The Putz

Part 2 My Wife

PART TWO: MY WIFE

A Limp-Dicked Failure

   Tina and I saw each other every night after that, and I did everything I
could to make my woman more comfortable. I gave her cab fare, to the tune of two
hundred dollars a week; three hundred dollars more a week in spending money;
dinners every night at Le Bernardin; and movies - foreign ones with subtitles,
to reinforce her sense of intellectual inferiority. Gruntboy66, my best friend
at "Tiny Penis Wives," had suggested this tactic to me, and I followed his
advice, though I was even more bored than she was.
   And I spent hours in bed, masturbating furiously. In my mind's eye I saw
Tina's full lips on mine, devouring me hungrily; felt her hands on my chest,
caressing me; heard her crying out in ecstasy as I kissed her neck...
   She got naked for me on our sixth date.
   We were sitting in my house, listening to Barry Manilow's beautiful 1983
album "A Touch More Magic." I was sitting on the sofa, laughing heartily over
Archie's and Jughead's antics; Tina was curled up beside me; and Barry was
crooning "I Wanna Do It With You" in the background:

I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna do it, do it with you
Ooooh, baby, feel so strong
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna live out my fantasies
Come on, baby, please...

   Suddenly her hand was on my thigh. I stiffened immediately, and she let it
rest there a moment while I sat as if carved out of stone, unable to respond.
Were we about to... to kiss?
   Then she got up and faced me, a secret little smile on her gorgeous face.
   "Just sit back, Myron," she purred. "Sit back and relax. You don't have to do
anything."
   I was trembling with tension, almost unable to breathe, as I watched Tina
unbutton her shirt and let it fall to the floor. She never took her luminous
green eyes from me as she reached up to undo the snap between the black lacy
cups of her bra. Then she pulled it away, slowly, licking her lips. Her tits
jiggled free and I swallowed hard, close to panic at the sight of those firm,
upright, creamy mounds, with nipples the size of egg yolks...
   Oh, boy.

...Say you will, say I am
Say that I can be your man
Say that I can be your man...

   "Do you like it?" she breathed. "Do you want it?"
   I croaked out a feeble yes, and she slid out of her shorts and panties. There
she stood, stark naked in front of me, stroking one delectable nipple with one
hand, caressing her thigh near her hairless, glistening pussy with the other.
The Archie comic book slid from my nerveless fingers to the floor.
   Her eyes were two green glittering slits of passion.
   "Do you really want it?" she hissed.
   "...y-y-y-yes..."
   "Well, I want you, too, Myron," she whispered huskily, coming closer. "I want
to feel your lips on my lips. Your hands on my breasts." She knelt down before
me, tugging at my belt buckle. "I want to feel your cock inside me, Myron."

...Oh, honey, move in my direction
Time for some serious affection
Oh it's gonna be such a fine thing
Talk about thunder and lightning
I wanna do it, do it with you
I wanna do it, do it with you...

   My mouth was hanging open in dumb shock. As if in a trance I just let her
work my pants down to my ankles... then slip her fingers inside the elastic band
of my underwear. I lay still, numb, scarcely daring to breathe, as Tina urged my
underwear past my hips.
   This was it... the moment I had been dreading...
   And I was as soft as a spoonful of pudding.
   I was way, way too nervous to have an erection; in fact, my penis actually
seemed to have retracted a little with all the nervous tension. For an instant I
looked down at the moist shrunken tip nestled in my bush, then closed my eyes
and swallowed hard. Please, God, I prayed, don't let her laugh... Don't let her
laugh at me... I could practically hear the wheels turning in her head as she
mentally adjusted to the sight of my limp little dick. She said nothing.
   I risked a glance at her, but her face was carefully neutral. After a few
moments she looked up at me again, and smiled.
   "You're beautiful, Myron."
   She took hold of my hands. I let her pull me from the couch to the rug.
   "You're a beautiful man," she moaned, "and I want you."
   She kissed me, pressing her sweet titties against my chest... her hairless
vulva against my still flaccid penis... moving my hands to her hips, guiding me
through it. And slowly I began to respond. I kissed back, shuddering with
ecstasy, and she pulled me down on top of herself, spreading her legs apart for
me, wrapping them around my waist.
   "I want you so bad!" she whined.
   "...oh... oh, Tina," I gasped, "Tina, Tina..." She gripped my buttocks and
began pulling me against her, and I picked up the rhythm, grinding my pelvis
against hers, mashing my cock against her wet crotch as she began moaning.
   "Yes... Oh, yes... Fuck me..."
   Only I wasn't fucking her.
   Because my penis wasn't getting hard.
   I continued thrusting my shriveled dingaling against her warm, slippery cunt,
but I knew it was hopeless. It was as if my penis had been injected with
novocaine. Some inability to admit defeat kept me pumping my hips up and down,
and she continued moaning and writhing under me, but this was going nowhere; she
knew it, and I knew that she knew it. My shame grew, and then I realized that as
long as I pretended to fuck her, she would pretend to enjoy it.
   After a few last feeble thrusts, I stopped and rolled off of her, curling up
in a fetal position.
   I was a total sexual failure.
   In my mind I could hear Kip's braying laughter:
   Shitlips...
   Bitch-Tits...
   Faggot!
   I wanted to die.
   I waited for her to get dressed, to walk out the door, but nothing happened.
Then she rested a tentative hand on my shoulder.
   "Myron?"
   I couldn't answer. My shame was too complete.
   "Myron? It's okay."
   She snuggled up to me, curling her nubile young body against my back.
   "It's okay, Myron. I don't care if we have sex. I just want to lie with you."
   Something inside me shifted, moved, and suddenly I was crying, crying like a
baby, as if the tears would never stop.
   She really loved me.

The Taste of Ass

   Well, three more weeks passed before I managed to get hard for Tina.
   It was just a morning stiffie, really, but I was elated. Panting with
excitement I jabbed it against her thigh. She was awake in an instant, rolling
over to face me, grinning with delight as she reached down... And the moment she
touched it I had an orgasm, a spastic, twitching orgasm which left a thin little
smear of cum on her palm.
   We worked full time together on my newest little problem. I read everything I
could find on the internet about premature ejaculation, and Tina helped in every
way imaginable. There were still plenty of times when I couldn't get an erection
for her, and whenever I did I wound up blowing my load at the first touch of her
fingers or lips, but she was fantastic. Never once did she get impatient or
angry. Instead she would laugh, fondle my spent weener, and give it a gentle
scolding.
   "You bad, bad little boy," she would say mischievously. "You made another
messy! Don't you know you're supposed to put that stuff inside Tina?!"
   Gruntboy66 suggested that I should try giving her oral sex until I could keep
my erection long enough to penetrate her, and I found that I loved it. I loved
burying my tongue in her smooth little slit, loved the sensation of her slimy
pussy smearing itself across my face as she sighed and squirmed. And she liked
it, too.
   The breakthrough came one morning when I brought up a breakfast tray of
Tastee-Kreme cheese danishes. She was just waking up, and I watched as she
stretched lazily in the bed. Tina was only wearing a tank-top; she raised her
hips high in the air, arching her back, and mewed contentedly, like a kitten.
The sight of her heart-shaped ass and smooth pussy was too much for me. I
dropped the tray, put my hands on her buttocks and planted a big, slobbery kiss
on her sweet pussy-lips.
   We had never done it in this position before, and to my feverish excitement I
found, as she cooed with pleasure and worked her pelvis up and down, that her
puckered little asshole was dilating with excitement right in front of my eyes.
If it got any closer...
   Then, with the next backward thrust of her hips, her anus was planted
squarely on the tip of my nose.
   She gave a startled peep. Having Tina's asshole in my face was turning me on
like I'd never been turned on before, and my penis was stiffening up nicely. But
what about Tina? Was this okay with her?
   Suddenly she responded, jamming it more firmly onto my king-sized honker. In
fact, as we got down to business I realized that she was getting off quicker and
harder than she ever had before. I nuzzled her pink little shithole eagerly...
   ...and before long, my tongue was probing her ass, working in and out while I
snorted and grunted behind her like a pig getting slopped.
   It was delicious.
   She grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked, forcing my face ever more deeply
between her sweaty buttcheeks as I lapped at her sweet, succulent asshole.
Suddenly she came, wailing like a banshee and yanking my hair so hard it brought
tears to my eyes. My dick was as hard as a rock by this time, and I withdrew my
face from her rear end, gasping and ready.
   "Oh, baby," I grunted, my voice thick with passion, "I wanna do it... do it
with you..." I gripped her buttocks and got into position. "...yeah, I wanna do
it with YOUUU--"
   With the pent-up fury of a starving panther, I buried my two inches of
pulsing meat into the pink succulence of her tight young vagina and screamed as
I emptied my nuts into her.
   Then I collapsed, still shaking and twitching, my head in a whirl. I had done
it... I had fucked my woman...
   Incredible!
   She rolled over me and covered my face with kisses.
   "Oh, Myron," she murmured, "darling, I knew you could do it!"
   Yes, I had become a man at last.

