband and wife since we moved into this oversized palace. I feel like I’m losing you.”
“You’re imagining things. We’re not teenagers anymore. I’ve been busy making this house our home. You left all the decorating up to me and I’ve tried to do the best I can.”
“I’m not talking about this monstrous house. I’m referring to us. I know I’m not the same as before the accident, and for that I’m sorry.”
Carol cut me off, saying, “Stop it! Stop apologizing! You’re obsessed with your cock! I love you no matter what. The doctor says it is a temporary thing. I believe him. Why can’t you?”
I knew she was right about my growing paranoia, but my concern was not totally unfounded. I felt we were growing distant with our lack of intimacy. Her behavior had begun to change. Nothing big, just a lot of little things. It seemed strange that she was making new friends, but I didn’t seem to connect with any of them.
Since I was now able to drive myself again, I was delighted to do the grocery shopping and be helping more around the place. Plus, I was enjoying learning how to cook. Much to Carol’s dismay, I fired the housekeeper and cook because I saw no reason why two healthy adults couldn’t do all that for themselves. I wanted to teach our children to be self-sufficient; that wasn’t going to happen with maids and cooks around, pampering our every need. The girls complained about making their beds and Carol wasn’t fond of my daily chore schedule.
I started doing most of the domestic chores like cooking meals, making lunches and going grocery shopping. I even started going back to the business twice a week in an advisory role. I felt good when I saw Carol ironing her own clothes.
One day while at the supermarket, I was looking through the vegetable section trying to decide if I wanted to fork out more for organic tomatoes when someone punched my shoulder. My self-defense training kicked in and I spun around in the ready position, prepared to strike or defend.
Standing in front of me was Mindy, sporting a huge grin. “That was an impressive move, big guy!” She laughed.
“Mindy!”
“In the flesh! How are you?”
“I’m doing great, how are you?”
“I’m okay—missing my favorite patient, though. What have you been up to?”
“It’s a long story. How about coffee? We could catch up on things.”
“Not now. I’m booked heavy today. How about tomorrow? My last appointment is at two. Three-thirty at the Coffee Bean?”
“That sounds great. It’s a date—well, not a date, but…”
She laughed and said, “No worries, I’m discreet. Look, Dave, I really do have to go. Let’s talk about this more on Wednesday.”
My eyes were glued to her as she walked away. I couldn’t help but think what a perfect butt she had. Then to my utter amazement, I felt little one-eyed Davy start to stir in my pants.
*****
The next day dragged on uneventfully. I couldn’t get Mindy out of my head. I don’t know what I found so appealing about her. On the ten scale, she was an eight or seven and a half. Carol was a ten plus… but there was something alluring and exotic about Mindy.
Early Wednesday morning Carol was rambling on to me about some fund-raiser, but my mind was elsewhere. She reacted to my not listening to her by saying, “… And for charity, I’m going to sell my ass to the highest bidder.”
“That's great, Hun. You should get top dollar,” I replied, slapping her fanny.
“You’re such an ass,” she said, throwing a chair pillow.
That afternoon I sat in the coffee shop waiting like a schoolboy on a first date. I was filled with so many feelings. I was a nervous wreck. My knee was bouncing, and I was half hoping Mindy wouldn’t show.
What am I doing here? I’m a married man.
Just as I was about to leave, Mindy came bounding through the door, plopping down on the chair across from me. She dropped her purse on the table and said, “Sorry, I’m notoriously late most of the time.”
“That’s okay, I took the liberty of ordering your drink.” I pushed the cup toward her.
“I don’t drink coffee. Sorry.”
“I know that, it’s blueberry tea with a splash of honey. We spent months together, remember?”
“You’re a very rare man that actually pays attention.”
“Don’t tell that to my wife. She’d disagree.”
“It seems you’re completely recovered now. I would have never believed that possible from the condition you were in when I first met you.”
“I’m not completely healed. There are still some things that aren’t working quite right.”
“No need to tell me. I read it in the paper.”
