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Good Enough

By: americandemon



My name is Amy and I want to tell you about a special man. His name is Tom. About two years ago I met Tom at the strip club where I was dancing. It was the first week of June and LasVegas was really hot. I remember he came in on a Monday night. He was about 5'10" and, if I had to guess, about 260 pounds. He was overweight and I could see a little chest hair coming out around his open collar shirt. He had green-blue eyes and a nice smile. His hair was curly and black.

Once I caught his eye, he smiled at me and then quickly looked away. I walked over to him and asked if he wanted me to dance for him.

He fumbled in his pocket to find some money and said, "Yes, please."

After he gave me his money, he sat on his hands. 

I asked, "What are you doing?"

He replied, "Well, you're so pretty and I just wanted to make sure I didn't touch you. That way you won't get mad at me and I won't get thrown out." He then smiled at me.

I laughed and said, "Give me your hands."

I put his hands on his lap and told him to spread his legs. I winked at him and began to dance. While I danced for him, I rubbed my body up and down his. This way his finger tips could rub my skin as I rubbed up and down his body.

He looked pleasantly shocked. He looked like a little boy that had just opened a great present.

I whispered in his ear, "Do you like?"

He just looked me in the eyes and nodded yes.

When I was close to finishing my dance for him, he whispered in my ear, "You are so soft."

I giggled and said, "Thank you."

I thought he was so sweet. 

After I finished my dance for him, I sat and talked with him for a while. He was funny, intelligent, and very kind. But there also was a sadness in his eyes. 

After that night, he came in the rest of the week to see me. By the end of the week, I found myself waiting for him to come into the club. My heart would begin to race once he flashed his smile at me and I knew he was there. 

I loved talking to him. During our talks, I found out he had a rough childhood. He also said he never really had been loved by anyone. He always felt like he wasn't good enough for anybody. No matter how he tried, whatever he did seemed like it just wasn't good enough.

Then he talked about his weight and hairy body. He thought he was ugly. He talked about how the movies and t.v. made fun of guys like him.  He told me he found it harder and harder to go out in public. He said he could tell by the looks on young pretty girls' faces when he smiled at them or caught their eye that they thought he was gross looking.

I told him he wasn't ugly or fat. I thought he was a good looking guy. Yes, he was a little over-weight. So what? Then I told him as far as his body hair was concerned, not all guys dislike it. I said I had no problem with it and some women found it sexy. 

I, too, shared some of my past with him. I told him how I had also never found love. Guys would say they loved me so they could get into my pants. Once they had me, they would use me then treat me like shit. I always thought if a guy had sex with me, that meant he loved me. I was so wrong. I became quite the party girl in high school. I was always the fun girl the guys wanted to be with at the party. But once the party was over I would be alone. 

I told Tom about my Senior year. My boyfriend was a Junior in college. He took me to one of his frat parties. It was fun for a while. I got real drunk and everyone was nice to me. Then my boyfriend took my upstairs to his bedroom. We started fucking, then the door came open. His friends walked in with no clothes on. My boyfriend got off of me and one of his friends grabbed and sucked on my tits while another opened my legs to eat me out. 

I remember my boyfriend saying, "If you love me, fuck them. You know you want to do it."

I said I didn't want to do this for him. But I was pushed down on the bed and used by his friends while people from the party watched. Nine or ten of his friends took turns on me, sticking their cocks in every hole I had, laughing and talking dirty to me. Girls from the party would come in and point and laugh at me. All this happened while my boyfriend watched and kissed other girls at the party.

The next day I was so sore and I had bruises on my thighs and hips. Blood came out of my ass when I went to the bathroom.

My boyfriend never came to see me again. 

I told Tom about a few other winners I had as boyfriends, who like to hit me.

I said, "When I was a little girl, all I would dream about was when I grew up I would find a man who would love me and take care of me. I would have lots of babies with him and we would grow old together." I laughed, held up my hands and said, "And this is what I got!"

All of a sudden I felt Tom's hand in mine. I looked into his eyes. His eyes were watered over and he said, "I am so sorry, Amy. No guy should treat a girl like that."

He smiled at me and I replied, "It's alright."

He quickly said, "No, it's not alright. Not the way they hurt you, it's not, Amy."

Then one of the bouncers came over and told Tom he wasn't allowed to touch the dancers. Tom removed his hand from me and I told the bouncer it was okay. I looked at Tom and we smiled at each other.

I loved spending time at the club with Tom. I often wondered what he would be like in bed. Little did I know I was soon going to find out.

It was Saturday, around 3:30 a.m. and I was about to get off work. I was sitting with Tom and he was a little too quiet. 

I asked, "What's on your mind, Mr. Man?"

He looked like he was searching hard to find the right words. He then said very quietly, "Amy, one of the other girls said, well, that . . ." he paused and then continued, "you have a little habit."

Right when he said habit I knew one of the other bitches had told him about my drug habit. I quickly tried to explain that I only did it once in a while (which was a lie) and only for when I had a really bad day. I wanted to cry. I didn't want him to think bad of me. I don't know why, I had never cared what anyone thought of me before but for some reason he was a special case.

He looked at his feet and then back into my blue eyes. He said, "She also said if you're short of money you . . ." he didn't have to finish, I knew what he had been told. 

I had sold myself maybe four times in my life to satisfy my habit. A tear ran down my face, I felt so ashamed. 

I was about to explain to him why when he blurted out, "I have a thousand dollars. Will you do me the honor of mating with me?"

He looked crushed after he said it. I was in shock. Then I smiled at him.

"You want to mate with me, Tom?"

He was looking at his feet and replied, "Yes."

I had never heard a guy in my life call it mating. I've heard it called fucking, screwing, and sex but never mating. I loved the way he put it.

I whispered in his ear, "Okay, Tom, let's mate."

A big smile came over his face.

I said, "But on one condition. No money."

He said, "But-"

I jumped in and said, "I mean it, no money, Tom."

He agreed.

After work we took a taxi to the Excalibur Hotel where he was staying. I was so nervous. I hadn't felt that way since I had been a virgin in high school. 

When we got to the hotel, he held my hand all the way to his room. The number of the room was 2069. 

I flashed a smile at him and said, "Good room number! I'd have to say I like the 69 part the best."

A big grin came over his face and he began to turn red.

I thought to myself, 'I want him. I want him inside me.' He was the nicest, sweetest guy I had ever met. He made me feel like I was important. 

Once we got into the room, I saw a red rose on the bed. He picked it up and gave it to me. 

He smiled and said, "Thank you for being so beautiful and for being mine for a little while."

I wanted to cry. No guy had ever said things like that to me before.

I could see he was nervous.

Tom had a regular room with a king sized bed, a small table with a couple of chairs and a dresser with a mirror. I went over to his window and looked out. 

I said, "Wow, what a great view you have."

I looked over at Tom who was looking right at me and he replied, "Yes, I do have a great view."

I felt like a school girl again. I bit my lower lip, looked down at my feet, and then looked back into his smiling face.

He laughed and said, "Did I embarrass you, Amy? I think I see some red in your face."

I giggled and said, "No."

He took my hands in his and said, "I don't have a lot of experience when it comes to sex, but if I don't please you just tell me and we'll stop, okay?"

'No guy ever gave a shit about pleasing me,' I thought to myself.  By Tom saying this to me, it just made me want him more. 

I put my arms around his neck and looked his green-blue eyes. I said, "I don't think you have to worry about that, Tom."

He placed each of his hands under my arms and then quickly lifted my little 5'5" frame up in the air and placed me in front of the mirror.

He said, "You're just a little thing, aren't you? You're probably about a 110 pounds, maybe?"

I said, "A woman never tells her age or weight." Then I said, "But I'm only 105 pounds!"

He laughed.

Then I said, "And I am really 21."

He laughed again.

Then Tom was looking over my shoulder and said, "My God!"

I turned quickly to see what was up. I found myself looking at myself in the mirror. Tom walked up behind me, pressing against my body. He was staring at me in the mirror.

Again he said, "My God! Amy, you are so beautiful!"

I now had a big grin on my face. 

His hand brushed against my cheek and he whispered, "And so soft too."

He ran both hands through my hair and whispered, "Such pretty long blond hair."

He stared into my eyes and whispered, "How could a man hurt something so beautiful with pretty blue eyes like yours, Amy?"

I felt a tear run down my cheek. He turned my head toward his and gently ran his tongue over my cheek to capture my tear.

He then breathed, "Shhhh, don't cry, pretty girl."

His hands were on my shoulders. He ran his hands down to my belly then pulled my white blouse out of my black mini-skirt. Tom started to slowly undo my buttons, starting with the top.

When he finally finished the last button, he flew open my blouse, exposing my white bra. You could see my erect nipples poke out against the material.

He took my blouse off and let it slide to the floor. He kissed my shoulder then bit down a little. I cried out. He grabbed my hair in the back and tilted my head, exposing my white neck to his mouth. Tom licked my neck, then nibbled on it. He opened his mouth wide and bit hard on my neck.

I cried out again as I watched him in the mirror. God, it felt so good! 

He released me from his mouth. I could barely make out the teeth marks on my neck. His tongue gently licked the marks. 

He released my hair. His hands went down to my hips. He squeezed them tight as he pulled me against his body. His hands went from my hips to my belly. He squeezed it hard.  I sighed. He ran his hands to the sides of my breasts. I stood up straight. I wanted his hands to squeeze my breasts hard.

He looked me in the eyes and gently ordered, "Show me." Then he looked at my breasts. 

I reached around and undid my bra. I slowly pulled each strap off my shoulder. His eyes were fixed on my breasts. I let my bra drop to the floor. 

Tom's eyes got really big and then he took my small, firm breasts in each hand and squeezed them tightly in his hands. His thumbs ran over my hard, pink nipples. 

I sighed, "Oh God!"

Now I could feel something growing behind me. It was hard and pushing against my soft little ass. I arched my ass up and pushed against the hardness. 

I looked into his eyes in the mirror. He was staring back at me. 

He said in a growl, "Do you feel that?"

My breathing was fast and hard. I nodded yes.

He growled again, "You're making me want to mate with you."

I cried, "Do it, Tom! Take me! Mate with me!"

I rubbed my ass up and down his hardness. He grabbed my arms and held them behind me. My breasts pressed out to the mirror. His hands went back to my hips and squeezed them again.

I cried, "Oh, please!"

I was actually trembling. I had never felt that way in my entire life for any guy. I was aching for him. This thirty-something year old man was making this 21 year old girl feel a need like she had never felt before.

Tom undid my belt and then the buttons on my skirt. He slowly unzipped my skirt and then it fell to the floor. 

There I was, standing in front of the mirror, almost completely naked. Tom's eyes were drinking me in. His eyes went all over my young, trembling body. His eyes were now fixed on my pink panties. 

His hands were back on my bare belly. Tom looked into my pleading blue eyes, his fingers went underneath the elastic of my panties. From there he went to each hip, then back to my front. 

Our eyes staring into each other while he teased me. He took his right hand and started to go down. He went across my abdomen to rest on my soft pussy. He squeezed my girlhood in his hand.

He whispered, "You're so smooth and soft here."

He squeezed my pussy again. 

I moaned, "Do you like it smooth?"

He smiled and nodded yes.

He placed his foot between my legs and spread me open. As we stared into each other's eyes, he placed his left hand on my belly to hold me firmly in place. 

I closed my eyes and let out a moan of pleasure as his right hand went into my panties and his middle finger slid into my hot, wet crevice.

He rubbed my outer lips and then thrust up into my aching hole. Tom finger fucked my little hole. It felt great but it also made me ache for his cock. 

He began to stroke my clit. 

I couldn't look at him. I could feel my orgasm building inside me. I actually felt embarrassed for the first time during sex. 

He pushed on my belly to get my attention. I caught his gaze. He was looking at me as if he knew he was going to make me come.