Honeymoon Heaven

   I came inside her again that night. This wasn't the kind of sex you read
about in Penthouse magazine; I lost my erection at first, and it took five
minutes of licking Tina's asshole before it twitched back to life. And, just as
before, I barely had time to slip it inside her before I climaxed... But it was
sex nonetheless, and I was glowing with pride.
   Nothing could go wrong now, and it was time to make my ultimate move.
   "Tina?"
   "Mm hm?"
   I looked her in the eyes, just like they do in the movies. This is serious,
my expression said. I am a man, and you are my woman, and this is the Moment.
   "I want you to marry me."
   She looked at me and smiled in a strange way - a slow, darkly anticipatory
smile, almost more to herself, it seemed, than to me. I had thought she might
burst into tears, embrace me, thank me again and again... The look in her
glittering eyes was of animal hunger, and I shivered involuntarily.
   "I will," she whispered.
   The next morning, as soon as the courthouse was open for business, Tina
dragged me to a justice of the peace. She was so impatient I had to laugh: my
little Tina was so infatuated with me! Within thirty minutes we had our marriage
license. We raced back home to frisk in bed like a couple of playful kittens. I
had completely gotten over my sense of shame by now and rubbed my puny pecker
against her gorgeous young body without a second thought. She sucked on it with
real fervor, but it stayed limp, and after a little while I laughed ruefully.
   "Darling? Let's forget about it for now."
   She pulled her mouth from my dick, which was glistening like a shelled snail
but still as limp as ever.
   "Huh? But I thought... I thought that, you know, since yesterday..."
   "Oh, Tina," I chuckled, "you don't really think I can get it up like that
twice a day, every day, do you? I'm not Superman, after all!"
   She stared at me in a confused way, then smiled and shrugged. "Have it your
way, baby." Then she looked speculatively at me. With a sly grin she rolled over
onto her belly, then slowly drew her ass up into the air. My mouth went dry. Her
fingers snaked up between her legs, the middle one drawing a lazy circle over
and over around her tight little anus as she stared at me over her shoulder. "Or
maybe my tired little man needs some of Tina's... special flavor?"
   I was on my hands and knees behind her in a flash. And even though I still
didn't get hard, Tina enjoyed herself immensely.
   We went vacationing in the Bahamas for our honeymoon. It was a dream come
true. Tina looked superb in her new wardrobe, which consisted of simple yet
elegant little dresses that showed off every sweet curve on her sexy young body.
Men stared at her wherever we went, but it never bothered me. In fact, I had
gotten pretty proud of myself. On our third night at the Royal Palm Hotel I
managed to stay hard inside of her, thrusting in and out for twenty delirious
seconds before spurting my juice. I was a Real Man now, there was no doubt about
it, and I decided to start acting like one. Why not? I had earned it!
   "Tina? Could I get you to scratch my back? A little lower... Aaaah!"
   "Tina? Fetch me that newspaper over there, would you?"
   "Tina, call room service."
   "Get me my glasses."
   "Pour me another Diet Pepsi."
   She did whatever I asked without complaint. And in the afternoons she would
go down to the beach, her mouth-watering tits and ass barely concealed beneath
her skimpy bikini. There were always at least a few hunky young guys sunning
themselves there; with their bodybuilder physiques and well-stuffed Speedos,
they were carbon copies of the cruel jocks who had driven me to the edge of
madness back in high school. These proud studs would gape at my beautiful wife
without shame, cast a few amused looks in my direction, nudge one another and
chuckle, but I just smiled. She's mine, you big musclebound jerks! Stare all you
want... I'm the one who fucks her! Me, Myron Lipshitz!
   And then, on our last night - what should have been the best of all our
sun-soaked days of pleasure - things went wrong.
   We were relaxing in our suite, watching TV, when she started lightly stroking
my dick. I hadn't actually penetrated her in a few days by now, and I knew she
might enjoy a little old-fashioned horseplay, but my penis wasn't responding. By
this time I had fully accepted my libido as it was, and I watched without shame
as she first fondled, then bent over to begin sucking, my lifeless little
inch-long wiener.
   After a few seconds I pushed her head off.
   "Tina," I said, wiping the spittle from my dick, "forget it. Just relax and
enjoy the TV show."
   She heaved a sigh of disappointment and flopped back into the pillows, her
arms crossed under her upright titties, her nipples two fat cones of unsatisfied
desire. Then she gave me a bright, cheerful smile.
   "Well, darling, you're right. You're not Superman. And you did fuck me - oh,
let's see, two days ago, right?"
   "Uh... right," I answered cautiously.
   "I guess it would take a little something extra to make you hard after all
that wild sex, wouldn't it!" She smiled at me again, but there was something
slightly off about it. It wasn't the sweet, stupid, innocent smile I had come to
know and love. No, this smile was sweet on the surface, but underneath was
something I didn't like at all. Something dark... something wicked.
   She got up and crawled in front of me, blocking my view of the TV.
   "No, Myron needs to taste a little ass before he can get it up, doesn't he?"
Tina turned around and stuck her ass in the air, offering me a close-up view of
her gorgeous buttocks with the little pink asterisk buried between them.
Incredibly, beneath my slowly increasing sense of outrage at her insolent tone
of voice, my dick twitched. "You like the taste of my shit soooo much, you'd
rather stick your tongue up my ass than your dick!"
   "What... But... But you like it!" There was a defensive, pleading tone to my
voice that didn't match the anger I was feeling, and I hated myself for it. I
was shocked, and hurt, and my face showed it.
   But she didn't seem to care. And something strange was happening. Under my
anger, deep down inside, a part of me was responding to her nasty little taunts.
I felt a psychic shiver run through me as I recognized it: Myron "Shitlips"
Lipshitz was enjoying this.
   Enjoying the humiliation.
   No...
   No!
   My penis was sticking straight out now, and with a grunt of rage I slapped
her ass, hard. She just laughed and shook it a little more.
   "Come on, Myron," she sang cheerfully, "sniff it! Lick it like a good little
doggie!"
   "You... you bitch!" I yelled, getting to my knees. I forced her down; she
didn't even try to resist - she was giggling too hard. I positioned myself
behind her, prick at the ready, but this time I wasn't aiming for her pussy.
"I'll teach you to talk to me like that... You want me to fuck you? Huh? Huh?"
   I was sweating profusely now, lust and anger and desperation all combining to
produce the biggest, hardest erection I had ever had. Gripping it firmly between
thumb and forefinger I placed it against the hard little knot of her anus. Oh,
yes, I was going to fuck her, all right. I was going to make it hurt.
   "Get ready, 'cause here it comes... I'm gonna fuck... your... ASS!!"
   And with that I shoved my hips forward.
   Well, I don't know if she was clenching her sphincter or something, but I
didn't wind up fucking her ass at all. No, instead my penis just kind of bent
sideways a little.
   It hurt.
   "Come on, come on," I muttered, placing it against her anus again as she
shook with laughter under me. This time I was more careful, holding it tight to
keep it from getting hurt and pushing more slowly, but her asshole was as tight
as a fist. She looked up at me through her dissheveled blonde hair, her green
eyes dancing merrily as I slowly but surely lost my erection.
   "Oooh, Myron," she said in her sexiest voice, "fuck me harder, you big stud!"
Then she broke down and started giggling again.
   That did it. My penis wilted, shrinking in shame until it was almost
completely hidden in my bush. I gave it a half-hearted tug, but I knew it was no
use.
   "Very funny," I said in a tight little voice. For some reason this set her
off again. Trembling with impotent fury I pulled on my clothes.
   "Very... fucking... funny!"
   I was practically blind with rage as I stomped toward the door. Unfortunately
I didn't see the slippery little bottle of suntan lotion on the carpet, and my
right foot flew out from under me, so that I landed with a thud on my ass. Fresh
peals of laughter rang in my ears as I picked myself up and stormed out the
door.
   "Bitch!!"

Domestic Bliss

   Well, this was the beginning of some bad times for me. She apologized for her
behavior on the last night of our honeymoon, and seemed to mean it. I forgave
her, too; what else was I supposed to do? But inside I was still hurting from
the humiliation; and somehow, that one evening had altered our beautiful
relationship. Tina seemed to begin enjoying any sign of discomfort or
incompetence on my part, began smirking every time I stumbled, every time I
dropped something or bumped my head. She took a genuine pleasure in me making an
ass of myself! And I was so anxious in her presence now that I gave her ample
opportunity to laugh at me: I was like a one-man slapstick routine, tripping
over my own two feet at every turn. She really seemed to enjoy it.
   And sex? Well, sex was worse than ever.
   We developed a routine that left me feeling less and less like a man every
night. I would crawl into bed after spending the day sulking around the house,
and Tina, oozing a sweetly false blend of sympathy and tenderness, would
encourage me to try penetrating her again.
   "Please, darling. I just know you can get hard if you give yourself a chance.
Here..." And she'd bend over in front of me, offering me a good look at that
delectable, eighteen-year-old asshole of hers. "Go ahead. I like it, really!
Lick it as long as you need to, darling, just take your time..."
   Oh, I licked it, all right. I ate more ass than ever, feeling somehow that if
she was being so reasonable (even superficially) then I should be, too. But even
with my tongue wiggling deep in her poop chute, my dick only spasmed once or
twice, twitching like a dying minnow. And as she fondled and sucked me in
return, I had the feeling she knew that I would be left as limp as ever. I tried
hard not to notice the secret little smile on her face when she finally gave up,
night after night.
   "Maybe next time, darling."
   It was pure torture.
   Well, I hadn't written to the fellows at Tiny Penis Wives in a long time, and
when they finally heard from me I got a storm of advice. Gruntboy66 was amazed
at my stupidity for having married her in the first place.
   "Did you forget that your tiny penis wife was supposed to be `desperate,' you
moron?" he thundered on the listserve. "Now that you're married she's not
desperate any more. In fact, she could wind up owning half of what you've got!
And it sounds like the bitch knows it. Some women seem to really enjoy taking a
man for all he's got and destroying his ego in the process... You've got to get
the upper hand again, Disco_slave. Take some assertiveness classes. Lift
weights. Anything - fast!"
   And I did. I took two different course by mail - "How To Be A More Effective
Person" and "The Path To Real Manhood In Twelve Easy Steps." From the second
course I learned the ancient technique of manifesting one's own reality, which
Rick Ryder (who developed the course) said could alter one's actual physical
body. So I spent hours standing in front of a mirror nude, holding my penis in
my hand, and repeating to myself over and over: "I am a strong, sexy stud. My
cock is a big cock. My balls are big balls..."
   I also began changing my attitude. I had been far too sweet and loving with
little Miss Anderssen; it was time to show her a different side. And though it
wasn't easy, I began to boss her around.
   "Hey, Tina! Get me Archie Comics #214. And a glass of lemonade. Now."
   Of course she was difficult to find sometimes; it was a big house. But when I
did manage to catch her and issue an order, she did whatever I asked. It was the
response which bothered me. There was no apparent positive or negative reaction
from her, and her indifference began to drive me to greater extremes. To any
outside observer, with no idea of the nightly psychic sex-torment she was
putting me through, I must have looked like a total pig.

