All of my stories I've submitted so far, have been inspired primarily by something I've read on Literotica in either stories or comments. This is my first one where the inspiration came from conversations I'd had throughout the years.
I like to write stories for this site that are different in some way from other stories I've read here. I don't know that I'm always successful, since I certainly haven't read every story. When I do write it though, it's at least novel in some way to me. I have no interest at the moment in writing a version too similar to something I've already read, since the only reason I can think of for doing that would be to write a better version of that story. I'm not delusional enough to think I could pull it off.
While the stories I write deal with common themes and tropes addressed by other writers, my goal is to do something with those differently enough that it feels like a fresh approach at least to me, and hopefully to others. It was after I got the idea for this one that I realized the catalyst for the events in this story was one I hadn't run into before.
For readers who've read my other stuff, you can expect the usual this time around as well. For new readers, a little suspension of disbelief goes a long way to increasing your enjoyment of what I write. To both sets, I hope you find something to like.
If you'd asked me to describe my life/marriage/family one year ago, and are expecting me to say it was "perfect," that was not my life. I'd have called it "great," but not some upper-middle class model of perfection. I had a great wife, a good income, and two kids that were healthy and usually happy. But perfect? No.
Who gets perfect? No matter how good things are, there are complaints. My two sons, Luke and Christopher are good kids, but they were a handful. At the time "The Conversation" took place, they were both teenagers. "Handful" became "Hellspawn" in my darker moments after a bad day. Not anything to be bothered about.
In southern small town New Jersey, it's an acceptable way of letting off steam. It's just how we talk here. The more we rib someone, the more we love them. It's people who are nice to you here that really don't give a shit about you.
I own my own business, but that is as much a nightmare as a dream at times. I live in a small town with all the benefits that come from that, as well as all the distractions that come from that. My wife was the most "perfect" part. Yet not even that was perfect. We had spats. We didn't always see eye to eye. However we always went to bed together and woke up next to each other. I really had no serious complaints and I don't think she had either.
It's odd how you never recognize at the time the seemingly minor thing that has dramatic consequences down the road. It's only with hindsight you realize that one of those key moments had ramifications not recognized then. Mine came after the kids were in bed and Brenda and I were relaxing with a bottle of wine. Then out of the blue, the bomb dropped.
"Honey, how would you feel if I got breast enhancement surgery?"
There wasn't any part of our conversation leading up to that. In fact, I don't remember what the conversation we were having actually was. It was a total surprise.
The first thought that went through my head was, "Here there be dragons." This was a potential trap like, "Do these pants make me look fat?" Or, "Do you think my sister's attractive?"
My wife, previously Brenda Benson until she took my family name of Lykaios, was cursed with a flat chest. I don't mean small boobs, I mean ... she didn't need to wear a bra. The only reason she did was to keep those attention-seeking nipples from poking out. She had pokers. Do I like boobs? Hell yeah! Under the circumstances though, I felt, "Hell yeah!" was not a response that would go over well.
There was no question of being able to afford it. We had the money.
I didn't grow up exactly poor, but my family never had the money to spend on luxuries that I do, and by extension my own nuclear family does. I made my own modest fortune. My secret? Choosing a career that paid well. I became a dentist. While we're not rich, we go on vacations wherever we want, the kids are in private school, and we live in a neighborhood where you can forget to lock your door and not be overly concerned about it. All this, while still putting away enough for a decent retirement.
Sipping my wine I said, "Honey, I think you're perfect just the way you are."
Apparently I gave a good answer. "I know that honey. Even after all these years, you still look at me in a way no other man does. Still, I notice when we're on the beach, a pair of big boobs gets your attention."
I knew she'd noticed that. She'd given me an elbow a time or two. I hadn't thought it had bothered her. "Brenda, you are the love of my life. Boobs are to a man what a laser pointer is to a cat. It's a response wired into us, we can't control where our eyes go. They just go there. I'm sorry if you ever had the thought I loved you any less. Don't feel you have to do this for me."
She put her hand on my knee. "I don't want you to feel embarrassed love, or that I ever resented it. I get it. You're a man, men like boobs, and you are one Hell of a man." She paused while I grinned. It wasn't that she was shy with compliments, she wasn't. They are still always nice to hear. She continued, "Vincent, I'd be doing this for me."
I knew then this wasn't a lighthearted conversation. She mostly calls me "Vince" or "honey," but never says "Vincent" unless she's putting me on alert that this is a serious discussion. I don't know if she's aware of it or not. Okay, she's a woman. She's obviously aware of it. I sipped my wine again, to stall while I was considering how to navigate through this minefield. "Honey, I'll support whatever you want. I love you." That seemed safe.
She beamed at me. "I know it sounds like vanity, but you have no idea how a woman with a flat chest gets treated. Men and women just perceive you as less feminine. I'm still asked what sports I played in high school and college."
Given encouragement, I respond with more confidence. "Honey, I do cosmetic dentistry all the time. I do braces, implants, whitening, you don't have to rationalize it. If you want this, or if you don't want this, I'm in your corner." That said, I was thinking, please want this.
She took my hand. "I heard it all in high school. I was president of the 'itty bitty titty committee'. People would see my bra straps and ask, if I had no hands would I wear gloves? I heard it all."
I'd heard this before. She seemed to feel it necessary to reiterate it. So I just gave her a supportive look.
"My initials were BB, so people called me Beebe, but that became BBs. It was meant as a knock on my lack of boobs. People would actually look at my chest as they said it and smile, thinking they were getting away with a joke at my expense. It couldn't have been more obvious."
Once again I took a sip of my wine while squeezing her hand, "Honey, high school can be a cruel time. I fell in love with the you you were when I met you. I'll love you the same no matter what your body looks like. If this is what you want, I want it for you."
I did mean that. I was also hoping that me saying so, wouldn't make her cancel her plans. I needn't have worried.
"Thank you Vince, your support means everything to me."
We kissed, then just discussed the details. I didn't get crazy sex that night, just good cuddling. We did have children in the house after all. Still, it was as intimate a snuggle as we'd had in a while. I felt good about the whole evening.
Life happened, as it does, while we went forward with scheduling this new thing in our lives. She had to schedule time off from work, I had to make sure I was available in case there were any complications, and I was going to have to keep the demons from putting pressure on their mother during that time. That part was the hardest, she was clearly their favorite parent. I'm not complaining. She has a measure of patience I don't. I like a certain amount of order, teenage boys are chaos.
After working out the logistics, she went in for surgery. Our small hamlet doesn't have a plastic surgeon, but Philadelphia is a short drive away. Many people who live in our residence commute there for work. Our neighborhood may be well-off, but most people make their money somewhere else. I was one of the exceptions.
I could have spent some time in the city and just waited for a phone call when it was finished, but I stayed in the waiting room the whole time. It was similar to when she was in labor. Sure, she was giving birth to boobs, but I felt like being there was important.
When she came out, there was a very noticeable change. She didn't go for anything gargantuan, she had picked boobs appropriate to a person of her height. There was no way I couldn't notice, but that was not the time to ogle. We had both read the literature about what to expect, so I wasn't horny and am absolutely certain she wasn't. What I did was took her home and let her have her recovery and adjustment period. I was on my best husband behavior.
I was very patient. The surgeon had made it clear there was to be no sex for two weeks. After two weeks, we could be careful. Any pawing of the boobs would have to wait until four weeks after that. I had the date circled on a calendar. That calendar was in our kitchen, and when the kids asked what that was for, I responded with, "That's the day you'll be out of the house."
"Why Dad?," Luke asked a moment before Christopher.
"Yeah, why Dad?"
I managed to say with a straight face, "We're having an exterminator come over."
While we did resume sex, it was gingerly and tentative. We made love exactly twice during the next four weeks. Part of it was life of course. The boys demanded a lot of attention. Part of it was also my nervousness about keeping my hands off her new breasts. It was like knowing in advance your Christmas present, but not being able to play with it until Christmas.
She spent a lot of her free time shopping. I hadn't actually considered that she'd need a new wardrobe, as strange as that may sound. She was excited about it, and wanted me to do it with her. I did it once and it was torture. I don't like shopping for myself, much less watching someone else shop. If I had to choose among things I'd prefer rather than watching someone else shop, waterboarding would be on the list. She understood. She was happy, that's what counted.
She returned to work. I shared her happiness at the stories she had to tell about the effect her transformation had on those that knew her.
"Honey, it's like people look at me as though I'm a different person."
"Is that bad?"
"No! It's all positive."
"They're just seeing you for the wonderful woman you are. It's a shame how superficial some people can be." I hoped she hadn't noticed me dropping my eyes for a moment to look at her chest. That might have seriously undercut the sincerity that comment was delivered with. I just couldn't help it.
She didn't seem to have noticed. "You've always seen me as special honey. All those new looks will never replace the looks you've always given me." She gave me a kiss.
The neighborhood get togethers were a bit different. Three weekends out of four, we're at someone's place in our community or they are at ours. Her surgery wasn't a secret, it's the kind of thing freely discussed. What I hadn't accounted for, was the reaction. I have only myself to blame for that. She had told me her stories repeatedly. It just didn't hit me until I saw it playing out.
The first event we went to, was at the home of Dexter and Lisa Evans. Casual friends with a kid friendly gathering, as were most of these get togethers. No big deal. Except this time it was, and Brenda was the topic du jour . Don't get me wrong, it wasn't overt from the moment we walked in. The hellions had already found their peers before I got a bit uncomfortable. Alcohol had been consumed by this point.
My first bit of unease, is when she hugged Stu Anderson. I should say he hugged her, and she hugged him back. I had made it a point not to hug Brenda or do anything overtly demonstrative with her new boobies. Sure, I looked at them. But I was hands-off following the doctor's guidelines.
The Andersons, Stuart and Debbie, live a block and a half away. It really wasn't that hard to walk, but Stuart "All my friends call me Stu" Anderson always drove. He loved to show off his new gold BMW. Projecting wealth was important to him. He owned a car dealership, but always liked to boast about his investments and the money he made from them. I also invested in the stock market, sensibly and designed to minimize risk and maximize retirement down the road. I really felt no need to discuss it. If you believed Stu's narrative, he was some kind of Wall Street genius. I noticed he still hadn't quit his day job though.