A smug look came across his face and then I couldn't fight it any longer. I came for him. I let out a loud, "Oh, God!" and then bent over. My legs were trembling and felt like water.

I wanted to crouch into a ball but Tom held me firm. There I was, orgasming in his arms. 

I heard him whisper, "That's it, let it go."

I did as he instructed. I let my orgasm run through me. 

When I had finally finished, he scooped me up and placed me on the bed. Tom was kissing my belly and hips. He slowly pulled my panties off. He raised my legs and spread me wide open.

I could feel his breath on my pussy. I looked at him and he smiled at me and said, "I think I want a little taste."

There was no more talking. His tongue rammed way up into my cunt.  He was licking up all of my pussy juice. His tongue lashed at my cunt like he was a starving man. 

I tried to stop him because I was getting close to coming again but he ignore my pleas. Once he found my clit, it was all over. He sucked it into his mouth and let his tongue attack my bump. I tried to push him away but his hands were grasped tightly on my hips and his mouth was like a vaccuum on my clit.

I could see a gleam in his eyes, I was no match for his strength. I screamed in pleasure as another orgasm exploded out of me. He controlled me, owned me, I was his for whatever he wanted.

My body spasmed over and over. All control over my body was gone in wave after wave of bliss. 

When I gained control of my body I looked between my spread apart legs. There he was, standing over me. He still had his clothes on and he was wearing something new, a big grin! I could see his chin was shining from my cunt juice.

He took his pointer finger and wiped my juice off his chin. My eyes widened.

He said, "You're quite the juicy little girl, aren't you?"

Then he licked my juice off of this finger.

I could feel my mouth open slightly in awe.

Tom said, "Amy, I'd like to pump my seed into your tight little pussy now, okay?"

I flew off the bed and tore off his button shirt. 

Tom yelled, "Oh, Jesus!"

I got in his face and said, "Not quite, Tom!"

I spun him around and threw him onto the bed. I got on top of him and straddled his legs. I undid his belt and unbuttoned his shorts. I grabbed his shorts and underwear and pulled them off.

There it was, his hard, thick shaft pointing at the ceiling. I grabbed it in my hand and worked his cock up and down. I cupped his balls gently in one hand and then with my other hand grasped the base of his hard penis. I stuffed his hard member into my mouth. My mouth went up and down his hard wonderful shaft. I could feel the veins pulsating through his penis.

I started to lick the tip and I tasted some of his pre-come. That salty liquid taste filled my mouth. I stopped licking and got on top of his hard cock. I rammed it up inside of me.

I cried, "Oh, that's it!"

Then I proceeded to pound his cock in my aching cunt. I sat straight up and used my hips back and forth to milk him. I could feel every inch of him deep inside of me. 

I looked down at my mate and said, "I'm going to milk you dry."

To which he replied, "Wouldn't you rather me pump my seed into you, little girl?"

I thought about what he said and thought, 'Do I want to milk him or have it pumped into me?'

I begged him to pump his seed into my pussy. With a wave of his hand I was off of him and lying face down on the bed. He was standing on the floor and pulled me up on all fours. He grabbed my hair and my head went back. My ass arched high for him to take my pussy. 

Tom grabbed my hips and rammed his cock into me. 

I screamed, "Oh yes!"

Then he proceeded to pound into my hot little cunt. I took every inch into me. I would take everything he had until I had that wonderful seed dripping out of my girlhood.

I could hear his breathing was getting faster along with his pace. He was going to fill me. I looked over to the left and I could see him in the mirror, pounding away at me. His body was covered with sweat and his muscles were tight from him mating me. 

I watched in awe of him. I could feel myself building to orgasm again for him. I was so close and then Tom cried, "Oh, Amy!" His head went back and then I felt it.  He held himself deep inside of me, coating my insides with his thick baby cream.

I arched my ass as high as I could to get every drop of him inside of me.

I screamed in pleasure as my orgasm took control of me. With every wave of his seed shooting into me, a wave of uncontrollable pleasure ran through my body.

The last thing I remember seeing in the mirror was my body covered in sweat and my pussy being fed Tom's sperm.

We both collapsed on the bed next to each other, both of us breathing heavy. I could feel him dripping out of me. 

We smiled at each other and then he held me. 

Hours after that we continued mating with each other. It was one of the most beautiful times of my life. I fell asleep in his arms and when I woke up he was carressing my face and smiling at me.

He said to me, "Thank you for being my girl last night, Amy. You are perfection in every way to me."

I beamed back a big smile. 

We took a shower together and then went and had breakfast.

During breakfast I asked him if we could get together later and hang out some more. 

He looked very sad and replied, "I'm going home today, Sweetie. My plane leaves in an hour and a half. In fact, I have to go and pack my things."

Tom was going home was all my brain could register. I knew he was going to leave soon, I just hadn't realized it was time already. 

I felt a pain in my heart. It was a great sadness.

As he walked me to my taxi, I looked at the rose in my hand that he had given me the night before. I had never gotten a rose from any guy in my life. 


Good Enough



This story is the sequel to "Not Good Enough," which is the story of the start of Carol's affair with her professor, Carl Fellows. A related, but very different, series of stories is "Before the Fall," "The Fall," "Fall Semester," and "Spring Semester." There are elements of the true story of my life in every story.

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Good Enough

Carl

Of all the things in my life that have given me pleasure, by far the one that has pleased me most is plunging my cock into the wet and willing cunt of one my young married students, and fucking her gorgeous, sexy body until I ejaculate my sperm-laden semen into this woman who is another man's wife. There is nothing better in this world than that feeling of evil power, corruption, and sexual ecstasy.

But a close second is when the stupid bitch comes back for more.

In class the first Tuesday after the weekend Carol came to my office looking for her "lost" wallet, the weekend I gave her that first, glorious fucking, I sat there, lecturing and discussing the material with the students, basically on professorial autopilot. My attention was on Carol's attitude and demeanor.

Was she remorseful? Had she confessed to her husband and thrown herself on his mercy, as well as onto his vengeful prick? Did she show signs of abuse from an enraged husband -- bruises, welts, angry scars? Was she overcome with shame and guilt, burdened now with a secret but cherished memory that she would have to bear in suffering silence in the dark recesses of her heart for the rest of her life? Had she left my office that Saturday and gone church the next day overcome with grief at the loss of her virtue, and confessed her sin to her God, and prayed for forgiveness and deliverance from such temptations in the future?

Or, as I had, did she relish the tangy taste of the illicit sex that we had experienced, did she embrace and relive, over and over, that delicious moment when she succumbed to me, and allowed, no, encouraged, begged, for me, her professor, to ravage her sexually, to fulfill her betrayal of her marriage vows? Did she wallow in the memory of her sensory pleasure in being fucked hard and brought to a wrenching orgasm on the cock of another man? Had it been good enough to make her come back?

In short, would Carol ask for more?

It was my policy to say nothing to one of my new lovers after our first trysting, nothing to suggest that it had even ever happened. I would be affable and friendly, even, but completely professional and even-handed, as if our entire relationship was there in the classroom as it should always have been.

Because I want my lovers, my victims, to come to ME, to be the ones who ask ME for more, who tried to persuade ME to please, "fuck me again."

I know that I'm no great bargain, not the best example of robust, virile manhood. I know I'm far from the ideal mate. So, I have always felt an acute pleasure in seducing these beautiful, vulnerable married women in my classes, women who had supposedly married the man of their dreams, my competition, and I have succeeded at that many times. I have taken an even greater pleasure when I have been so successful that they have wanted me, have ASKED me, to continue, to further deflower them, to further assist them in their sexual betrayal of their husbands. That has always been a delectable and satisfying moment.

Carol showed no sign, one way or the other. She didn't look nervous, she wasn't obviously avoiding my eyes, nor was she gazing at me in a doe-eyed romantic haze. Carol conducted herself just as I was conducting myself, as if it had never happened. She was prepared for class; she had done her reading and completed the writing assignment given in the last class meeting. She participated in the class discussion, and her voice betrayed no reluctance or nervousness.

This Carol was a very cool cookie. She would not be easy to manipulate, although I HAD manipulated her (here the double-entendre of the phrase in his thoughts amused Carl, and he was momentarily distracted from his lecture, laughing quietly at an inappropriate moment, then stumbling briefly to get himself back on track) into doing with me that most intimate thing.

As class ended, Carol hung back, waiting for the other students to clear out, waiting for a chance to speak to me alone. I knew what the reason was for her desire for privacy ... I knew the topic of the upcoming conversation. What I didn't know and what I was truly excited, even aroused to discover was: which way would this go?

Finally, the last of the other students left, and the automatic closer on the hallway door shut it, ensuring us a degree of privacy. The sudden hush in the classroom was startling, and Carol looked up reflexively, as I did, to be totally certain there was no one at the door or still in the room.

She stepped forward, and prepared to speak. I was ready, eager, and curious to see if I had guessed right about her. My penis was now fully erect as I sat behind my desk, and Carol stood next to it, holding her books in front of her as all girls and women do, and no self-respecting boy or man would ever do, and I could see the glint of her wedding ring. The sight gave me another little thrill, reminding me of the depth of the betrayal I had guided her into on Saturday.

Carol met my eyes with a steady, level gaze and said, "Can we go to your office, tonight?" I just about came in my pants with delight.

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Carol

I hadn't felt guilty or sorry after what happened Saturday. It was too damn good. I had felt truly sexy and attractive and deeply physically satisfied for the first time in years. I was reminded of the strong sexual appetite I had had as a newly-liberated woman when I was a teenager, and I realized that I missed it. I loved my husband, and I loved my little daughter so much that I would readily give my life for her, but John simply wasn't able any more to make me feel that deep, deep carnal pleasure that Carl had given me.

I knew it was to a large part the illicitness of what we did that made the act of cheating so satisfying. I knew it was an emotional reaction at least as much as a physical one. No one had to tell me that my sexuality was more in my brain than my genitals, because I knew that, I could FEEL that when I felt so luxurious and when my orgasm was so profound and satisfying. Carl hadn't done anything particularly special or exhibited any unique physical features or knowledge that made what we did so exciting and fulfilling. It was my body responding to the forbidden-ness and the sinfulness of it that had made my reaction so powerful.

And I knew by how I had felt ever since, by my level of energy, my excited sleeplessness, my pre-occupation thinking about that glorious encounter with Carl in his office, by the constant arousal I felt between my legs and in my nipples, that I wanted more, that the newness and nastiness of what we had done, what we WOULD DO would carry me back many more times to that high of sexual bliss that I love so much. I knew it wasn't Carl, particularly, although he was the one who had set this feeling free within me. It could have been any reasonably attractive man. Actually, it could yet be any other reasonably attractive man!

But Carl would do just fine.

John hadn't acted at all suspicious when I came home after a very long time on Saturday, without groceries and without an explanation. He seemed to just go about his business as usual, happy and unconcerned. Our daughter came home from playing next door, and we had a nice, normal family dinner together while she told us of her adventures that day playing Barbies.

As I sat there eating dinner with my little family, I felt a very strong sense of my destiny as a mother and my profound love for my child and for her father. I felt nothing but warm, cherishing sentiment for him, and I realized that I was frequently looking into his eyes and smiling, my love for him like a living thing within me.

And every time those thoughts and feelings filled me, simultaneously, directly under them, as close to the surface as if it were only covered with the thinnest gauze, I also felt my pride in my wantonness, my corruption, my betrayal of all of this. I couldn't shake the salacious images of looking down along my naked body, my breasts in the foreground, Carl's skinny, naked body at my hips, and him coaching me to look at his engorged cock as he slid it out of my cunt, where I could see it's length covered with the fluids of my excitement, and then feeling so filled and intense as he pushed it rapidly back in, and as I watched and felt simultaneously the entire length of him embedded again into me. The images overlaid themselves onto the scene of domestic bliss in front of me, and I believe I have never felt a deeper satisfaction than I did at that moment of basking in my daring and sinfulness.

