1 comments/ 5860 views/ 0 favorites Head in the Clouds By: avasogently I psyched myself out for this six-hour plane ride to Madrid. I lucked out and nabbed a window seat thanks to a would-be passenger who probably was jacking off in the airport loo in lieu of boarding this flight. "Yo no soy Señor Valencia Garcia Fernandez. Yo soy una mujer," I said to a haughty flight attendant before she walked away, puzzled, three hours ago just before takeoff. I wanted to add, "Idiota," but I didn't. To my surprise, there was no one seated to my left, either. I should be one to talk about the poor soul with the now-glistening boner; I almost missed the plane myself. I'd been searching for my favorite pantyhose, to no avail. I found some silk stockings instead. My heavy thighs made the effort far from hasty, but the friction from twisting and turning left the crotch of my lace panties pasty. Now here I am, four more hours to go, and my thighs are exposed to the frigid air on the plane. I buzz a flight attendant for assistance. It takes her some time to sashay over, and then I request a blanket. A navy-blue number that depresses me suddenly, but not enduringly as will the rain promised to be awaiting us in Madrid. The air hostess says only first-class passengers get blankets. When I raise my skimpy skirt to reveal a zebra-print thong hugging my voluptuous hips, she licks her lips and disappears through the curtain. Within minutes, I have not one, but two blankets and a sleazy stare from the air slut. I'm annoyed by her presence but my clit betrays me and pops up, pressing against the zebra thong's soft, and now, wet cotton. I can't wait for mealtime, so my hands venture beneath the blanket to find a sweet snack. My ebony fingers dab around in my wetness for what feels like hours but it's just minutes. My clit is so swollen that it feels as if it's going to jump through my navel. Imagining its deep violet flush sends the blood rising to my face, creating the impression that I delicately have applied rouge. I need to take the edge off a bit, so I caress my mound upward, left and right, indirectly contacting my clit soft moans escape my throat. Inevitably my digits find their way to the throbbing bud before it returns to its protective sheath. As after a delicious meal, I lick my fingers clean. The flight attendant watches with parted lips as I clean off both hands in slo-mo. Just for fun, I ask her for a napkin and deliberately brush the back of her hand. To see her knees go wobbly and her figure dash in the direction of the kitchen is worth the seduction, judging by how much wetter my thong has become. I peek under the blanket and sniff in the musk of my cunt. With my hands dawdling between my thighs again, I drift to sleep. But not for long. I couldn't have known that a tall man seated one row behind me was spying on me while my eyes were either glazed over or closed. He ambles over to my seat and clears his throat. Leaning down while grasping the seatback, he whispers that he was stroking his stiff dick beneath his own double set of blankets. I'm concerned that he's aware I'm tapping my foot, but when I turn to meet his eyes, I see they're glued on my pouty lips. While I was in my own erotic heaven, he says, he watched me suck pearls of cum from beneath my airbrushed, acrylic fingernails. An image invades my consciousness of him shooting his baby batter on the seat ahead of him. The violence of that thought stirs the wetness in my nether junction, and I find myself shifting slightly under the blankets upon the man's hesitant touch upon my thigh. "Is that a groan?" I inwardly inquire. I dismiss the primal sound as an orgasmic hallucination. The stranger squeezes my thigh firmly now. He caresses the other thigh, slimier than the other. My eyes squint open but capture only his dark curly hair above a pink forehead. He's nearly drooling on my top blanket, not able to see what his hands are conquering. I feel my inner thighs part further, and my tummy sinks in because his strokes tickle and arouse me. His hands play and caress, gliding back south to my thighs and then tentatively upward to my thonged pelvis -- my sheltered funny bone. I want to laugh but dare not. His hands travel up my back, and when they meander under my lacy bra, he glances up into my wide-open eyes. Like a magician, he undoes all three hooks and I respond with, "Bravo." After he claps his hands in the air twice, a red rose rises from the deep valley of my cleavage. I applaud his lewd one-man circus, happy to be his cheap side show. My engorged lips are the price of admission, and he gently lifts himself to press his puckered set against mine. Perhaps the air on the plane has worn thin because I'm gasping for air upon his cupping of my Lady D's with gusto. I moan into the nicotine stench of his opening mouth, and with one swift move, he snatches off the fleece blankets. I suck his steamy tongue as if