The hug wasn't that unusual, Stu always liked to be touchy-not-quite-feely with the ladies, and always had a handshake for the men. Sometimes he hugged them too. It was what he said when he hugged Brenda. "Heya, Bullets."
"Hugs to the jugs," she replied.
Bullets? That bothered me. Hugs to the jugs? That bothered me even more. After Stu and Debbie moved away and mingled with others, I looked at Brenda and said," Bullets? What did that mean? Also, hugs to the jugs?"
Brenda gave me the right look, I don't know a better way to describe that look. She didn't minimize my concern or try to laugh it off. "Honey, you know I tell the BBs story to people I am comfortable with. I told it to Debbie and Stu. You were there."
I was. I'd forgotten about it. She does tell that story in our circle. Other people share their embarrassing teenage memories, she shares hers. It shouldn't have been an issue, but it was. Stu had hugged my wife and she had just responded. Stu got that first hug. Rather than her saying, "I need to be careful," she gave a flirty response. Stu was a bit aggressive tactilely, and so I could see Brenda just responding socially. I let that pass, even though I was bothered. The rest of the day didn't help.
Nobody did or said anything inappropriate. It was just both men and women commenting on her tits. After a certain point, it seemed it had become fair game to talk about them. Brenda was eating it up. I did get the occasional, "You and Vince are going to have fun the next few days," but it seemed an afterthought after I had felt left out of the conversation. The day ended and we went home. Brenda didn't ask if I was fine. I didn't act like I wasn't. I decided this was her "coming out party," and my concerns were pretty stupid. We slept comfortably that night.
The day I'd circled on the calendar marking the moment the boobs were no longer off-limits sexually finally came. As it turned out, we didn't send the boys away. Brenda's mother, "Grandmama" to the kids, "Mom" to me, was watching the boys at our place. Brenda had decided we'd do a short "staycation" for the weekend. A mini honeymoon. Helen Benson had no problem at all watching her grandchildren. She lived ten minutes away, and she often was the babysitter when Brenda and I needed a night out. Not since they were young, was having them at her home an option.
The boys hated being at her home. I understood why. Her husband had died in a car accident, and her house was like a shrine to their life. She had no interest in remarrying, just preserving her house as though she expected him to return from the dead. None of the furniture was friendly for two teenage boys. All their games and movies were at home. Also, she ran through a lot of Kleenex when they were there. It was easier all around if she came to us.
As a bonus, she always cooked far more than needed to feed herself and the boys, and that woman was a damn fine cook. She loved making things from scratch, and her pasta gravy was to die for. People outside our area wrongly refer to it as "sauce." You live here, it's gravy and always will be. She always made enough to last for a week.
Everything was set when Brenda and I left for the weekend. We fed off each other's excitement as we headed out of town. We'd booked a room at one of the big hotel chains, and those weren't an option where we lived. The sexual tension was palpable. It was there as we drove, it was there when we checked in, it was screaming at us as we walked down the hall to our room. Once the door was opened, I was ready to throw Brenda down on the floor and fuck her. The bed seemed a few steps too far away.
She had other plans. She told me to sit on the bed, then went into the bathroom. She took her overnight bag in with her. I was curious what she was doing. She was in for fifteen minutes. Was she checking her tits? Did she get an unexpected early period? Damn. I was curious and being horny wasn't helping.
She stepped out, looking exactly like she did when she went in. No clues there. She did have her phone in her hand. Maybe she needed to text Mom about the kids? Did we need to go back home? No.
She gave me a seductive look, "Well honey, are you ready for your show?"
"Show?"
She guided me to a chair. I sat in it as she played music from her iPhone. It was Middle Eastern music. I was rapt as she started a striptease. She had a new see-through bra and matching panties that I hadn't shopped with her to get, or even seen.
She took her time stripping, timing each move to the music. It was clear she'd rehearsed this. I'd seen those boobs since the surgery (even looked at the scars), but not like this. That night held the promise of full contact. It was everything I'd been waiting for. I watched entranced as she danced and unveiled each garment.
"Honey, you can look but don't touch. You can touch when I say you can."
This presentation was was a fantasy I didn't know I had coming to fruition. The delayed touching was a wrinkle I hadn't expected, but I was her slave at that point. I was just a passenger on this journey.
She took her time dancing. One song ended, the next one played. Brenda can dance. Once she saw "twerking" was a thing, she committed herself to doing it. My wife is both sensual and sexual. She had my full attention as she removed the last piece of her clothing. I was riveted. Every move, every gyration. It wasn't just a striptease, it was a performance. Then she came over to me, music still playing.
"No hands," she said as she worked on my pants. My hard cock made it difficult to undress me, but she did. She pulled my pants and underwear to my ankles. I was raging hard, I wanted to just grab her. I'd been waiting for this. Six weeks for this. Her instructions were clear though, not until she said I could. It was frustrating and erotic, and I had precum before there was any skin on skin.
Brenda took my cock and put it between her boobs. She massaged me with them as she smiled. "Do you like this?"
My brain shut down. I didn't care about the appropriate response. "Yes!"
She gave me a kiss on my tip, then said, "Good. But I want you inside me. Do you want that?"
I wanted anything that would give me release. I just whispered, "Uh huh." My vocabulary had exited my brain.
She mounted me on that chair. She pressed those new tits in my face. I grabbed them and squeezed them while she teased my cock by rubbing her pussy over it. It was like making love to my wife, but also having sex with a different woman. I was excited with the anticipation of being inside this new woman, even though I knew it was the same wonderful pussy I'd been in many times before. It somehow felt like the first time, even though she'd had a boob job and nothing below the waist had changed.
When she finally slid down on me, it was all I could do not to cum right then. I'm not sure how I managed to avoid it; it was like I wanted to impress a first date by not prematurely ejaculating, I suppose. As she got close to her orgasm, I let go of her tits and grabbed her ass. It's what we'd done many times in this position. The tits may have started the evening, but in the end, we came as we always did. Except for me it was much more intense. Judging from her reaction, it was for her too. I get a bit giddy after sex, and everything always strikes me as funny. The thought that went through my head while she was in my arms was, "This is the best damn investment I ever made."
After that night, we played a lot with those toys. We had to work it in around parenting, but we found the time. Everything we had done sexually before, took on that same feeling of newness. Missionary, I grabbed them. Doggy style, I grabbed them. Her on top, definitely grabbed them.
We even did a tit fuck. She didn't exactly take to it the way I would have liked when we started. Brenda doesn't use profanity, not even in the bedroom. She doesn't mind when other people do, she just doesn't. It happens to be part of my vocabulary when I socialize, as it is with most people in Jersey. Some stereotypes are true. Brenda didn't fit that mold. So dirty sex talk wasn't part of her repertoire.
"You like the way my breasts caress your penis?"
This was something I'd never done before, and I wasn't a bit put off over the fact she thought it was ridiculous. Mostly not put off.
I tried to encourage the response I wanted, not that it mattered in the end, I was loving it. "I love the way my COCK feels, FUCKING your TITS."
She suppressed a laugh. Barely. Then her face went semi-serious.
"You like pushing between these melons?"
"Oh yeah."
"Slide that thing through my cantaloupes. They are yours for the taking."
Okay, a weird compromise involving fruit, but it worked for both of us.
Our sex life had been invigorated, sneaking in fucks while parenting. It was like the opposite of having to sneak fucks as teenagers away from our own parents. It had that same intensity and thrill, aided by years of experience. That should have been perfect. As I mentioned earlier, no one gets perfect. If you asked me what I thought would happen, I would have said my wife would be pleased at the new attention, and I'd be the sole beneficiary. I was, and I wasn't.
The neighborhood get togethers didn't seem to have let the newness of my wife's tits fade into the background for the new shiny thing. The hugs increased. The attention she got from men increased. The "accidental" contact with her boobs increased. One Saturday at our place, one moment showed how everything had changed.
We have a trampoline we bought with the boys in mind. They love it. Brenda loves it as well. She was proud of being agile. This time was different. Now when Brenda jumped, so did her boobs. Suddenly a common occurrence no one previously really payed attention to, had eyes locked on every bounce. It's a miracle applause didn't break out.
The stories she told from work were constantly about new opportunities and greater appreciation. She would mention her boss, Alan Harrison, had begun to compliment her on her work. I really tried to be accepting of it. Alan Harrison was an old coot that I knew Brenda on her worst day would never have sex with. We laughed about it. Still ... there were some moments that had me on full alert. One was when I came home early after a cancellation.
When I arrived, Stu and Brenda were there. No one acted awkwardly, as though I'd interrupted anything. It all seemed on the up and up. Still, Stu made his exit quickly. If it had been innocent, why would he do that?
After going through some normal conversation, I started fishing. "So ... what were you and Stu talking about?" I was trying to keep the suspicion out of my voice. I don't think I succeeded.
"He was talking to me about my implants. He's been talking to Debbie about them."
"Why isn't Debbie over here asking?"
"It's an awkward subject Vince. He doesn't want to offend her by suggesting it, even though he thinks Debbie would love it."
I had to admit that sounded reasonable. I also thought it was reasonable that Stu was taking an interest in my wife that was no longer casual. Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.
This was just another one of those things. It wasn't the fact she got attention, it was the way she responded to it that had my Spidey sense tingling. She didn't shut it down. She encouraged it. She hadn't done anything to show it would go beyond that, but she never gave any indication that there was a line somewhere that shouldn't be crossed. It's not that anyone did anything questionable, it's just that it seemed things were slowly escalating and I wasn't comfortable.
I did bring it up, albeit not forcefully. It was awkward. "Honey, I'm happy you are getting the attention you always wanted. I am a bit bothered though, that you don't draw a line on the flirtation. I'd like to hear you say you are loyal to your husband from time to time. No wait, not loyal. In love with your husband." Yup. Awkward.
