SEX, LIES, & CHROME
by Donn Falcone
© Donn Falcone / Bad Penny Press, 2011
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This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination,
or are used fictitiously.
Portions of this book have been excepted in other formats.
A condensed version of this work may have been issued from another publisher.
This book contains graphic depictions of consensual sex between
couples at or over the age of majority.
It is intended for distribution solely to adults.
Prologue
“You can be beaten, but don’t ever give up.”
My father said that a lot. It was like his mantra; his Credo. Yeah, those words may not rival any line that Shakespeare ever wrote, but I learned to live by them, and they’ve kept me going for a lot of years.
Porter Matthews was a man whose determination kept him going long after others would have thrown in the towel. He raised me alone after my mom walked out on him and me just after my first birthday, operating a successful tow truck service that eventually led to a decently profitable auto salvage yard operation. He worked his ass off seven days a week, rain or shine, and died at the relatively young age of 44, long before he got the opportunity to just stop and rest and enjoy the fruits of his labors.
He worked hard for all those years and what did he have to show for it? Pretty much just me and my short-lived motorcycle racing career… and he seemed quite content with that.
I got to work alongside my dad on the road and in the yard, letting the family business serve as my schooling for my future while chasing my dream of making it as a motocross racer. Dad supported and encouraged my dreams, right up to the day he died. I spent more time with my dad in my 25 years up to his death then some kids will spend with their fathers in 60. I didn’t lose out on a family because of his work and business; my dad and I were all the family we needed and his work and business allowed us to be together.
I was standing at his gravesite on a chilly April morning, memories of our times together drifting through my mind and stirring emotions both bitter and sweet. I hadn’t brought any flowers with me to place on his grave; dad hated flowers. I wasn’t standing next his headstone talking with his “spirit”, like some folks tend to do when visiting the grave of a deceased loved one. Dad’s spirit lived within me, and we knew our love for each other was unwavering and needn’t be spoken. I didn’t make my graveside visit to pay my respects. My father always had my respect, and he knew it.
I was going away for a while, so I just came by for a little visit, is all. Another moment of remembrance, and then it was time for me to go. Dad would understand and expect no more and no less.
The last time I left something on my dad’s grave I got a tersely-worded letter from the cemetery’s management company telling me not to leave a bottle of beer on the flower receptacle. I decided to meet them halfway. I reached in my jacket pocket and pulled out my gift, leaving a can of beer next to his headstone.
I nodded my good-bye to the cold patch of ground where my father lay. He didn’t go down without a fight, no matter how badly that pain of his cancer ate at him. Proud to the end, like his personal life’s affirmation, he refused to give up.
But he also gave one other piece of advice that I was taking to heart at the moment.
“It’s okay to step back from the battle and regroup and decide if the battle is still worth fighting. If it is, then come back and fight harder.”
He did that a couple times in his life, and that’s what I was doing now. I was stepping back to see if my current battle was worth fighting.
The fog hung low over the wet, well-manicured cemetery lawns with headstones seemingly floating like flotsam in a sea of gray mist. It wasn’t necessarily the best time to ride a motorcycle. But it seemed the best time to ride my motorcycle out of town.
Chapter 1
Charity Gibbons was a blond-haired cutie who stood about 5’5” and weighed in around 100 lbs. dripping wet. She possessed an oval face with big blue eyes, a tiny nose, and a seemingly perpetual smile that glowed as naturally as her pale skin. She didn’t have much to show for in the breast department but she had some soft curves, a great pair of legs, and a bubbly personality that was downright infectious.
Charity and I went to high school together and seemed to always end up running into each other around campus. So much so, that both of us became suspicious that the other was creating these “chance encounters” on purpose. When we finally sat down over lunch one day to confront each other about our continuous run-ins, it really did turn out to be nothing more than an ongoing string of coincidences. But once Charity and I had really gotten to know each other, we decided that it was silly to rely upon coincidence to create opportunities for us. We started going out and a serious relationship blossomed.
It didn’t take long before friends shared their feelings, saying that Char and I were really made for each other. Char was the studious, down-to-earth, motherly type; and me, I was the hardworking, hard driving, down-to-earth guy whose grades didn’t really reflect his strengths. Everyone close to us thought that we made the perfect couple.
But Char wasn’t ready to settle down with anyone just yet, much less a tow truck-driving junkyard dog who raced dirt bikes with a far-fetched dream of hitting the “big time.” She followed the advice of family and took on a full load of college classes in pursuit of her own dream of making it in nursing, while I found a place of my own to live and worked at the yard with my old man and raced whenever I could.