it were a huge prick pinning me to my seat. Suddenly I'm at a carnival, flashing my knockers to a hawker while I aim my cocked arcade gun at a clown's gaping mouth. "Like an absurd blow job from a distance, hehe," the carny tells me. But before I can claim my stuffed purple monkey, I flash back into my body here on the plane. Lip-locked with a stranger who has large hands, I feel oddly refined in his crude embrace. I wish not to be rude, however. After all, I can't object, anyway. His tongue takes an acrobatic dive toward my tonsils, rendering me mute. Like a mime, I gesture wildly with my small hands, which his palms dwarf and guide to his hammerlike, ruddy dick. His is a large, fantastic hammer similar to the one I spied at the two-minute carnival visit. Only this one's made of flesh that his fast-coursing blood has hardened as bone. This strange man with a clown's hands and, now, a circus tent for trousers dawdles between my jugs, while his hammer seems to slip out of my hands. "Could he have come so soon?" I wonder. As if he can read my mind, he tells me, "Don't worry. It's my pre-cum," then tells me to taste it. He shows me why he likes kissing me, raising an eyebrow as gingerly as a trapeze artist's limb, and then swoops down to nibble my lower lip. He licks a bit of his own pre-cum from my lips and then sucks my upper lip and kisses the tip of my nose. In this moment I notice his bulbous nose, not unlike Karl Malden's, though not as phallic as Jimmy Durante's. I'm not short on talent, so I perform the amazing feat of singlehandedly coaxing a foot of cock through his tent flap. A free hand soon becomes prisoner of his balls, failing to juggle them in the ballooned space of his pants. The sexual tension around us in the adjacent window seats climbs until our libidos walk a tight wire higher than this jumbo jet's altitude. The clown-stranger's cock points toward some unknown erotic galaxy as if to beg the gods there to suck it. Taking on a new, divine persona, I elongate my mouth to mirror my nether channel and feast alone on my ripe ambrosia. Sucking and licking such firm fruit, I am as giddy as the woman-girl back in carnival time, savoring a red candied apple, none to eager to get to the seeds at the core. "I command you to suck it," the man wants to shout. Lest he jolt the slumbering passengers nearest us, he whittles his order to a whisper, his throat left trembling and mine soon filled with post-Fall earthiness with yet a comet's heat. The double-jointed, passionate stranger thumbs my nipples on tits that swing like pendulums, and he reaches around to maneuver his fingers into my soaked zebra thong. Leaving his tent pole slick with its saliva, my now-cavernous mouth trails echoes of lusty cries formed where his cockhead defied gravity past my tonsils. As I descend on his resilient dick, I bury my yelping into a blanket he has thrown over his shoulder. Between the plane's sharp dips and the stranger's enormous swells inside my channel, I'm experiencing a wicked case of turbulence. Nowhere near satiated, though aching from his cock's reverberations in my pussy, I huskily protest and ease myself off his skyward gear. The aroma of my cunt released into the stilted air is driving him wild like a kamikaze pilot. He wants to dive. "Eat me, " I command him. "Eat me and I'll let you fuck my fleshy pussy until we reach Spain," I taunt him. He grunts his approval. Cocking his head, he kisses my neck in disparate sets of foreign phrases. He savors Breton sea salt on his tongue, as if it whipped up from the Atlantic Ocean far beneath us. He licks his parted lips and threatens me with his lust: "Woman, I don't know who you are, but I'm starved, and I want you to satisfy me." On my neck I feel teeth like limestone from Liguria marking his territory, the bruising there sure to turn the shade of blue sea that leads to a grotto before deepening to a shade of purple found in Sardinian sunsets. He travels to my southernmost erogenous zone and possesses it, too. My cries, which evoke Morocco's Great Crested Grebes, drown out the sounds of his indulgent sucking of my vulva's nectar. He dallies there, his rhythmic lapping triggering my dam to break, layered folds flapping until my clitoris aches for sweet relief. But he refuses to abandon me; he desires my complete surrender. He alternates his wet pleasuring with blowing light breezes on tenderized flesh, and I bend his ear by delivering feminine oceanic vibrations from the grooves of my conch. I cry out, selfishly gloating in my lust and secretly wishing my rut would seep into the pores of every passenger and crew member. "Yes, come. Allow me to taste you, my siren," he says. But if he only knew -- I'm still out to sea, clinging to the Rock of Gibraltar while the Barbary apes pound their breasts in frenzied approval of our erotic scene. My own primal screams are deafening, though I think I'm hearing the man mock