It was like I'd slapped her. She looked distraught for a moment, then said, "Honey, I am in love with you. I can't believe you question that. I am yours. No flirting I do will ever go anywhere. If I've done something that made you uncomfortable, tell me and I'll be sure not to do it again."
The thing was, there was no one thing I could point to. I felt bad. I saw the look in Brenda's eyes and knew I'd been responsible for that. I immediately embraced her, and just kissed her like it was a third date. We had a great night of sex. It was only in hindsight I realized that she hadn't agreed to draw a line in public. She was asking me where the line was, and I hadn't given it to her. However, she had made her case that her flirtations meant nothing.
It wasn't completely what I wanted. Yet I had gotten her reassurance. Thinking about it for the next few days, I hoped that conversation would somehow be enough. Still, I had a lingering sense of apprehension.
I kept my unease mostly hidden. Brenda still treated me and the kids the same way she always had, and sex continued to be great. She continued to talk about her days at work, her interactions with people, etc. But something was different. My feelings of apprehension just grew to the point where, for the first time in our marriage, I felt threatened. I wrestled with that feeling. While on the surface nothing had changed, I just couldn't shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.
During the summer we went to Atlantic City. It's something we did every year. The boys did their thing, we usually watched and took time to talk when they were chasing seagulls or trying to drown each other. This year, she was literally turning heads as we walked onto the beach. Her new bikini definitely showed off her new treasures.
No one approached us, but it was the looks. There were so many looks. Brenda read my face as she noticed I was aware. Playfully she said,"Honey, it's just like a laser pointer to a cat. It's a response wired into men, remember?"
Did I ever. Nothing like having your own words recalled to put things into perspective. I just laughed. Although at one point, I found myself looking at a woman with a flat chest. She reminded me of happier times. I shook that off and we had a pleasant day. I had nothing to bring up, except what would likely be seen as unreasonable paranoia. I wasn't certain that would have been wrong. Yet in my gut, I felt something was off.
Once a month she had a girls' night out and I had a boys' night out. I guess that's the best way to explain it. It wasn't that our partners weren't allowed to come, it was more like I did stuff she wasn't interested in and she did stuff I wasn't interested in. Sometimes those nights happened at the same time, more often they didn't.
The night I decided to check on my suspicions, coincided with both the girls and boys night out. Mom was at the house with the kids. I excused myself from the boys' night at the sports bar. I felt like the worst husband ever, checking up on a woman who had never given me any reason to doubt her. I didn't want her to know I was checking up on her. So I picked a disguise. I wore a New York Giants hat, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt I'd never wear, and put on sunglasses. If anything was going on, I wanted to witness it without being witnessed.
I've mentioned Brenda can dance. She loves to dance. I don't. So sometimes the girls would go dancing on their night out. Since all the husbands shared my aversion to dancing, we were fine with it. All the wives always came home on time and intact, so there was no reason for worry. The night I chose to spy on Brenda, and I can't think of any other word, she was at "The Cosmopolitan." There aren't many places to dance in our town, this was one of three. One was a country place, one was a dance club. This place played "swing music," on Saturday nights.
So in my disguise, I walked into The Cosmopolitan. I looked for the group, and while I was looking, Lisa Evans came up to me and said, "Vince! Did you come to join us?"
Damn. So much for my careful disguise. "Yes, I just decided I didn't want to play poker tonight. I wanted to do something more active."
That sounded so lame. Here I was in my disguise, justifying my appearance here. I felt like a CIA agent whose cover has been blown. Lisa didn't seem to think anything of it.
"It's great you're here Vince, let's get our dance on!"
She took my hand and guided me through the crowd. I took my hat and sunglasses off on the way there. This had the potential for humiliation as it was. Lisa brought me to the group table and announced, "Look who I found!" Everyone was there, the band was on break and no one was on the dance floor.
Almost everyone seemed welcoming. I didn't get any kind of feeling I was crashing anything forbidden. The "almost" was Brenda. She didn't seem unhappy, but she did seem a bit wary. I wasn't sure what to make of that. She did kiss me and say, "I'm so glad you're here. What a nice surprise." It sounded good. There was just something in her eyes I couldn't decipher.
After I took a position at the table and we all exchanged meaningless banter, Brenda said, "What made you decide to drop in?"
"Just a whim. I didn't feel like hanging with the guys tonight, I decided I wanted to be with you."
"Oh honey, that is so sweet. When the band comes back, let's dance."
The band returned. Then the unexpected happened. As they were walking back onstage, four men approached our table. It seemed there was one their for each wife, just waiting for the band to start up again so they could hit the dance floor. One of those four was clearly Brenda's partner.
While I was processing, she spoke first. "Trent, I'm sorry but your dance will have to wait."
I knew she danced with people these nights. I was fine with it. It wasn't anything unexpected and she politely let him know who I was, and that I had dibs. It didn't even bother me he was better looking than I was, it was all good. Until he spoke.
"Okay baby, let me know when your dance card is free."
"I certainly will. If it opens up, you'd better be here. I'm holding you to that."
He grinned, then Trent left and returned to wherever he came from.
Baby?
He called her "baby." That was the thought going through my head when the band started to play. Brenda grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor. All the other wives and their partners went as well. I'm not a good dancer. Swing dancing is not the best showcase for a mediocre dancer. I gave it my all though, and pushed thoughts of Trent aside. Brenda knows I'm not a good dancer, so she made her adjustments so I could feel I was leading. We got through it.
While people applauded, Brenda shouted, "Ready for another?"
I wasn't. My thoughts had returned to me after the dance ended. Baby. He called her "baby." She didn't call him "baby" back though. Yet he felt he could call her that. That was a bit of familiarity I wasn't sure I was comfortable with.
I shouted back, "Let's go back to the table. It's been a while for me honey, let me regroup."
She just smiled and led the way back to the table. The other wives were still on the dance floor, so we were alone.
"What's with the hat and the shirt?"
Busted. I could have been honest. I wasn't. "I don't know honey, I got a wild hair up my ass and wanted to be in a party mood. I guess I didn't pull it off."
"Honey, you are the party. I love when you dance with me. That outfit is horrible, by the way. I love how you always dress up. But if you like it, I am down with it. You wanna "hang loose," you've got the right woman."
All the right words. I felt lower than dirt right then. I also felt elated. Elation was winning. Then Trent returned just as the band started up again.
"Is your dance card free?"
Brenda looked at me, "Honey?"
I had just pulled her off the dance floor. What could I say? I said, "You get your dance on honey."
I watched Trent and Brenda dance. Trent was a good dancer. They looked good together. She liked to dance, he was a good dance partner. Still ... baby.
The band went into their next song. She hadn't returned to our table. It seemed like the first song they had just been warming up. This song they were even more in sync. They knew each others' moves. It was swing dancing, not the most erotic form of dancing, but it can be. There's potential. That second song and dance put certain body parts in close proximity.
Then came the third dance. I was still alone at the table. The other wives were still dancing. I did look at them from time to time, and they just seemed to be dancing. There was nothing erotic about it. Neither was Brenda's first two dances, although they suggested potential. The third dance was borderline erotic.
If they were in sync on the second dance, they seemed to be sharing the same brain on the third. Every move was perfect. Everything was done without a care in the world, except to dance. All body parts were touched in the service of dance moves. Brenda looked incredibly sexy. So did Trent, although I don't swing that way. I could see other eyes on them. They clearly were the standouts.
When that song ended, Lisa came back to the table.
"Vince, I'm wiped out. I need a break. You having fun?"
"Well I was, but I've been waiting three songs for Brenda to return."
Lisa was a bit drunk. "She's heading here now, she's a great dancer."
"Yes, she is."
Brenda and Trent both came back. Brenda said, "Vince, this is Trent. Trent, this is Vince."
I extended my hand and said, "Nice to meet you Trent."
He shook my hand and said, "Nice to meet you too Lance." Obviously Trent wasn't a great listener. "You're one lucky guy. Thanks for letting me dance with your lady. She's a great dancer."
"She sure is. You're good as well."
"I hold my own." Then he turned to Brenda, "Let me know if you want another dance, no one dances like you."
"You say that to all the girls baby."
Trent laughed. "True, but I mean it with you baby."
Then he left again to the part of the place he came from.
Baby. She called him that as well. It was too much. I didn't care that Lisa was there. I looked at her after he left and said, "Baby?"
She had been happy before that. Now she looked serious. She didn't pretend to not know what I was talking about. "Did that bother you?"
"Yes it did. He called you 'baby' and even worse, you called him 'baby' as well."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she said, "It's flirtation. I don't call anyone else 'honey.' That's for us. Everyone uses 'baby,' it's not a special term. I call everyone 'baby' here. So does he. It's not some kind of connection between us."
Reasonable. So very reasonable. Three dances, each bringing them closer than the last, and baby. All perfectly reasonable. Except, she'd never used that term before. She'd never had three dances in a row before. I'd never seen that level of contact before. All reasonable. Lisa had been silent this whole time, her attention was on the dance floor. I just grabbed Lisa and kissed her, my hand feeling her boob. I was really expecting to be slapped, Lisa just kissed me back. I was the one that broke it off.
I turned to Brenda and said, "If this is what you want, two can play that game. I'm not interested. I'm going home. You do what you want."
I turned away and walked quickly out of the club. I didn't even look to see if Brenda was following me. I just got in my car and drove home. Mom was surprised to see me early, but I talked her as briefly as possible. This wasn't easy, as Mom liked talking. She enjoyed being part of our lives. I hinted strongly that she should leave. She sensed something was wrong, but she did leave two minutes before Brenda arrived in a huff. She wasted no time.
"What the frick just happened? You felt Lisa up? You kissed her? You're mad at me?"
Now she was hopefully getting it. She'd just needed a demonstration. I said calmly, "Once we cross lines, they lead to crossing more lines. Watching you and Trent dance was like watching two people making love. You ignored me for three dances, and when you came back, let him know you were up for more."
"I like dancing! You don't. He's a good dancer. It doesn't mean I want to have sex with him. I just like dancing. You seem to think that everything that happened tonight, means I'm going to cheat on you. Why?"