Jesse the Busboy

   Things came to a head at Le Bernardin one evening. I was snapping at her to
hurry up and finish her crab a la russe when the busboy accidentally knocked my
cream of oyster soup onto my lap. I let out a thin shriek of disgust as the
thick sticky mess spread across my expensive slacks, then turned to look at the
idiot who was responsible.
   The busboy was just a kid, really - he couldn't have been more than
seventeen. He had an all-American boy's face: flaxen hair, buzzed on the sides
but long on top; a little snub nose, slightly sunburned; white cheeks, each with
a patch of color under a nearly translucent blonde peach fuzz; unusually pale
blue eyes, and rather insubstantial blond eyebrows. His soft, full lips had the
natural rich redness that comes with a very fair complexion. My gaze lingered on
those lips a little longer. The upper lip had one of those tender-looking
"nipples" on it, accentuating its attractive curve. A beautiful face, I had to
admit, the face of someone not a child, but not yet a man.
   But I couldn't let him get away without a thorough chewing out for Tina's
benefit. No matter how young he was.
   "What," I asked icily, "is your name?"
   He looked through me, somehow, without looking perturbed in the least.
   "Jesse."
   "Uh huh. Well, Jesse, do you think that instead of standing there, you
could... GET ME A WET TOWEL TO WIPE MYSELF OFF?!"
   Tina lowered her head, hand over her brow, as though embarrassed. Good, I
thought to myself. The waiter ran to our table, frantic to set things right. A
real bootlicker: I liked that about him. He snapped at Jesse to hurry and get
the towel Monsieur Lipshitz had asked for, and as Jesse nodded coolly and
wandered off, he fussed and mopped.
   "A clumsy fool," he muttered.
   "Right," I said, leaning back.
   "He's too young to be working here... The little good-for-nothing..."
   Jesse came back with a small hand towel and handed it to me with the same
indifference I had seen in Tina earlier.
   This really sent me over the top.
   "What is this?!" I yelled. "A dishrag? I need a towel, you moron! These pants
cost me three hundred bucks!"
   By now several more waiters had joined the fray. I was glowing inside with
pride: this was the way to take command of a situation! Poor young Jesse was
getting snapped at from all sides by a pack of irate French waiters. I had to
admire his calmness in the face of all this hysteria, particularly as Mr.
Bernardin himself waddled over to investigate.
   "What's the matter, M'sieur Lipshitz?"
   "Well," I said smugly, "it seems that some of your staff are nothing more
than bumbling nitwits. That kid just ruined a pair of three hundred dollar
pants."
   "Oh! Jesse," he growled, "that's the last straw. Pack your things and get
out!"
   Then I caught Tina's eye.
   She was looking daggers at me. Well, good, I thought to myself. The bitch is
taking notice.
   "Maybe next time," I called out to the kid as he sauntered off, "you'll be a
little more carefff-- AANGGGHHH!!"
   I lurched over and gripped my aching shin.
   Tina had just kicked it.
   Hard.
   I stared at her in disbelief as a startled hush settled on our previously
bustling little scene. Then I allowed a rich, satisfied smile to spread across
my face. I had finally pushed her to show some real emotion; now that she was
exposed, it was time to strike once and for all. I got up, shoving the waiters
out of my way, and grabbed her arm, hard.
   "Come outside," I hissed.
   "Mm hm."
   Outside I shoved her against the wall. This was going to be good.
   "Listen, bitch," I spat, "it is NOT YOUR PLACE-"
   And then she slapped me.
   I stopped short, my mind a blank, and lifted a trembling hand to my stinging
cheek. That wasn't supposed to happen... Rick Ryder hadn't covered this in the
"Path To Manhood..."
   She glared at me with a fury so cold, so righteous, so inexpressibly total,
that I could only drop my eyes.
   "Look at me, Myron."
   With an involuntary whimper, I looked back up. Her gorgeous young face was
pale with anger, radiating an Amazon-like power I would never have credited her
with.
   "B-but..."
   "Shut up. Just shut up and listen." I did as she said, my mind still reeling
from the slap she had given me. "You've been acting like a pig recently, Myron.
A pig, do you understand?"
   I nodded dumbly.
   "Say it!"
   "A... p-p-pig?"
   "Good. Now. You just cost someone his job. You and I may have our little
problems, Myron, though honestly I've been bending over backward to try and help
us through them. But your difficulties in bed have nothing to do with some sweet
kid trying to hold onto his job."
   I was speechless, opening and shutting my mouth like a fish out of water.
What could I say?
   She was right.
   "Well? Say something!"
   "I... I'm s-s-sah--"
   "Good. Now wait here. Don't move."
   And with that she turned and stalked back into the restaurant.
   I watched her go through the big glass doors, mesmerized by the sight of her
calves and ass as she strutted purposefully into the crowded dining room. What
was she up to? And more importantly... What was I up to?! Had I been making a
mistake? Had she really been trying to help? It's possible, I thought to myself.
I waited miserably for a few minutes, shifting uncomfortably in my wet pants,
rubbing my still-smarting cheek and trying to ignore the throbbing in my shin.
My God, maybe this assertiveness thing had been a terrible error in judgment!
Maybe Gruntboy66 and all the others were just a bunch of pathetic losers,
compensating for their lack of endowment with a pushy attitude toward their
women... Yes. Yes, it was true!
   Holy shit. What a swine I had been... How could I make it up to her?
   Suddenly the doors swung open and she was standing there again, a little out
of breath... my angel... my loving, caring wife...
   And with her was Jesse, the busboy.
   He was bigger than I had first thought, his chest straining at the starched
white shirt and his thighs and calves filling out his black pants admirably. He
looked like a natural athlete to me. But his angelic young face showed none of
the condescension I associated with such types; indeed, his expression was
perfectly bland, as though he had no idea what this was all about, and didn't
really care.
   Tina certainly did, though.
   "Myron, meet Jesse Youngblood. Jesse, meet my husband, Myron Lipshitz."
   At my name he smiled, ever so slightly, and I bristled, just a bit. But one
withering look from Tina was all it took: I accepted his hand, wincing a little
as he out-firmed my grip.
   "Pleased to meet you," he said.
   "...likewise..."
   I wasn't sure what to do next, so I looked to Tina for help.
   "Myron and I were just talking about what happened inside," she continued,
"and he has something he'd like to say to you."
   I gave her a pleading look, but she was made of steel and wouldn't give me an
inch. Instead she folded her arms under her firm young tits and fixed me with a
cool green stare that said, Do it. I looked back at Jesse.
   The crotch of my pants was cold and clammy where the cream of oyster soup had
begun to dry, and my weiner chafed a little against the sticky patch, so that I
had to shift uncomfortably. Damn it, it wasn't fair... was it? But after all, I
had just cost another human being his livelihood. Jesse simply waited, as if he
had nothing better in the world to do. I risked one last look at Tina. She was
growing angrier by the second, and once again I had to admit to myself: Myron,
you've made a real asshole of yourself tonight.
   I took a deep breath and looked the kid in the eyes.
   "J-j-jesse, I... I'm s-s-s... sah-hahhh... s-s-s..."
   That imperceptible shadow of a grin on his flawless young face widened a
little, and I dropped my gaze, thrown by the hint of amusement there, and the
cocksure power behind his pale blue stare.
   "...i'm sorry."
   I looked hopefully at Tina. There! Better? She smiled warmly at the busboy
and actually put her hand on his bicep, squeezing it fondly.
   "And we'd very much like it if you came over tomorrow for lunch. We've got a
beautiful pool."
   Once again I was left with my mouth opening and closing like an idiot.
Whah...? Jesse grinned broadly at her.
   "Well, sure! That sounds awesome!"
   She gave him the address while I stood gaping at the two of them. Lunch?!
Pool?! There was a roaring in my ears as I tried to take in what I had just
heard.
   "Uh... I'm going inside to get my shit packed," he said. "I guess I'll see
you tomorrow, Tina."
   "Mm hm..."
   We both watched him swagger into the restaurant, looking for all the world
like a welterweight who'd just won the fight of the century, his broad shoulders
and round ass straining against the cloth as he went. I turned back to Tina,
speechless. She watched Jesse for a moment more, then gave me a bright little
smile.
   "What a nice young man!"
   "B-b-but..."
   But she was already hailing a taxi for us, ignoring me completely, with a
radiant glow in her cheeks that I'd never seen before.
   It spelled trouble.
   I kept quiet all the way home, hesitant to bring up my discomfort with this
new turn of events. Our home had always been a very private kind of retreat, a
place where we could be absolutely alone together. Now, for the first time, a
guest was coming -- and not just any guest, but a total stranger... and not just
any stranger, but Mr. Jesse "Hot Stud" Youngblood, whom my wife had just made me
abase myself in front of. I wanted so badly to argue against this. But Tina was
showing me a brand new side of herself, a side I had never known existed. I
glanced at her sidelong and was struck again by the confidence and power
radiating from her.
   Back in the bedroom I tried one last time to salvage the sanctity of my home.
   I had just finished worshipping my wife's sweet shithole. Tina had urged me
onto my back and straddled my face with her rear end, grinding her ass down on
my mouth with vigor, and I was gasping for breath by the time she came, her anus
muscles spasming on my tongue. My dick, of course, remained in a practically
catatonic state the whole time Tina was forcefeeding me with her delectable
derriere. I pinched and squeezed halfheartedly, but by this time it was more out
of habit than any real desire to get hard. She didn't even bother trying to
bring it to life after dismounting from my face.
   I kept my mouth shut for a minute or so to let her relax. Timing was
everything. She had just finished smearing her hole across my face as if it were
a piece of toilet paper; surely she was in a good mood now... Her body was
stretched out languidly across the sheets, a thin sheen of sweat covering her
spectacular torso and legs. I admired it helplessly from my position at the foot
of the bed. If I played my cards right, I could keep that invading barbarian of
a busboy out of my home and eventually, perhaps, win back my rightful place in
Tina's affections.
   It was time to make my move. Mask my intentions with tender, sensitive
suggestions about having the pool drained, maybe.
   "Tina?"
   "Mm."
   I crawled up to lie alongside her. With trembling fingers I began stroking
her shoulder. She didn't move. I put my lips next to her ear and lowered my
voice to a whisper.
   "Um... darling, about... about J-j-j--"
   "Brush your teeth," she murmured.
   I was a little taken aback.
   "B-b-b... brush--?"
   "Your breath smells like shit, Myron. Brush your teeth."
   My face burned with shame. I stroked her shoulder for a few more seconds,
then crawled quietly out of bed and slunk into the bathroom.
   No, now was not the time.