me. Yes, he's smiling and now roaring like the apes. Amid a fit of lagnolalia spoken in four distinct tongues, he cups my asscheeks and probes my winking eye. I wince from the pleasurable violence of twisted finger fucking and thrust my cunt in his face. He spits on my clit, then nibbles gently around the stem till the gob drips from my flared labia to my spasming cunthole, where it waits for his tongue to mix it with apricot liqueur. My clown pirate, wannabe daredevil pilot, returns to pleasuring my neck but pauses the enchantment to ask my name. I refuse to disclose, so he dirties my ear to excess and squeezes my rear until I nearly cave in. I squeal as he hunkers down to suck my nipples until they harden like thimbles. My breathing quickens upon each caress of my breasts, their dark complexion as tempting as the skin of eggplant. Returning to my vulvacano, he finds me burning. And yearning. I long to come in his large, firm hands. He keeps me at the brink of ecstasy by switching from licking my clit to penetrating my navel with his meaty tongue. With his fleshy lips, he traces the dark line from my innie to my mons veneris, taking time to comb my pubic hairs with his limestone teeth. I pull back, pressing my backside into his hands, feel him pinching my flexing cheeks, all the while swirling his hot tongue around my clit. When my behind starts to circle in his hands, he moves his mouth to my cunthole and buries his tongue in it as if securing treasure fathoms deep. With his finger rubbing my clit while he devours me, I can't stop the primordial ooze from steaming out of my pussy. When the stranger switches his rhythm to the sensual sounds of flamenco's castanets, I float out of my head and over Seville. Slowly now, he moves his tongue from my cunt to my ass -- that's how wide he has my legs spread on the now-soaked plane seat. Like a bolt of lightning, my back, legs and pelvis go into a spasm and I arrive, again and again, as if I'm a plane reapproaching the runway. Ever the sadistic charmer, he fingers my pussy while I spasm again, but this time jerking his cock. "You want this cock, lady?!" he says, not sure whether to ask or shout at me. Determined to taste his spunk, I squat down in front of our seats just in time for him to ejaculate on the blankets strewn on the floor. I lock my lips on his tight balls and slobber them while he shoots. My fat titties swing, slapping against his calves while I suck and lick those twins like the whore I become in my earthbound dreams. My clown man tastes of the sea, but also of the meadows sprawled over Ireland. Lathering his shaft for a slippery finish, I greedily suck his purplish head into my lips. In minutes his dick pops out my mouth and spews jizz on my rack. He rests his head between my thighs while I swirl his man glue around my bulging nipples. "Excuse me, miss," I hear a voice say. Standing before me is an airport employee wearing a stern countenance framed by a dark bob and a navy blue turtleneck sweater. I manage to open only one eye, but a glance at my watch shows I've been asleep for several hours. "So much for listening to well-meaning friends telling me to arrive four hours early," I muse. The employee pipes up, "Your flight to Madrid is boarding now, miss. Please follow me." I'm stunned but instinctively rise to my feet. Accustomed to traveling light, I nearly leave behind my 24-inch upright. Before the employee can rescue my luggage, a tall man with dark, curly hair who has just exited the men's restroom walks over to my upright and rolls it in my direction. "Ahem," says the efficient airport employee, breaking our spell. Then she turns to admonish the man with large pink hands, saying, "Now, Señor Valencia Garcia Fernandez, you wouldn't want to miss your flight home. What would your circus troupe do without you?" Head in the Clouds I've loved my wife from the first time I looked into her beautiful emerald green eyes fifteen years ago. But, it doesn't stop me from looking at a good-looking girl that happens to walk by while we're in the mall. In reality, every guy does no matter what he tells his wife. However, it's what a guy does after that, is what makes him a loving husband or a cheating louse. I may ogle a bit, wonder what she looks like under that short skirt, but then I squeeze my wife's hand, grab a kiss, and count my blessings that I have her next to me. We're in it for the long haul and we both know it, because after having two kids what else could life throw at us that would change how we feel about each other? Don't get me wrong; I'm no saint, far from it. And I've been reminded, on more than one occasion, that I still have a bit of a temper at times, but all in all my life is pretty normal. We live in your standard three/two house in one of the suburbs just out of the downtown area. We're your typical middle-aged family with two pre-teen kids, a cat and a dog I swear is friggen brain