She clearly didn't see the path she was on. It was time for plain speaking. I'd been avoiding the issue, but she needed to hear a hard truth.
"I see how this all ends. It starts with dancing. You call someone other than your husband by a term of endearment. Then, you get invited by your boss to the Adirondacks. You fuck him because he suddenly appreciates you, and I wind up burning a bridge and leaving you stranded."
"What? Where do you come up with this stuff? You've gone nucking futs!"
"Answer me this Brenda, are the kids even mine?!"
Her mouth just hung open. It was quiet for probably just a few seconds, but it seemed like forever. I had no idea why I said that. I tried to release the tension, "look Brenda-"
That was as far as I got. She turned away from me and went to the bedroom. I didn't follow her. I did realize I was losing my shit here. I definitely had legitimate concerns, but I had just accused her of being untrustworthy our entire marriage. I just sat down on the couch and waited. I wasn't sure for what.
The "what" was Brenda emerging from the bedroom an hour later with a suitcase.
"I am going to Mom's. Right now I don't want to talk to you for a few days."
So many thoughts raced through my brain. I didn't tell her to stay. I didn't apologize. "What do I tell the boys?"
"I'll call them. I'll tell them I need some time away."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
Then she left. She was seething. I swear I could feel heat radiating off her body.
I was faced with the awkward task of telling Luke and Chris that their mother was going to be gone for a while at Gandmama's house. As much as I portray them as indifferent brats, they were concerned. It was a hard night. I assured them that their mother loved them, that I loved them, and this was "adult stuff," they'd understand when they got older. I never liked that explanation when I was their age, yet I found myself saying the same unsatisfying nothing my parents had said to me.
I did manage to calm things down on the home front. Worse was coming. Chaos had once again intruded on my life, and I wasn't sure what the cause was. I couldn't leave it at home. While Brenda was away, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. That included work. The place I was always professional. The place I always shut off my thoughts and concentrated on my patients and job.
One morning I was performing a simple tooth extraction for 70-year-old Shannon Tompkins. These are a routine procedure. I gripped her tooth with the extraction forceps as I'd done hundreds of times. She made whimpering sounds.
"Easy now, Mrs. Tompkins."
My hygienist coughed to get my attention."Uh, doc?"
Stacy was holding the syringe filled with Novocaine out to me. Mrs. Tompkins eyes had gone wide and looked at me with sheer terror.
"Just a little dentist humor Mrs. Tompkins. Heh heh."
That moment was my wake-up call. My thoughts were now affecting my professional life. I got through the rest of the day without terrorizing any more patients. I needed to really have a few hours of self-reflection when I got home.
I made sure the kids got dinner, then went into my den to just have time with my thoughts.
Of course it wasn't long before I was interrupted. Luke had trouble with his gaming console, and I nearly bit his head off. "Figure it out! I hope I didn't raise an idiot."
Luke walked away a bit hurt, but realized that this was one of those rare "don't fuck with Dad" moments. I knew it would be okay. I also knew I needed to get my shit together.
I didn't think Brenda had cheated on me. I was just worried about the slippery slope. I had to figure out why. Why was I so worried? Was she really giving me legitimate reasons to worry, or was I the problem? Her behavior had changed, and my responses were to that change in behavior. Was what I was feeling appropriate to those changes?
She was still the good wife and mother she always had been. So she was more flirty, but she now had more opportunities. It was because of something I had actually wanted her to do, even though it was her idea. So what was the problem? I don't believe in paying for a therapist. I like to pride myself on being able to be self-analytical. I was determined to figure out where the problem was. Me or her? Both? I was going to solve this riddle, and I was going to solve it that night.
She had told me from her perspective how boobs affected how people treated her. I had thought I appreciated it, but really hadn't. She was enjoying attention she hadn't had before, and was responding in a way she hadn't responded before. She had told me all this. I should have been prepared for this. I had thought I was. What exactly was I worried about? Why was I so pissed?
I finally realized it was because I was worried she might fuck people she couldn't fuck before, because she had those options now. But was that realistic? Brenda had a face to die for and was sexy. Most men would fuck her. Her tits wouldn't make the difference. So I was worried about Brenda's responses. Maybe the fact she hadn't cheated on me, was because I loved her for who she was. Now she was someone different. My worries were that I no longer trusted Brenda. That was a shitty realization.
Once I realized that, I also immediately recognized I had pushed her away. I had accused her of something even I didn't think she had done, and penalized her for it. So why shouldn't she now do the crime since she had already done the time? I got cold. I put the kids to bed, and put my best Dad face on. Luke had actually worked out the game console issue, I do have smart kids. I went to bed with a new mission. I created the problem, it was up to me to solve it.
This had gone far enough. It was time to eat humble pie. I had my receptionist reschedule my patients. I showed up at her job with flowers. Roses were too cliché and also might be looked at by her coworkers as an apology for bad behavior on my part. Which is exactly what it was, I just didn't feel like advertising it. I opted for birds of paradise. She liked those flowers and I included a nice card with a simple note. "I'm sorry. Your idiot husband, Vince."
She wasn't there. I was told she had taken a sick day. For a brief moment all my worries suddenly came rushing back. I deliberately passed by Alan Harrison's office and saw he was in. I really hated myself for even thinking that, but it did relieve me. I went back to feeling guilty. I thought to myself, "Stop it, Vince. Just stop it you moron. This is exactly the kind of crazy thinking that caused this. Get your head out of your ass and keep it out."
She probably was sick, and I had again almost let myself assume the worst. I'd just surprise her at Grandmama's with flowers and love. I called Helen Benson's cell phone number to let her know I was coming over, but please not to tell Brenda. It turned out she was wasn't at home, but away visiting her brother Frank and his family. Brenda was there alone for a few days. Mom wished me luck. She didn't say it, but seemed very pleased that there seemed to be a thaw between me and Brenda on the way.
Great, just great. Brenda was sick without even her mother to support her. I wasn't there for her either, the man who had vowed to take care of her. On the drive over I felt contrition, remorse and self-loathing. I also felt love. Brenda was my love, had been my love, and it was only some irrationally vague feelings of jealousy that had led us to this point.
I was thinking maybe I should go into therapy after all, to address what was wrong with me. Whatever it took, I wanted Brenda to understand I'd do it. I'd somehow become an insane person over the last year. The problem was clearly me. I'd fix it. The most important thing right now was to be sure I had my wife with me while I did, and for the rest of my life.
Those were my feelings as I pulled up to her mother's place. She was sick, and all I wanted was to love her and take care of her. Then ... I saw that damn gold BMW in the driveway. "Okay," I thought, "she's asked Stu for help because she isn't talking to me. That's not unreasonable. Or maybe Stu heard she was sick, and just dropped by to check on her."
I didn't like that last scenario, but it wasn't really anything I should be upset about. Sure, I suspected Stu's intentions weren't exactly pure, but Brenda was my angel. Nothing would happen that she didn't want, so fuck Stu and his intentions. I was in a much better frame of mind and proud of my now healthier thoughts.
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I'd never really spent much time at Helen Benson's home. Brenda would visit, but I never did. We'd drop off the kids when they were younger, but rarely did I go inside. Her door was always unlocked, despite living in a neighborhood less secure than ours. So flowers in hand I walked in, feeling a bit like an intruder. I shouldn't have, she had repeatedly said, "My home is your home. I like it when family drops in."
I was expecting to find Brenda and Stu in the living room. I'd hug Stu, even though hugging wasn't my thing, and give the flowers to Brenda.
No one was in the living room. It was quiet. Odd. I was happy it didn't arouse suspicions. No matter my previous concerns, it would be so unlike Brenda to bang Stu in Mom's house. But where were they?
Mom's bedroom was down one end of the house, the guest room, formerly Brenda's room was at the other. I remembered it well. I assumed that's where she was staying. So I headed in that direction. Then ... I heard noises.
Soft noises. Soft dialogue. "Oh ...please ... oh god ..." That was followed by a louder burst of "Ahhhh."
No. No. Did I cause this? Had I always been right? I didn't care. I gripped those flowers in my hand, still listening.
"Oh please, please, I'll do anything."
That was it. The flowers I bought out of love, were ready to be thrown in her face. I threw open the door and burst in. "Surprise!"
Oops. It wasn't the guest room. I didn't remember the layout as clearly as I thought. It was Debbie on the toilet, trying to push out a stubborn stool, as I found out later.
She screamed.
I screamed, dropping the flowers.
Across the hall, the bedroom door flew open. Brenda came out. "Vince! What's going on?"
I noticed something different about her. Her chest was missing. She was wearing a simple T-shirt with a restaurant logo, some place called Dominic's Bistro. It was a shirt she used to wear before the surgery. All I said quietly was, "Hey."
Once again my vocabulary deserted me. "I just wanted to surprise you. I heard you were sick."
That was the truth until I saw the gold BMW and heard Debbie making noises that sounded like sex. I'm not blaming Debbie, I'm just saying. I hoped my partial truth would mask the thoughts that came after. I picked up the flowers and handed them to her.
Debbie, still on the toilet yelled, "Can you take this outside the bathroom?!"
I exited and closed the door.
"Vince ... oh Vince. These are beautiful."
She took the flowers from me. "How did you know?"
It was clear she thought I had somehow found out about her having her implants taken out. At that moment, I swore to give more money to the church. This was divine intervention.
"It doesn't matter. I just wanted to be here. You didn't have to do this."
Tears were coming to her eyes. "I did Vince, we were so good until this last year. These damn tits have come between us. I don't care what anyone else thinks, I care what you think."
Tears turned into open sobbing. She leaned into me, and I hugged her. I practically wrapped myself around her. "Shh honey, you never lost me." We stood there locked together for silent minutes. The moment was broken by Debbie audibly saying, "Oh thank God! Yes!"
We both started laughing. I whispered, "Let's go home."
And we did.
Once again I am able to thank Lue for editing another story for me. Any mistakes are almost certainly mine, since I can't seem to leave a story alone despite promising her and myself it's a "final draft."
Comments and questions are always welcomed. I do try to address them in a timely fashion the week after a story is published. I appreciate those willing to provide feedback, as well as the many who just take the time to read one of my stories.