Char’s career choice made sense for her and her nurturing nature. And with the way that I tended to race with a win-it-or-wreck-it attitude, if our relationship could survive the separations and frustrations that challenge so many relationships and we did happen to stay together, then having a personal nurse at my side was probably a good idea.
A lot of people blamed my dad’s credo for my balls-out approach to racing, but to me it was more like giving credit where credit was due. I did wreck far more than I finished on that old Hodaka Combat Wombat. I had one of the oldest bikes in any motocross field in the early 80s, but I did surprisingly well given my older equipment, and made a lot of friends; I even ended up with an unintentional teammate of sorts. Okay, my unbridled enthusiasm might have made me a few enemies, too, but I still had a lot of fun and won two features over the course of 3 ½ years. However, once I tried moving up a class with a newer Bultaco racing motorcycle, I just couldn’t click with either the bike or the exponential increase in competition and found myself literally out of my league.
I didn’t give up; I took a step back to regroup.
I wasn’t the racer I had dreamed I’d be so I decided to focus instead on the family business with my dad and just raced once in a while for fun. By then I had dated – and bedded down – my fair share of young ladies, but for some reason Charity and I just kept getting back together. I guess it was meant to be, and Char breathed a huge sigh of relief that our relationship no longer included me racing dirt bikes competitively on a regular basis.
But our relationship would be challenged again when my dad was stricken with both prostate and bladder cancer at one shot. Dad was never one to go to the doctor’s but he had finally been so wracked with constant pain that he had to accept that something was seriously wrong.
A cancer diagnosis in which the disease has advanced beyond any hope of recovery will usually do one of three things to a person. Some will let it take away every ounce of their resolve and they’ll give up without trying to make any real amends in their life. Some will accept the disease and let it serve as their ticket out of this life and put their house in order for their loved ones.
And some, like my dad, will tell the doctors and the world “Fuck you,” and push themselves to the limits of their strength with the intention of not going out without a fight. But I could tell it was taking its toll on him and that he was progressively slowing down. Then one bitterly cold day he didn’t show up at the yard. Didn’t call. Nothing.
I steeled myself against what I might find when I arrived at his home. I let myself into his place and found him his in bed, looking drawn and haggard like he had just been drug five miles down a dirt road behind a speeding truck. But he still had that certain gleam in his eyes and two bottles of Wild Turkey 101 at his bedside.
“I decided to take a step back and reassess my battle, Chase,” he said in a raspy, strained voice. “I don’t think this one can be won, at least not on my terms. And if I can’t fight it on my terms, it’s time to say ‘fuck it’ and let it go.”
I grabbed a chair and two glasses, and then joined him in a drink. I sipped while he tipped ‘em back as confidently as I’d ever seen him down a good whiskey. We emptied a bottle and a half together while he basically shared with me practically every minute of my life he had witnessed with me, and some others thrown in for good measure. And then the gleam began to fade from his eyes.
I took my dad’s hand in mine, clutching at each other until his grip slowly released as his last breath left his body.
Chapter 2
Charity and I got married not long after my father died. Looking back, our marriage wasn’t intended to be a “rebound relationship”, but in many respects it was exactly that. I kind of needed an anchor in this world at that moment in my life, and that anchor was Char.
Things started off the way that most any marriage would start off; with a honeymoon. Some honeymoons, I’ve heard it said, can last forever. Ours would not be one of those. It didn’t take Char long to recognize that my inheriting my dad’s business meant that I actually had to work at running that business in order to keep it running.
That included going out on lots of local towing jobs, and more if the California Highway Patrol called for a tow and I was up on their list. Either case meant that I could be called out at any time of day or night in any kind of weather. Again, that was just part of the business.
All of it put a strain on a marriage that, under different circumstances, might not have happened at all. But Char and I promised each other that we had mutually decided to take this plunge and were going to see things through as far as we could.
Our sex life had started out well enough when Charity and I had let our growing love for each other take its natural course during our school days, and the periodic separations we later experienced kind of kept it at that still-new-and-exciting level of passion. Okay, Char wasn’t the best thing I had ever bedded down in my young life, but she was the one who held my heart more than my dick, so I accepted the vanilla sex and tried to make up for it with a few more servings from her whenever possible. Yeah, I was trying to make up for quality with quantity.