dead. I'm a manager in a manufacturing plant twenty minutes from home and my wife works four days a week in a nearby dental office. She does the billing and keeps his records up to date on his computer. Life was pretty good until two months ago when we started to get a little slow at work. When our backlog started to shrink, no one thought too much about it. Hell, it was only the first week of February and business was always slow at that time of the year. But, when it hadn't picked up by the end of March the powers to be started to get worried. Concern continued to grow because by summer we should have been slammed but weren't. We had enough work to keep busy but that was about it. Everyone was told to use their vacation on the books, to ease the manpower situation a bit, but it wasn't enough. When September rolled around the general manager said that instead of laying off people, he were going to cut everyone's hours by ten percent. A few bitched, but most were happy no one was losing their jobs. My wife Monica and I cut back on a few extras and hardly noticed the loss of income; but it didn't get better, it only got worse. Just after Thanksgiving, upper management laid off almost fifteen percent of our workforce, and cut everyone else's hours back by another ten percent. I hated to see those guys let go, because everyone knew one another, and we were all pretty tight. Everyone was still upbeat and said this was just a bump in the road, but it wasn't. By the Holidays we were all sweating it. Business was dismal and when the plant decided to shut down for the two weeks between the holidays; I used the rest of my vacation and the sick time I'd accrued. My wife and I scaled way back on Christmas, we had no choice. Our two kids, Jerome twelve and Terry ten, were give two gifts each, but Monica and I didn't exchange gifts for the first time ever. I spent many a night wondering what would happen if I got laid off but figured being a manager and with my seniority it would never happen. After the first of the year we got a rush of orders and everyone figured the worst was over but it wasn't. Like us, our customers had let their inventories get too low and had to replace what had been sold, but that was all. They were now using us as their own personal warehouse and we only got orders to replace what they actually sold. It seems they all now wanted it at half the price and delivered yesterday. Just before Valentine's Day half of the remaining crew was let go and the rest? Well we were put on half time four days a week. We'd been dipping into our savings every month to cover the short fall, but now we'd have to make some hard financial decisions. I didn't have many toys, but what we had hit the auction block. With the economy in the toilet I got little more than half their purchased value. I was angry about having to sell them, and got even angrier at what I had to let them go for. I got hosed and the buyers got a great deal. The credit cards were put away. I wanted to cut them up but Monica said we needed to keep them in case of emergencies. Stopping for a beer after work became a thing of the past and my Wednesday bowling night would never materialized this year. Jerome's baseball and soccer teams would have to do without him this year and Terry's dance classes also were over until the economy improved. When Monica was cut back to three days a week things got tighter if that was even possible. The two of us sat down one night and figured we had enough for the house payment and food that was it; there had to be more cut backs. Both kids screamed when we had to cancel our cable and high-speed internet service. I gave up my cell phone but Monica kept hers because of the kids. Now, it became a real a treat to have dinner at McDonalds because that was about all we could afford now. Since I was a kid, I'd hated hot dishes or casseroles, as some people called them. Real meat around our house was getting to be a rarity and tuna noodle and Hamburger Helper of all types is what I now saw in our pantry. A garden was planted and it became our children's job to tend it. I got tired of beans and rice and would have killed to have a juicy steak, but that wasn't in our budget any longer. When the transmission went out on my truck it took most of our savings to fix it. For a couple of weeks I took Monica's car and she rode her bicycle to her job, but when she got caught in the rain half way to work, that ended that. We now had only a couple hundred dollars in the checking account and nothing in savings. I didn't think it could get any worse but I was wrong. I was cut back again at work. I guess I was more than a little angry and as nicely as I could, I expressed my displeasure. "Steve, be happy you've still got a damn job," I was told. That shut me up. We weren't making it any longer and I was pissed most of the time now. Our sex life was the only thing they couldn't take