I like to write stories for this site that are different in some way from other stories I've read here. I don't know that I'm always successful, since I certainly haven't read every story. When I do write it though, it's at least novel in some way to me. I have no interest at the moment in writing a version too similar to something I've already read, since the only reason I can think of for doing that would be to write a better version of that story. I'm not delusional enough to think I could pull it off.
While the stories I write deal with common themes and tropes addressed by other writers, my goal is to do something with those differently enough that it feels like a fresh approach at least to me, and hopefully to others. It was after I got the idea for this one that I realized the catalyst for the events in this story was one I hadn't run into before.
For readers who've read my other stuff, you can expect the usual this time around as well. For new readers, a little suspension of disbelief goes a long way to increasing your enjoyment of what I write. To both sets, I hope you find something to like.
If you'd asked me to describe my life/marriage/family one year ago, and are expecting me to say it was "perfect," that was not my life. I'd have called it "great," but not some upper-middle class model of perfection. I had a great wife, a good income, and two kids that were healthy and usually happy. But perfect? No.
Who gets perfect? No matter how good things are, there are complaints. My two sons, Luke and Christopher are good kids, but they were a handful. At the time "The Conversation" took place, they were both teenagers. "Handful" became "Hellspawn" in my darker moments after a bad day. Not anything to be bothered about.
In southern small town New Jersey, it's an acceptable way of letting off steam. It's just how we talk here. The more we rib someone, the more we love them. It's people who are nice to you here that really don't give a shit about you.
I own my own business, but that is as much a nightmare as a dream at times. I live in a small town with all the benefits that come from that, as well as all the distractions that come from that. My wife was the most "perfect" part. Yet not even that was perfect. We had spats. We didn't always see eye to eye. However we always went to bed together and woke up next to each other. I really had no serious complaints and I don't think she had either.
It's odd how you never recognize at the time the seemingly minor thing that has dramatic consequences down the road. It's only with hindsight you realize that one of those key moments had ramifications not recognized then. Mine came after the kids were in bed and Brenda and I were relaxing with a bottle of wine. Then out of the blue, the bomb dropped.
"Honey, how would you feel if I got breast enhancement surgery?"
There wasn't any part of our conversation leading up to that. In fact, I don't remember what the conversation we were having actually was. It was a total surprise.
The first thought that went through my head was, "Here there be dragons." This was a potential trap like, "Do these pants make me look fat?" Or, "Do you think my sister's attractive?"
My wife, previously Brenda Benson until she took my family name of Lykaios, was cursed with a flat chest. I don't mean small boobs, I mean ... she didn't need to wear a bra. The only reason she did was to keep those attention-seeking nipples from poking out. She had pokers. Do I like boobs? Hell yeah! Under the circumstances though, I felt, "Hell yeah!" was not a response that would go over well.
There was no question of being able to afford it. We had the money.
I didn't grow up exactly poor, but my family never had the money to spend on luxuries that I do, and by extension my own nuclear family does. I made my own modest fortune. My secret? Choosing a career that paid well. I became a dentist. While we're not rich, we go on vacations wherever we want, the kids are in private school, and we live in a neighborhood where you can forget to lock your door and not be overly concerned about it. All this, while still putting away enough for a decent retirement.
Sipping my wine I said, "Honey, I think you're perfect just the way you are."
Apparently I gave a good answer. "I know that honey. Even after all these years, you still look at me in a way no other man does. Still, I notice when we're on the beach, a pair of big boobs gets your attention."
I knew she'd noticed that. She'd given me an elbow a time or two. I hadn't thought it had bothered her. "Brenda, you are the love of my life. Boobs are to a man what a laser pointer is to a cat. It's a response wired into us, we can't control where our eyes go. They just go there. I'm sorry if you ever had the thought I loved you any less. Don't feel you have to do this for me."
She put her hand on my knee. "I don't want you to feel embarrassed love, or that I ever resented it. I get it. You're a man, men like boobs, and you are one Hell of a man." She paused while I grinned. It wasn't that she was shy with compliments, she wasn't. They are still always nice to hear. She continued, "Vincent, I'd be doing this for me."
I knew then this wasn't a lighthearted conversation. She mostly calls me "Vince" or "honey," but never says "Vincent" unless she's putting me on alert that this is a serious discussion. I don't know if she's aware of it or not. Okay, she's a woman. She's obviously aware of it. I sipped my wine again, to stall while I was considering how to navigate through this minefield. "Honey, I'll support whatever you want. I love you." That seemed safe.
She beamed at me. "I know it sounds like vanity, but you have no idea how a woman with a flat chest gets treated. Men and women just perceive you as less feminine. I'm still asked what sports I played in high school and college."
Given encouragement, I respond with more confidence. "Honey, I do cosmetic dentistry all the time. I do braces, implants, whitening, you don't have to rationalize it. If you want this, or if you don't want this, I'm in your corner." That said, I was thinking, please want this.
She took my hand. "I heard it all in high school. I was president of the 'itty bitty titty committee'. People would see my bra straps and ask, if I had no hands would I wear gloves? I heard it all."
I'd heard this before. She seemed to feel it necessary to reiterate it. So I just gave her a supportive look.
"My initials were BB, so people called me Beebe, but that became BBs. It was meant as a knock on my lack of boobs. People would actually look at my chest as they said it and smile, thinking they were getting away with a joke at my expense. It couldn't have been more obvious."
Once again I took a sip of my wine while squeezing her hand, "Honey, high school can be a cruel time. I fell in love with the you you were when I met you. I'll love you the same no matter what your body looks like. If this is what you want, I want it for you."
I did mean that. I was also hoping that me saying so, wouldn't make her cancel her plans. I needn't have worried.
"Thank you Vince, your support means everything to me."
We kissed, then just discussed the details. I didn't get crazy sex that night, just good cuddling. We did have children in the house after all. Still, it was as intimate a snuggle as we'd had in a while. I felt good about the whole evening.
Life happened, as it does, while we went forward with scheduling this new thing in our lives. She had to schedule time off from work, I had to make sure I was available in case there were any complications, and I was going to have to keep the demons from putting pressure on their mother during that time. That part was the hardest, she was clearly their favorite parent. I'm not complaining. She has a measure of patience I don't. I like a certain amount of order, teenage boys are chaos.
After working out the logistics, she went in for surgery. Our small hamlet doesn't have a plastic surgeon, but Philadelphia is a short drive away. Many people who live in our residence commute there for work. Our neighborhood may be well-off, but most people make their money somewhere else. I was one of the exceptions.
I could have spent some time in the city and just waited for a phone call when it was finished, but I stayed in the waiting room the whole time. It was similar to when she was in labor. Sure, she was giving birth to boobs, but I felt like being there was important.
When she came out, there was a very noticeable change. She didn't go for anything gargantuan, she had picked boobs appropriate to a person of her height. There was no way I couldn't notice, but that was not the time to ogle. We had both read the literature about what to expect, so I wasn't horny and am absolutely certain she wasn't. What I did was took her home and let her have her recovery and adjustment period. I was on my best husband behavior.
I was very patient. The surgeon had made it clear there was to be no sex for two weeks. After two weeks, we could be careful. Any pawing of the boobs would have to wait until four weeks after that. I had the date circled on a calendar. That calendar was in our kitchen, and when the kids asked what that was for, I responded with, "That's the day you'll be out of the house."
"Why Dad?," Luke asked a moment before Christopher.
"Yeah, why Dad?"
I managed to say with a straight face, "We're having an exterminator come over."
While we did resume sex, it was gingerly and tentative. We made love exactly twice during the next four weeks. Part of it was life of course. The boys demanded a lot of attention. Part of it was also my nervousness about keeping my hands off her new breasts. It was like knowing in advance your Christmas present, but not being able to play with it until Christmas.
She spent a lot of her free time shopping. I hadn't actually considered that she'd need a new wardrobe, as strange as that may sound. She was excited about it, and wanted me to do it with her. I did it once and it was torture. I don't like shopping for myself, much less watching someone else shop. If I had to choose among things I'd prefer rather than watching someone else shop, waterboarding would be on the list. She understood. She was happy, that's what counted.
She returned to work. I shared her happiness at the stories she had to tell about the effect her transformation had on those that knew her.
"Honey, it's like people look at me as though I'm a different person."
"Is that bad?"
"No! It's all positive."
"They're just seeing you for the wonderful woman you are. It's a shame how superficial some people can be." I hoped she hadn't noticed me dropping my eyes for a moment to look at her chest. That might have seriously undercut the sincerity that comment was delivered with. I just couldn't help it.
She didn't seem to have noticed. "You've always seen me as special honey. All those new looks will never replace the looks you've always given me." She gave me a kiss.
The neighborhood get togethers were a bit different. Three weekends out of four, we're at someone's place in our community or they are at ours. Her surgery wasn't a secret, it's the kind of thing freely discussed. What I hadn't accounted for, was the reaction. I have only myself to blame for that. She had told me her stories repeatedly. It just didn't hit me until I saw it playing out.
The first event we went to, was at the home of Dexter and Lisa Evans. Casual friends with a kid friendly gathering, as were most of these get togethers. No big deal. Except this time it was, and Brenda was the topic du jour . Don't get me wrong, it wasn't overt from the moment we walked in. The hellions had already found their peers before I got a bit uncomfortable. Alcohol had been consumed by this point.
My first bit of unease, is when she hugged Stu Anderson. I should say he hugged her, and she hugged him back. I had made it a point not to hug Brenda or do anything overtly demonstrative with her new boobies. Sure, I looked at them. But I was hands-off following the doctor's guidelines.
The Andersons, Stuart and Debbie, live a block and a half away. It really wasn't that hard to walk, but Stuart "All my friends call me Stu" Anderson always drove. He loved to show off his new gold BMW. Projecting wealth was important to him. He owned a car dealership, but always liked to boast about his investments and the money he made from them. I also invested in the stock market, sensibly and designed to minimize risk and maximize retirement down the road. I really felt no need to discuss it. If you believed Stu's narrative, he was some kind of Wall Street genius. I noticed he still hadn't quit his day job though.