Poolside Frolicking

   I spent the next morning dancing nervously around Tina wherever she went,
trying to help her however I could, until she snapped at me to get out of her
way. After that I lurked miserably in her general vicinity, alternating tortured
looks at the clock with stricken stares at my young wife. She had on a beige
corset-style blouse that pushed her firm little titties up, squeezing them
together at the deep neckline in two tantalizing twin mounds, and a short denim
skirt that came perilously close to exposing her lace panties when she bent over
to retrieve the cookie tray from underneath the oven.
   She was making a pitcher of pina coladas when the doorbell rang. I was
already on edge, and I jumped and gave an involuntary squeak at the first ring.
Tina shot me an amused glance.
   "Nervous?"
   My mouth was dry. I could only nod. She turned back to the blender and shook
the rest of the coconut milk into it.
   "Get over it. Answer the door."
   I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror as I walked down the main hallway to
the front door. My eyes were sunken with exhaustion from the sleepless night
before, and I had an angry new pimple on the tip of my nose.
   Great. Just great.
   In a fever of nervous tension I began compulsively rehearsing my greeting.
The whole situation felt like it was swiftly teetering out of control; the
slightest misstep could mean disaster. Every little nuance, every gesture needed
to counter it perfectly. "Hi, Jesse," I murmured. Was that too relaxed sounding?
"Good afternoon." No, It was lunchtime. Damn it, what did you say to someone
when it was twelve o'clock sharp? "Hi, Jesse." Yes, that would have to do. Now,
if only I could keep the tremor out of my voice...
   I got to the door, steeled myself, took a deep breath, and opened it.
   Jesse was wearing one of those tight white tank tops; it clung to his deep
chest like a lovestruck girlfriend, leaving little of his anatomy to the
imagination. His pecs swept out and down from under his collarbones to fold in
neatly above his solar plexus, and the nipples made obscenely plump little cones
under the fabric, like a girl's. It was several seconds before I could tear my
eyes from them, and then my gaze was drawn down as if by some unseen magnetic
force to his pants.
   Not good.
   He had on jeans. Regular jeans, Levi's, a little scuffed. Not as tight as the
polyester slacks I was wearing; just tight enough to put his fucking manhood on
proud and shameless display, like it was a Ripley's Believe It Or Not! item. The
kid's cock had to be six inches long, and it wasn't even hard, unless
32-year-old balding guys turned him on. It made a bulge thicker than a Polish
kielbasa across the front of his right thigh. There was another bulge under it,
which buoyed his massive schlong up to even grater prominence than it would have
had otherwise: his nut sac. The thing looked to be as big as two plums in a
plastic bag...
   It occurred to me that my mouth was hanging open in dumb shock, like some
microcephalic idiot. I shut it and forced myself to look up. He was looking at
me with the same mildly amused expression of the night before.
   I felt something like a wave of vertigo for a second and leaned against the
doorway for support. Get ahold of yourself, Myron, for Christ's sake! Don't just
stand there staring at this teenaged punk's crotch; say hello!
   I opened my mouth. Out came a strange sound: something between a toad's croak
and a fledgeling sparrow's peep. He chuckled as I rubbed my throat. Come on, you
stupid, stuttering piece of shit! I smiled crookedly back at him and tried
again.
   "Hi, J-j-j--"
   "Hi, Mr. Lipshitz." He walked in, and I scuttled out of his way. By the time
I had recovered myself, he was halfway down the hall. I trotted after him,
wringing my hands. He was carrying a six pack in one hand and a leather backpack
slung loosely over one shoulder. The backpack, of course, would be for his towel
and swimsuit. I couldn't let myself think about it.
   I wouldn't think about it.
   He walked with an easy, careless swagger in his hips to the stairwell,
glanced right, then turned left, heading straight toward the kitchen.
   I had caught up to him by this time and made several efforts to dart in front
of him, but his body was too broad to slide past. Tina was just pouring the pina
coladas when we entered. She looked up and gave him a smile like sunshine.
   "Jesse!"
   He dropped the backpack and the beers into my arms as she hurried to him. I
walked unsteadily to the refrigerator and busied myself putting the beers in to
cool.
   I didn't want to see it. Didn't want to see her put her arms around him...
   ...holding him...
   ...pressing her ripe young body against his.
   By the time I turned around they had parted again, but the glow in their
faces was painful enough.
   "Well!" she sang. "Let's get changed and go for a swim, shall we?"
   "What," I asked, laughing, "already?!" It came out sounding a little too
loud, a little too harsh, and they both looked at me strangely. I laughed again,
trying for a careless, jocular attitude, but the laugh was tinged with hysteria.
   Tina looked puzzled and annoyed.
   "Why not?" she said.
   "Yeah," said Jesse. He leaned against the kitchen counter next to her, his
fabulously unlikely crotch on proud display. "I don't know about you, Mr.
Lipshitz, but I'm hot."
   I gritted my teeth and attempted a small smile.
   "Mmm. You LOOK hot," Tina said. She actually wiped her fingertips across his
forehead -- quick and casual, but the air was instantly charged with sexual
electricity. Then she turned to me, fidgeting eagerly, her sweet tits jiggling
in her blouse. "Doesn't he, Myron? I'm hot, too."
   She was too stupid to knowingly make a double entendre. They both were.
Still, it was almost too much. My insides were curdling with jealousy and
downright hatred for both of them. The smile on my face felt more rigid, more
false with each second that passed.
   "Well," I sneered, "if YOU'RE hot, and HE's hot, then by all means, let's go
swimming."
   He went into the guest bedroom upstairs to change. I followed Tina into the
master bedroom. Once the door was closed I grabbed her by the arm. She frowned,
then glared at me and jerked out of my grasp. I was panting heavily by now.
   "What the fuck is wrong with you, Myron?!"
   I actually grinned at her.
   "What the fuck is wrong with ME? You think I'm STUPID? You think I don't know
what's going ON?" My face felt hot and swollen. I wasn't shouting, but the
corners of my mouth were damp with spit. "I know what's going on, Tina! You and
J-j-j-j... J-j-j--"
   Then she did something totally unexpected.
   She fastened her lips onto mine. Her hands reached up, gripped my ears, and
pulled my mouth against hers with an almost painful passion.
   I was so stunned I didn't even respond. It lasted perhaps five seconds. Not
long. But long enough to leave me speechless, gaping stupidly at her. She stared
back at me, her green gold-flecked eyes boring into mine with hypnotic
intensity. Then she gave me a smile -- a faint, cryptic smile.
   "Everything's going to be all right, Myron."
   I watched her as she stripped and pulled on her white bikini, the one with
the thong bottom. Then she rummaged in my things until she found my own swimming
trunks, the baggy red ones. I was as docile as a child while she undid my shoes
and pulled my pants and shirt off. Like a microcephalic idiot I stared dumbly at
the knuckle-sized dickhead hiding between my legs as Tina worked the trunks up
and over my skinny hips.
   Then she took my hand and led me back down to the kitchen, where we picked up
our drinks, and then to the pool.
   Jesse was there already, his pina colada in one hand, rubbing sunscreen on
himself with the other, and the sight of him broke my happy little trance into a
million pieces, and then incinerated them just to be sure. I was wide awake in a
second.
   This kid was absolutely fucking obscene.
   Yes, there was his torso. I knew it would look good, and it did look good:
his smooth, flawless, almost pornographic chest, the ripe pink nipples, his
abdomen muscular but all of it covered with the faintest abiding layer of
adolescent fat...
   But that wasn't the issue. It was an issue, to be sure, but it wasn't THE
issue.
   He had on a blue Speedo, only the thing had to have been customized by
Speedo, Inc., to hold his massive balls and penis. Actually it didn't quite
manage to hold everything in. There was a brief interlude of naked space at
either side of his crotch where the swelling of his genitals was just too much
for the stretchy fabric to do its God-damned job. And stretching a little past
the edges of either gap was a smooth, pale burgeoning of seventeen-year-old
flesh.
   It wasn't his cock. No, that monstrous slab of cockmeat, thick as a baby's
arm, was outlined clearly enough. I could see it filling the front of his suit;
in fact, I could even see that our cute little busboy friend was uncircumcised.
The naked flesh I was seeing was his fucking scrotum, bulging out the sides of
his inadequate suit like an overloaded sperm bank.
   It took only an instant to take all this in. But in that instant the spell
Tina had cast on me with her bedroom kiss was shattered. I sank, utterly
exhausted and demoralized, into a chair and stared dully at this young, golden,
hypersexed sun-god. Tina, too, was staring.
   And he was staring at her.
   Slowly I raised my eyes to look at my wife. My young, stupid, desperate wife.
Now that another man (well, a kid) was looking at her, I saw her in a fresh new
light -- the same light I had seen her in the first time we met. Her skin
positively glowed, like pale sweet cream butter. There was a smell, too; could
he possibly smell it? I could: a subtle warm floral smell that said "I am as
perfect now as I will ever be."
   And yet that fresh virginal innocence was tempered with something
knowledgeable... Something smilingly degenerate... Something wicked.
   Part of it was her body. Her ass had smothered my face several hundred times
now, and yet its high, eager curves were as mysteriously bewitching as ever, and
the thong bikini bottom left absolutely nothing to the imagination. And her
tits! The cups of the bikini top clung tightly to her peach-sweet breasts,
exposing every succulent curve.
   Only now I noticed something about them I hadn't noticed a minute before: her
nipples were popping out like freshly baked tollhouse cookies. Yes, and they
were swelling even more as I watched. She was staring, with her moist plump lips
parted, at Mister Seventeen-Year-Old Horsecock over there, and it was having
quite an effect on her.
   The horny little bitch.
   She patted me absentmindedly on the top of my head and walked over to him,
her ass twitching back and forth like a cat in its first heat.
   I watched as my wife rubbed lotion onto his knotted back and shoulders,
caressing them until they glistened in the summer sun. He drank his pina colada
in a couple of man-sized swallows while she slid her hands up and down his
smooth flanks.
   Then he set down his glass and turned around, and I watched as he worked two
good palmfuls of the greasy, fruity-smelling stuff into my wife's back in
return.
   Oh, yes. I watched. I sat there, baking in the sun, and watched them put
their hands on each other. And did she offer any sunscreen to me? Did she even
have a thought for me, Myron Lipshitz, her fucking husband, reddening up like a
boiled lobster out there?
   Well... Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. But I was in one of those weird
moods (I'm sure you know what I mean) when you're so beat-up inside that you
practically beg for more reasons to feel miserable. She came over and kneeled
next to me with the bottle, but I couldn't even look at her. I sat there with my
weak little chin tucked down into my neck and mumbled something incoherent, so
she shrugged, pecked me on the cheek, and walked back to him.
   They swam for only ten or fifteen minutes, but it seemed like hours. Jesse
executed a few perfect dives from the board. I could hear them talking and
laughing but couldn't make out the words, which of course left my mind free to
invent all sorts of things: Gosh, Jesse, look at him just sitting there staring
at us! ...Yeah, Tina -- what is he, some kind of retard?
   At one point she swam to him and put her hands on his shoulders. I gripped
the arms of my chair until my fingers hurt, then began involuntarily to rise to
my feet... I don't know what I would have done to stop them from stripping and
fucking right there in the water in front of me; I knew he could snap me in two
like a dry stick if he felt like it.
   But as it turned out he was cupping his hands together for her to place a
dainty foot in. Then he heaved upwards and she jumped at the same time, so that
her body arced a full six feet above the water before slicing back under in a
perfect backwards dive.
   Oh, yes, I watched it all.
   After a few more centuries of lively frolicking, they climbed out.
   I shambled after them, as if drugged, to the patio, where we ate pastrami
sandwiches. Well, they did. I managed a bite of mine; after that I watched in a
stupor as Jesse plowed through three of them.
   Then Tina snapped me out of it. Yes, lovely little Tina. I could certainly
depend on sweet little Tina to shatter my complacency.
   "Well, guys," she said, "let's talk about last night."
   Something tightened inside my chest and I squirmed in my seat. Did she have
to do this? Did she have to rub it in my face like this? Please, God, I prayed,
let the phone ring, let the house catch on fire. I want this punk out. Gone.
Jesse looked perfectly comfortable, of course, sprawled on the chair, arms and
legs akimbo. That's right, asshole. Take it easy. Eat my food. Swim in my pool.
   And stare at my wife a little more, while you're at it.
   "Jesse," she asked tenderly, "how do you get by? Do you live with your
folks?"
   "Nah," he said, popping the tab off a can of beer. "I been livin' on my own
since I was fourteen."
   "Fourteen?"
   "Uh huh." He was rubbing the can back and forth across his chest, leaving a
trail of moisture streaked across the ripe swell of flesh. Fourteen, huh? Boo
fucking hoo. His parents probably kicked him out for being a lazy
good-for-nothing.
   "Paying rent? Bills?"
   "Sure. Me and my buddies, you know, we share a little apartment. It's fuckin'
expensive in this town, though, no matter how many folks you squeeze in."
   Awww. Poor little baby.
   "Hm." She gazed at him for a few seconds, then turned to me. "Did you hear
that, Myron?"
   "I'm sitting right here, darling. Of course I heard it."
   "You've never had to work a day in your life, have you? Never had to worry
about bills. Never had to worry about making the rent."
   "Now, Tina, I--"
   "Don't interrupt me," she said coldly. "And don't try to deny it. You were
born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have no idea what it's like to work
for a living. Struggling to make ends meet. To have to choose between feeding
yourself or having electricity. To worry about getting evicted because you were
late getting the landlord's check in the mail. Well, it's not easy. In fact it
sucks."
   She turned back to Jesse, who was now lazily caressing his belly with the
can.
   "And Jesse. Poor thing. I hope you've recovered fully from Myron's... little
tantrum?"
   Bitch!
   "Sure," he said. "The place sucked anyway. Bunch of fags. But, uh, thanks for
asking, Mrs. Lipshitz."
   An odd look crossed her face, the expression of someone who's just realized
they tracked dogshit across the living room carpet; then she recovered her poise
and smiled sweetly at him.
   "Jesse," she said with a laugh, "you can call me Tina."
   "Okay."
   "I mean... I'm not much older than you are. How old are you, anyway?"
   "Seventeen."
   "Mmmm. I'm eighteen."
   "No shit?" He shook his head, grinning. "You act older. I thought you were in
your mid-twenties or something, but still real tight, you know? That's what I
thought when I first saw you at the table there. 'Damn, this bitch is tight.'
You know?"
   My jaw dropped. This smirking, strutting little fuck had just referred to my
wife - my WIFE! - as a bitch. I turned to Tina with a look of outrage, but she
looked far from insulted. In fact, she was blushing a little. And the comment
about her being "tight." What the fuck was THAT supposed to mean?!
   "T-t-tight...?"
   "Yeah, dude." He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the beer against his neck.
"Tight. You know, just... tight. Like, if you see a cool bike, you're like,
'Man, that shit is tight.' You know?" He stared at me, then burst out laughing.
"What - did you think I was talkin' about her pussy?"
   Once again I was floored. He... he couldn't just say that!
   "P-p-p--"
   "Eighteen, huh? How old are you, dude?"
   I cleared my throat. Not that it was any of this little punk's business, but
I didn't want to risk upsetting Tina again.
   "Thirty-three. Listen, young man, this language isn't--"
   "Thirty-three! Whoa. So you were, like... Sixteen when she was born?" He
shook his head in wry disbelief. "Man!"
   "Fifteen," I said between clenched teeth. "I was fifteen. So what. Now,
you've said some very inappropriate--"
   "Myron," warned Tina, "don't be a grump. Now, Jesse, where was I going...?
Oh, yes. How much money were you making, on average?"
   "I dunno. I guess about seventy a night after the waiters tipped me out. So,
like, two-eighty a week, since I was workin' four nights."
   "Mm hm. Not very much for New York."
   "Sure as fuck ain't, Mrs. Lip-- I mean, Tina."
   "Do you do any work on the side?"
   "Yeah, sometimes. Me and my buddies sell a little pot now and then, you know,
for fun money."
   Pot? Was he talking about marijuana? Jesus, the kid was a drug dealer! He
sucked down the last of his beer, crushed the can in his hand, tossed it over
his shoulder, and popped open another one. Looked like he was an alcoholic, too.
   "And, like, if I'm really hard up? Sometimes I go down to the park where the
fags hang out and jerk off for cash."
   Even Tina was temporarily speechless. I couldn't believe it. This kid was a
walking, talking social services case. Morally depraved. Criminal. Surely Tina,
smitten though she seemed to be, could see that now. He needed to be kept under
close surveillance, his movements tightly controlled, either in jail or a group
home. Maybe I could make a few calls.
   "Yeah. Fags always seem to have a lot of money, you know?" He glanced at me,
and I flushed. "So they'll pay you for all sorts of stupid shit. Just get it
hard and stroke it and blow a load and they'll pay thirty bucks. Some guys let
the little faggots touch their cocks, you know, or suck them off, but not me.
Only a woman's gonna touch my cock."
   Tina licked her lips.
   "I see. And... how much can you make in a week... um... masturbating?"
   "Well, it's not weekly, you know? I mean, it's not something I necessarily
like doing or anything. Fuck, I hate those fags. I'd just as soon beat the crap
out of them and take the money. But I got in trouble once for doing that; I
busted this one queer's nose and I spent, like, a month in juvenile. And
juvenile sucks shit. It's just like prison for big boys, you know? Guys raping
other guys or stickin' each other. Course, I can protect myself and all."
   "I'm sure," murmured Tina.
   "But still. So these days I keep my hands to myself, as it were." He laughed
at his own joke. "And it's pretty rare. But, like, in a night? Fuck, I can make
a hundred and fifty bucks."
   A hundred and fifty bucks? There was a pregnant silence as Jesse sucked at
his beer again. That meant...
   Five times. This kid could jerk off five times in a night.
   Fucking Christ.
   "And do you think you'll be... masturbating... to help you get through this
financial crisis?"
   "Sure."
   "All right," said Tina shakily. "So. What I'm getting at is this. Myron, we
need to pay him some kind of recompense."
   "Huh?!"
   "Well, of course we do. You don't want this poor boy to have to sell drugs
and debase himself with all those nasty faggots, do you?"
   "No, but--"
   "All right then. Two eighty a week from Le Bernardin... plus, um, jack-off
money -- one hundred and fifty dollars a night, seven nights a week, comes to--"
   "Now, darling," I protested.
   Jesse lifted his eyebrows.
   "What, you think I can't do the park thing seven nights a week?"
   I laughed harshly.
   "Frankly, young man, I don't--"
   "Fuck yeah, I can! You don't believe me?" He gave me a stupidly pugnacious,
aggressive look. But I'd had enough of this foul-mouthed talk. Enough! Enough
about his cock, and how many times he could cum in a night! And enough with the
language, for crying out loud! My wife was not a "bitch." Well, sometimes she
was; but she was not "tight." Well... in any case this had all gone far enough.
The kid was crazy. He needed help.
   "Look, Jesse, I--"
   "You want me to prove it to you?" He sucked down the rest of his beer,
crushed the can, tossed it, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'll do
it right now. I'll pull it out and jerk off five times in a row right here!"
   The statement was so wildly improbable I couldn't believe he had said it; I
could only gape at the big bastard in shock as he reared up, treating myself and
my wife to an eye-level view of the big, heavy mound in his swimsuit. He
actually puffed his chest out, as if he were one of those ridiculous animals,
like a turkey tom or a peacock, that tries to prove its reproductive worthiness
with a display of feathers. Tina was wide-eyed; we were both speechless.
   And believe it or not, the crazy, drug-dealing son-of-a-bitch started tugging
on the cord of his overburdened Speedo.
   I gripped the arms of my chair so hard my knuckles turned white. Little spots
danced in front of my eyes. An incoherent growling sound came out of my mouth.
   He saw the look on my face. He knew I was about to lose it.
   And he laughed at me.
   "Relax, dude." He sat back down, opened a third can of beer. "I was just
joking. You think I'm gonna haul my cock out and start beating off in front of
your wife, with you standing right there? You're fuckin' nuts."
   My mouth twitched a couple of times; I had a sudden nervous tic under my eye,
too, fluttering wildly. Someone needed to call 911 and get this sick hooligan
out of my house. But first I was going to give this sneering, trash-talking punk
a piece of my mind. I got to my feet.
   "That's IT!" I shouted, slamming my fist onto the table. "This has gone far
enough. Jesse, you--"
   "Thirteen thirty," Tina announced triumphantly.
   It was as if she had clapped her dainty, well-manicured hand over my mouth.
Thirteen thirty? What the fuck was she talking about? And how dare she interrupt
me?! I had completely lost my train of thought.
   "We owe him one thousand three hundred and thirty dollars a week."
   "Now that's--"
   "You thought I was serious," laughed Jesse.
   "What--?"
   "Jerk off in front of you guys!" He laughed louder. "Totally fuckin' crazy."
   "Young man--"
   "Darling? Make him out a check, would you?"
   "Look--"
   "Now of course you could pay me for it," Jesse said.
   "For--?"
   "Jerking my cock. You could pay me thirty bucks and I'd do it."
   "Stop--"
   "The checkbook is upstairs, I think, darling."
   "But--"
   "Special two-for-one double-dip deal. Thirty for both of you."
   "No--"
   "Plus I'll throw in a facial for Tina, there. Whoa! Just jokin', dude!"
   "You--"
   "It comes to five thousand three hundred and twenty a month."
   "STOP!!!"
   They stopped.
   Silence. Thank heavens for the silence. I was panting by this time, pouring
sweat, completely disoriented. All I knew was that things had gone very, very
wrong. Jesse was the cause. And so Jesse -- this oversexed, vulgar, mentally
imbalanced little heathen -- was going to have to leave. Now.
   "You. You," I croaked, pointing at Jesse. I was so distraught the words felt
strange to my tongue, alien. "You go. You go. Now."
   "What about my fucking money?"
   "No. No money. You go!"
   And with that I staggered inside. I was feeling suddenly sick. Very sick. I
upset the pina colada pitcher in my unsteady haste, heard it shatter on the
floor behind me, crashed through the main hall, up the stairs... and made it to
the master bathroom just in time to puke my guts out, again and again, until my
belly ached.
   Afterwards I stayed there, shivering violently, resting my head on the toilet
rim. What had they been doing to me out there? The non-stop remarks from both
sides at once, so that I was kept spinning this way and that... out of
control... unable to respond... Like that children's game, what the fuck was it
called - monkey in the middle? I remembered it from grade school days: two kids
with a ball, tossing it back and forth, back and forth over the head of the
"monkey" who jumps up and down trying to get it from them...
   Or like fending off a pack of wild dogs. I remembered suddenly a National
Geographic special I'd seen about wild dogs of the Kalahari. How they'd surround
an animal, nipping and barking at it from all sides. The animal would turn to
fend off one, only to feel another dog's teeth sink into its heel... Until it
was exhausted and sank clumsily to the ground...
   And the dogs moved in for the kill.
   My gorge rose again. I dry-heaved into the basin, then fainted.