away from me, or so I thought. "Hon, we're going to be short about a hundred and fifty a month. Our property taxes are going up and All State just informed me that our house insurance is going up after the first of the year," my wife explained to me one night after the kids had gone to bed. We were screwed. Monica got an evening job in retail for the Holidays. We had to inform our kids that there would be only one present each this year at Christmas and that it had to be under fifty dollars. They took it a lot better than I did. With the extra money Monica earned we were again just making it, but she was so tired when she got home there was little if any lovemaking. A treat for her was when I'd rub her sore feet with lotion before she'd fall asleep on me. When everyone who was left was given a two-week layoff I almost bit through my tongue, instead of losing it and saying something stupid again. The damn owner was still going out to lunch every day and when he drove in after the first of the year in a brand new car I about lost it. I ranted and raved at home for two days, using language I probably shouldn't have in front of my kids, but I was at my wits end. "It wasn't fair, damn it, it just wasn't fair," but what was anymore. In this economy, downsizing our house wasn't an option. We were flipped on it and even if we found someone to buy it, we couldn't come up with the down payment on another one, even if it was smaller. Monica and I had never argued in the past, but now it seemed that no matter what I said, or did, it was wrong. Arguments became the norm rather than the exception. When our lovemaking went from three times a week to maybe once every three weeks; I began to give her a hard time about it. On night, after an unpleasant exchange, Monica informed me that if I was that horny, to go into the bathroom and use my hand; it erupted into the worst fight of our fifteen-year marriage. I wasn't a total asshole, but dug my heels in and said more than a few things I shouldn't have. In our three bedroom house there was no spare bedroom to go to, so at night when we went to bed, we were together yet apart. After two more weeks of almost no talking, and no relief in sight, I sold the remaining items of any value; the gold watch Monica had given to me as a wedding present and my wedding ring itself. There was nothing left. The white ring around my finger stood out like a sore thumb and at dinner Monica noticed, but said nothing, at least then in front of our children. "Where's your wedding ring Steve?" she asked, after Jerome and Terry were down for the night. "Gone, along with my watch." "You sold your damn wedding ring?" "It wasn't being used much and besides, I didn't think you'd notice." She didn't respond. She just walked away shaking her head. I thought I'd at least get a little rise out of her; guess we'd grown further apart than I'd thought. It was quieter than normal in our bedroom that night. I could tell Monica was awake but said nothing, no use getting into it besides what would be the point. Two days later, I noticed that Monica wasn't wearing her engagement or wedding ring. While she was doing the dishes I snuck upstairs and looked in her jewelry box. They, along with everything I had ever given her was missing. "Please tell me you didn't pawn your rings," I said to her back, as she washed the dishes at the sink. She said nothing. I know Monica heard me yell "SHIT!" Hell, the whole fucking neighborhood probably heard it before I raced up the stairs and slammed our bedroom door. It was hours later that I heard a loud thud outside in the hall. It sounded like something had fallen against the wall. Opening the door I found Monica sitting on the floor, her back up against the wall, her knees up, and she was crying into her hands. She never looked up. There isn't a power on earth more powerful than a wife's tears. I was mad, hell I was furious at her for selling her jewelry, but at that moment it no longer mattered. Some things are more important than material objects; like her and my two kids. I slid down next to her and pulled her into my arms. "I'm so sorry. Please forgive a stupid husband." She wept on my shoulder for the better part of twenty minutes. I turned to her and held her face in my two hands. "Whether you believe it or not, we're going to make it. As God as my witness, I won't fail you." I wasn't sure how, but for my family I'd find a way. Both of our parents were retired and on fixed incomes, so hitting them up for a loan was out of the question. There was nothing left of any value to sell, so I did the only thing I could. I used to see the winos line up at the blood bank and looked at them with disgust; not any more. At least once a week I was one of them now. They would take two pints of blood, keep the white blood cells and pump the red ones back into me. I never told Monica. With that extra one hundred and seventy-five a month, we