“You read it in the paper?” I asked, shocked. “Oh, great! My problem is public knowledge?”
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. There was a column about your lawsuit that ran in the local paper. I thought you knew.”
I felt so embarrassed, I wanted to crawl under a rock. “My doctor is sending me to therapy to address the problem.”
“Sorry. Not my expertise.”
“I… I wasn’t saying that you…”
She laughed. "Lighten up, Dave. I know that.”
“Let’s change the subject. How’s your life been?”
“Nothing like what you went through, but the hospital cut back on my hours under the new management regime. Thirty hours a week wasn’t cutting it, so I started taking on clients through a home therapy company.”
“How about you working with me? We’ve got this monstrous house and a gym big enough to sell memberships.”
She thought about my offer before saying, “I don’t think your wife would go for that. She was extremely cold toward me at the hospital.”
“Carol is pretty protective of me, but seeing how she has her own personal trainer, I see no reason why I can’t have mine.”
“I’ll think about it. Don’t you need to at least know my fees?”
“I think I can afford them. When can you start?”
She hesitated to reply, looking at her pocket planner. “What does your Friday look like?”
It was my turn to check the calendar on my phone: soccer practice for Trish, and there was that infernal charity dinner at six on Friday. Carol would have castrated me if I missed either, so I replied, “Friday is booked this week, how about today or tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow I work at the hospital and today I have plumbing to fix in my condo.”
“What are you needing fixed? I’m pretty handy with a pipe-wrench.”
“Just new bathroom and kitchen faucets, but I can’t ask you to…”
“You’re not asking, I’m volunteering.” I smiled. “I’ll follow you. I’m driving the grey Toyota truck.”
“Are you sure?”
“Lead the way.”
It was a short drive to her place. Mindy was located in a three-story high-security condo at the harbor. The security guard directed me toward the guest parking area. I grabbed the toolbox from my trunk and followed the walkway around the building.
There was a second guard shack to contend with. He dialed a number and after a short conversation, the security gate opened. Mindy greeted me at her front door, and I followed her in. Immediately, I saw her place was impressively decorated.
She smiled and said, “Welcome to my humble abode.”
“Beautiful. I expected something smaller,” I said, looking around.
“When I purchased the place, I had a roommate, but she got married a couple months ago. We were in the process of remodeling at the time.”
“Is this standard for these places?”
“Not at all. We put in new cabinets and counters in the kitchen—a master bath as well. Plus, we had hardwood flooring installed. I needed someone to hook up the faucets and drains. It’s a big job. Are you sure you want to tackle it?”
“No problem. Show me the way.” I followed her across the house.
The kitchen was custom cherry, immaculately constructed and installed. On the counter next to the stainless-steel sink were a couple boxes containing the plumbing supplies.
“Do you have an old blanket for me to lay on?” I asked. “I’d hate to scuff this hardwood floor.”
She left to go find one and I started reading the instructions. Unfortunately, they were written in German, but they did have a series of step-by-step installation pictures. Fortunately, it was pretty much self-explanatory. I preassembled the faucet before I crawled under the cabinet to hookup the water lines and garbage disposal.
I was tightening the drain trap when Mindy returned with a blanket. She was wearing a short, terry cloth bathrobe.
“I need to take a quick shower before you turn off the hot water in the master,” she asked. “Can you give me a few minutes?”
“Sure, I’m going to be here a while anyway, but before you leave, could you turn on the faucet and run some water down the drain first?”
She stepped forward and straddled my waist while she turned on the water.
“Perfect!” I said.
When I peeked out from under the cabinet, I noticed her bare crotch.
“Did it work?” she asked.
“Uh… yes, no leaks. Go shower. I… I’ll finish up,” I stammered.
She walked away, swaying her butt like she knew I was watching—which I was. A war was going on in my mind. Why was I so attracted to her?
As I crawled out from the cabinet, it was evident my dysfunctional cock was no longer dysfunctional. What was I thinking? I chastised myself.
I took my time packing up my tools and discarding the trash before I called out, “The kitchen is finished, what’s next?”