The hug wasn't that unusual, Stu always liked to be touchy-not-quite-feely with the ladies, and always had a handshake for the men. Sometimes he hugged them too. It was what he said when he hugged Brenda. "Heya, Bullets."
"Hugs to the jugs," she replied.
Bullets? That bothered me. Hugs to the jugs? That bothered me even more. After Stu and Debbie moved away and mingled with others, I looked at Brenda and said," Bullets? What did that mean? Also, hugs to the jugs?"
Brenda gave me the right look, I don't know a better way to describe that look. She didn't minimize my concern or try to laugh it off. "Honey, you know I tell the BBs story to people I am comfortable with. I told it to Debbie and Stu. You were there."
I was. I'd forgotten about it. She does tell that story in our circle. Other people share their embarrassing teenage memories, she shares hers. It shouldn't have been an issue, but it was. Stu had hugged my wife and she had just responded. Stu got that first hug. Rather than her saying, "I need to be careful," she gave a flirty response. Stu was a bit aggressive tactilely, and so I could see Brenda just responding socially. I let that pass, even though I was bothered. The rest of the day didn't help.
Nobody did or said anything inappropriate. It was just both men and women commenting on her tits. After a certain point, it seemed it had become fair game to talk about them. Brenda was eating it up. I did get the occasional, "You and Vince are going to have fun the next few days," but it seemed an afterthought after I had felt left out of the conversation. The day ended and we went home. Brenda didn't ask if I was fine. I didn't act like I wasn't. I decided this was her "coming out party," and my concerns were pretty stupid. We slept comfortably that night.
The day I'd circled on the calendar marking the moment the boobs were no longer off-limits sexually finally came. As it turned out, we didn't send the boys away. Brenda's mother, "Grandmama" to the kids, "Mom" to me, was watching the boys at our place. Brenda had decided we'd do a short "staycation" for the weekend. A mini honeymoon. Helen Benson had no problem at all watching her grandchildren. She lived ten minutes away, and she often was the babysitter when Brenda and I needed a night out. Not since they were young, was having them at her home an option.
The boys hated being at her home. I understood why. Her husband had died in a car accident, and her house was like a shrine to their life. She had no interest in remarrying, just preserving her house as though she expected him to return from the dead. None of the furniture was friendly for two teenage boys. All their games and movies were at home. Also, she ran through a lot of Kleenex when they were there. It was easier all around if she came to us.
As a bonus, she always cooked far more than needed to feed herself and the boys, and that woman was a damn fine cook. She loved making things from scratch, and her pasta gravy was to die for. People outside our area wrongly refer to it as "sauce." You live here, it's gravy and always will be. She always made enough to last for a week.
Everything was set when Brenda and I left for the weekend. We fed off each other's excitement as we headed out of town. We'd booked a room at one of the big hotel chains, and those weren't an option where we lived. The sexual tension was palpable. It was there as we drove, it was there when we checked in, it was screaming at us as we walked down the hall to our room. Once the door was opened, I was ready to throw Brenda down on the floor and fuck her. The bed seemed a few steps too far away.
She had other plans. She told me to sit on the bed, then went into the bathroom. She took her overnight bag in with her. I was curious what she was doing. She was in for fifteen minutes. Was she checking her tits? Did she get an unexpected early period? Damn. I was curious and being horny wasn't helping.
She stepped out, looking exactly like she did when she went in. No clues there. She did have her phone in her hand. Maybe she needed to text Mom about the kids? Did we need to go back home? No.
She gave me a seductive look, "Well honey, are you ready for your show?"
"Show?"
She guided me to a chair. I sat in it as she played music from her iPhone. It was Middle Eastern music. I was rapt as she started a striptease. She had a new see-through bra and matching panties that I hadn't shopped with her to get, or even seen.
She took her time stripping, timing each move to the music. It was clear she'd rehearsed this. I'd seen those boobs since the surgery (even looked at the scars), but not like this. That night held the promise of full contact. It was everything I'd been waiting for. I watched entranced as she danced and unveiled each garment.
"Honey, you can look but don't touch. You can touch when I say you can."
This presentation was was a fantasy I didn't know I had coming to fruition. The delayed touching was a wrinkle I hadn't expected, but I was her slave at that point. I was just a passenger on this journey.
She took her time dancing. One song ended, the next one played. Brenda can dance. Once she saw "twerking" was a thing, she committed herself to doing it. My wife is both sensual and sexual. She had my full attention as she removed the last piece of her clothing. I was riveted. Every move, every gyration. It wasn't just a striptease, it was a performance. Then she came over to me, music still playing.
"No hands," she said as she worked on my pants. My hard cock made it difficult to undress me, but she did. She pulled my pants and underwear to my ankles. I was raging hard, I wanted to just grab her. I'd been waiting for this. Six weeks for this. Her instructions were clear though, not until she said I could. It was frustrating and erotic, and I had precum before there was any skin on skin.
Brenda took my cock and put it between her boobs. She massaged me with them as she smiled. "Do you like this?"
My brain shut down. I didn't care about the appropriate response. "Yes!"
She gave me a kiss on my tip, then said, "Good. But I want you inside me. Do you want that?"
I wanted anything that would give me release. I just whispered, "Uh huh." My vocabulary had exited my brain.
She mounted me on that chair. She pressed those new tits in my face. I grabbed them and squeezed them while she teased my cock by rubbing her pussy over it. It was like making love to my wife, but also having sex with a different woman. I was excited with the anticipation of being inside this new woman, even though I knew it was the same wonderful pussy I'd been in many times before. It somehow felt like the first time, even though she'd had a boob job and nothing below the waist had changed.
When she finally slid down on me, it was all I could do not to cum right then. I'm not sure how I managed to avoid it; it was like I wanted to impress a first date by not prematurely ejaculating, I suppose. As she got close to her orgasm, I let go of her tits and grabbed her ass. It's what we'd done many times in this position. The tits may have started the evening, but in the end, we came as we always did. Except for me it was much more intense. Judging from her reaction, it was for her too. I get a bit giddy after sex, and everything always strikes me as funny. The thought that went through my head while she was in my arms was, "This is the best damn investment I ever made."
After that night, we played a lot with those toys. We had to work it in around parenting, but we found the time. Everything we had done sexually before, took on that same feeling of newness. Missionary, I grabbed them. Doggy style, I grabbed them. Her on top, definitely grabbed them.
We even did a tit fuck. She didn't exactly take to it the way I would have liked when we started. Brenda doesn't use profanity, not even in the bedroom. She doesn't mind when other people do, she just doesn't. It happens to be part of my vocabulary when I socialize, as it is with most people in Jersey. Some stereotypes are true. Brenda didn't fit that mold. So dirty sex talk wasn't part of her repertoire.
"You like the way my breasts caress your penis?"
This was something I'd never done before, and I wasn't a bit put off over the fact she thought it was ridiculous. Mostly not put off.
I tried to encourage the response I wanted, not that it mattered in the end, I was loving it. "I love the way my COCK feels, FUCKING your TITS."
She suppressed a laugh. Barely. Then her face went semi-serious.
"You like pushing between these melons?"
"Oh yeah."
"Slide that thing through my cantaloupes. They are yours for the taking."
Okay, a weird compromise involving fruit, but it worked for both of us.
Our sex life had been invigorated, sneaking in fucks while parenting. It was like the opposite of having to sneak fucks as teenagers away from our own parents. It had that same intensity and thrill, aided by years of experience. That should have been perfect. As I mentioned earlier, no one gets perfect. If you asked me what I thought would happen, I would have said my wife would be pleased at the new attention, and I'd be the sole beneficiary. I was, and I wasn't.
The neighborhood get togethers didn't seem to have let the newness of my wife's tits fade into the background for the new shiny thing. The hugs increased. The attention she got from men increased. The "accidental" contact with her boobs increased. One Saturday at our place, one moment showed how everything had changed.
We have a trampoline we bought with the boys in mind. They love it. Brenda loves it as well. She was proud of being agile. This time was different. Now when Brenda jumped, so did her boobs. Suddenly a common occurrence no one previously really payed attention to, had eyes locked on every bounce. It's a miracle applause didn't break out.
The stories she told from work were constantly about new opportunities and greater appreciation. She would mention her boss, Alan Harrison, had begun to compliment her on her work. I really tried to be accepting of it. Alan Harrison was an old coot that I knew Brenda on her worst day would never have sex with. We laughed about it. Still ... there were some moments that had me on full alert. One was when I came home early after a cancellation.
When I arrived, Stu and Brenda were there. No one acted awkwardly, as though I'd interrupted anything. It all seemed on the up and up. Still, Stu made his exit quickly. If it had been innocent, why would he do that?
After going through some normal conversation, I started fishing. "So ... what were you and Stu talking about?" I was trying to keep the suspicion out of my voice. I don't think I succeeded.
"He was talking to me about my implants. He's been talking to Debbie about them."
"Why isn't Debbie over here asking?"
"It's an awkward subject Vince. He doesn't want to offend her by suggesting it, even though he thinks Debbie would love it."
I had to admit that sounded reasonable. I also thought it was reasonable that Stu was taking an interest in my wife that was no longer casual. Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other.
This was just another one of those things. It wasn't the fact she got attention, it was the way she responded to it that had my Spidey sense tingling. She didn't shut it down. She encouraged it. She hadn't done anything to show it would go beyond that, but she never gave any indication that there was a line somewhere that shouldn't be crossed. It's not that anyone did anything questionable, it's just that it seemed things were slowly escalating and I wasn't comfortable.
I did bring it up, albeit not forcefully. It was awkward. "Honey, I'm happy you are getting the attention you always wanted. I am a bit bothered though, that you don't draw a line on the flirtation. I'd like to hear you say you are loyal to your husband from time to time. No wait, not loyal. In love with your husband." Yup. Awkward.
It was like I'd slapped her. She looked distraught for a moment, then said, "Honey, I am in love with you. I can't believe you question that. I am yours. No flirting I do will ever go anywhere. If I've done something that made you uncomfortable, tell me and I'll be sure not to do it again."