were now once again breaking even. With Monica's two part time jobs, my half time job and the blood money, we were paying our monthly bills but were falling behind on our mortgage payments. When the damn house insurance and taxes went up, so did our mortgage payment. I could see us losing our home down the road if I couldn't find a way to get us over the hump. I hid that from Monica and even made it a point to smile and take everyone to McDonalds after church on Sundays; like that was going to break the bank. That's where I first heard about it. One of the wealthy parishioners was very sick and needed a kidney transplant. He'd been on dialysis and on the transplant list for the last two years. He was in his middle sixties and had been passed over twice because of his age and the severity of his condition. He wasn't a good candidate but he wasn't giving up. I was the one to approach him, not the other way around. "Mr. Connors, I maybe out of line and I know that it maybe illegal to even discuss this, but I think there is a way we can both help one another. I know you need a kidney, and I'm about to lose my house. If I'm a match, I'd like to donate you one of mine; for a price that is. He just starred at me. "Six others have offered the same thing, but none of them was a match and you know it's illegal to sell organs." "I'm not going to sell you my kidney. Like I said, I'm going to donate it to you and you're going to donate a sum of money to the Monica Moore relief fund." I smiled, he didn't. Son, you can't be that broke that you'd sell one of your own damn kidneys?" "Sir, we've sold everything of value excluding our household furniture. I've done everything I legally can, and this fucking economy is still bleeding me dry. I will do anything to keep a roof over my family's head. Anything. So, am I willing to do this to make my families life better? In a heartbeat." "Well, first things first. We don't even know if you'll be a match. Why don't you get tested and we can talk after that. How does that sound?" Tuesday I went to the hospital. I told the nurse I was there to be tested for being a possible kidney donor for David Connors. Thankfully it didn't cost anything for the test, because I had only seventy-five cents in my pocket. "Mr. Moore, it will take a couple of days for the test results. You should hear from us by Friday," the lab technician told me. I never told Monica. I thought the next seventy-two hours were going to be the death of me. I was nervous, scared, but most of all anxious. Am I fucking nuts? That question kept bouncing off the insides of my brain and I really didn't have a good answer. The hospital called me at work at about ten-fifteen on Friday. "Mr. Moore, the tests results confirm, you are a match for Mr. Connor. When can you come in so we can discuss this further?" I was numb. "Give me a day or two and I'll get back to you," I was some how able to reply. "Fine, we'll be expecting your call." I did nothing for about an hour and then went to the break room for a cup of coffee. As I passed my bosses office I stuck my head in. "Hey boss, Monica is looking at buying some new furniture, but not until I'm back at full time. What do you see happening in the next ninety days or so?" He didn't say anything at first. "Steve, I'd like to say we're going to be back up to snuff but I just don't know. I wish I could tell you the orders are flowing in but their not. That cheap fucking shit from China is grabbing up most of the business that's out there. Steve your job is secure, but if it was me, I'd hold off on any major purchases at least for now." He answered my question. I've got a little time coming, you mind if I take it say in the next week or so?" Knock yourself out. I only wish I could sneak out of here for a while. It gets pretty damn boring waiting for the phone to ring. Say hi to Monica for me will you?" "Will do," I said, walking back to my desk. Now came the phone call I hoped I wouldn't regret. We met in a park two blocks from my house. My two children were throwing a red Frisbee around; for them life was good. I didn't even hear him walk up. "To be young again. I'd do things a lot different if I could go back, but in life we usually don't get do overs," he said, sitting next to me. "You make a decision yet?" "Yes I have, I don't have a choice." "Son, we always have a choice. That's the nice thing about being an adult; we can make our own choices. However, we're stuck living with the results of those choices." "Mr. Connors, let's do this." "Steve, call me David. For what we're about to do we need to be on a first name bases. What did your wife say?" "Haven't told her and I'm not going to until the day of the surgery." "You have to have someone there in case, you know, in case something goes wrong." "She'll be there but only after the surgeries begun. If I tell her ahead of time, she'll try to talk me out of it and I can't let