A New Boarder

   It's going to sound ridiculous, but within four hours Jesse had moved in with
us.
   I know, I know. Didn't Myron Lipshitz call for silence, and get it? And did
he not order Jesse to vacate the premises at once?
   Well, yes. I did those things. But you married men will understand when I say
that, with a wife in the picture, your authority doesn't count for much. A man's
home is his castle, and I suppose my home was more like a castle than most; but
this castle had a queen, and Queen Tina had a mind of her own.
   She found me huddled in the fetal position on the bathroom tiles, still
shivering.
   "Darling? I'm not letting Jesse leave this house until you agree to pay him a
weekly allowance."
   "...no... I can't..."
   "Then you leave me with no alternative." She folded her arms and looked down
at me coldly. "He's staying here until he can get back on his feet."
   It was a clever trap; I hadn't seen it coming. I shook my head, I tried to
argue with her; but she ignored me and listed all the reasons I owed it to him -
not only had I cost him his job, but my financial status obligated me to take
care of those unable to fend for themselves. The house was too big for only two
people. He could be handy around the place. The list went on and on.
   "...he's fucking crazy," I moaned. "Drugs... jail... kid needs professional
help. Group home or something... Tina, I think I'm sick..."
   "Now, Myron. A sensitive kid like Jesse would languish in an impersonal
environment like that of a group home. He needs tender loving care. He needs to
be nursed back to wholeness in a stable home."
   "...oh, God... I feel like shit... Pay him, then. You win, okay? You win...
Pay him the money --"
   "No."
   I goggled at her, still shivering.
   "No, darling. You're exactly right, now that I think of it; he needs help.
God only knows what he'd do with the money. The poor thing would just get
himself into trouble."
   "...please... help me up--"
   "Don't." She raised her hand. "Don't you dare. Don't you try to guilt-trip
me, Myron Lipshitz." She practically spat my name out, staring down at me with a
look of barely suppressed rage. And despite my gastrointestinal upset I was
dazzled. She was so forceful, so... so compelling. And, I was coming to realize,
so incredibly fucking beautiful when she was angry.
   "You can lie there and whine about being sick all you want. Go ahead and be
sick, Myron. In your fancy little bathroom, in your multi-million dollar
mansion. It's always about Myron, isn't it?" she hissed. "It's always 'Tina do
this' and 'Tina do that.' Whining, complaining, like a spoiled little brat, and
when you don't get your way you sulk or pretend to be ill. Just like a child, I
swear to God!"
   Her green eyes were ablaze, her cheeks flushed pink with passion. I could
only watch fearfully from my prone position on the floor at her feet.
   "Well, no more. You're going to start treating me with respect, Myron, or
this relationship is over, do you understand? A real man knows how to
compromise. How to give a little. Are you a real man, Myron? Huh?" She crouched
on the floor beside me. "Don't just lie there. Answer me. Are you man enough to
make this relationship work?"
   All the energy left me. I let my head drop against the tiles with a painful
clunk and stared at her shoes. Yes, I thought, it was true. I was a whiner. A
spoiled brat.
   And I found myself weeping.
   I couldn't stop. I'd had no time whatsoever to process the lightning-quick
changes that had occurred in my life over the last twenty-four hours, and it
felt like my world was falling apart, and I cried and cried.
   "Hush, darling. There, there. You don't need to cry. Mama's here."
   I sobbed harder.
   "Okay. Mmmm. Stop it, now."
   The tears kept coming.
   "That's enough, Myron!"
   With an effort I fought back the convulsive sobbing.
   "T-t-tina? I just... I just can't handle all this."
   "Mm."
   "If he stays... Could it just be for a little while?"
   I was rewarded with a smile. Good! I had won back her affections. The smile
grew, spreading wider, and her eyes positively glowed. She got back to her feet,
looking down at me and grinning like the Cheshire cat.
   It was a smile of victory.