But my constant working was still taking its toll on us. I wasn’t ready to go for that “solution” of Char and I having a kid to help bond us together, but again, we let nature take its course. Unfortunately all it resulted in was two bad miscarriages and a lot of emotional pain for both of us, but especially for Char.
Neither of us liked the feel of condoms so when taking the pill was no longer an option for her and she had a real fear of going under the knife for a hysterectomy, I went in and did the vasectomy thing. My recovery was damned near the only “vacation” I had in those early years together. Sadly, the freedom of fear from future miscarriages didn’t make for any improvements on our sex life.
Now with no kids to tend to, and no job after a reduction in nursing opportunities in our area, Charity fell into a serious funk that had her body growing in proportion to her depression. She got a little plump – her term was “ballooning out” – and was eventually hitting the scales at around 160 lbs.
I didn’t harp on her weight and it didn’t keep me from desiring sex with her. I even benefited somewhat with Char now having a decently-sized pair of boobs for me to play with. But her self esteem was crashing faster than I could prop it back up, and the passion started to really go downhill. I was finally to the point that I was ready to have an affair. The only real problem with that idea was that I worked too damn much to have the time for one.
When my father died I acquired his business and obligations, assets, and debts. I had things running rather smoothly for more than a few years, thank you, but pile upon pile of government regulations and restrictions threatened to destroy everything dad, and then I, had worked for. I saw the writing on the wall but decided that I wouldn’t let some bureaucrat take it all away. I beat the government to the punch and sold off every worthwhile vehicle I had in the yard to other wrecking yards and set about crushing the rest while scrap prices were still fairly high. I then sold the huge plot of land and everything in it for some very sweet bucks to a high-end real estate investment company that later built a prime-location office complex on the site.
Although I kept the most recent tow truck I had purchased just prior to letting everything else go, I took the money and invested in building up an online auto parts distributorship that did a lot of business via internet auctions and drop-shipping from my suppliers. I quickly built up a good reputation and before long the business was pretty much running without me. I still did a decent number of towing jobs that brought in some pretty good bucks, but that was gravy now. I was 36 years old and living the American businessman’s dream.
No longer having to put every waking hour into my business I even had opportunity to build up a friendship with another independent tow truck owner/operator. Dean Barrows was a couple years younger than me, and like me had inherited his towing business from his old man. Unlike me, Dean renamed his business DB Towing to reflect his ownership while I kept the original Matthews & Son Towing business name. I saw no reason to take the reference to my father off of my truck’s doors.
Over the course of the next three years Dean and I got to know each other, and we kind of became the brothers neither of us had. That pseudo-brotherhood carried over into our towing businesses, and we often referred towing jobs to each other and kept each other going.
Knowing Dean also became kind of therapeutic for me when I could sit down over a couple beers with him and we could use each other as sounding boards for life’s frustrations. I’m sure glad that Dean was a good listener. I was the one who ended up doing the lion’s share of the whining and moaning because of the ongoing frustrations with Char and her problems and how they were affecting our marriage.
It didn’t seem to be enough to Charity that I had closed down and sold off the wrecking yard and found freedom from my once 18-hour workdays and spent more time at home. Even the fact that we had a nice house and toys and the chance to travel and enjoy things wasn’t bringing my wife out of her blue funk. She still seemed lost and withdrawn. Maybe if she had a friend like Dean was to me, she’d find it within herself to do more and to find some joy in her life again. That opportunity came in the form of Dean’s outgoing wife, Brenda.
Physically, Brenda was very much a brunette version of the Char of today, but with the bubbly personality of the Charity I had fallen in love with almost 18 years ago. Bre was a tick shorter and a tad less heavy than Char and she wore glasses. Other than that they were cut from the same cloth and could truly have passed for sisters.
Getting Char and Brenda together wasn’t all that hard, really. And once Dean and I introduced them to each other the two women seemed to really hit it off. Char was smiling again and more animated and interested in doing things with our friends. It seemed as if I was getting my life, and my wife, back.
Chapter 3
One of our most pleasant distractions consisted of dinners out together. I’ve always been your basic meat-and-potatoes kind of guy but with our friends in tow we made it a point to try out a new and different restaurant every week. I wasn’t always happy with the food, but I was gaining some new experiences.
Dean and I would occupy ourselves with stories about some of the bizarre tow jobs we had in the week past, or the latest and most interesting new cars or motorcycles, something else I was getting back into. Char and Brenda mostly chatted about the latest prime-time soap opera garbage and who should get booted off the island next week while sipping down their drinks. I was surprised to learn another side of Char I hadn’t seen before; she began to really like her wine. The food was usually good and the wine flowed, save for me and my one appetizer beer and my second beer with the meal, since I generally ended up being the designated driver.