that happen. So, I guess the only thing left to discuss is the amount of the donation to the Monica Moore relief Fund." He handed me an envelope. "This is a legal contract spelling out everything including my proposal. Take it home, look at it, and get back to me tomorrow. If you're in agreement we need to schedule it as soon as possible. Think long and hard at what you're about to do son," he said looking at me, before walking away. It was a generous offer; it covered all the bases. The hospital stay, short tem medical care, and even a term life insurance policy for me if something went wrong. He'd thought of everything. I signed. Three days is all I had before the surgury. I told my boss I was taking the following week off from work and sat down one night and wrote Monica a letter, a just in case something happened letter. For the next seventy-two hours I lived every second for my wife and kids. Monica finally said something after I'd given her a full body massage with lotion and we'd had a fantastic heart stopping love making session. "Your not working full time does have a few upsides. You never would have had the energy at night to do what we just did," she said kissing me for the hundredth time. "You seem to have a lot more energy and stamina, not that I'm complaining," reaching under the covers maybe trying to get me up again, which wasn't going to happen. "You know I love you don't you?" I said looking into her eyes. "You know I would never intentionally hurt you don't you?" I should have kept my mouth shut. "Okay, what's going on? What did you do?" "Nothing. It's just that I love you so much and I'm sorry I'm not able to give you the life you deserve." "Steve, I've got you and the kids, that's all I need. The rest? Well don't get me wrong it's nice, but I'd be content living in a cardboard box as long as you and my kids were with me." I shut up. I did the pre-surgical blood work and was on pins and needles waiting for Monday morning. Sunday I took everyone to McDonalds after church, like I always did. I hoped we'd be here the following Sunday. I was now getting scared. David and I talked a dozen or so times and although he was getting worse, his spirits were never higher. "Tomorrows the day! You ready Steve? I know I am. Sure I can't talk you into telling Monica? I think your short changing her, I think she'd understand the lengths you're going to for her and your family." "Just make sure she's notified when the operation starts. By then it'll be too late for her to stop it." "You do know she'd going to be pissed don't you? And no matter how much money you're getting, it isn't going to mean squat to her." "I know, and by early Monday afternoon it's all going to be over." "Well Steve, you don't have a clue what your doing means to me. Money or no money, you're a caring son-of-a- bitch. I wouldn't do what you're doing, I know that much." Early Monday morning I kissed my wife and kids goodbye and drove to the hospital. They were waiting for me. I was prepped, shaved, and told I had about twenty minutes if I needed to do anything else. "When my wife, Monica, gets here, please make sure she get's this will you?" The nurse took my letter and put it in her pocket. "Don't worry, Mr. Moore, Doctor Jansen is the best transplant surgeon on staff. You'll be fine." That was the last thing I remember. When I woke up, Monica was by my side. "Stephen Moore, when you're finally coherent, you and are going to have words, and I know for a fact you're not going to like any of them." She was holding my hand. I know I was just coming out of it, but I felt absolutely no pain. The nurse was right, that doctor was good. When the nurse came in and told Monica that she could take me home in about an hour I was confused? I knew surgical procedures had come along way, but one day it and out? That's when I moved my hand down to my side to feel the bandages. There were none. I sat up. Head in the Clouds "Monica, get the nurse for me." She started to say something but I stopped her. "Monica, NOW!" "Yes Mr. Moore?" the nurse said walking back into the room. "What happen to the surgery I was supposed to have?" "I'm sorry, no one's told you?" "Told me what?" I replied. "Mr. Connors died shortly after we put him under. Since you're not family, I can't tell you what exactly happened, that's why you still have both of your kidneys." My wife was looking at me and not with loving eyes. "The doctor will be in shortly to release you. Your wife will need to drive you home and if you have any problems later, please contact us." With that she was gone. The doctor came in, checked me out, and release my ass to my wife. I thought of asking him if I could stay the night because I knew what awaited me at home. It was a quiet ride home. "How could you do that to me? To us? I am so mad at you I don't know if I want to strangle you or kiss you. You could have fucking died! Why didn't you tell