There was a pause before she answered, “Come back to the master bath.”
I walked down the hall toward her voice. The bedroom was unlocked and opened a crack. I pushed open the door the rest of the way, when I froze in place like a statue. Mindy stood facing me, naked as the day she was born, wearing nothing but a smile.
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry,” I apologized.
“I’m not. Don’t you like what you see?” she replied, walking toward me.
“I… l c-can’t do this,” I stuttered.
She stopped in front of me and started unbuttoning my shirt. My mind was numb and my willpower as weak as my trembling legs. Nothing in the world is harder to resist than a naked woman.
“This will be our little secret,” she said, seductively running her hands inside my shirt.
My brain screamed no, but my stiff cock said go! I needed time to think. So, with my last bit of strength I pushed her away and said, “We can’t do this.”
“Sure, we can. Your wife will never know,” she replied with a smile, tugging at my belt.
Knowing I’d regret this later, I took her by the wrists and said, “Mindy, what’s going on here? This isn’t like you. I thought we were friends, and friends don’t do this.”
She immediately started crying and dropped to her knees. I grabbed her robe on the bed and threw it over her shoulders as her crying continued.
I helped her up, putting her robe on, leading her to the chair beside the bed.
She wiped her tears with her sleeve and said with a shaky voice, “Dave, I’m so sorry. This wasn’t my idea.”
“I’m confused. Please explain.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got the time. Go ahead, tell me.”
“Okay, but you have to promise you won’t do anything violent,” she said with concern.
“I could never harm you, Mindy. You should know that.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.” She stood up, went over to her bookcase and took the clock off the dresser. Then she popped open the back and took something out. She walked back over to me, clinching her robe tightly before she held out her hand and said, “Here, take this.”
It appeared to be a memory chip.
“What's going on?”
“About a month ago, a man approached me at the hospital after I finished with a client. He said he was an attorney and was aware of my financial situation. I was shocked he knew so much about me. He knew how much I was behind in my payments. Then, he said there was a way I could make up all the past payments, plus a large bonus. He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a photograph and asked if I knew the person. It was a picture of you.”
“What the hell? Are you suggesting what I think?”
“Yes. He said if I recorded us being intimate, I wouldn’t lose my house. At first, I said no way, but when I got a foreclosure notice, I panicked. I called him back and agreed… I’m so, so sorry.”
Rage was building in me by the second. I knew this was Rich the instant she said “attorney.” But why?
“What else do you know?” I asked.
“I don’t know much apart from the fact that he seemed to have a real bone to pick with you.”
“Would you be willing to testify to this? If you do, I’ll increase his offer. How much do you owe on this condominium?”
“I was complicit in this scheme and you want to help me?”
“Mindy, I know you wouldn’t have gone through with it. Tell me what you owe.”
She hesitated and said, “About eleven thousand.”
“Not your back payments. How much on the mortgage?”
“Uh… about four hundred thousand, but I couldn’t ask you to help with—”
“If you help me bring down this cocksucker, it will be worth every dime. However, I do want one thing.”
“What? You name it, anything.”
“I want you to be my trainer—for both me and my wife.”
“I thought you said she has one already?”
“She does, but I can’t wait to give Hans his walking papers.”
EPILOGUE
It turned out I was wrong about Rich. The attorney that contacted her was from the law firm that represented the guy that hit my Harley. His plan was to show I falsified evidence about my claim of permanent disability and erectile dysfunction, thus reversing my settlement or a large portion of it.
It took about two weeks to get all the necessary evidence put together. I was going to get justice on this clown. Rich said this was now a criminal case that should be taken to the District Attorney’s office. The law frowns on these things. I only wished I could have seen the look on his face when they snapped the cuffs on him. Since Mindy testified for the prosecution, she wasn’t arrested as an accomplice.
She was delighted when her place was her own. She started dating a doctor and it looks serious. As far as my problem is concerned, it miraculously went away. Carol announced she is pregnant again. I even bought a new dream machine, but this time it was a cabin cruiser.