In college psychology class, as a demonstration of the power of positive feedback, we had read about an experiment in which chimpanzees were allowed to dispense doses of heroin to themselves by pushing a lever. The little apes had kept pushing the lever again and again, more and more frequently, sending themselves over and over into that addictive ecstasy that drug users know all too well. In the two days since Carl and I had enjoyed one another's bodies in his office last weekend, I felt a strong empathy for those little guys. I reminded myself of what I had done, how I had felt, how I had risked everything I thought I had valued, everything I knew I DID value, and again and again, like those little monkeys, I got a satisfying thrill, a jolt of pleasure in my pussy, and a sense of joy by thinking about it. I couldn't stop doing that, reviewing my glorious shame, and I couldn't stop the growing anticipation of going to Tuesday's class and doing it again. I tried to screen out my memory the fact that the chimps had continued dosing themselves until they died.

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John

Carol had come home late Saturday. She had taken hours to retrieve her wallet, and hadn't bothered to buy even a few groceries to provide cover for her behavior. I knew what she had been doing; I had been envisioning it almost continuously while she was gone. Our daughter was out of the house while she was gone, and I couldn't resist taking the opportunity to masturbate myself while watching the realistic pornographic movie running in a continuous loop in my brain.

Twice.

When she got home, I made myself busy doing some of the errands around the house that I had intended to do while Carol was gone, but hadn't because I was busy beating my meat. Carol exploited my busyness as I had intended, and simply avoided offering any explanation or excuse for where she had been all day. She made herself busy, too, doing miscellaneous household tasks until the time came for dinner. Our daughter came home about then, and the two of them fixed dinner, while I set the table and fixed us all beverages to have with our meal, the three of us chatting and laughing about nothing of consequence the whole time.

At dinner, Carol seemed to be acting in an especially loving manner toward both our daughter and myself, peering at each of us in turn with obvious affection. Yet, she also seemed somewhat distracted, and I can only imagine what kind of thoughts were running through her mind about what she had experienced earlier in the day. Probably the same sorts of images that were filling my imagination.

We retired early, and Carol showed no shame or reluctance as we exposed ourselves to one another while dressing for bed, and I saw no obvious evidence of her activities. Still, she seemed distracted. For myself, I couldn't hide my strong erection, my fevered imagination refusing to stop showing me the lewd, imaginary pictures of what had occurred, images far more pornographic than any film or photos I had ever seen, because they featured my own wife thrashing in pleasure while being endlessly pierced by a stranger.

She readily accepted my obvious excitement, and we fell into our familiar pattern of love-making. But I'm sure neither of us was really making love as usal. Without question, there was a third party there in bed with us, lending an amazing jolt of decadent energy and urgency to our sex. I could sense nothing unusual about her body,, but I knew I was plunging into another man's cum in my wife's pussy. I reached one of my strongest orgasms ever, and was surprised when, shortly after me, Carol seemed to reach one herself. I know women fake orgasms, but I saw her body respond in ways I don't believe can be faked. She was lost in sexual joy fucking me, but I am virtually certain that she was mentally reliving her earlier sex with her professor.

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Why didn't I confront her?

Because I know she is seeking something she needs but I can no longer give her.

Because I can clearly see that she has no intention to of leaving me or breaking up our happy, loving little family.

Because I have always known that love and sex were two distinct things, and because so many people I know have destroyed their lives by their foolish ego-driven, over-the-top, over-sensational reaction to their spouse's simple act of enjoying themselves with another person.

And I am completely unwilling to risk that. Anyway, I don't feel that way at all, myself. I don't feel jealousy or anger, just disappointment that Carol feels she can't trust me enough to tell me about this, to share it with me.

But I also know that, in part, her thrill in doing this thing involves the idea of the sinfulness that sex is associated with when we all first form our sexual identities. I know that is why passion fades between married people; because they become so familiar with one another, so comfortable, that there is no tension there any more. Nothing forbidden, nothing concealed, nothing illicit to fuel the fire.

Let her have her affair. I love her, and she apparently has no reservations about still giving me the physical release I need while she indulges herself. For a while, that will be good enough. Perhaps, in time, I will meet a woman or a girl who will inspire in me the animal passion that she is feeling, and I know that I want her to give me the same license that I am giving her now.

I know that eventually, I will have to talk with her about this. I will have to find a way to let her know I am not confronting her, not accusing her, not emotionally assaulting her. But she must eventually know, when her affair is over and the need for the thrill of secrecy had passed, she must know that I know, that I have known since the beginning, and that I am okay with it. That my love for her is a different thing, stronger and separate from our sex lives.

----------------------------------------

Carl

Carol virtually dragged me to my office after class.

When we arrived, I paused briefly to close and lock the door, and when I turned, I saw that Carol had already started undressing herself. She was outrageously enthusiastic for more sex with me. I started getting undressed myself, but Carol easily beat me, and pushed some books and notes that were sitting on my sofa onto the floor before saying to me, "Lie down on your back, here! I want to be on top this time!"

I was appalled at her aggressiveness. I had never had a woman or girl take the lead like Carol was doing, and it gave me a little edge of doubt and concern. Carol was a ginning at me, watching me undress, clearly excited to see my erection emerge from my shorts.

But, for the first time in my life, for some reason, I had lost my erection. I was reluctant to show it by removing my shorts., but intellectually, I wanted the pleasure of debasing this married woman again. But, was I debasing her when she was basically demanding it? And, at the moment, I was physically incapable of debasing anyone but myself.

"Oh, Carl! Don't be ashamed!" Carol said, smiling warmly, as she came over to me and caressed my shoulder while she reached down to verify that my penis was just a warm lump of flesh. "I'm sure this happens to everyone now and then! Let me see what I can do for you!"

Carol slid sensuously down my body, taking my shorts down with her, and soon was licking and sucking on my limp cock. Slowly, I was able to feel a little bit of stiffness returning, but even after several minutes of her servicing me, I never reached anything like my usual size or tension.

Carol reluctantly gave up. I was crestfallen. What the hell had happened?

Carol was still in a state of arousal -- I could see that her nipples were standing out on her breasts, and I could smell her strong odor of excitement. She went to the old leather sofa, spread her legs, and gestured to me to come to her.

"I can't, Carol." I said.

"I licked you. You can lick me, can't you?" she said. This wasn't some cringing co-ed; this was a strong woman who knew what she was doing, and what she wanted. And right now she wanted an orgasm, and she was basically ordering me to give it to her.

I had no experience of what to do in a situation like this. I knew she was right, that she had earnestly tried to please me with her mouth, and under normal conditions, I would be more than fine with reciprocating. But somehow, I felt diminished, taken advantage of, to be made to service her on my knees.

But I didn't know what else to do. I knew I would be okay next time. I was pretty sure, anyway. And I wanted her to come back for more. Didn't I? So, I knelt before her, and lowered my head, like a loyal subject kowtowing to a queen or praying before his sex goddess. I licked her, and went through the pattern of steps which I had performed so often with others ... outer lips, inner lips, clit, inner lips, back to the taint, push the tongue in a little, up to the clit again, tongue in, inner lips, then simply fuck her with my tongue while I manipulated her clitoris.

It apparently worked just great for her. Early on, she grabbed my by the hair over my ears, and pulled my face tightly to her groin as I licked her. I had a tough time keeping going; I had never been so disconnected from what I was doing before that I only felt my tongue and lips getting tired. I usually also reached up to massage, even lightly abuse, the woman's tits, but I didn't bother this time. If anything, my cock had shriveled even more.

Eventually, after what seemed to me like a long, long time, Carol arched her hips up, still holding my face to her there painfully, and I had to partially stand to avoid losing hanks of hair. Carol yelled out, much more loudly than she had on Saturday, with what seemed like a much more powerful orgasm. Her nipples were fantastically extended, and her chest down to her pussy was red with flush.

After a few seconds and more sharps cries from Carol and one from me when she yanked my hair especially hard, she dropped to the sofa, releasing me on the way down. I was not ready for the move and the sudden momentum, and I lost my balance, stumbled to the floor in a heap, and hit my head on the end table.

Carol was oblivious, lying back on the old leather, panting, relishing her amazing orgasm, which I felt had basically been the product of her own imagination. I pulled myself up and started to get dressed.

By the time Carol recovered, I had been dressed for a minute or so, and was sitting behind my desk, looking over it's intervening bulk at her luscious body. I could easily see how fantastically sexy she was, but I felt no reaction. I was slipping into a dark mood.

Carol opened her eyes at last, and finally found me with her glance. She could easily read my mood, as I was trying to show it plainly. She shuffled herself back to sitting, and reached for her clothes and began to get dressed herself. "There's no reason to be mad, Professor Fellows. It's not your fault ... and it's certainly not mine! You gave me a great orgasm; thanks!" She was just pulling on her shoes, then she got up, gathered up her coat, her purse, and her books. "We can try again on Thursday, okay?"




Good Enough



I said nothing, just scowled.

Carol came around my big wooden desk, leaned over and gave me an affectionate little kiss on my bald spot. Then without another word, she unlocked and opened the door, went out, and closed it behind her.

------------------------------------------

Carol

A couple of times before I had had a man lose his erection at the critical moment. A couple of guys before I met John, and with John a couple of times, both fairly recently. I have always been able to raise the dead before by giving them my full-service head job, but Carl was the first I have ever had that didn't respond at all.

I knew he wasn't all that enthusiastic about giving me head, either.

What had I done? Was he turned off by me somehow?

Had I come on too strong? That was probably it ... he was playing out the leering old professor seducing the innocent young wife, and I guess I should have let him. Too bad; I had hoped we could go back to what we had last Saturday, but maybe not.

As I left his office, I paused to quietly close the door, and when I turned, I was startled by a large man standing right there, only inches away from me.

It was that older man I had seen on Saturday. He reached for me, and silently grabbed my elbow, guiding me away from Professor Fellows' office.

"Come with me for a second, Carol," he said. How did he know my name?

He guided me gently to a door down the hall, the last office on the other side before the staircase I had seen him go up on Saturday. He gently guided me into the recess in the hall to the door of the other office. I could see by the glow of the ceiling through the glass of the transom window above the door, that the office was occupied. The heavy-set old man touched his lips in the universal gesture for silence, and we simply stood there. I had no idea who he was, how he knew me, or what we were doing.

Almost right away, I became aware of a quiet woman's voice inside the office, speaking Spanish, interrupted occasionally by a small click or a long pause. Then again, the same voice, saying the same words, but now with that tinny, echo-ey quality a cheap tape recorder makes. I looked up at the man, who was substantially taller than me, and he grinned. Then, he grabbed my elbow again, and tugged me out of the door recess and down the hall a bit toward the stairs.

"This is an old building. We have just about no privacy at all in our offices," he said, then simply looked at me, waiting.

I suddenly realized what he was telling me. Everything that had occurred in Carl's ... Professor Fellows' ... office had been clearly audible to anyone lingering outside in the hallway! And, clearly, he had been standing there just now, listening to us this evening. Had he heard us Saturday, as well? I tried to relive the two encounters to see if the sounds alone were explicit, and I realized that they had been very explicit, indeed!

"Why don't you come upstairs to my office and we can chat about that, okay, Carol?"

I followed him up the noisy old stairs, my perception of sound suddenly heightened beyond all other senses. On the floor above, he turned the opposite way down the hall, and walked down a few doors to an open office door at the end. He didn't look back; he didn't have to, he knew I had to follow.

When I arrived at his office, a few steps behind him, I noticed his name and position engraved on a nice wooden sign beside the door: Dr. Barry Rosen, English Department Chairman. His door was not an old one like Carl's, it was a nice, heavy oak paneled door in a new steel frame, and the transom had been filled in above it. I completely understood what he had in mind, and somehow, I wasn't inclined to resist.