Barbarian Invasion

   I spent the rest of the day in bed. Tina would have brought me "some pepto
bismol or ginger ale or whatever," she explained, but she felt that getting
Jesse moved in as soon as possible was a priority for now. And, of course, I
understood. He might be crazy, I told myself. He might be a foul-mouthed,
vulgar, even dangerous teenager. But he needed our help. I'd been a pig, a
shameless pig, for reading some kind of sexual interest into Tina's relationship
with him. Thank God she'd given me that little talk! She was going to teach me
about caring. About giving.
   I had a lot to learn.
   And, after all, the sooner our young friend got better, the sooner he'd be
able to move back into his own apartment. I decided then and there that I was
going to help him to "wholeness," as Tina had put it so eloquently. I would be
there for him, talk to him. Hang out with him. Of course, that meant I'd have to
get used to his coarse speech; that I'd have to be willing to overlook his
overheated sexuality, and not undermine my ability to help him by getting into
some useless jealousy game. Sure, he was a gorgeous young stud. And, yes, he had
a certain vitality that I lacked. But Myron Lipshitz was learning about being a
real man, about the power of compromise. And Myron Lipshitz was going to
compromise in every way possible.
   By seven o'clock I felt well enough to wobble downstairs. I found them in the
living room, curled up on the sofa together. Tina looked slightly guilty when I
walked in; perhaps she felt badly for not having given me much attention while I
lay upstairs in bed. Oh, sweet Tina! She had nothing to feel bad about; I was
the one who needed to make amends.
   "Jesse," I announced, "I feel that I owe you an apology."
   Tina sat up and watched me, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. Jesse looked
dumbfounded for a second, then settled back in his chair, an insolent grin on
his face, waiting.
   "I guess I've been making a real fool of myself," I admitted. Tina raised her
eyebrows. "First with my silly little outburst at the restaurant last night. And
then again, today, by the side of the pool. Well, I want you to know that I'm
man enough to admit when... Um..." It seemed important to me to communicate with
him on his level. I racked my brains for the right word. "When I've acted like
a... a `fucking dipshit?' Is that..."
   He laughed, shaking his head in amazement.
   "Sure, dude. A dipshit. Wow."
   "Is that your assessment?"
   "Yeah, that's my assessment. Or, like, a prissy little fag."
   "Right," I chuckled, nodding. "Right. A prissy little fag. Well, I'm sorry."
   "Yeah. Jesus Christ... Well, don't sweat it, Mr. Lipshitz. Apology accepted,
and all that crap."
   I swelled with pride. "Call me Myron."
   His things were already in the guest room. James, the butler, had driven
Jesse back and forth across the city a few times to get them and looked somewhat
shaken by the experience. I laughed ruefully to myself. How well I knew what
he'd gone through with this poor, fucked-up kid! Juanita, the cook, had prepared
a feast for us at Tina's bidding: Cornish hen, scalloped potatoes, a salad of
wild greens... I was unable to eat much but I watched with satisfaction as Jesse
wolfed down his food.
   "By the way, Myron," Tina said, "I've given most of the staff the next three
weeks off, Juanita included. I think it will help Jesse feel more at home here
if we act as a family, cooking for each other, doing the dishes, making the
beds, and so on."
   "Of course, dear!"
   Jesse belched and tossed down rest of his third beer. He and Tina had
finished their food, so I volunteered to bring the plates to the sink. The look
of satisfaction in my sweet Tina's eyes was reward enough, let me tell you; and
I was treated to more of the same when I began washing them.
   Our guest swaggered into the living room to watch TV, and Tina hurried over
as I struggled to get the dishes clean.
   "Myron, this is great," she whispered. "He was telling me some things about
his family. What a bunch of animals! His father especially. Just a terribly
abusive man. Apparently the guy never did anything around the house, just sat
around drinking and bossing Jesse's mother around, and beating her and Jesse
when he was mad... I think it's going to be an incredible healing experience for
him to see you take on a more feminine role."
   She kissed me on the cheek.
   "I'm very proud of you, darling."
   I was practically floating as she walked off to join him.
   James, the last of the remaining staff, came into the kitchen with his
suitcase to say goodbye. Actually he wished me luck. He looked uneasy, but I
just chuckled and reassured him that I had everything under control.
   Over the next week or so we slowly adjusted to this new way of life. It
wasn't easy, let me tell you. In fact, there were times when I thought I'd go
crazy. First of all, the kid had the manners of a Viking on a raid. He was
constantly making inappropriate jokes about sex; he was cheerfully racist; and
he tended to treat me with a familiarity bordering on contempt.
   He was also incredibly messy. It seemed like I was always picking up crushed
beer cans, dirty socks, and plates and cups and bowls (he had an unbelievable
appetite). And of course all along I was working harder than I had ever worked
in my life. I learned how to cook, how to do the laundry, how to vacuum and dust
and make beds and mop floors... Sometimes I fell to my knees, exhausted, and
rested my head on the refrigerator to cool down a little. All for his sake,
which he didn't seem to understand.
   But then my precious Tina would give me a little smile, and my heart would
skip a beat, and I knew I could handle it. Anything for Tina.
   Tina... That was the hardest part, I think. Jesse was obviously interested in
her. He stared openly at her tits and ass, and commented frequently about how
"hot" she was. He was vain, too; strutting around in his Speedo or biking shorts
or boxers like an ad for some exercise machine, flexing his incredible body,
and, most offensively, spreading his legs for her to brandish his unbelievable
bulging manhood at every opportunity. And I couldn't help but notice that she
was looking.
   "Well, of course I'm looking," she explained patiently one night. "I mean,
darling, he's trying to get my attention. He wants my approval."
   "But--"
   "And I think he needs that approval, Myron. He's a high-school drop-out with
a criminal record. Right now, the only thing he's got going for him is that...
that incredible, hard young body of his. And I think it's my responsibility to
admire his body, if it makes him feel better about himself."
   "But..." I took a deep breath. "But it makes me feel..."
   She laughed. "Myron Lipshitz! Are you jealous?"
   We talked about it for a while, and though she insisted that I was imagining
things, that I had "serious trust issues," she had to acknowledge that, right or
not, it drove me crazy. So she suggested that I take a break when being around
Jesse brought up feelings of "inadequacy," as she put it.
   I didn't like it, I'll tell you that. I couldn't tell what was worse -
watching Jesse take every opportunity to display his overdeveloped body for my
admiring wife, or retreating to the bedroom, where my imagination ran wild with
thoughts of the two of them grappling on the living room floor like animals.
More often than not, I chose to take a break. It felt safer.
   There were times, though, and they were coming with increasing frequency,
when I felt a real sense of serenity about the two of them.
   I'd be wiping off sticky puddles of stale beer from the poolside table, and
the two of them would stroll outside, dressed in their skimpy swimsuits, ready
for a cooling plunge. She'd come up to me and put her hand on my shoulder.
   "Can you handle it, sweetheart?" she'd whisper, with a look of tender
concern.
   And at those times I would smile and nod. "Go ahead," I'd tell her. "Just
forget about me."
   And the sight of my supple, slippery wife wrestling in the water with this
stud in permanent rut, or of their glistening, practically naked bodies curled
up together on the big family-sized inflatable raft, made me feel oddly
satisfied. Yes, I could handle it. I was a real man, and a real man could handle
this with ease.
   Of course, a real man wouldn't spend hours lying next to his wife without
once getting even the semblance of a hard-on.
   Yes, my miniscule "manhood" was as incapable of achieving and maintaining an
erection as ever. To be perfectly fair, at the end of a long day I was generally
too tired to think about sex anyway. I was so exhausted by the time I crawled
into bed that I could scarcely move, but Tina seemed to be enjoying my tongue
more than ever. Moments after my head hit the pillow she would pound her firm,
round rear on my face. I submitted to her desires readily enough; frenching her
ass made me feel like I had something to give her that most real men would have
been repulsed by.
   And it turned her on more than ever. Her pussy was just gushing, every time.
   Thick, white, and creamy.


The All-Star Workout

   Jesse was a work-out fiend. His body seemed to burn calories like a furnace,
which meant not only that he was always eating, but that he was in motion all
the time, constantly looking for some way to relieve his boundless energy.
   A few years ago I'd had a gym installed in the basement. It was essentially a
rec room, complete with a bar and kitchenette, a sportsbar TV screen with a
video projector, a pool table, and the like. Of course, I never used the gym
equipment myself; it was there for me, though, whenever I felt ready to use it.
   But he put it to work right away. He was down there often, bench-pressing a
couple hundred pounds at a time, working the cables and pulleys and flex-bars of
the machines like they were children's toys, his muscles jumping and sliding
together effortlessly under his fair skin. Tina often accompanied him downstairs
to watch, or keep count, and I'd follow along, watching discreetly from the
kitchenette as I fixed him and Tina lunch, or running upstairs to get a pitcher
of lemonade and some glasses when he was done.
   One day Jesse told me to give the machines a try. I had to indulge him, of
course; Tina wouldn't have had it any other way. But they were set for him, not
for me, and the machines might as well have been solid steel; I couldn't budge
any of them, and wound up panting, red in the face, as Tina and Jesse laughed
openly at my efforts. After catching my breath I laughed sheepishly with them.
   "What a fuckin' wimp!" he chuckled.
   I nodded, grinning ruefully.
   "Really, Myron," my wife chimed in, grinning, "you need to shape up."
   Thus was born the most difficult part of his stay with us to date:
   Wrestling Night.
   As a kid Jesse and his friends had been big fans of televised championship
wrestling. I'd never been particularly interested in the sight of those big apes
hurling each other around the ring, but Jesse had been an avid student of this
"art;" he'd subscribed to several magazines, which, along with a few biographies
of men with names like The Undertaker and Sir Smackdown, had comprised the whole
of his reading experience; and he had worked out the various moves with his
friends long before any of them had seen the inside of a gym. They'd gather in
an empty lot, or in the living room of one of their houses, and stomp, choke,
strongarm, and otherwise mangle one another for hours.
   He wanted to introduce me to the same regimen. He was quite excited about it,
really. I was a little apprehensive, of course; I mean, I was the classic
ninety-pound weakling, and what chance did I have against a superb young jock
like Jesse? But Tina backed him up. It wasn't about winning, she told me; it was
about getting in shape.
   And privately, she reminded me that I needed to help give Jesse a sense of
empowerment.
   "This is his idea," she insisted. "And we're going to honor and respect his
ideas, however silly they might sound to you."
   And so, night after night, I'd set out the mats, and he'd proceed to teach
me, with Tina as our audience.
   It was hell. I felt, quite literally, like a ball of putty in his hands. It
didn't help any that Tina was cheerleading him from the sidelines, hollering her
approval as he put me in yet another headlock, crushed my face to the floor, or
wrenched my legs behind my head. Night after night I staggered after him to the
rec room, still sore from the previous night's exertions, and struggled futilely
as he demonstrated the banana split, the guillotine, the leg whip, the torture
rack, and the atomic drop. Each session ended when I was forced to beg for
mercy.
   He took a real delight in these little work-outs of ours, and so did Tina.
And on a certain level, of course, so did I. It was good to see him enjoying
himself; every time I did something to please him I knew I was pleasing Tina, as
well. And it was oddly satisfying to give in to him, as much as my body might be
screaming soundlessly with the pain of a new hold. He must have been developing
a kind of affection for me, I reasoned after these sessions, or he wouldn't
press himself against me like that, bearing down on my crumpled body with his
warm, sweating thighs and torso...
   Crushing my ribcage with his powerful arms...
   Straddling my shoulders as I scrabbled ineffectually at the floor with my
spindly arms, and gasped as that tremendous mound between his legs pressed into
the back of my neck...
   And at the end I'd limp painfully upstairs to soak in the tub, shivering
violently with some strange emotion I couldn't name.