me!" "For that reason; you never would have let me do it." "And lucky for you mister, it didn't happen." I didn't feel very lucky about now. "Look, it would have given us enough money to pay off everything and have a fresh start. Now, we're right back to where we were yesterday; broke with the bank breathing down our necks. This was our way out." "What if you'd died? What kind of fresh start would that have been for me and the kids? Everything would have been paid for, but at what cost? If you haven't noticed, I kind of like having you around." Monica didn't let up until after the kids came home from school. They were oblivious to what was going on and just wanted to know what was for dinner. I think Monica said something about fried butt. I went back to work on Tuesday, no use staying home and doing nothing. I read in the paper about David's passing. All it said was that he died of complications, whom he was survived by, and the date and time of the viewing. Dressed in my one suit, my wife and I made our way up to the front of the viewing line. He looked pretty damn good, the morticians had worked their magic. "Sorry David," I said under my breath. "I guess we shouldn't have waited those three days and maybe you would have made it." Secretly I was thankful it was him in that casket instead of me. As we walked out, an older lady in black caught my eye. "Sorry for your loss," I mouth and continued out the door. "I'm glad that's over," Monica said on the way home. "I guess all the money in the world means didley squat when your numbers up. Just remember that Steve the next time you come up with another one of your hair brain ideas. Life went back to normal, whatever normal was anymore. We struggled like always and were just eking out a living. Is it ever going to get better? I thought to myself on my way home on Friday. When I got home my wife was cooking supper, hot dogs and mac and cheese. It wasn't my favorite but was filling and most of all, cheap. I was just getting my second helping when someone rang the bell at the front door. Phone calls we never answered at dinnertime but someone at the front door, that's something you can't ignore. My wife got up and answered the door as I was scrapping out the last morsel of cheese from the kettle. "Who was it?" I asked sitting down. Just FEDEX dropping off something for you. I hope you didn't spend our life savings on something stupid." "Honey, I didn't buy anything, honest. Maybe it's something from work." I let it slide until after dinner. While Monica did the dishes, I grabbed the package and opened it. It was from David Connors lawyer. It contained the original contract, which was stamped in red, Null and Void. I knew that, he didn't have to rub it in. I was just about to toss the whole package into the trash when I say the plain white envelope. I opened it and knew immediately it was from David's wife. Dear Mr. Moore I'm sorry it's taken me so long to contact you but as you can imagine, I've been a little busy. My husband was a good man and though he wasn't a saint, I know he's in heaven looking down on all of us. What you offered my husband, even though it was for the money for your family, shows me what kind of man you are. You were willing to literally risk everything for your family; that was something my David would, and did do, on more than one occasion. I know your agreement wasn't completed, due to my David's untimely death. But I feel you deserve something for your willingness to save my dear husband's life. Enclosed is a check for fifty thousand dollars and I would like to offer you a full time position. My husband had many business interests and investments and I feel a man of your integrity will be invaluable in assisting me with making the day-to-day decisions that will need to be made. I would appreciate if you could contact me as soon as possible. I need to start my life again and would appreciate your help. Yours Truly Rebecca Connors I finally took a breath, and read it again. "Hon, who is it from? " Monica asked, when she saw what I assumed a strange look on my face. "Steve, just tell me it's not bad news. I don't think I could handle another bit of bad news at this time." I pulled out the check, put it on the kitchen table in front of me, and leaned back in my chair. I closed my eyes. David, I know you can hear me. I'm really sorry you died; I was ready and willing to go through with our agreement. I guess I don't have to tell you, your wife has made good on our agreement and has thrown me, and my family, a lifeline. I will do everything in my power to show her she's made the right decision. If you every need anything, give me a sign, and it will be done. Again, it was a pleasure knowing you. "Steve, you're scaring me. What's in that package?" Monica asked again, walking towards me as she dried her hands. "A new life," I said looking at the check. "A new life for all of us." And, it was.