When we first got together for our dinner adventures, we usually followed up our meals out with a movie. We tried hitting a couple dance clubs initially, but we quickly found out that all of us were now well past the ages of the people who frequented the clubs, and we weren’t really comfortable with the level of alcohol-inspired immaturity demonstrated by the younger males. It was much easier for Dean and I to find us some other after-dinner diversions that weren’t as prone to getting us into a bar fight.
Then early last year Char and I won one of those six-person spas through a sweepstakes with a local home improvement store, and it wasn’t long before the new spa became an integral part of our weekly evening-out routine. Now we would follow dinner with simply heading back to the house and relaxing in the spa with our best friends. Before long Dean and Bre even kept a set of trunks and a bathing suit at our house instead of having to remember to bring theirs with them and take wet ones home.
The 90-plus degree water created a steamy mist that would waft into the night air and hang over us like a soft fog. Char and Bre would still put down more than their share of wine while Dean sipped down another one of those imported Mexican beers after stuffing it with a slice of lime. He’d usually get another two or three down in no time after we got back to our place. Me? Well, it was easy for me to play the part of the designated driver while we were out on the town because I’m really not much of a drinker to begin with. It was the same when we got home and I would seldom get more than two beers in me over the remainder of the evening.
Dean helped me build a gazebo to surround the spa. Now, thanks to the added privacy from the neighbors, coupled with overhead lights being left off, it wasn’t long before the spa became clothing-optional. Dean and I nearly never sat in the warm water more than five minutes before the trunks came off. The wives tended to take a little longer, usually after the wine had taken effect.
Our Saturday evenings took on a familiar and dependable pattern. Some people might view our weekly dinner-and-a-dip as a monotonous, boring routine. But I didn’t mind the consistency of our routine and it seemed that Char and our friends had no problem with the same-old, same-old, either.
The routine soon took on a new dimension, in no small part due to the wine Charity had consumed. After about 15 minutes in the water, like clockwork, Char would start to make little mock complaints about how hot the water was in the spa. She would follow that with turning off the light that illuminated the water through the bottom well of the spa, then she would struggle a little to stretch the straps of her bathing suit over her shoulders and then work the one-piece suit down her body and slip it off of her legs. As usual, she would keep herself low in the water so she wouldn’t expose her smallish breasts to our company, sometimes to the point of sinking below the surface of the water and fully soaking her hair.
Bre would then take Char’s cue and follow with removing her own one-piece suit. Only Bre wasn’t anywhere near as modest as Char about taking off her suit, often using her hands to pull her large boobs free of the cups before reaching under the water to strip it off. The move often made Bre’s breasts available for viewing to me and everyone else, which was probably fueled by Char’s wine-encouraged remarks about how much I liked boobs now that she had some. Yes, my wife finally had some tits, but they were still only shadows of Bre’s very nice hangers.
Seeing my wife loosen up enough to enjoy evenings out with friends and to now feel comfortable enough around them to relax naked in our spa was like a blessing from Heaven. Maybe Charity had finally beaten the depression that threatened to drive the last nails in the coffin of our marriage.
But there was something more that happened; a completely unexpected benefit of owning our spa. At first, lazing around in the heated water of the tub around our naked friends would warm Char up enough to want sex after our friends left for home. It was like a second honeymoon.
Before long, our comfort with our friends grew to the point where, once Char was drunk enough, she’d get horny and reach over and start stroking my dick under the water and get me hard in an instant. She’d then use my prick to pull me over to her and I’d roll over between her legs and she’d use her hand to guide my stiffened rod to her snatch. Despite the water, her slit was always slick enough for me to slide my dick deep into her and start fucking her there in the spa with Dean and Bre immediately following our lead on the other side of the spa until we had the water making choppy little waves that crashed softly all around us.
I wished I could see Dean going at it with Bre, if only to see her boobs bobbing in the water while she was getting fucked. Hell, I wished I could go at it with Bre, even if only for the same reason. Char preferred to lean back and spread her arms out along the rail of the spa to anchor herself, careful not to expose any skin lower than her armpits while I thrust my dick hard into her wide-spread pussy until she would have her little orgasm that she tried to hold back like a secret from our friends, even while their own climaxes were a bit more vocal, and sometimes quite loud. My own orgasm would follow after Dean and Bre’s mutual culmination, helped along by their audible exclamations of carnal pleasure.