Rosen closed and locked the door behind me. I took the initiative again; let's see if this one's ego is so fragile. "You don't have to threaten me with exposure, Dr. Rosen. I understand our situation here, and I think I know what you want." I set my purse and books on his gigantic oak desk, took off my coat, and hung it on the nice wooden coat-tree there by the door. When I indicated that I was fully cooperating with him by starting to unbutton my blouse, he, too began to undress.

We locked eyes as we proceeded, but each of us glanced down from time to time to check out what we were about to be intimate with. Rosen was not a young man, and his body was that of a sedentary, overweight guy of close to sixty.

But Dr. Rosen emphatically did NOT have Carl Fellow's problem tonight. Not only was his office significantly bigger than Fellow's, so was his penis. It must have been between half-again as long and twice as long as Carl's, and more improbably, was at least twice as thick. And it stood level with the floor, pulsing with the quick, strong beating of his heart. I blatantly studied his cock for several minutes, and I stepped to him to grasp it, relishing the stony firmness and amazing heat there.

For his part, Rosen just grasped my arm again and guided me past the large oak conference table sitting on the Persian rug in the center of his office, to the leather couch, the much-larger, much wider, newer leather couch against the far wall. I expected him to urge me to lie down for him there, but instead, he sat down himself, leaving a generous space between himself and the heavily-upholstered arm, then he patted the seat beside him, indicating for me to sit next to him.

"I'm an old-fashioned guy, I guess, Mrs. Kelly. I would appreciate a few moments of tenderness so we can fully enjoy one another, and to get me fully prepared for what is to come."

I couldn't quite imagine what he meant by his need to get ready. He looked plenty ready to me. And, especially after my disappointment downstairs earlier, I was absolutely ready. But I wanted to be a good guest, so I sat down, and Dr. Rosen wrapped me in his long, bulky arms, hugging me affectionately. He leaned forward for a kiss, and I responded with an open-mouthed eagerness.

Rosen leaned his face away from mine an said, "Relax, Carol, slow down. We've got plenty of time. John won't wait up for you."

I had no idea how he knew so much about me, but I accepted his plan. He resumed kissing me, at first gently and romantically, kissing the tips of my nose, my eyelids, my fingers, my cheeks, my ears, then very slowly escalating to open-mouthed kissing. He sensuously explored my mouth, then moved his tongue out to lick my face, then down to my clavicle and that pulsing hollow at my throat, then, at long last, to my aching breasts.

I was aching with anticipation and desire. His slow, silent, sensuous approach had my nipples painfully engorged and ready for direct contact. But he licked around them, then incredibly, into my armpits. He licked my rib cage below my bosom, then relented and finally went back to lick, then suck each bulging nipple, lavishing saliva on them, and I had a small orgasm there in his arms.

Barry returned his smiling face to my mine, and asked, "Was it good for you?" before licking gently AROUND my mouth, all over my nose and eyes, my chin and then into my ears on each side. My hips were lifting up off the seat of the sofa with my need.

Barry laid me back onto the wide, supple leather, and lowered his head to my mons. "Not for long, dear, I just want a taste, then ...," then he proceeded to give me the most expert tonguing that I have ever experienced. He then stood up, and turned my in place, so that my hips were propped up onto the low, soft upholstery of the arm of the sofa. He walked around the end, and I spread my legs apart, much more than ready for him. He squatted slightly, and grasped his enormous and steel-hard cock, aimed it at my cunt, and slid it up and down along my slit a time or two.

"Oh, for God's sake, Dr, Rosen, just put it in! Fuck me! Please!"

He smiled, still lubricating himself on my dripping vaginal lips. "Carol, I think it's probably time that we called one another Barry and Carol, don't you think?" Then he simply leaned forward and his immense penis slid into me to its full depth, and mine. "It's okay, Carol! Here, you can call out as loudly as you want!"

And I did. I screamed, not with pain, but with absolutely soul-wrenching lust. Over the next five or six minutes, while Barry methodically plunged himself into me to my full depth again and again, I spun off into empty-minded climaxes at least four times. Counting was not my first priority right then. Eventually, but not really before too long, Barry began to accelerate his pumping into me, and soon, his strokes were anything but gentle. He was literally pounding my cunt with his huge cock, sending me up to climax again and again, until finally, while I was somewhere else in a world of my own, Dr. Barry Rosen reached his own climax, and I was brought back to earth by the intense feeling of massive jets of hot semen rocketing into my receptive pussy. Tonight, I had prepared myself in advance, hoping to be doing this with Carl, so my diaphragm was snugly in place

We both sagged to a conclusion. I dropped my legs over the end of the sofa, and just closed my eyes and relished the amazing afterglow. I was suffused by a profound sense of well-being and satisfaction. I realized that I hadn't thought once about John or Carl while Barry and I were fucking, and it had been wonderful. Now that I DID think about the wantonness of what we had just done, that familiar thrill of decadence and sin sent another little climax through my body, and I just purred in the sensuous pleasure.

I felt Rosen sit down heavily behind me on the sofa. His hand stroked my hair, then wandered over my forehead, massaging my face with his strong, long fingers. I was drifting into something that felt like sleep when I felt a light kiss on my lips.

I woke up what must have been only a few minutes later, but Barry Rosen was fully dressed, pouring two shot glasses with single-malt scotch. "There's a bathroom right at the end of the office there," he said, indicating the direction with the drink in his right hand. "Take a shower before you go home. We don't want to spoil your lovely marriage!" 

----------------------------------------

Several months later, well after my classes at the university had ended, John and I were sitting eating breakfast on a Sunday morning. Our daughter was still sleeping in her room. It was getting to be Spring, and the room was filled with brilliant light.

I had gone to Carl's office a time or two more; the next time was not really fun for either of us, and the final time was another embarrassing disaster for him. I saw Dr. Rosen several more times, and we enjoyed much more delicious sex together. I still marveled ay how an older man like that could be such a good sex partner, have so much stamina, and yet be so sensitive and generous with me.

Suddenly, John burst out laughing at something in the morning paper. He laughed delightedly, almost in hysterics. Our little girl finally stepped out of her room, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "What's so funny, daddy?" she asked.

"Oh, just something in the paper, honey! It wouldn't be funny to you! I'm sorry I woke you!" John dropped the paper, got up from the table, hoisted our little girl into the air, kissed her quickly a dozen times while she squealed in delight, and took her to the kitchen to find her something she would like for breakfast.

I grabbed the paper to see what had launched his laughing fit. I could hear him still laugh a little now and then while the two of them were poking around in the kitchen.

I scanned the page, and saw nothing amusing, then I turned it over, and the blood drained from my face. The bold headline on the front page read:

"MAJOR SEX SCANDAL AT LOCAL CAMPUS!"

"Two English Department Professors arrested on charges leveled by co-eds. University denies responsibility after million-dollar suits filed by families."

As jokes go, that one was good enough.



Good Enough?



Thanks to Dave T for his tireless efforts to edit my tales into something readable (despite my changes after he is done). Any and all errors are mine. 

++++++++ 

"Forgive your Enemies, but remember the Bastards names" -Famous Political Saying 

+++++++ 

"I cannot help what my feelings are!" I snapped, as steam came out of my ears. 

My friend Shelly just smirked as she cleaned off some glasses before wiping down the bar top, like the stereotypical bartender she was. 

We were in Shelly's bar, "The Jim", named after her deceased husband. His running joke was the customers could honestly say they were at 'The Jim', or going to 'The Jim'. It was a little corner establishment Shelly and Jim had bought and fought to keep solvent. The hours had driven Shelly's husband into an early grave. Shelly had used the life insurance money to pay off most of the loan, and turned her grief into keeping the bar as a tribute to her late husband. 

"OK Barb," Shelly said while refilling my wine glass. "Let me see if I got this right. You are not pissed that your husband Dean slept with someone else. You are pissed off at who the girl is?" 

I took a sip of my drink before answering. "Do you blame me Shelly? Have you seen HER?" 

'Her', the lady in question was named Marge. An overweight, chain smoking, loudmouth, bottle redhead. Marge worked as a that middle level manager in some useless redundant government agency, whose job was creating paperwork for another useless redundant government agency. 

Shelly put some more glasses into the sink. "You do realize Barb that this encounter between Marge and Dean, was long before you and Dean ever met." 

I looked around the bar, it was pretty empty, save some guys playing pool in the back room. "Who cares Shelly, I mean seriously, look at me." 

I got off the barstool and did a twirl, showing of my four times a week yoga class body before sitting down, "And compare this body to that ...uhg..her." I said, making a face as a mental image of Marge crossed my mind. "It is just not ..normal." 

Shelly threw a towel over her shoulder. "Normal is a setting on the dryer. So your hubby Dean traded up by marrying you. I do not understand why that bothers you?" 

"What if it wasn't him that traded up?" I asked "I found out Marge and Dean were together for over a year. What if Marge broke up with Dean? That means I would be settling for a Marge reject. That makes me want to hurl!" 

"Barb, again, WHO CARES. One person's trash is another person's treasure. Marge's loss is your gain, yada, yada, yada." 

"Easy for you to say Shelly. You do not have to have sex with a man who stuck his pickle into Marge's pickle barrel for over a year." 

Shelly leaned on the bar with a grin on her face. "Maybe Marge had a few bedroom tricks that kept Dean coming back. Maybe you girls should get together and swap 'recipes'?" 

I almost gagged on my drink. "I will have you know that no one who was in my 'kitchen', EVER went away anything but fully satisfied, and certainly were always hungry for more!" 

Shelly just raised her eyebrows. 

I looked around before answering. "I may not be some vestal virgin, but I am not some dirty gutter slut either!" 

Shelly laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "Sex is only dirty if done right." 

I knew my face was bright red as I shook off Shelly. "Please, this is serious! I am not happy about this!" 

Shelly shook her head. "Sex, the thing that takes the least amount of time and causes the most amount of trouble." 

I ignored her remark as I ran a finger around the rim of my glass "It just seems so hard to see the future with Dean, when his past with that skank Marge is in his history." 

Shelly shook her head at me. "Barb you ever hear the expression. 'The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.' " 

She then got a somber look on her face. "We have known each other since grade school, been thru a lot. But remember what my grandmother used to tell us. 'Happiness is simple. Someone to love, something to do and something to look forward to.'" 

Now, I smiled at the memory of that old lady. "Yeah, but wasn't she also the one who said 'Marriage is between a man, and a women who is not too picky' ". 

We both laughed a little when I felt a presence to my left. Suddenly Dean plopped down on the barstool next to me. He had a bag from the hardware store in his left hand. 

"Hi Beautiful" Dean said, giving me a kiss. 

Shelly made a face. "I thought you were talking to me." 

Dean grinned and easily pulled himself up and over the bar, doing a modified full gainer, landing behind Shelly. He immediately began smothering her neck with sloppy kisses. 

"Showoff" I said, sipping my drink with a smile, while silently admiring my husband's acrobatics. 

Shelly pretended to fight off his advances. "What do you expect from an old Olympic gymnast." 

Dean grabbed the bar rail and vaulted back across the bar into the seat next to me. "Ah, you ladies are too kind. But we all know I had to drop out before the end of Olympic Team tryouts, and that was a long, long time ago." 

"You did not have to drop out." Shelly finished, "You chose to drop out to help your parents." 

"Tomato, tamato." Dean said. "Same thing, I was never on the Olympic team." He then lifted my wine glass. "The house white?" 

Shelly pulled the bottle from under the bar, showing the label to Dean before refilling my glass. "Wine is like duct tape for women, it fixes everything." 

Dean grinned as he put his arm around me. 

"Ugh!" I exclaimed pushing him away. "You smell like sawdust, go clean up before you get me all woody." 

Dean rolled off the barstool, but not before giving me a tickle. "Speaking of 'woody' don't forget tonight's date night." 