The thing was, there was no one thing I could point to. I felt bad. I saw the look in Brenda's eyes and knew I'd been responsible for that. I immediately embraced her, and just kissed her like it was a third date. We had a great night of sex. It was only in hindsight I realized that she hadn't agreed to draw a line in public. She was asking me where the line was, and I hadn't given it to her. However, she had made her case that her flirtations meant nothing.
It wasn't completely what I wanted. Yet I had gotten her reassurance. Thinking about it for the next few days, I hoped that conversation would somehow be enough. Still, I had a lingering sense of apprehension.
I kept my unease mostly hidden. Brenda still treated me and the kids the same way she always had, and sex continued to be great. She continued to talk about her days at work, her interactions with people, etc. But something was different. My feelings of apprehension just grew to the point where, for the first time in our marriage, I felt threatened. I wrestled with that feeling. While on the surface nothing had changed, I just couldn't shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm.
During the summer we went to Atlantic City. It's something we did every year. The boys did their thing, we usually watched and took time to talk when they were chasing seagulls or trying to drown each other. This year, she was literally turning heads as we walked onto the beach. Her new bikini definitely showed off her new treasures.
No one approached us, but it was the looks. There were so many looks. Brenda read my face as she noticed I was aware. Playfully she said,"Honey, it's just like a laser pointer to a cat. It's a response wired into men, remember?"
Did I ever. Nothing like having your own words recalled to put things into perspective. I just laughed. Although at one point, I found myself looking at a woman with a flat chest. She reminded me of happier times. I shook that off and we had a pleasant day. I had nothing to bring up, except what would likely be seen as unreasonable paranoia. I wasn't certain that would have been wrong. Yet in my gut, I felt something was off.
Once a month she had a girls' night out and I had a boys' night out. I guess that's the best way to explain it. It wasn't that our partners weren't allowed to come, it was more like I did stuff she wasn't interested in and she did stuff I wasn't interested in. Sometimes those nights happened at the same time, more often they didn't.
The night I decided to check on my suspicions, coincided with both the girls and boys night out. Mom was at the house with the kids. I excused myself from the boys' night at the sports bar. I felt like the worst husband ever, checking up on a woman who had never given me any reason to doubt her. I didn't want her to know I was checking up on her. So I picked a disguise. I wore a New York Giants hat, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt I'd never wear, and put on sunglasses. If anything was going on, I wanted to witness it without being witnessed.
I've mentioned Brenda can dance. She loves to dance. I don't. So sometimes the girls would go dancing on their night out. Since all the husbands shared my aversion to dancing, we were fine with it. All the wives always came home on time and intact, so there was no reason for worry. The night I chose to spy on Brenda, and I can't think of any other word, she was at "The Cosmopolitan." There aren't many places to dance in our town, this was one of three. One was a country place, one was a dance club. This place played "swing music," on Saturday nights.
So in my disguise, I walked into The Cosmopolitan. I looked for the group, and while I was looking, Lisa Evans came up to me and said, "Vince! Did you come to join us?"
Damn. So much for my careful disguise. "Yes, I just decided I didn't want to play poker tonight. I wanted to do something more active."
That sounded so lame. Here I was in my disguise, justifying my appearance here. I felt like a CIA agent whose cover has been blown. Lisa didn't seem to think anything of it.
"It's great you're here Vince, let's get our dance on!"
She took my hand and guided me through the crowd. I took my hat and sunglasses off on the way there. This had the potential for humiliation as it was. Lisa brought me to the group table and announced, "Look who I found!" Everyone was there, the band was on break and no one was on the dance floor.
Almost everyone seemed welcoming. I didn't get any kind of feeling I was crashing anything forbidden. The "almost" was Brenda. She didn't seem unhappy, but she did seem a bit wary. I wasn't sure what to make of that. She did kiss me and say, "I'm so glad you're here. What a nice surprise." It sounded good. There was just something in her eyes I couldn't decipher.
After I took a position at the table and we all exchanged meaningless banter, Brenda said, "What made you decide to drop in?"
"Just a whim. I didn't feel like hanging with the guys tonight, I decided I wanted to be with you."
"Oh honey, that is so sweet. When the band comes back, let's dance."
The band returned. Then the unexpected happened. As they were walking back onstage, four men approached our table. It seemed there was one their for each wife, just waiting for the band to start up again so they could hit the dance floor. One of those four was clearly Brenda's partner.
While I was processing, she spoke first. "Trent, I'm sorry but your dance will have to wait."
I knew she danced with people these nights. I was fine with it. It wasn't anything unexpected and she politely let him know who I was, and that I had dibs. It didn't even bother me he was better looking than I was, it was all good. Until he spoke.
"Okay baby, let me know when your dance card is free."
"I certainly will. If it opens up, you'd better be here. I'm holding you to that."
He grinned, then Trent left and returned to wherever he came from.
Baby?
He called her "baby." That was the thought going through my head when the band started to play. Brenda grabbed my hand and led me to the dance floor. All the other wives and their partners went as well. I'm not a good dancer. Swing dancing is not the best showcase for a mediocre dancer. I gave it my all though, and pushed thoughts of Trent aside. Brenda knows I'm not a good dancer, so she made her adjustments so I could feel I was leading. We got through it.
While people applauded, Brenda shouted, "Ready for another?"
I wasn't. My thoughts had returned to me after the dance ended. Baby. He called her "baby." She didn't call him "baby" back though. Yet he felt he could call her that. That was a bit of familiarity I wasn't sure I was comfortable with.
I shouted back, "Let's go back to the table. It's been a while for me honey, let me regroup."
She just smiled and led the way back to the table. The other wives were still on the dance floor, so we were alone.
"What's with the hat and the shirt?"
Busted. I could have been honest. I wasn't. "I don't know honey, I got a wild hair up my ass and wanted to be in a party mood. I guess I didn't pull it off."
"Honey, you are the party. I love when you dance with me. That outfit is horrible, by the way. I love how you always dress up. But if you like it, I am down with it. You wanna "hang loose," you've got the right woman."
All the right words. I felt lower than dirt right then. I also felt elated. Elation was winning. Then Trent returned just as the band started up again.
"Is your dance card free?"
Brenda looked at me, "Honey?"
I had just pulled her off the dance floor. What could I say? I said, "You get your dance on honey."
I watched Trent and Brenda dance. Trent was a good dancer. They looked good together. She liked to dance, he was a good dance partner. Still ... baby.
The band went into their next song. She hadn't returned to our table. It seemed like the first song they had just been warming up. This song they were even more in sync. They knew each others' moves. It was swing dancing, not the most erotic form of dancing, but it can be. There's potential. That second song and dance put certain body parts in close proximity.
Then came the third dance. I was still alone at the table. The other wives were still dancing. I did look at them from time to time, and they just seemed to be dancing. There was nothing erotic about it. Neither was Brenda's first two dances, although they suggested potential. The third dance was borderline erotic.
If they were in sync on the second dance, they seemed to be sharing the same brain on the third. Every move was perfect. Everything was done without a care in the world, except to dance. All body parts were touched in the service of dance moves. Brenda looked incredibly sexy. So did Trent, although I don't swing that way. I could see other eyes on them. They clearly were the standouts.
When that song ended, Lisa came back to the table.
"Vince, I'm wiped out. I need a break. You having fun?"
"Well I was, but I've been waiting three songs for Brenda to return."
Lisa was a bit drunk. "She's heading here now, she's a great dancer."
"Yes, she is."
Brenda and Trent both came back. Brenda said, "Vince, this is Trent. Trent, this is Vince."
I extended my hand and said, "Nice to meet you Trent."
He shook my hand and said, "Nice to meet you too Lance." Obviously Trent wasn't a great listener. "You're one lucky guy. Thanks for letting me dance with your lady. She's a great dancer."
"She sure is. You're good as well."
"I hold my own." Then he turned to Brenda, "Let me know if you want another dance, no one dances like you."
"You say that to all the girls baby."
Trent laughed. "True, but I mean it with you baby."
Then he left again to the part of the place he came from.
Baby. She called him that as well. It was too much. I didn't care that Lisa was there. I looked at her after he left and said, "Baby?"
She had been happy before that. Now she looked serious. She didn't pretend to not know what I was talking about. "Did that bother you?"
"Yes it did. He called you 'baby' and even worse, you called him 'baby' as well."
She didn't say anything for a moment. Then she said, "It's flirtation. I don't call anyone else 'honey.' That's for us. Everyone uses 'baby,' it's not a special term. I call everyone 'baby' here. So does he. It's not some kind of connection between us."
Reasonable. So very reasonable. Three dances, each bringing them closer than the last, and baby. All perfectly reasonable. Except, she'd never used that term before. She'd never had three dances in a row before. I'd never seen that level of contact before. All reasonable. Lisa had been silent this whole time, her attention was on the dance floor. I just grabbed Lisa and kissed her, my hand feeling her boob. I was really expecting to be slapped, Lisa just kissed me back. I was the one that broke it off.
I turned to Brenda and said, "If this is what you want, two can play that game. I'm not interested. I'm going home. You do what you want."
I turned away and walked quickly out of the club. I didn't even look to see if Brenda was following me. I just got in my car and drove home. Mom was surprised to see me early, but I talked her as briefly as possible. This wasn't easy, as Mom liked talking. She enjoyed being part of our lives. I hinted strongly that she should leave. She sensed something was wrong, but she did leave two minutes before Brenda arrived in a huff. She wasted no time.
"What the frick just happened? You felt Lisa up? You kissed her? You're mad at me?"
Now she was hopefully getting it. She'd just needed a demonstration. I said calmly, "Once we cross lines, they lead to crossing more lines. Watching you and Trent dance was like watching two people making love. You ignored me for three dances, and when you came back, let him know you were up for more."
"I like dancing! You don't. He's a good dancer. It doesn't mean I want to have sex with him. I just like dancing. You seem to think that everything that happened tonight, means I'm going to cheat on you. Why?"
She clearly didn't see the path she was on. It was time for plain speaking. I'd been avoiding the issue, but she needed to hear a hard truth.