Despite the fun we were experiencing and the close friends we kept, I should have known better than to think that all of Charity’s problems had magically fixed themselves.
About six months ago, Char began to complain about being tired all the time again, just like she did when the trouble first started. Shortly after that, her willingness to openly engage in sex in the hot tub faded in proportion to the increase in her complaints of fatigue. Things would start to heat up, but the usual point in her alcohol consumption where she seemed to be horny enough to want to play passed quickly into being too tired to stay up with me and our friends. She’d give her regards and head into the house and up to bed. My being there alone in the hot tub with our randy friends felt awkward, and I felt obligated to head into the house myself under the pretense of doing something long enough for Dean and Bre to fuck each others' brains out, and then I’d casually return after the churning water had settled, ever the gracious host.
Although the change in Char’s habits was not lost on our friends, nothing much was mentioned openly. I approached Char about it a time or two afterward, but she just fell back on her “I’m just too tired” excuse, and that would be that. I eventually got Dean to talk to Bre privately to see if she had any idea what might be up with Char so I might get an idea of what had changed. Bre later said that her best friend offered up no further clue as to what, if anything, was wrong.
As I mentioned before, Char was never really a dynamo in bed, and the kinkiest she ever got was the alcohol-induced desire to fuck in the hot tub with our friends in attendance. Getting a blow job from her? I’d have a better chance of hitting the lottery. Still, she was my wife, I loved her, and that’s just the way life was.
Bre thought that perhaps Char needed a little more encouragement by example, I guess, and became more open in her approach to sex with Dean while in our company. Now when it was time for the bathing suits to come off, Bre was not content to slip hers off under the water in the darkness. Bre’s method of choice changed to standing up in the spa while the light shone from below and she out-and-out stripped herself of her suit in the open air. No longer did Bre reach in and pull a breast out of its confines one at a time; now she would just yank down on the straps and let her generous tits fall right out. No complaint here; I thought them stunningly sexy. They were full and heavy and swayed nicely as she moved, with large, rosy areola surrounding thick nipples that literally made my mouth water.
Brenda would continue to work her suit down her sweetly plump body and over her full hips, revealing her thick patch of dark brown pubic hair that matched the color and curl of the hair on her head. Then Bre, usually assisted by husband Dean, would roll the suit over her thick thighs and down her short legs, at which point she would have to step out of them. She would lean on Dean’s shoulder with a hand and step out of the suit with a little more lift of her leg than might have been necessary, which caused my heart to jump and my dick to stir when the light shining from the bottom of the spa would illuminate her puffy pink pussy lips for the briefest of moments. Then she would again stand upright with her legs together for another short moment before slipping back down into the water.
Bre’s up-front tactics didn’t change Charity’s fading sexual interest one iota, but bless her heart, she tried. Bre’s little homegrown peep show succeeded in making me feel pretty randy, but Char would excuse herself and head up to bed. After Char’s disappearance I relegated myself to the now-commonplace process of me excusing myself long enough for Dean and Bre to have their fun, while I would masturbate to the image of my best friend’s naked wife before returning to the spa with a fresh round of drinks.
We still enjoyed our weekly dinners out, but soon came the night when everything got real interesting once the four of us headed home from the restaurant. Instead of Dean riding up front with me while the girls chatted in the back seat, Char was up front with me. Bre was in a wild mood and had started talking about having sex in the spa before I even had the car in gear.
“Drive faster, Chase!” she demanded, giggling. “I gotta get me some meat!”
“What?” I chuckled, glancing at Bre in my rear view mirror. “You just ate.”
“I need me some meat,” she repeated gaily in a voice raised an octave by the night’s wine. “That salad didn’t do it for me. I gotta have some protein.”
“I got some protein for you, honey,” responded Dean. “I’ll serve it up for you at the house.”
“No doubt,” added Char, her eyes rolling.
“I don’t know if I can wait until we get to Chase and Charity’s place,” Brenda said with a playful growl. “I might need some right now!”
“What’s gotten into you, girl?” Char asked over her shoulder with a hint of actual annoyance in her voice.
“It’s not about what’s gotten into me,” Bre replied, “it’s about what hasn’t gotten into me yet! I need me an injection of man meat!”
Bre began to wrestle around with her husband in the back seat of the car. I could hear Dean laughing like he was being tickled.
“Hold on, honey,” he called out.
“I’m trying to hold onto it!” she called back.