The Walls Come A-tumblin' Down

   Jesse had been our guest for two weeks when the shit hit the fan.
   It was two nights before my 33rd birthday, and I guess I was feeling more
sensitive than I usually would have. They were finishing the creme brulee I had
labored over, whispering and giggling together like a couple of kids as I
sweated over the pots and pans. Creme brulee is a simple custard; it contains
only three ingredients - heavy cream, egg yolks, and powdered sugar. But it's a
labor of love and has to be prepared the night before so that it can cool in the
refrigerator. A little acknowledgment would have been nice. Still, I tried hard
to keep my feelings of annoyance at bay as I scrubbed the remains of the trout
almondine from the baking pan. It was all-important to keep him happy.
   "Hey, fuckface!"
   I stiffened. Really, this name-calling was not necessary. Not at all.
   "Heads up!"
   And I turned just in time to see a generous handful of custard hurtling
through the air toward me.
   After hours slaving away in the kitchen, preparing coq au vin and crab a la
russe, Caesar salad, potatoes au gratin, and mushroom soup, I didn't have the
reflexes needed to duck; the best I could manage was a look of comical
stupefaction in the split second before the sticky, creamy stuff burst across my
nose and cheeks.
   Impossible.
   It trickled down to drip from my chin. I stood there, stock-still, eyes
closed, mouth open in mute shock, with hunks of creme brulee dropping onto my
shoes. Slowly, unable even to draw a breath, I opened my eyes.
   Tina was whooping with laughter, and Jesse was practically crying, he was
laughing so hard.
   With an effort my wife mastered her mirth. "You..." whimpered Tina, pointing
at me, "you..." Then she exploded with laughter again, leaning against Jesse for
support.
   Putting her hands on that big, firm chest.
   He had gotten over the worst of it by now. Wiping his eyes, still shaking a
little, he draped one big, solid arm over my wife's shoulders and smiled at me
-- a golden, mocking smile. She snuggled into him, biting her lower lip, eyes
shining, trying not to laugh at the sight of her husband standing there with a
pale mask of creamy custard decorating his face.
   My mouth opened and shut, but no sound came out; the outrage, the effrontery
was too great. I had been rendered utterly speechless.
   But for the first time in weeks, I, Myron Lipshitz, was angry.
   "Oh, man, that was great," said Jesse. And he pulled my wife a little closer
to him. "What a blast! I fuckin' LOVE it here, dude! I mean, where the fuck else
am I gonna find someone like you? It's like having a maid, a cook, and a fuckin'
clown, all wrapped up in one. With a mansion and a pool, no less. And a wife..."
   He turned to her. To my wife.
   And he stroked her cheek.
   I opened my mouth again. Still, no sound came out. The grinning, jeering
little bastard had just creamed me with a dripping handful of the dessert I had
spent hours preparing. He had referred to me, his host, as "fuckface." In my
house. Mine! And now...
   "Fuckin'-A, dude!" he exclaimed reverently, staring at her. "You've got a
wife like a Hustler centerfold. Peaches `n cream... God DAMN!"
   "Oh, Jesse," she chided teasingly. And she snuggled a little closer, still
watching me. There was something else in her eyes now, too, not just amusement
at her poor slob of a husband, but something deeper. Darker. The look in her
eyes was like a challenge, a dare.
   And while my blood pounded ever more loudly in my ears, while my hands began
to tremble, Jesse kept his mouth running.
   "Yeah, baby, you look good enough to eat, you know that? Huh?" He sniffed
her. He actually sniffed at her, like some kind of animal. "I can smell it." He
grinned broadly. "I can smell you, baby. Mmmm."
   She smiled coyly at me. An odd little choking noise pushed itself past my
clenched teeth.
   "Myron?" she purred. "Are you going to let him talk to me like that?"
   "Hell, yeah, he will," Jesse crowed. "He's not gonna do a thing. He likes it.
He's all about hospitality and shit. Hey, fuckface," he sneered, "whaddaya say?
When you finish wiping your face off, maybe you can go upstairs and get the bed
ready."
   My left eyelid fluttered rapidly. I clenched my teeth and felt the beginnings
of a word, at last.
   "...gng..."
   "Yeah. And that maybe while I'm fucking your wife, you can bring me a beer--"
   "Get."
   It was my voice. High-pitched, strangled, but mine.
   He lifted his eyebrows. "Huh?" he said. "What? Did you say something to me,
fuckface?"
   "Out."
   The good humor left his face entirely.
   I raised a trembling hand to my dripping face and wiped off what I could.
Myron Lipshitz had just come up with a complete sentence; one that expressed
very neatly his most immediate desires. This was good. Now, to try and convey a
little more.
   "I," I said hoarsely.
   It sounded good, and I decided to repeat it for good measure.
   "I. I am not." I took a deep, shuddering breath and released it. "Not. A
maid."
   "Ooooh," he said in a voice of mock admiration. "Little bitchy-poo is
standing up for himself all of a sudden. Gettin' uppity--"
   "Not," I went on in a trembling voice, and took a step forward, my hands
working convulsively at my sides. "Not. A clown."
   "Oh, yeah?"
   "Not," I continued, "a clown--"
   Lightning quick, his hand had dipped into the bowl of creme brulee and
whipped out another handful; and for the second time, custard exploded across my
face.
   There was no laughter this time. Tina gasped, but not with anger or shock; it
was more a kind of gleeful apprehension. She was looking at me expectantly.
   "Not a clown, huh?" he snickered.
   My head twitched once. Twice. Another dollop of thick custardy goo splapped
onto the floor from my chin.
   Then I turned and walked unsteadily to the phone, and called 911.
   "Who ya callin', fuckface?"
   I licked the creme brulee from my lips. Quite tasty, really. An unearthly
calm had come over me. The dispatcher answered after the second ring.
   "Yes," I said in a very quiet tone of voice. "It's an emergency."
   Pause.
   "There's an intruder in my house. He's dangerous."
   Pause.
   "Yes. Right away. Please."
   I hung up the phone and turned around. They were both staring at me. That's
it, I thought, stare at me.
   "You didn't think I could do it," I whispered. "You didn't think I could do
it. But I did it." I laughed, a slightly manic laugh, but full, also, of relief.
"It's over!" I shouted happily, cream dripping from my nose. "It's all over! The
cops are coming. And I don't have to listen any more. No more comments about my
WIFE!" I glared at him and pointed a shaking finger in his direction, and
suddenly I was full of a righteous fervor, an energy I hadn't thought I
possessed. "There are no bitches here. No fuckfaces. No centerfolds. And soon,"
I hissed, "here will be no... more... JESSE!!"
   Then Jesse smiled again and stood up.
   "That," he said, "was a fucking stupid thing to do, bitch."
   I faltered. He was clearly unimpressed; in fact, he looked more utterly sure
of himself than ever. But didn't he understand?! Didn't he know when he was
beaten? I had won! I had won-
   "Myron!" snapped Tina. "Call them back. Now!"
   "N-n-no--"
   "You," he said conversationally, and he began to walk toward me, "just fucked
yourself. You know that?"
   The look of triumph left my face abruptly. I don't know what I'd thought he
would do; run into his room and lock the door, perhaps, or realize how badly
he'd messed up and begin crying, or run away into the night. I mean, it's what I
would have done. But Jesse was out of his mind; I'd forgotten that; and he was
clearly not going to do any of those things.
   And suddenly the gentle smile on his face was the most terrifying thing I'd
ever seen.
   I backed up, trembling like a leaf, until I felt the kitchen wall. And still
he kept coming. Tina. I could see Tina still on the couch, an unreadable look in
her eyes.
   "Tina!" I quavered. "Tina, help...? Please. Tell... Tell him that..."
   "Shut up," he said casually.
   He was standing next to me now. And my knees buckled. They simply folded
underneath me, and I sank down, terrified. Jesse was no boy, no average
seventeen-year-old. He towered over me, his face working terribly, big and
powerful and quite completely insane. His crotch was about four inches from my
dripping face, impossibly large. I pressed myself against the wall; I'd felt his
incredible power too many times now, been squashed against the wrestling mat
like a wriggling bug too many evenings to think I had a chance against him.
   He wrapped his big, meaty fingers around my shirtfront and hauled me to my
feet, and then up, into the air, until we were nose to nose. I was finding it
difficult to breathe, and suddenly I felt a warmth flowing down the front of my
pants. Christ, I'd pissed myself! I closed my eyes in mortification.
   Then I heard them.
   Sirens.
   I opened my eyes. He smiled even more broadly, then dropped me; I landed in a
puddle of my own urine and cowered there at his feet.
   And when I looked up he was gone.


The Reckoning

   One officer took notes while the other two walked around the house, inside
and out, to make sure Jesse had really left. I described him as best I could,
told them about the drug dealing in his past and the recent intimidation in my
own house... Tina was looking coldly at me the entire time, and when the officer
tried to question her she maintained an absolute stony silence.
   It hurt. It really did. After all that had happened, couldn't she see how
fucked up the kid was? Was she so blinded by her altruistic impulses that she
couldn't recognize a psychopath when she saw one?
   I had to turn to the officer for support, asking him for sympathy ("And then
he threw a handful of custard in my face! Is that fucked up, or what?!") while
she stared a hole through me. The officer was a professional, of course, not
about to get emotionally engaged in a domestic situation; he remained totally
noncommittal, and I was left feeling lonelier than ever.
   Tina wouldn't answer any questions. In fact she didn't say one word the
entire time they were there, and I had to excuse her, saying that the trauma had
left her speechless.
   When they left, she climbed the stairs, and I followed.
   It all broke apart in the bedroom.
   "Listen, sweetheart," I pleaded. "You saw how he was. He was out of control.
I mean, the sexual stuff... and him grabbing me like that..." I trembled,
remembering, and pulled off my wet pants. They stank. But I didn't intend to do
another load of laundry ever again, if I could help it. Tomorrow I'd call Maria
back, and James, and all the others. I peeled off my underwear, too.
   "Listen, darling, I... We'll get everything back to normal in a few days.
I'll... I'm going to change. I mean it," I insisted. "I'm going to try hard to
be the man you want me to be. I love you, angel. Cupcake? I love you so much,
and I'm... I think the sexual, you know... Our sexual relationship has obviously
not been, uh, the best it could be, and... I'm going to change that, though. I
really am. I'm going to work really hard on all my... my little problems. And I
think it will be easier now."
   She ignored me, instead looking pensively out the window.
   "Look, it's going to be better without him." I peeled off my shirt, too,
which was stained with the creme brulee he had spattered my face with, and
walked over to her. "I mean, Jesus Christ, Tina, I know what you think - you
think he's just looking for positive attention or something. But he's out of
control--"
   Her eyes flashed at that.
   "Myron," she said quietly, "shut up."
   "But--"
   "I said shut UP!" she spat. "As in shut the FUCK up!" She advanced on me,
rage in her eyes, and for the second time that evening I found myself backing
away from someone. I had never seen her quite like this. Angry, yes. Scornful.
Mocking. But not like this. So utterly pitiless. The look in her eyes...
   "You," she sneered. "The big tough guy. In your piss-soaked pants."
   I flushed.
   "Now, wait a minute--"
   "You think you're some kind of big man? Calling the police like a little
baby? And all because you can't handle a little joke."
   "Joke?! But--"
   "That's your breaking point? A little custard? Oh, my God, Myron. How
pathetic. I though you were a man," she hissed. And she jabbed her finger in my
chest, hard. I sat down with a pained little whuff! on the bed. "I thought you
knew how to handle yourself," she went on, "but I guess I was wrong. A real man
would have known what to do."
   "A real man, huh?" I was breathing hard now. I was not going to let this go
without a fight. "A real man? Tell me, Tina. Tell me what a real man would have
done."
   The hectoring little bitch.
   "Yes," she snapped, "a real man! A real man would have wiped his face off and
finished washing the dishes--"
   "-and gone upstairs and made the bed?" I suggested loudly. "Isn't that what
he said?" I got to my feet again. My head was spinning. "Go upstairs and make
the fucking bed, right? And then I could bring him a beer, right?"
   She gave me a cold little smile, and it drove me up the wall.
   "Right?!" I shouted. "Right, god damn it?! Bring him a beer while he
f-f-f..." I couldn't bring myself to say it. I tried again. "While he f-f-f--"
   She leaned close, the same cold smile on her face as before, and put her lips
to my ear.
   "While he fucks me, Myron?"
   I jerked at the words. Tina leaned back, a richly satisfied smile on her
gorgeous young face.
   "Is that what you're trying to say?" she asked sweetly. "While he fucks me?"
My wife laughed, then. Tina laughed, a bright, tinkling little laugh. "Why's
that so hard for you to say, Myron? It's just a few simple words...
   "...you stuttering dipshit."
   The last words cracked out at me like the lash of a whip. I was stunned.
   "Just a few simple words. Jesse... fucks... Tina. Is that the problem? Three
words? Is poor little Myron jealous? Hm? Poor little Myron with his poor little
pee-pee?"
   I gritted my teeth. She could not be doing this. She was angry, that was all,
and it would pass, and then we could work it out. I would not get angry at her.
I would not lose my shit. I would not -
   She stood up tall, then. And as I watched, my wife pulled her shirt over her
head. She was braless underneath, and her delightful breasts danced teasingly as
she struck a "depraved schoolgirl" sort of pose.
   I moaned.
   "Mmmm," she purred. "Poor Myron. His little wee-wee is so tiny. Even when he
sees a sexy bitch standing in front of him, he can't get a little hard-on."
   "No," I whispered.
   "Oh, yes," she cooed. She cupped them in her hands and offered them to me.
"Suck them, Myron. Suck my tits. Please. Let's see if we can make you hard.
Let's see if we can make you stiff." With a wicked smile Tina squeezed them
together so that the mouth-watering nipples jutted out, like fat, pink candies.
I clapped my hands to my crotch, where, of course, as she knew perfectly well,
Myron's "little wee-wee" was about as stiff as a mouthful of lard.
   I was deeply, desperately ashamed...
   ...and utterly furious.
   "No," I whispered again. I could feel the blood draining from my still-gooey
face as I struggled to keep a rein on my emotions.
   "Why?" She fluttered her eyelashes at me, feigning confusion. "Can't you even
get a little itty-bitty erection? No?" She leaned close again, grinning evilly.
"Not even some ass? Hm? No? Not even some of Tina's ass, you pathetic little
shitfaced ass-licker? Hm? Oh, well."
   I shivered.
   "T-t-tina--"
   "Oh!" she cried out, as if an idea had struck her. "I know! I bet I know
someone who can get a hard-on for little Tina." She laughed happily. "I know
just the person. A big, sweet, gorgeous young thing, just seventeen but - mmmmm!
-- what a hunk, what a big, hard hunk! I bet he could do it. Don't you think so,
ass-breath? Don't you think, if I let him suck my nipples, he'd get a big
fucking hard-on? Huh?" Her voice was rising. "Huh? Huh, you pathetic little
fuck? Don't you think his big fucking cock would just about pop? ...Oh. Oh,
yeah." Now she put on a sad face. "Oh, that's right. He would, I'm sure, but
he's gone. Because Myron..."
   "...tina..."
   "Poor little limp-dicked, piss-pants Myron..."
   I was shaking, wild-eyed.
   "...stop..."
   "...is just a whining, sniveling--"
   I slapped her.
   She stopped in shock. I, too, just stood there, staring in disbelief, my hand
stinging gently. Slowly a red handprint appeared on her fine china-white skin.
   What the hell had I done?
   I stood there, naked, cream drying on my face, and watched, like a statue, as
she slowly and expressionlessly turned away from me.
   I watched her drag a traveling case out from the closet.
   I watched as my wife filled it with a few things from her dresser. A pair of
underwear. A bra. A skirt. Stockings...
   I stood there, my mind a blank, as she walked into the bathroom. I listened
as she flung bottles and brushes in after her clothes.
   And I watched as my Tina, my angel, walked out the door.
   I stood there for a long time after she'd left, watching.
   Waiting.
   And at some point I guess I crawled into bed. My emotional being was
completely and utterly exhausted; I don't remember feeling angry, or sad,
anymore. I was... nothing.