"What are you guys doing?" Shelly asked. 

I rolled my eyes. "Watching a DVD." 

Dean held up his finger. "Not just any DVD. Tonight is classic movie night, with the director's cut of 'The Wizard of Oz'. The ultimate chick action flick, where two women fight to the death over a pair of shoes." 

I shoved him toward the men's room. "Fine Paul Bunyan, now please go wash off some of that timber before woodland creatures come in looking for a place to nest." 

There was only the clicking sound of the pool balls in the background as I saw Shelly linger on Dean's sleek figure while he walked to the other side of the building. As Dean moved out of sight Shelly snapped her towel at me. "Goddammit Barb, you should be sending Marge thank you letters every Christmas for cutting Dean loose, instead of worrying about some ancient history those two had before you were even on the scene." 

"He is not perfect you know." I countered defensively. "I can't count how many times Dean leaves the toilet seat up, and besides being Marge's cast off, the man has a cat as a pet. What kind of man has a cat as a pet?" 

Shelly gave me an odd look. "What is wrong with a pet? I wish I was half the person my dog thinks I am." 

I ignored her. "And who names their cat 'Tom'? Come on!" 

Shelly was astounded "You don't like Tom the cat? I love that big black cat! He is biggest damn cat I ever saw, like a mini panther. Yet that crazy cat Tom has the personality of a dog." 

"Wonderful" I spat. "Dean and Tom have been together forever. Maybe Tom the cat can teach Dean to get a real job. Dean hasn't had a steady job in the five years we have been married. He has never put his business degree to work." 

Shelly gave me a strange look. "You are kidding, right? People from other countries send their wooden antiques to Dean for restoration." 

"Ah, sure, but it is embarrassing at our office parties when Dean says he whittles wood. I hate the impression that he is like some hillbilly lumberjack. He could be on the fast track and halfway to upper management by now if he wanted. But No, Dean wants to stay home and play in the garage." 

"Barb, I have seen Deans' garage. It is workshop better equipped than most woodworking TV shows." 

"It's my garage." I snapped. "Part of Grandpas house he left me when my parents died." 

"Didn't Dean completely redo all the wood floors in the house?" 

"Yeah, but..." 

"Plus all the moldings and entrances." 

"Yes, but.." 

"And the front porch, steps and trim?" 

"Sure, but.." 

"Not to mention the fireplace" Shelly said, as she reached down under the bar and pulled out a magazine, plopping a glossy full double page spread in front of me. 

"Barb isn't that you on the curved staircase that Dean rebuilt from scratch in 'National Home magazine'?" 

"OK, OK Shelly, but I was the one who had to put up with all the dust." 

"Oh Boo hoo, and now your home is in the County Historic Registry. Before Dean you were getting letters from city code enforcement." 

"Well if Dean had taken any of the offers he had out of school we could have been making big money and paid someone to do that kind of work. You don't know what it is like to have only one steady income.. just MINE. It is not a situation that leaves me too happy." 

Shelly rolled her eyes "I think Groucho Marx once said, 'What good is happiness? It can't buy money.'" 

I took another drink of my wine. "Seriously Shelly, having Dean being Marge's reject along with his limited earning is not exactly the key to my happiness." 

"What Barb? You think if you Dean made enough money and you were not happy you could have the key to happiness made?" Shelly shook her head. "Seriously Barb? My God, did your mother have any children that lived? Do you know how antique restoration, and cash work? You have any payments on that new Lexus you bought up last year?" 

"Well no," I stuttered. "Dean paid for the whole car after I picked it out." 

Shelly put away the magazine. "Having a lot of money does not mean you are special. Most of the time it means you were lucky." 

Swirling the wine around my glass I couldn't help saying. "Easy for you to say. The last time I saw Dean in a suit was at Moms funeral. Damn guy lives in faded denim jeans. 

Shelly stretched as she put some glasses on the top shelf. "Men in denim built this country. It's the assholes in suits who are destroying it." 

Just then Dean sat down next to me. "So what are my two stunning gals chatting about?" 

Shelly turned toward Dean. "Tell me boyfriend, how much dough your little lumber shop make last year?" 

A look of surprise crossed Dean's face. "You mean reported income?" He laughed. "A gentlemen never talks money, or about his ladies." 

Shelly turned toward me, but addressed Dean. "We were just talking about your wife's new Lexus. How about you, did you trade in that old pick-up truck yet?" 

Dean gave Shelly a look. "Why? It may be 15 years old, but except for a bit of rust she runs great." 

I tried to change the subject. "Speaking of ladies you were with, Marge is now head of the neighborhood homeowners association." 

"That's nice." Dean said absentmindedly, while picking up a bar food menu. "Shelly is the fryer up?" 

Just then one of the guys playing pool motioned an empty beer bottle and held up 5 fingers. Shelly broke away to fill the order leaving Dean and me alone. 

"Dean did you hear what I said?" 

Dean turned a page of the bar menu. "Sure Barb, You said Marge is head of the Homeowners Association now. Should not bother us, the house is in great shape." 

"Don't you care?" 

Dean put down the menu and looked at me quizzically. "What? Do I care if the house is in great shape?" 

"No you fool." I slapped him with the menu, "about Marge!" 

Now Dean looked really confused. "What about Marge?" 

"God, you men are so thick." I sighed. "You and she.." 

"Me and her, what?" Dean asked. 

"You guys used to date." I used my fingers to make quote marks around 'Date' 

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, Marge and I dated before I met you, so? And you used to date Mister All American High School quarterback before me. That reminds me, can you call him tomorrow and check on our car insurance. I want to increase the coverage on your Lexus." 

"There is a difference Dean. Mister All American High School sells us insurance now, is married with 2.5 kids and a picket fence you helped him put in." I said. 

Dean got a smile on his face. "Oh I see, you want the 2.5 kids! That's wonderful Barb! You know I have been bugging you to start a family. Don't worry about your job, I have orders two years out. You can always go back to work after...Barb? Barb?"  

Dean was talking to my back as I stomped off my barstool and out of the bar. 

+++++ 

Things were cool around the house the next few days. A confused Dean gave me space and stayed in his stupid 'workshop' working on another one of his stupid projects. Shelly told me I was being a fool, even going so far as to say "Too many people are looking for the right person, instead of trying to be the right person". 

But I could not help the way I felt. I mean honestly, who wants someone else's leftovers? Which is why I was sitting in Marge's house to see if I could get the real story. 

"You sure you don't want a beer Barb?" Marge said as she plopped her pant suited rear in a lazyboy chair, with a cigarette in one hand and store brand beer can in the other. 

"Um, no thanks Marge." I replied sitting on the edge of her sofa trying not to touch anything. 

Looking around Marge's house I could not believe she was in charge of anything that required taste. Her decor was done in early 60's trailer park with lion and leopard prints on every wall, rug and picture. 

"Suit yourself." Marge shrugged while popping open the beer in her hand. A small dog jumped into her lap. She petted the animal making kissing sounds. "I tell you Barb, if there aren't any dogs in heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went." 

Marge continued to talk to the dog before she addressed me. "Some people talk to animals, not many listen, that's the problem." 

I tried not to retch and her smoke was making my eyes water. "Marge I am surprised you still smoke, you know working for the government with all its anti-tobacco regulations." 

Marge blew a puff of smoke into the air. "It has been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that smoking is the leading cause of statistics." 

I tried to join her in a small laugh before launching into generic homeowner questions, figuring to work into the real reason for my visit later in the conversation. However, Marge beat me to it. 

"Does Dean still got that big ole black-assed cat Tom?" 

I shivered before answering. "Yes Marge, Dean still owns Tom the cat." 

Marge took a chug of beer. "Hell, no one owned that damn cat. Tom came and went as he pleased." She took another swig from the can. "Did Dean tell you we used to bump uglies, way back when that other guy was president? I don't think you were around then." 

"Yes, Dean mentioned you two used to date." 

Marge slapped her thigh. "Date? Hell we humped like bunnies for over a year. I kinda hated to throw that one back." 

I tried not to show my surprise. "You broke up with Dean? Why?" 

Marge shrugged before taking another drink. "He wasn't my type. Sure he was a real nice guy, kinda good looking, sorta skinny for my tastes, but funny, great in the sack mostly and all. Dean's just not something I wanted to settle for." 

I tried to keep calm, but inside my mind was seething as I thought, "Settle for! Not your type!" I composed myself before asking in a non- confrontational way "Really? Dean do something to make you break up?" 

Marge shrugged again before answering. "Nope, nothing like that. I am sure he is fine for someone like you, but Dean just didn't fit the kind of man I was looking for." 

I let out a nervous laugh, because inside I wanted to explode. "Wow Marge, you must be looking for superman." 

Grinning behind her beer, Marge chortled "Well a man of steel is good to have around, if you know what I mean." She crushed the beer can before setting it in the wastebasket near her chair. "And as much as I would love for us two hens to keep going on down memory lane about old boyfriends we kicked to the curb, I gotta get diner ready. Now Barb you had some homeowner questions for me?" 

I swallowed my bile, and wondered if Marge could see the steam rising from my ears as I pulled a folder from my purse. 

++++ 

The meeting with Marge actually made my bad mood worse. Dean grew a brain in his head, finally getting the message I did not wish to talk. He gave me space, immersing himself in his workshop and his volunteer kids football league coaching gig. Tonight, Dean was on a two day trip which is why I was at 'The Jim' sitting at the bar with Shelly as she cleaned glasses. 

The bar had a few patrons, normal for weekday evening, although a table filled with suits was making a lot of noise. 

"Where is your acrobat at?" Shelly asked pouring me a glass of red wine. 

I took a sip before answering. "Dean took his stupid truck to pick up some stupid wooden piece of crap some stupid guy with more money than brains wants returned to 'original condition'. If these people have so much money why not buy new stuff? What is the thrill of paying ten times the price and having some old hand me down piece of shit, when you can have nice new pieces?" 

Shelly shook her head. "You talking about Dean, a la Marge, or Dean's latest assignment?" 

"Both, either, neither, I don't know. It is all so depressing." 

Shelly threw a towel over her shoulder. "You want some cheese to go with that whine?" She rolled her eyes. "Life is not about where you think you're going; it's about the experiences you get along the way. Dean is an awesome nice guy, so cut out the white whine." 

I looked down at my glass. "Shelly, I have the house red." 

Shelly reached across the bar and gave me a fake smack on the cheek. "White WHINE you fool, not white wine. You know, first world problems. Like not being able to find the remote control to the TV, your Starbucks coffee being too cold, or an email attachment taking too long to download. The kinda shit problems poor people around the world would love to have, as opposed to say...finding clean water or medicine for their sick kid with the hospital 200 miles away-which they can't pay for anyway." 

I recoiled back. "Just because my problems are not as bad as others, does not mean I don't have any problems." 

"Yes, it does" Shelly responded with a hint of anger in her voice. "You are a member of the 'Lucky Sperm Club' to be where you are. A good job, fine health, a husband that loves you, need I go on? I would set fire to everything I own in a heartbeat to have twenty minutes with my late husband. You were born on third base, stop thinking you hit a triple!" 

I was stunned by Shelly's tirade but she was on a roll. "Look Barb, you don't get to be the bride at every wedding, corpse at every funeral, and baby at every baptism." 

Now I was feeling insulted and was about to retort when the front doors of the bar opened and a stream of sweaty guys in baseball uniforms piled into the bar. 

Shelly's mood perked right up. "Gonna be a good night! That is the Gay Men's softball league." 

I made a face. "You allow those kinda guys in here?" 

She gave me a serious look. "Barb, if by those 'kinda guys' you mean men with disposable income, who buy a lot of drinks and spend a lot of money, but never cause any problems. Then, YEAH, I not only allow those 'kinda guys' I search out and encourage those 'kinda guys'. This is a bar you know." 