“What are you doing back there, Bre?” asked Char with genuine curiosity.
“I’m trying to fucking undo Dean’s pants,” Bre growled, apparently occupied with something. “I want to suck his dick and his belt’s all fucked up.”
Dean popped off with a tickled laugh again.
“Good God, Bre!” Char said, sounding more than a little pissed. “Can’t you wait until we get home?”
“Anytime is a good time for a blow job,” giggled Bre. I glanced back in my mirror just in time to see Bre’s head disappear from view as she dove down in the back seat.
“Shit, honey, don’t bite it off!” Dean cried out, only half in jest.
“Are you really going down on your husband in our car?” Char called over her shoulder.
Bre gave a muffled ‘mm-hmm’ and Dean replied, “She can’t talk with her mouth full.”
“Jesus, Bre,” whined Char again, “just don’t leave any cum stains on our back seat.”
Bre came up for air.
“I swallow,” she said proudly. Then: “Hey, Chase!”
I looked into the mirror in time to see Bre sit up and lift her blouse while pulling up at the bottom of her bra at the same time and spilling her tits out. She weaved back and forth, swaying her sweet mammaries wildly for my benefit.
“Thank you, Bre!” I called over my shoulder.
“I hope you’re enjoying the show,” grumbled Char in a low, bitter voice.
Char’s odd and downright prudish attitude pretty much squelched the festivities for the rest of the ride home and left our two friends frustrated and wanting. When we arrived home Char didn’t even bother to join us in the spa, instead opting to go straight to bed with only a hint of a ‘good night’ wish.
“Go ahead and get in the spa, you two,” I said.
“Aren’t you going to join us, Big C?” asked Dean.
I tried to say something but couldn’t find any words, and lamely pointed towards the stairs that led to my bedroom. I shrugged in resignation.
“Chase,” Bre said quietly as she gently placed a hand on my arm, “I think your bedroom is going to be a cold, cold place tonight. Come on out to the spa.”
I looked at Dean, who looked back at me with sympathetic eyes.
“Fuck it,” I said. “To the spa!”
This time when we got out to the gazebo and folded back the spa cover, we didn’t even bother with suits. I got to watch Bre shed her clothes in the open as Dean and I followed with removing ours. Then Bre turned full-face to me and drew me to her naked body and hoisted herself on her tiptoes to give me a warm hug and a friendly kiss, her full tits melting against my body and the head of my member just touching the top-most hairs of her full pubic bush. While I didn’t think the kiss and embrace to be sexual, I couldn’t help my dick’s immediate response.
Dean had already climbed into the spa. Bre spun around and climbed the steps and then eased herself into the steamy water. She sat herself between Dean’s legs, as always. I stepped up and over the side of the spa and took my usual place across from my horny friends.
All remained quiet, save the chirping of crickets along the fence line. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back while the swirling water, driven by the spa’s jets, helped me to relax and slowly shed the disappointment my cold wife had left in me. I guess I must have sat myself close to one of the jets because it seemed to apply a tender rolling pressure against my dick and balls. I opened my eyes and could see Bre, her back still to her husband, turn her head over her shoulder to kiss Dean in a deep exchange of tongues while he massaged her buoyant breasts in his cupped hands.
I smiled at their renewed sexual enthusiasm, albeit with a sharp twinge of jealousy. I closed my eyes again and felt the water tickle at my package once more, a little harder and more pronounced. It was then that I realized that it was Bre who was toying with my boys with her foot. At first I thought it maybe an unintentional response to her and Dean’s playing, but when her other foot began caressing my prick in concert with the first, I got the impression that Bre was definitely doing it for my benefit. Any doubt was laid to rest when Bre bent a leg down and hooked my ankle with hers and drew my foot up until she took it in her hand and put the ball of my foot squarely against her pubis.
I kind of rolled my foot against Bre’s snatch in a circular massaging pattern while Dean worked her boobs with more vigor. I could feel Bre rock her hips in conjunction with my pressure against her furry mound. I sped up the rolling rhythm of my foot while Dean tweaked Bre’s nipples between his fingers until she started to quiver and tighten her thighs against my leg, trapping my foot hard against her sex. A couple seconds later and Bre’s breaths became as audible as the chirps of the crickets and she let loose with a restrained squeal into Dean’s mouth while they held one last deep kiss before Bre had to draw away from Dean’s lips and catch her breath.