A Reprieve

   I think I can safely say that the next day was the worst of my life. It
topped anything I'd felt back in the old days at Dinkendorff High School, even
the day Donny sold me the laxatives. I lay in bed, dead to the world, staring up
at the ceiling.
   Quite the real man, Myron, I told myself calmly. Hitting women. Yes, that's
good, very good. I went over the events of the day before compulsively, moment
by moment, replaying them all in my mind, and thinking of all the many things I
could have done differently. I passed out a few times, and in my fevered
half-dreaming state I saw Tina back in bed with me, caressing me, as she had
done in our first months together. She was holding me, whispering to me.
   My wife.
   And then I'd wake up, and a cold, dead feeling at the pit of my stomach would
overpower me.
Leave it to Myron Lipshitz. Leave it to him to find a woman like Tina, a perfect
angel, who loved him despite all his shortcomings. A saintly woman, who wanted
to help the less fortunate. A woman who loved him enough to not simply overlook
his faults, but gently point them out to him, and show him the path to
improvement.
   And then leave it to Myron Lipshitz to scream at her, and stomp around like a
big baby.
   And slap her.
   It was around ten at night when I heard footsteps on the stairs. No, I
thought to myself. Just another fevered hallucination. I rolled over and buried
my filthy face in the pillow.
   The door opened, then. Someone was approaching. A hand touched me lightly. I
opened my eyes, and there, standing before me, a tender look of concern on her
perfect features, was Tina, my blonde angel.
   "Darling?" she whispered.
   "T-t-tina...?" I croaked at her.
   "Oh, poor baby," she crooned.
   She said nothing more; neither did I. There was nothing to be said, at the
moment. There was only a wounded couple who needed to be together, to hold one
another. And she cradled me as I sobbed, and wept, and moaned with relief; she
held me to her bosom, and caressed my thinning hair, and murmured wordlessly to
me.
   My baby was back, and I would never, ever fuck up again.


Happy Birthday, Myron

   I woke up in the morning to see her bustling around the room. I blinked
drowsily, and smiled at her. She smiled back as she got dressed.
   "Where... where are you going?"
   "Out." She grinned mischievously. "Don't worry, darling. I've got some
shopping to do. After all... Today's your birthday, right?"
   I'd completely forgotten.
   "Oh! Right..."
   "And tonight... we're gonna party!"
   She pranced over to me and kissed me on the top of the head, then stepped
back and gazed at me for a few seconds. The look in her eyes was one I hadn't
seen in a long time: that dark, anticipatory look she used to get before we made
love. For the first time in months I felt a shiver of desire, though my dick, of
course, remained completely insensible. And a split second later an image
flashed through my mind - of my penis, small and stubbornly wilted, as my wife
tried to tease it to hardness with her mouth and fingers... How the hell were we
going to grope our way back to a healthy sexual relationship, after the
nightmarish trauma we'd been through? But she caught the look of dread on my
face, and smiled.
   "Don't worry, darling. I won't pressure you sexually, or anything. We have so
much healing to do, poor dear, and I know it's better not to rush these things.
But," she added, "I have a special evening planned, and I think, stiffie or no
stiffie, you'll find it pretty... stimulating."
   I grinned back at her. Hell, yes! This was a little more like it! But-
   "Tina, darling, there's something I should say." I took a deep breath. "I'm
sorry. I... You're like a goddess to me, and if I touch you I... I want it to be
a loving touch, not...not a..."
   "A slap in the face?" She laughed, shaking her head. "Well, we'll see.
Perhaps you should save your apologies; you never know when it's going to be
Tina's turn to lose her temper." She grinned and swatted me gently on the side
of the head. Then she put on a serious face. "And of course you've been through
hell recently, darling. This whole unpleasant business... I've had a while to
think it over, you know? Jesse... Well, he's crazy. And I suppose, looking back
on it, that he really was interested in me sexually, the poor thing. It wasn't
nice of me to taunt you like that last night."
   Tina shook her head solemnly; then she shrugged and gave me another one of
those darkly amused stares.
   "Listen, wash that crap off your face before I get back, will you?"
   She patted me on the head as she left.
   I washed the dried custard from my face, lay back down in a daze, and at some
point slipped at last into a deep, untroubled sleep.
   It was after dark when I awoke. The house felt still; I made my way
downstairs, still anxious after the blow-up of the night before. But, yes, she
was home; I could hear her bustling about in the rec room.
   I opened the door.
   "Tina?"
   "Not yet," she called. "Stay put, you naughty boy, until Tina's ready for
you!"
   I shut the door and waited in a state of nervous agitation. What the hell was
she planning down there? In about five more minutes she dashed up the stairs and
flung the door open, as eager as a twelve-year-old.
   "Ready," she sang, and took me by the hand. "It's a surprise, now. You can't
see anything yet..."
   And she covered my eyes with her warm little hand. I laughed uncertainly and
followed her down, a little unsteady, fearful of falling, but trusting in my
Tina to guide me well. And she did. We took the steps slowly, and when we
reached the bottom she pulled her hand away from my eyes.
   The rec room had been hung with crepe paper everywhere. Across one wall was a
big banner reading "Happy Birthday, Myron" in big red letters, and underneath it
was a table laden with Tastee-Kreme pies.
   "Happy birthday!" she squealed.
   I was astonished, and then I felt a jumble of emotions crowding in my chest,
and a lump came to my throat.
   "Oh, Tina..."
   "It's coconut creme. Your favorite."
   "Darling..."
   "But before we do anything else, I want to play a little..." That mischievous
look crossed her face again. "...a little game with you."
   She skipped excitedly over to the pool table and picked up a black velvet
bag, then skipped back, took my hand, and dragged me to the bathroom.
   "Put these things on," she whispered huskily, and she pressed the bag into my
hands...
   ...and licked my left earlobe.
   At that precise moment, something wonderful happened: my penis twitched. It
was just one tentative, fearful twitch, like a rabbit sticking its head out of
the rabbit hole: is the fox really gone, or is it hiding behind that gorse bush?
But it was a sign of life, and something opened in my heart that had slammed
shut on that last night of our honeymoon so many months ago.
   I took the bag from her with a foolish, happy smile on my face, and as I
turned to go in the bathroom she slapped my ass lightly. My little ding-dong
twitched again.
   Yes...
   Yes, the rabbit was out!
   I closed the door behind me and tore my pants down. By God, it was actually
semi-hard! I touched it, scarcely believing my eyes, but it was true: my penis
was stiffening, slowly but surely stretching its tender little head past the
tangle of my pubes. I struggled as fast as I could out of my clothes and stood
in front of the mirror for a moment.
   Myron Lipshitz, I told myself, you are a man.
   Then, still grinning, I opened the bag and dumped it on the floor.
   At first I couldn't make sense of what I saw. There were two high-heeled
shoes, deep red and so glossy I could see my face reflected in them. Sheer pink
lace stockings. A lacy little pink garter belt with garters to match. And an
impossibly small black bra.
   Why, the kinky little...! I grinned even more broadly. She was a wild one,
all right! Well, Myron Lipshitz was man enough to wear a woman's underthings, if
that's what his hot little Tina wanted.
I worked on the stockings, then the belt and garters. It took time, and my hands
were trembling, but I got it after a few minutes. The shoes were easy, but I
certainly felt unsteady in them when I got to my feet: I had to grip the edges
of the sink and haul myself up.
   Finally there was the bra. It looked as if it were designed for a chihuahua.
   "Honey...?"
   "Yes, Myron?"
   "Um... this bra? It, uh--"
   Her merry laughter rang brightly on the other side of the door. "Myron, you
idiot, it's not a bra. It's a blindfold!"
   Oh. I smiled sheepishly, then turned to the mirror for one last look. It was
a little odd, to say the least. But she was a kinky little thing, and I was
going to do whatever it took to satisfy her lust this time. I put on the
blindfold and tottered out of the bathroom.
   I can't possibly describe to you how exhilarating it was to emerge from the
bathroom blindfolded like this. I felt exposed, and yes, the exposure was tinged
with a hint of shame; but the shame added a little electric jolt of excitement
to the whole situation.
   "Ooooh, Myron."
   I followed the sound of her voice, my hands outstretched.
   "Ooooh, Myron, you're so... so gorgeous like this. So... so manly."
   My dick was so hard it hurt. I continued forward a few more feet, following
her cooing, purring voice, only to bark my shin against a table leg. I gripped
it, wincing.
   "You have to be a real man to wear clothes like that and still look so... so
hunky, Myron."
   I got back up.
   "Stay right there, darling. Just stand there and let me look at you."
   I heard an odd clicking sound. Her bra, no doubt. In my mind's eye I saw Tina
peeling away her bra, freeing those tasty little globes of teenaged titflesh...
I grabbed my cock in a spasm of lust.
   "Oh, yes, Myron! Hold it!"
   "I... I'm holding it, Tina!"
   I heard another clicking sound. Her own garter belt, perhaps?
   "Hold that big cock, darling."
   My mouth was dry; I licked my lips several times, breathing harder.
   "Yes, Tina... I'm... holding it. I... I'm holding my b-b-b-b... my big
c-c-cah.... m-m-my big COCK!"
   "Oh, yes, Myron! Stroke it! Stroke your big, proud cock!"
   Holy shit! I held it tighter between my thumb and forefinger and began to
masturbate for her.
   "God damn it," I gurgled, "I'm stroking it! I'm... I'm stroking my big fat
COCK! And I... I'm gonna FUCK you with it!"
   "Ooooh, yeah, Myron, baby, you're gonna do it!" She giggled, but I heard her
own shortness of breath, the sweet signal of her own sexual excitement. "You're
gonna fuck me so HARD!"
   "Yeah!"
   "You're gonna FUCK me, you big STUD!"
   I was dripping sweat now, and panting hoarsely. Oh, man, was I going to fuck
her! I'd give her the fucking of a lifetime!
   "I'm a big stud," I growled, "and I'm gonna fuck your tight, pink pussy with
my big, fat COCK! I'm..."
   That's when I heard it. Unmistakable. I heard Tina giggling a little more...
   ...but I heard another sound, too.
   The sound of muffled laughter.
   Someone else's.
   I froze, and the sounds stopped.
   I tore off the blindfold.
   My wife was standing right in front of me, a mischievous little grin on her
sweet young face as she watched me jerking off. She was stark naked, just as I
had imagined she would be, her high, firm titties jiggling a little as she began
giggling again.
   And standing with his arm around her waist, dressed only in his biking
shorts, like a bodybuilding model, was Jesse.