I was about to answer when a huge black man strode up the bar. The guy was the biggest human I had ever seen. He must have been over 6 foot 10 and close to 250 pounds. Buttons strained at his barrel chest on a uniform that displayed the name of his team 'Master Batters'. 




Good Enough?



Shelly must have known this black giant as she did not object when he reached across the bar and picked her up with no more effort than a child picking up a Barbie doll. 

"Put me down Leroy" Shelly squealed as the colossus set her down gently. 

"No problem Shelly" Leroy replied in a low baritone voice. "Just thought you might wanna get together with the Northeast League, South Division, Western Champions Most Valuable Player." 

Shelly batted her eyelashes coyly. "And does your husband know you are hitting on the other team?" 

Leroy let out a big laugh. "I wasn't always gay. I just got sucked into it." 

It must have been an old joke as Shelly just rolled her eyes. "Sorry Leroy, you know I do not sleep with any man who is not 9 inches." 

Leroy seemed to consider this for a moment. "Hell Shelly, I am not cutting off 3 inches for anybody." 

I was shocked by this exchange, but Shelly seemed unfazed, even when Leroy said "Enough Wench, give me six pitchers of your finest ale on tap and keep them coming for my fellow batmen warriors." He paused. "Also a pitcher of Pepsi." 

Shelly started setting up pitchers on the bar. "Who is the teetolaler, and why is he in my bar?" 

Leroy looked at her sheepishly. "Me, I gotta start a 3 day shift at the fire station tonight." 

Shelly turned toward me as she started filling pitchers with beer. "Barb, my only girl called in sick, I am short a server tonight." She pointed to the group of guys in suits at the corner table. "Can you take care of them?" 

In the past both Dean and I had helped out when needed. Shelly and I had been servers to help get cash while we were in school, so it was no big deal. "Sure" I said. 

++++++ 

The table with the suits was a noisy bunch. All the guys had their ties loosen and some of their jackets were thrown over the chair backs. A big man with the look of an ex-jock seemed to be holding court. 

"Hi Guys" I said plastering a smile on my face. "What can I get you?" 

I endured the typical "Your Phone Number", "A look at your tits" "Long blow job", comments that every female waitress dealing with drunken men has had to endure since Taverns started serving booze. I had long ago as a server been immune to such frat boy remarks, and mentally filtered them out to the point I did not even really hear the crude commentary. 

The Ex-jock stood up. It must have been my day for big men because this guy was well over 6 foot. He motioned to the table. "Sorry, you'll have to excuse my compatriots. We are celebrating my big promotion." He handed me a business card so new it shined. 

Below the name in gold flake was a bold Title: 'Southern Hemisphere Interoffice Technology-Head VP.' 

"Wow" I said trying to hand the card back to him. "That is impressive" 

He waved away the card. "Keep it. I'm buying, so let's have another round. But only if you have a drink with us too." 

I tried to demure, but the group at the table started a verbal campaign that picked up volume to the point I agreed to have a drink with them just to keep them quiet. 

Shelly was busy refilling pitchers with beer as I was pouring my table's drink order. She spied the business card I placed on the bar top. 

"Whose is that?" Shelly asked, pointing with her chin at the shiny new business card. 

I gestured at the corner table. "The cute big guy at that table. I think he is a new executive. Looks like he has money too." 

Shelly wiped foam off the rim of a picture. "Great Barb, You know what Grandma used to say about money buying happiness." 

I rolled my eyes. "They say money doesn't buy happiness, but I would love to be crying in my new Ferrari." 

Shelly pick up the business card and started laughing after reading it. 

"What is so funny?" I asked 

Shelly shook her head reading the business card out loud. "'Southern Hemisphere Interoffice Technology-Head' VP.', Don't you get it? Look at the first letters, S-H-I-T-Head. Your big time exec is a Shithead." 

I grabbed the card back from her looking it over again. After a moment I said "So it's not the most elegant title. He is still looks like a big shot executive." 

Shelly was unimpressed. "Big shots are just little shots who keep on firing. Mind your manners." 

I laughed her off, but Shelly put her hand on my arm. "Don't be acting like Curious George on Red Bull and do something stupid with 'Shithead' over there. 

Shaking off Shelly's grip I replied. "I won't, this just a bit of a payback for Dean about Marge. I'm just going to have a few drinks with them to keep them under control. A free drink is a free drink. You know the best things in life are free." 

Shelly would not quit. "Barb, the best things in life are free. The second best things are very very expensive." 

++++++ 

In my defense I was so drunk I cannot recall a lot of the early events. 

I do not remember leaving the bar, or making it to my house and up the flight of stairs to my bedroom. There are some hazy memories of punching in the alarm code and sucking off 'Shithead' in my bed along with a weak orgasm. I think I finally sobered up some time during the second (or third) round when he tried to stuff his rather large dick up my ass. I was no stranger to anal play, (although I had not let Dean my husband there yet), but the pain of 'Shitheads' 'ass'-sault killed any buzz I still had from last evenings alcohol. 

"NO!" I yelled, wriggling away from 'Shithead', almost falling off the bed. 

Barely outlined in the darkness, he pawed at me. "You ain't gonna leave me with blueballs are ya? I still got another load ready to fire." 

My head now started pounding as the inevitable hangover began, with guilt over my actions starting to creep in. I put my hand on his chest. "Look I think you better leave, I can't have you staying the night." 

Shithead fisted the base of his erect penis. "You don't wanna make me breakfast? I got your morning protein right here." 

I really did not need this now as my headache got worse. "Very funny, but seriously I need you to get out." 

He was still holding his erection. "What about my situation? I can't get dressed in this condition. How about one for the road?" 

"Fine" I replied. "I'll give you a going away blow job, but then you must leave." I pointed to the bathroom door. "But first clean that shit off your dick, I am not doing no ass to mouth." 

As Shithead got off the bed, heading to the bathroom door, I peeked at the dresser clock, whose red LEDs displayed 3:18 AM. The last thing I wanted to do right now was suck off that idiot, although admittedly I was willing to do anything to get him out of the house. 

The water shut off in the bathroom, then the crack of light under the door went away. Meanwhile the skulking hangover was competing with guilt as reality started to set in. Just as the bathroom door swung open and I could make out Shitheads naked silhouette, simultaneously the bedroom door opened and I saw the outline of a figure holding something in his hands, creeping past the threshold. 

I screamed and the intruder froze, Shithead leaped from the bathroom doorway, grabbing a table lamp off the dresser and slammed the lamp into the back of the intruders head. 

The intruder crumpled to the floor, I stopped screaming and turned on the bedside light. Fumbling with the tabletop phone I punched in 911. 

"Send Police! A robber is in my house!" I yelled franticly as the 911 operator started her spiel. I glanced over at 'Shithead', who was tying the intruder's hands behind his back with the lamp cord, then suddenly my blood went cold. 

There were roses scattered around the floor where they had dropped from the intruder's hand. Next to his hands were a pair of work boots the guy must have been carrying when he was struck. 

The boots were Dean's well-worn work boots. 

Shithead was finishing off a knot on the bound hands while muttering "Fucking asshole burglar, think you can sneak up on me? You gotta another thing coming." I dropped the phone when 'Shithead' grabbed a tuft of the intruder's hair and lifted the head off the floor. 

Now my blood froze as Dean's bloody face stared out at me. His eyes were closed, but a soft moan escaped his lips. 

I leaped off the bed to the side of my prone spouse. "GET AWAY FROM HIM! THAT IS MY HUSBAND!" 

Shithead got a confused look on his face as he released Dean's hair. Dean's face hit the floor with a hollow 'Thunk'. "Your husband? What the fuck..." 

He never finished his sentence because a low growl emitted from the gloom beyond the bedroom door. Two yellow eyes glowered at us for a second before a black blur shot out of the darkness and attached itself onto Shitheads face. 

Shitheads screams mixed with a loud snarl, as Tom the cat bit and dug his claws into Shitheads head. 

The two twirled around as Shithead sprang upright trying pull Tom the cat off. Slamming into the window, Shithead finally pried the big black cat away from his scratched bleeding face. Tom the cat dodged a vicious kick, retreating swiftly under the bed. 

Shithead was holding his face and cursing as I knelt down, moving in to cradle Deans head in my hands. Suddenly pain, more severe than I had ever experience erupted on my left ass cheek. It felt like I was being stabbed with a dozen knives. 

Letting out a yell, I jumped up and tried swatting away at the source of my agony. Tom the cat had latched onto my buttocks and would no let go as I spun around like some whirling dervish, all the while screaming in pain. 

After what seemed like forever, I stumbled into Shithead, who was still holding his bleeding face and cussing a blue streak. Tom the cat finally separated himself from me, again retreating back under the bed. 

Trying to ignore the blood streaming down my leg, I jumped around attempting to return back to Dean, but somehow I ended up stomping on Shitheads foot. 

"YOU STUPID BITCH!" Shithead roared, pulling his arm away from his face to deliver a stinging backhand to the side of my head. The force of his blow flung me onto the bed. "I AM GOING TO KICK YOUR ASS!" he thundered. 

My ears were still ringing as Shithead with his arm raised, took a step from the window toward me, as I lay stunned on the bed. 

But before he could take another step I saw Dean spring to his feet, hands still tied behind his back. Dean took a hop forward, then launched himself into some kind of tight, gravity-defying armless summersault. At the peak of his turn in midair, Dean seemed to...uncoil. Both his feet struck Shithead on the chest and slammed Shithead hard back into the wall, where he became entangled in the window curtains. 

As soon as Dean hit the floor he popped up and ran at "Shithead', who was still entangled in the curtains. As Dean crashed his shoulder into Shitheads stomach, thumping him back into the wall, Dean turned his head to shout at me. "RUN BARB RUN! GET OUT OF HERE! GET HELP! I"LL HOLD OFF THIS RAPIST!" 

I was frozen in place staring at Deans blood streaked face, his hair matted with blood trying to pin Shithead in place with his much smaller body. Curtains ripped from the wall as Shithead raised a massive forearm, smashing it into the side of Dean's face. There was a sickening crack as Dean dropped to the ground. 

Shithead kicked at Dean who grunted, rolling away from the blow. Shithead took a step forward and raised his leg high to stomp on Dean, lying motionless on the floor. Just as Shitheads leg started its downward journey, the black blur burst out from under the bed and Tom the cat latched himself onto 'Shitheads' gonads with a piercing snarl. 

Shitheads scream was so high he sounded like a women. The scream continued as Shithead bent over and pounded at Tom the cat trying to get the furious feline off his nether regions. Suddenly Dean shook his head, and leapt off the floor jamming his shoulder into the midsection of the bent over Shithead. Dean let out a roar as Shithead was lifted up off the ground onto Deans back in a fireman type carry. His smaller legs churning away, Dean rammed the three of them full speed into the huge bedroom picture window. 

Deans roars, Shitheads screams and Tom the cat hisses were overshadowed by the noise of breaking glass. 

I sat transfixed on the bed, watching in horror when all of the sudden the three of them vanished from view. They just disappeared out the window into the inky dark night. Abruptly all their sounds became muffled, then...nothing. 

For a moment there was nothing but silence, punctuated by the sound of a single stray curtain flapping in the breeze out of the broken window, then a few tinkles, as small pieces of shattered glass fell from the pane. Unexpectedly a terrible ear splitting, heart wrenching cry broke out that filled the room. It took a few minutes for my brain to recognize it was me wailing at the top on my lungs. 

++++++ 

Everything in my mind was a haze, but slowly the mist lifted as if I was coming to the surface of a lake after being underwater. Opening my eyes, my vision focused on an Asian lady in blue hospital scrubs who was wiping a cool towel over my face.  

Staring back, the Asian female put down the towel and scurried away muttering "I go get doctor". 

Turning my head I saw Shelly sitting in a chair by my bedside. Yet when I tried to sit up I found my wrists and legs retrained to the bed with straps. 