My two friends smiled at me and reached out with a hand each to welcome me to them. I slid across the spa while they guided me to their right sides. Bre raised herself and Dean and I closed the gap between us. Now hip-to-hip with my best friend, Bre sat herself back down, her back still to us and a butt cheek planted on Dean’s and my touching thighs, and she spread her legs once more. Us men let Bre use our arms between him and me as a backrest as she reached out and took my right hand in hers and guided it back down to her spread pussy where my fingertips met Dean’s.
We both began to play with Bre’s cunt lips and she reached her arms over and behind our heads, directing our faces down onto the nipples of her huge breasts. I took full advantage of the offer and clamped my mouth hard onto her rubbery skin like a starving child. Dean and I suckled at Bre’s sweet mammaries while we rubbed tenderly at her gaping love hole and I could feel her body began to writhe on us.
Bre released our heads and stood up in the water and turned to face me. She bent over and patted the top of the rail behind me.
“Get your ass up there,” she demanded in a low voice.
I did as I was told, lifting my body out of the water and planting my butt on the edge of the spa. Bre lowered herself into the water slightly as she bent over, sliding her torso between my legs as Dean stood up and took position behind her. I looked my buddy in the eyes, searching for permission. Dean gave me a wink and a nod as he reached down behind his wife’s round ass and fiddled around with one hand before putting both of them on her hips. He started to pound into her, easy at first but working up to a steady rhythm, and I could feel her body rock against me from Dean’s thrusts. She then took a gentle hand and pointed my now rock-hard dick right to her mouth and without any hesitation took it deep into her warm confines.
If I had any jealousies towards Dean before, they became full-blown as I got to find out first hand just how lucky my friend was as his cute wife sucked my aching tool like an absolute expert. I’ve always thought the length of my member to be a little above average, but Bre took nearly my entire length down to her throat. Now in full control of my shaft with her mouth, she grasped my balls in the palm of her hand and started to tenderly knead them.
“Just sit back and enjoy the ride, brother,” said Dean, astutely sensing some lingering nervousness on my part.
I did as I was told, expelling a deep sigh and letting my head roll back as I forgot about the cold world around me and let my mind focus on Bre’s wonderful sucking. Her tongue rode the underside of my staff like a velvet blanket, expertly directing pressure to my rod as if she had known how to please me all along. I could feel the bulb of my dickhead glide along the roof of Bre’s mouth, drawing chills from me with each incredible stroke. If Bre’s mouth had any teeth, I’d never have known it as the vacuum of her mouth kept me steadily down the center of her oral treasure.
Dean’s thrusts began to quicken, and the rocking of Bre’s body from her husband’s pelvic impacts began to drive her harder against me, forcing me a little deeper down her throat with each push. But Bre didn’t gag. If anything, she found an ability to fully accept my cock into the deepest reaches of her hot mouth, taking me to oral depths I had only dreamed of before.
I felt that wonderful tingle start at the very roots of my dick that quickly grew through the length of my fortunate dick, and there was no stopping it now. With each stroke of Bre’s mouth a low growl built up in me, like a barometer of my approaching orgasm. As my involuntary groan grew in volume, Dean and Bre responded by upping the tempo of their fucking and took me along with them towards heaven.
“Let it go, Chase!” Dean said in a voice that announced he was there with me.
My legs seemed to go nuts as I strained to keep them from going out beneath me while my dick felt like a burning iron searing into my best friend’s wife’s mouth. Bre started to make little screams that were muffled by my throbbing cock still being driven down her expert throat as her body began to shake, and Dean let out a yelp of pure bliss.
My guts tightened once more and then my cock erupted into Bre’s glorious mouth in a volume I hadn’t known in years. Bre’s hand milked my balls in concert with the spasms in my member that shot stream after stream of my hot seed deep into her throat.
Dean was pounding his wife’s pussy like a wild man, and the strained sighs coming from his mouth evidenced the intensity of his own climax. Between us, Bre was cumming too, swallowing my seed without fail while her body trembled at her own sweet orgasm.
When our intense mutual climax finally faded, Dean disengaged from his wife and sank slowly back into the swirling water of the spa. Bre let my spent prick slip from her lips and then slowly rolled back into the water. She settled in next to her husband and cuddled up to him, a soft, proud smile curling her lips. For a few more seconds I sat on the edge of the spa gulping in the clean night air, then slid slowly back into the soothing water, too.
The three of us seemed to kind of drift in a state of sweet bliss until the timer on the spa jets shut off and the world went strangely still.