"I see how this all ends. It starts with dancing. You call someone other than your husband by a term of endearment. Then, you get invited by your boss to the Adirondacks. You fuck him because he suddenly appreciates you, and I wind up burning a bridge and leaving you stranded."
"What? Where do you come up with this stuff? You've gone nucking futs!"
"Answer me this Brenda, are the kids even mine?!"
Her mouth just hung open. It was quiet for probably just a few seconds, but it seemed like forever. I had no idea why I said that. I tried to release the tension, "look Brenda-"
That was as far as I got. She turned away from me and went to the bedroom. I didn't follow her. I did realize I was losing my shit here. I definitely had legitimate concerns, but I had just accused her of being untrustworthy our entire marriage. I just sat down on the couch and waited. I wasn't sure for what.
The "what" was Brenda emerging from the bedroom an hour later with a suitcase.
"I am going to Mom's. Right now I don't want to talk to you for a few days."
So many thoughts raced through my brain. I didn't tell her to stay. I didn't apologize. "What do I tell the boys?"
"I'll call them. I'll tell them I need some time away."
"How long?"
"I don't know."
Then she left. She was seething. I swear I could feel heat radiating off her body.
I was faced with the awkward task of telling Luke and Chris that their mother was going to be gone for a while at Gandmama's house. As much as I portray them as indifferent brats, they were concerned. It was a hard night. I assured them that their mother loved them, that I loved them, and this was "adult stuff," they'd understand when they got older. I never liked that explanation when I was their age, yet I found myself saying the same unsatisfying nothing my parents had said to me.
I did manage to calm things down on the home front. Worse was coming. Chaos had once again intruded on my life, and I wasn't sure what the cause was. I couldn't leave it at home. While Brenda was away, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. That included work. The place I was always professional. The place I always shut off my thoughts and concentrated on my patients and job.
One morning I was performing a simple tooth extraction for 70-year-old Shannon Tompkins. These are a routine procedure. I gripped her tooth with the extraction forceps as I'd done hundreds of times. She made whimpering sounds.
"Easy now, Mrs. Tompkins."
My hygienist coughed to get my attention."Uh, doc?"
Stacy was holding the syringe filled with Novocaine out to me. Mrs. Tompkins eyes had gone wide and looked at me with sheer terror.
"Just a little dentist humor Mrs. Tompkins. Heh heh."
That moment was my wake-up call. My thoughts were now affecting my professional life. I got through the rest of the day without terrorizing any more patients. I needed to really have a few hours of self-reflection when I got home.
I made sure the kids got dinner, then went into my den to just have time with my thoughts.
Of course it wasn't long before I was interrupted. Luke had trouble with his gaming console, and I nearly bit his head off. "Figure it out! I hope I didn't raise an idiot."
Luke walked away a bit hurt, but realized that this was one of those rare "don't fuck with Dad" moments. I knew it would be okay. I also knew I needed to get my shit together.
I didn't think Brenda had cheated on me. I was just worried about the slippery slope. I had to figure out why. Why was I so worried? Was she really giving me legitimate reasons to worry, or was I the problem? Her behavior had changed, and my responses were to that change in behavior. Was what I was feeling appropriate to those changes?
She was still the good wife and mother she always had been. So she was more flirty, but she now had more opportunities. It was because of something I had actually wanted her to do, even though it was her idea. So what was the problem? I don't believe in paying for a therapist. I like to pride myself on being able to be self-analytical. I was determined to figure out where the problem was. Me or her? Both? I was going to solve this riddle, and I was going to solve it that night.
She had told me from her perspective how boobs affected how people treated her. I had thought I appreciated it, but really hadn't. She was enjoying attention she hadn't had before, and was responding in a way she hadn't responded before. She had told me all this. I should have been prepared for this. I had thought I was. What exactly was I worried about? Why was I so pissed?
I finally realized it was because I was worried she might fuck people she couldn't fuck before, because she had those options now. But was that realistic? Brenda had a face to die for and was sexy. Most men would fuck her. Her tits wouldn't make the difference. So I was worried about Brenda's responses. Maybe the fact she hadn't cheated on me, was because I loved her for who she was. Now she was someone different. My worries were that I no longer trusted Brenda. That was a shitty realization.
Once I realized that, I also immediately recognized I had pushed her away. I had accused her of something even I didn't think she had done, and penalized her for it. So why shouldn't she now do the crime since she had already done the time? I got cold. I put the kids to bed, and put my best Dad face on. Luke had actually worked out the game console issue, I do have smart kids. I went to bed with a new mission. I created the problem, it was up to me to solve it.
This had gone far enough. It was time to eat humble pie. I had my receptionist reschedule my patients. I showed up at her job with flowers. Roses were too cliché and also might be looked at by her coworkers as an apology for bad behavior on my part. Which is exactly what it was, I just didn't feel like advertising it. I opted for birds of paradise. She liked those flowers and I included a nice card with a simple note. "I'm sorry. Your idiot husband, Vince."
She wasn't there. I was told she had taken a sick day. For a brief moment all my worries suddenly came rushing back. I deliberately passed by Alan Harrison's office and saw he was in. I really hated myself for even thinking that, but it did relieve me. I went back to feeling guilty. I thought to myself, "Stop it, Vince. Just stop it you moron. This is exactly the kind of crazy thinking that caused this. Get your head out of your ass and keep it out."
She probably was sick, and I had again almost let myself assume the worst. I'd just surprise her at Grandmama's with flowers and love. I called Helen Benson's cell phone number to let her know I was coming over, but please not to tell Brenda. It turned out she was wasn't at home, but away visiting her brother Frank and his family. Brenda was there alone for a few days. Mom wished me luck. She didn't say it, but seemed very pleased that there seemed to be a thaw between me and Brenda on the way.
Great, just great. Brenda was sick without even her mother to support her. I wasn't there for her either, the man who had vowed to take care of her. On the drive over I felt contrition, remorse and self-loathing. I also felt love. Brenda was my love, had been my love, and it was only some irrationally vague feelings of jealousy that had led us to this point.
I was thinking maybe I should go into therapy after all, to address what was wrong with me. Whatever it took, I wanted Brenda to understand I'd do it. I'd somehow become an insane person over the last year. The problem was clearly me. I'd fix it. The most important thing right now was to be sure I had my wife with me while I did, and for the rest of my life.
Those were my feelings as I pulled up to her mother's place. She was sick, and all I wanted was to love her and take care of her. Then ... I saw that damn gold BMW in the driveway. "Okay," I thought, "she's asked Stu for help because she isn't talking to me. That's not unreasonable. Or maybe Stu heard she was sick, and just dropped by to check on her."
I didn't like that last scenario, but it wasn't really anything I should be upset about. Sure, I suspected Stu's intentions weren't exactly pure, but Brenda was my angel. Nothing would happen that she didn't want, so fuck Stu and his intentions. I was in a much better frame of mind and proud of my now healthier thoughts.
I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I'd never really spent much time at Helen Benson's home. Brenda would visit, but I never did. We'd drop off the kids when they were younger, but rarely did I go inside. Her door was always unlocked, despite living in a neighborhood less secure than ours. So flowers in hand I walked in, feeling a bit like an intruder. I shouldn't have, she had repeatedly said, "My home is your home. I like it when family drops in."
I was expecting to find Brenda and Stu in the living room. I'd hug Stu, even though hugging wasn't my thing, and give the flowers to Brenda.
No one was in the living room. It was quiet. Odd. I was happy it didn't arouse suspicions. No matter my previous concerns, it would be so unlike Brenda to bang Stu in Mom's house. But where were they?
Mom's bedroom was down one end of the house, the guest room, formerly Brenda's room was at the other. I remembered it well. I assumed that's where she was staying. So I headed in that direction. Then ... I heard noises.
Soft noises. Soft dialogue. "Oh ...please ... oh god ..." That was followed by a louder burst of "Ahhhh."
No. No. Did I cause this? Had I always been right? I didn't care. I gripped those flowers in my hand, still listening.
"Oh please, please, I'll do anything."
That was it. The flowers I bought out of love, were ready to be thrown in her face. I threw open the door and burst in. "Surprise!"
Oops. It wasn't the guest room. I didn't remember the layout as clearly as I thought. It was Debbie on the toilet, trying to push out a stubborn stool, as I found out later.
She screamed.
I screamed, dropping the flowers.
Across the hall, the bedroom door flew open. Brenda came out. "Vince! What's going on?"
I noticed something different about her. Her chest was missing. She was wearing a simple T-shirt with a restaurant logo, some place called Dominic's Bistro. It was a shirt she used to wear before the surgery. All I said quietly was, "Hey."
Once again my vocabulary deserted me. "I just wanted to surprise you. I heard you were sick."
That was the truth until I saw the gold BMW and heard Debbie making noises that sounded like sex. I'm not blaming Debbie, I'm just saying. I hoped my partial truth would mask the thoughts that came after. I picked up the flowers and handed them to her.
Debbie, still on the toilet yelled, "Can you take this outside the bathroom?!"
I exited and closed the door.
"Vince ... oh Vince. These are beautiful."
She took the flowers from me. "How did you know?"
It was clear she thought I had somehow found out about her having her implants taken out. At that moment, I swore to give more money to the church. This was divine intervention.
"It doesn't matter. I just wanted to be here. You didn't have to do this."
Tears were coming to her eyes. "I did Vince, we were so good until this last year. These damn tits have come between us. I don't care what anyone else thinks, I care what you think."
Tears turned into open sobbing. She leaned into me, and I hugged her. I practically wrapped myself around her. "Shh honey, you never lost me." We stood there locked together for silent minutes. The moment was broken by Debbie audibly saying, "Oh thank God! Yes!"
We both started laughing. I whispered, "Let's go home."
And we did.
Once again I am able to thank Lue for editing another story for me. Any mistakes are almost certainly mine, since I can't seem to leave a story alone despite promising her and myself it's a "final draft."
Comments and questions are always welcomed. I do try to address them in a timely fashion the week after a story is published. I appreciate those willing to provide feedback, as well as the many who just take the time to read one of my stories.