"God Dammit!" I spat at Shelly "Get that Chinese nurse back her and let me loose.' 

Shelly came up to my side. "Settle down Barb. You have been out an entire day, they had to restrain you because you were combative. That aide, who I think is Vietnamese, went to get a doctor." 

I was still struggling. "Chinese, Vietnamese, Chuck-e-Cheese, who gives a shit! Get me loose NOW! I need to see Dean!" 

"Calm down Barb. You're lucky I'm even here. Leroy, the black guy from the gay softball league, he was one of the first responders on the scene the night of your...event. Leroy remembered you were a friend of mine, he let me know you were here and what happened." 

Shelly said the last part with silted eyes. My body deflated like a balloon at the recollection of that night. Shame washed over me, caused by Shelly's knowledge of what happened. 

She continued. "They had to sedate you, the whole scene was not a pretty sight. Don't worry, Leroy got some of his firefighter buddies using the truck ladders to patch that broken huge upper story window at your house." 

Well, even though I got loose, I had to sign a ton of paperwork about going against medical advice, making a future appointment, forms that absolved the hospital, blah, blah, blah. I would have signed a confession to the JFK shooting if it got me to see Dean. 

However when I got to see Dean through the window of ICU, it was ugly. He was buried in gauze with tubes and bags and machines all around or in him. My mine was numb as I tried to comprehend the anatomy list of terms a doctor was using to describe Deans condition. 

I interrupted the Doctors medical monologue. "Is Dean going to recover?" 

The Doctor hesitated and I tightly gripped Shelly's arm who was beside me. Finally he spoke. "I am confident he will survive. But I am afraid it is going to be a long hard road. Several rounds of reconstructive surgery and quite a bit of rehab is going to be needed. Sadly some of the best treatment is not covered by insurance. The processes needed for this patient's best chance at a broad recovery will be very very expensive." 

++++++ 

I tried to convince myself that I always loved Dean, it just had taken a tragic event to bring that love to the surface. I was determined to show him that love now. I emptied my retirement account to fund his recovery-early withdrawal fee and tax penalties be damed. When out-of-network specialists were needed, I took a huge home equity loan out on the house, maxed out the credit cards, even traded in my Lexus in for cash and a beat up used soccer Mom van. I figured the van would make it easier to transport Dean around when he finished his treatment. 

I cannot believe how much I missed Dean. I guess it is true you only miss the sun when it starts to snow, and the light when the candle burns low. As the weeks dragged on, I just wanted to die because I was already living in Hell. 

Dean's mental recovery was slower than his physical recovery. Neurosurgeon's told me his memory would come back in chunks, but they could not predict when or how much. I dreaded the thought he would remember 'That Night'. 

I spent hours with him going over old pictures of us, telling him stories and wasted countless hours searching for Tom the cat who disappeared 'That Night'. Flyers, ads, even visits to animal shelters failed to turn up that black bastard. 

Several months had gone by, but the day I saw two men with 'law enforcement' written all over them leaving the rehab center my blood chilled. Up to this point I had been able to keep persistent detectives away from Dean with a phalanx of doctors orders and attorneys papers. 

Everything turned to shit when I was stopped at the reception desk of Deans rehab center. The two large security guards, who had always been kind to me, now had a different look in their eyes as they barred me from the hallway to Dean's room. 

"Ma'am, we are going to have to ask you to leave the grounds immediately." one of the security men told me in a no nonsense tone. 

"We are also going to require you do not return until further notice," the other added. "Your presence is upsetting one of our patients." 

I opened my mouth to speak, but they each began to hustle me out of building, into the parking lot and to my car. 

The next day a police car delivered an order of protection that prohibited my contact with Dean in any manner, and required keeping a distance of over a 100 yards from him. 

++++++ 

At first glance I did not recognize Dean. I thought I was in the wrong location, or come on the wrong day. My heart skipped a beat as I looked at my watch; maybe I had come at the wrong time and was too late. 

It had been over a year since I had seen Dean, and my life had been going steadily downhill in every aspect, financially, professionally, socially, emotionally and physically. He had rebuffed all my efforts at any type of communication up to now, so I was determined to make this meeting successful. 

I was led through the unfamiliar stately manor into a back area. I passed some furniture that I identified as pieces Dean had refurbished. But as I entered the porch, the man seated in front of me looked like a stranger. 

Dean was completely bald with a wicked scar around a quarter of his crown. His once dancing blue eyes that sparkled when he saw me were now cruel stones that barely flickered recognition. A dark mustache goatee combination gave Dean more of a resemblance to Walter White of 'Breaking Bad' than my husband. The only way I was knew it was Dean, was because of the large black cat sitting in his lap that Dean was petting. 

For a moment the image of this bald man petting a cat looked like a bad Sci Fi movie with the evil villain going to blow up the world. 

I took a shallow breath before taking a big step toward the two of them with my arms wide. I hoped a familiar hug would start us off on a good note. 

Tom the cat sprung up on Deans lap, his feline back arched high, hair on end, tail up, with a spitting snarl that spat through bared exposed fangs. 

Dean put his hand out with the palm toward me. "Stop Barb, there is only one pussy here I have any interest in touching, and it ain't you." 

I froze, the words coming out of the man in Deans body was not the silky smooth tone that was the envy of every Karaoke night. This voice was a raspy hoarse guttural sound, more suited to Marlon Brando in his "Godfather" movie role. 




Good Enough?



Regaining my composure, I sat on a chair opposite Dean, with a small low table between us that contained several scattered folders. 

Pointing at Tom the cat, who was still growling lowly, not taking his eyes off me I said. "Wow Dean, were did you find Tom? I had been searching all over for him. I have not seen Tom since...um..ah..well." 

Dean kept his hard eyes on me and sat silent in a pause that was more than uncomfortable for me. 

Finally he spoke. "Well Barb, Marge brought Tom to me. She found him injured and rushed Tom to an emergency vet clinic. Seems Tom also spent some expensive time in the hospital." 

"That bitch" I muttered under my breath, then fixing a smile on my face, I said louder. "I mean that was wonderful of Marge. We will have to find some way to pay her back." 

Dean petted Tom some more. "Yeah Barb, you are all about the payback aren't you?" 

I tried to fight the tears welling in my eyes. "Dean, I know I have made some bad decisions..." 

Dean interrupted me with a short laugh. "Bad decisions? Bad Decisions make good stories, but shitty marriages." 

I tried to ignore his jab. "I just started seeing myself as more. I thought I was better than I was. I thought I was special. Without ever actually saying it that way to myself, I thought I was smarter and more deserving than any of the people around me. I know better now" 

I awaited Dean's reaction. Seconds seemed to tick away like hours before he spoke. "Beware of false knowledge, it is more dangerous than ignorance. Why are you here?" 

"I am here Dean, to say I am sorry. To show you I know how you feel." 

He let out another guttural laugh. "Know how I feel? I will always walk with a limp, plus be plagued with constant headaches and my balance will never be the same. Tell you what Barb, go have someone twice your size brain you with a lamp, crush most of your skull and then fall out a window from 30 feet. Maybe then we'll talk. Oh wait, also make sure to get stabbed in the back and betrayed by the one you cared for and trusted the most. I think finally figuring out you never loved me was worse than rehab." 

"Dean THAT IS NOT TRUE!" 

Dean smirked, "The truth will set you free, but not until it is finished with you." 

I did not know how to respond. "I..I..don't know what to say, Dean." 

Dean leaned back as Tom the cat jumped off his lap. "Come on Barb, the truth is easy, maintaining a web of lies is hard. Or are you going to pull Homer Simpson logic on me with his, 'It takes two to lie. One to lie, and one to listen,' spiel?" 

Now I was starting to get mad. "I am not some idiot Dean, I can see the light!' 

He chuckled "We all know that light travels faster than sound. That's why certain people appear bright until you hear them speak. I think you rightly fit into that category." 

I tried to calm down. "Did you really feel the need to go after Shelly? After your complaints to the State board, they pulled Shelly's liquor license. She lost the bar." 

Dean interlaced his fingers. "Yes it seems the Alcohol Commission takes its DRAM laws seriously and does not care for non-employees serving liquor. Shelly sent you to that Shitheads table. I see no reason Shelly should not reap some of what she sowed." 

"It wasn't her fault Dean. The bar was swamped that night, Shelly was too busy to keep track of my stupidity." 

He bored at me with his eyes "Shelly was not the only one 'Getting Busy' that night, was she, Barb?" 

I was almost in tears. "Shelly was my longest best friend, now she will not even speak to me, and she was your friend too." I rubbed my eye. "The injury did something to you, and it's all my fault, you were always such a nice guy Dean. Why did you feel that you had to burn Shelly?" 

Dean hunched forward. ""Burn' Shelly? I guess I am just an ash-hole now, because you know what they say about where 'nice guys' finish. Never EVER mistake niceness for weakness again." He leaned back. "So Barb, if you can't fly with the big girls, get off the broom." 

This was like a nightmare. "You couldn't just take it out on me could you Dean? Has there not been enough pain and suffering? The DA did not press any charges. Their investigation just chalked it up to one big clusterfuck." 

He pointed to a folder on the table with the State Seal on it. "Lies written in ink cannot disguise facts written in blood." 

"Blood? Is that what you after Dean? My blood? You know we lost the shitheads civil suit when your brief supported his case." 

Dean just stared at me. "I think Shithead never walking again and shitting in a bag for the rest of his life deserves something more than the memory of a fuck with you." 

"That asshole should be happy he is still alive!" 

"Barb," Dean said looking at me. "Many people are alive, only because it is illegal to shoot them" 

I ignored that remark. "I am going to lose the house, they already started garnishing my wages. All our bank accounts are frozen, we have no money." 

Dean seemed amused. "Yes, 'YOU' have no money." It was a statement not a question. He gestured around the grounds. "I'm just a poor whittler, trading my labor for meager room and board." 

This was not going at all how I wanted this meet to go. I took a deep breath. "I can say I am sorry a million times, but I see now you are not ready to hear it. Just please, let's keep the lines of communication open. We'll cross the bridges as we come to them." 

Dean pulled out a document from the pile on the table and tossed it at me. "Those are divorce papers. Sometimes you have to burn a few bridges to keep the crazies from following you." 

++++++++++++ 

My life continued circling the drain for the next 16 months. I lost my job due to performance problems. It seems all my time was taken up with my new hobby of drinking, thus leaving little time for work, (when I did show up). Going to my job seemed pointless with Shithead garnishing a large chunk of my wages and endless hours trying to keep the creditors at bay for the rest of my paycheck. 

There were bright spots, such as my jobs insurance coverage lasting long enough to complete treatment for the STD I picked up during one of my blackouts. 

Today was the newest low point. I was waiting outside what was once my National Registry Home for a Bank Representative to come finalize the foreclosure. I had been promised $1500 in cash if I kept my old house in good condition to be handed over to the next owner. 

That $1500, along with everything I had not sold or pawned, was in my dented minivan. I hoped the money would last long enough, along with my 4 almost bald tires, so I could make it to my new job. An elderly Aunt ran a combo inn/tavern way up north near the mining camps. I was gonna be with the 'Hicks in the Sticks'. Not a dream job, but it provided a place to stay at a price I could afford. 

So naturally in my time of despair, who do I see coming toward me? The person who started this entire chain of events. That bitch Marge! 

The fat cow was walking her ankle biter dog, a cigarette hanging from her lips. I silently prayed Marge would cross the street. But it was not to be as she walked right up to me. 

"You bailing out?" Marge asked, blowing a lungful of smoke past me. 

"Um..Yes Marge. I am going to help an old Aunt out up North. You know the old if one door shuts, another one opens thing." 

"Barb, when this one door closes...you best get a hammer and some nails, keep the bitch closed." 

"I beg your pardon?" I said watching Marge's little dog lift his leg to urinate on the front tire on my mini van. 

Marge took another drag off her cigarette. "You are like some retarded Rapunzel in that fairy tale. Except you spin Gold into Straw. You are the only human being who managed to make Dean, one of the nicest men to ever shit between two legs, into a complete prick." 

"Maybe he is just a prick to you Marge." I countered. "What do you care? You already threw him away. How is it any of your concern?" 

Marge lit another cigarette off the one she was smoking. "You gotta be the dumbest cunt on this earth. I cut Dean loose because he was too nice a guy to leave me on his own. I knew he deserved better than me. We only got together after a drunken hook up. I am not stupid like you, I knew Dean just stayed with me so I would not look like some total slut." 

I was not in the mood to argue with Marge. "Look if I could go back in time and change everything I would." 

Marge bent over to pet her dog. "Naw, you'd suffer a time travel injury, like stupidity." 

I pointed at the garish cross hanging from Marge's neck. "I thought you were a Christian. What happen to 'Love they neighbor'?" 

"Jesus may love you, but you are still an asshole." She snapped back. 

I waved my hand at Marge, as her and the dog turned to leave. "Well thank God I will have seen the last of you." 

Marge never looked back but I heard her comment "Never think you have seen the last of anything." 

++++++ 

My head was pounding and I was dying for a drink, when finally a BMW pulled up and out popped a well-dressed lady in her early thirties. She had the 'I am in Real Estate because my husband makes a lot of money and I am bored while the nanny takes care of the kids.' Look about her. 

"You must be Barb, sorry I am late. Things have just been CRAZY. This is my third foreclosure today, and I have two more to go to. I have never seen it like this." 

Her happy tone just grated on my nerves. "Oh my, how tough for you. I bet you miss the days when 'Bank Robbery' meant people robbed banks, not banks stealing people's homes." 

"The Realtor looked confused as she pulled out a sheet of papers and envelope out of her designer bag. "I have your money right here, just as agreed upon. That should bring a smile to your face." 

"Oh yes, trading my great grandfathers home that has been in my family for generations in return for less than a month's salary makes me want to dance the jig and break out in a song." 

She tried to become unflustered. "Well the house will be in good hands. A bunch of wealthy old guys formed a trust and bought it up. They have agreed to keep it in the original condition. As soon as their caretaker gets here we can do a tour to confirm everything, and get you signed off and on your way." 

Just then a loud rumble preceded a large motorcycle that stopped behind the BMW. The rider was your stereotypical biker, covered in tattoos with a leather vest, gloves and dark riding sunglasses. A Harley Davison head scarf was in place of a helmet. As he dismounted you could see the guy was not tall but extremely muscular, built like a solid fireplug. 

My heart sank as the biker turned around to a crate on the back of the motorcycle. A big black cat escaped the box, jumped out and stretched itself out on the sidewalk. 

The presence of Tom the cat confirmed the biker was Dean. He walked toward us with a pronounced limp, pausing to raise his sunglasses and light a big cigar clamped between his lips. 

Dean strode up to the realtor, ignoring me completely. "Let's get this bitch done." 

The realtor waved her hand in an exaggerated gesture of dispersing Dean's cigar smoke. "I would appreciate it if you would not smoke in my presence." 

Dean paused to remove the cigar from his mouth, but made no move to extinguish the burning ember and addressed the relator. "Listen hard, you future first wife. I am not here for your fucking appreciation." 

She looked taken aback; I do not think she was used to being spoken like that at her country club. The relator attempted a different tack pointing at Dean's cigar. "Do you know how unhealthy those things are?" 

Dean looked at his cigar. "This? My grandfather lived to 95 years old." 

"Smoking cigars?" The relator asked with a quizzical look on her face. 

"No" Dean replied putting the cigar back in his mouth. "He lived to 95 years old by minding his own God damn business." 

The relator pulled the designer handbag tight to her chest as Dean took a step closer to her before speaking. "Looks like it's true the only difference between porcupines and BMWs is that with porcupines the pricks are on the outside." 

He gestured toward the house. "You are here to collect your commission." Dean pointed at me. "I'm sure that someplace a fleet is pulling into Port the cheating slut here needs to service, you can join her for all I care. But first before you send her on her way, get the keys from this stupid cunt." 

Finally I spoke up. "Dean, I am asking you to not to insult me." 

Dean's harsh eyes turned on me. "Oh, did I make you feel bad by calling you stupid? I am sorry, I thought you knew." 

The relator must have suddenly figured out we knew each other and tried to defuse the encounter with a forced laugh. "Oh Well, you know everything happens for a reason." 

Dean never took his eyes off me as he said "Barb, your reason is you are stupid and do stupid shit. But look at it this way, Jellyfish have no brain and have lived for a 150 million years, so there is hope for you." 

I wanted to crawl into a hole. "Let's get this done, so I can get my money and get out of here. Then you can be happy." 

Dean waved his cigar at me. "Yes, seeing you so fills me with joy, I better sit on my hands to keep from clapping in glee." 

He turned to the relator. "Give that slut the envelope before she starts flagging down cars and turning tricks. I am sure the only room in the house that whore damaged was the bedroom from overuse." 

The relator looked unsure, but Dean snatched the envelope out of her hands and pushed it into my palm. 

I saw it was full of $100 bills. Dean smirked. "I know you are not familiar getting money when you are not in the horizontal positon, but don't worry, you will be on your back, legs in the air or on your knees in no time." 

I so wanted to throw the money in his face, but practicality overrode pride. 

Turning on my heel, I walked to my battered ride and drove, wiping tears away that blurred the cracked rear view mirror image of Dean standing holding Tom the cat, in front of what was once my home, I remember another of Shelly's old Grandmother sayings: 

"If you ever want to feel rich, you should just counted all the things you have that money can't buy"



Good Enough



My taxi came and he gave me a huge, perfect kiss. I never wanted him to stop. Then he held me tight.

He said he was going to miss me something horrible. I couldn't talk, I was all choked up. I was fighting back tears as I got into the taxi.

I looked into his blue-green eyes and he said, "Goodbye, Amy."

His eyes were filled with tears. I smiled and nodded at him. I couldn't talk, I couldn't find the words. Then the taxi pulled away.

Once I got to my small apartment, I put my purse on the table and then threw myself on the bed and cried like a baby. He was going away. The best thing in my life and he was going away. 

I wanted him to hold me, talk with me, and mate with me. I wanted him now. I needed him so much. I felt like a lovesick school girl. Then I thought about what had just come across my mind. Lovesick? Love? Did I love Tom? But I had only known him for a week. How? Then I cried even harder.

I cried out loud, "I do love him! I do! I love him so much!"

But I knew I wasn't good enough for a guy like him. He deserved better. Hell, any girl would be better for him then me.

I went into the kitchen and made some strawberry jam on toast. I sat at the table and came to the conclusion that Tom deserved a better love then mine.

That's when I saw an envelope sticking out of my purse. I opened it up. There was a plane ticket to Chicago and a letter.

It said:  My Amy, I am writing this letter and watching you sleep. You are so beautiful. I don't know if you want to hear this but it has to be said. I love you very much, Amy. I know it has only been a week but I feel like I have know you all my life. You are funny, smart, pretty, and very lovable. As I stare at you now I know I am not good enough for a special girl like you. I know you can do a hell of a lot better then me. But my heart had to tell you how I feel about you. God, I wish you were my girl all the time. I also wish I was that dream guy you had wanted as a little girl. I would be so honored to love and take care of you and you better believe I would make babies with you in a second. I wish I were good enough for you, Sweetie, I really do.  Love, Tom P.S. I put the ticket in here because I thought just in case, well, maybe you felt the same way and might love me too. If so, you can come with me and we can try that happily ever after stuff you read about in books. If I don't see you, I'll understand.


Tears ran down my face and I set the letter down. He thought he wasn't good enough for me? How could he think that? 

I looked at the ticket. It was leaving at 1 p.m. from terminal 37. That gave me 20 minutes until departure. I knew it would take me 15 to get to the airport. 

I looked around at the furniture. None of it was mine. I got up and laughed out loud.

I said, "No one in their right mind would go off with a guy they had fallen in love with in just one week!"

I ran for the closet and got out my over-night bag. I threw in all my clothes and any personal items I needed. I got my money box out that contained about nine thousand dollars. I didn't believe in banks.

I closed my bag and ran out the door. I gave my land lady that month and the following month's rent. I told her to go ahead and rent it out to someone else.

I stopped a taxi and told him if he got me to the airport I'd give him a hundred dollars. In the taxi I was holding the rose Tom had given me the night before and the love letter he had written to me. 

I thought to myself, 'He gave me my first rose, gave me my first love letter.' I smiled to myself and thought, 'He's my first, real, and only true love.'

The taxi came to a sudden stop. Needless to say, we made it in five minutes.

I gave the driver the hundred, and ran through the airport like a crazy woman. I had two minutes left and I ran up to terminal 37 and tried to give the ticket girl my ticket. 

She said, "Ma'am the plane is already gone."

I said, "No, I have two minues left."

The ticket lady said, "I'm really sorry, but it's already gone." She walked to the window and pointed, "There it goes."

I looked out the window to see the plane lift off and fly away. 

I dropped my bag and then pressed my forehead and hands against the glass. I began to cry like a baby.

The ticket girl asked if I was okay. 

I cried very loudly, "He doesn't know I love him! He thinks he's not good enough for me! The man I love is on that plane and he'll never know how much I love him."

I broke down completely. I was standing there, motionless against the glass, sobbing.

I felt like I wanted to die. My heart ached to feel his arms around me.

Then I heard a voice to my left. It said, "The man you love is on that plane?"

The voice sounded very familiar. I turned to my left and my mouth fell open.

The voice continued, "Well, it sucks to be me then!"

It was Tom! He was looking at the distant plane and then his eyes turned to me. A big smile came across his face.

I threw my arms around his neck and he whirled me around in his arms. My mouth was on his, our tongues played with each other. I was kissing the man of my dreams.

I told him over and over while I kissed his beautiful face repeatedly. 

He place me back on the ground and I asked if he had missed his flight.

He gave me a confused look and said, "No, it hasn't left yet."

I said, "Yes, it has, " and pointed to the plane in the sky.

He shook his head no.

I said, "It says on my ticket terminal 37 leaves at one p.m."

I handed my ticket to Tom. He looked at it, smiled, and then stood next to me. He pointed to the time which said one p.m.

I said, "See?"

Then he pointed to the terminal number and said, "What does that say, Honey?"

My mouth dropped open. I said, "38."

Then he said, "And what is the flight number?"

I said, "370."

I could feel my face turning red. I began to smile. 

Then over the p.a., "Flight 370 now boarding at terminal 38."

Tom put his arm around me and said, "Remember what I said in the letter about you being smart?" He then rolled his eyes.

I hit his chest and said, "Be nice to me! I was in a hurry to be with the man of my dreams."

I buried my face in his chest and he held me tight. We both laughed. 

He raised my head to look at him and he said, "Let's go home, Sweetie."

He picked up my bag and we got in line. 

While we were waiting to board, Tom looked at me and said, "So, you're my girl now, right?"

I grabbed his arm and said, "Forever."

Tom smiled. 

I would love to tell you it was all romantic and stuff when we got home, but I can't. I went right into drug rehab for five months. I got out the first of December. It was hard but I had something to live for and I was damned if I was going to let drugs shorten the best part of my life.

I have a real home, I have the man of my dreams, and I am truely happy. At Christmas, Tom asked me to marry him. Of course I said yes.

That night Tom was in the mood to give and I was in the mood to receive. What can I say? We love Christmas!

Well, nine months later, it was my turn to give and Tom's turn to receive. On that day, I presented Tom with a beautiful baby girl.

It's funny when I look back on it, you had two people who thought they weren't good enough for anyone, only to find out they were perfect for each other.

The End

BMR