Chapter 4
I was now in a real dilemma. I loved Charity; I truly did. But there was no denying how my once-in-a-lifetime experience with my best friend and his wonderful wife had ignited a hunger in me that I had suppressed for far too long.
Still, I had to keep my priorities straight, and my first priority was to help Char find the help that I knew she needed. She was back in her funk, even deeper than before. Despite having wonderful friends that were a needed asset in our lives and successful businesses that made our financial life a relative dream, Charity just couldn’t, or wouldn’t, shake off the depression that ate at her constantly. I decided that she needed some professional help or we’d both go crazy, or I’d soon be burying a wife somewhere alongside my father.
I scheduled a couple of appointments with a psychiatrist a few miles out of town to avoid the embarrassment of Charity being seen going in to a shrink’s office, and even found a female psych in the hopes that my wife would find it more comfortable to talk to a woman who might better understand Char’s problems. You know; from a woman’s perspective. But even that didn’t give Char the desire to go see the shrink. Char steadfastly refused to accept that she had a serious problem and refused to participate in any professional help.
So I took advantage of the scheduled appointment myself and rode my motorcycle to visit with a psychiatrist by the name of Yvonne Harper. Dr. Harper was understanding of my situation and happy to see that I was willing to come in and discuss it with her even if Charity wasn’t willing to do so at this time.
“From everything you’ve described to me, Mr. Matthews, I’d venture that your wife is not just severely depressed; she’s probably bipolar.”
“That’s ‘Manic-depressive’, right?” I asked.
“That’s the old-school term, yes,” the doctor replied. “But the old term doesn’t fully take into account her level of mania along with her depression. I’d say that… Charity, right?” I nodded my confirmation. “... that Charity is likely affected by bipolar II disorder. A person affected by bipolar I disorder has had at least one manic episode in his or her life. It’s a period of an abnormally elevated mood along with some abnormal behaviors. Such events can make life difficult for both of you.”
“So, what’s bipolar II?” I asked.
“Bipolar II is similar to bipolar I, where the moods cycle between highs and lows over an extended amount of time. But in bipolar II disorder a person’s “ups” don’t really progress into full-blown mania.”
“I see,” I said. “I think.”
“What part of it don’t you understand?” Dr. Harper asked.
“Char seems so deeply depressed that I can’t see any so-called “ups”,” I said with a shrug.
“How’s your sex life?” asked the doctor.
“Overall, it sucks,” I replied. “Although for a while there Char was really starting to get into it, even having sex with me in front of our friends.”
“And that was unusual for her, right?”
“Well, yeah,” I said, chuckling. “But it was fun while it lasted.”
“That unusual sexual behavior,” the doctor paused and tilted her head, “unusual for your wife anyway, was part of a manic episode. It wasn’t meant to last.”
“Is there any way I can make that aspect of our love life permanent?” I asked, only half in jest.
“I sense a very frustrated man,” Dr. Harper observed. Then her eyes seemed to pierce through me when she added, “A man ready to cheat, if he hasn’t already.”
Jesus, did I ever feel like the kid being singled out in a church sermon.
“I’ve seen this before, Chase,” Dr. Harper said, surprising me with the informality of calling me by my first name. “You’re vulnerable right now. You feel a need; a want. You’re tired of dealing with your wife’s instability and you want a break, even if that break is only in the form of a one-night stand with another woman.”
“What do you suggest?” I asked, hoping that the doctor, if anyone, could give me an answer that would suddenly make it all better. Cheating on my wife didn’t seem the best answer for the two of us, even if it might be of some perverse benefit to me in the short run.
“I can’t make a suggestion for you,” she replied. “All I can tell you is that Charity has to be ready and willing to take the steps needed to get through this; medication and counseling are likely her best bet. It’s not going to just go away on its own. You have to accept that, and with that in mind, decide on a path you want to travel. With her or without her.”
“Christ, that’s not an easy decision to make,” I said, shaking my head.
“Even the best of marriages can crumble when a spouse is diagnosed with a mental illness,” said the doctor softly and sympathetically. “You aren’t alone.”
I guess that last little piece of information was supposed to make everything easier for me to take, but nothing could be farther from the truth.
I went home to find Charity curled up in bed. It was the middle of the afternoon and a very lovely day outside, but there she was, hiding from the world. She appeared to be asleep so I let her be. I sat down with a beer in the living room and tried to consider some options but only one kept coming back in my mind over and over.
A little while later I made some spaghetti and woke Char up to join me for dinner. She drug herself to the table and we sat in silence while I ate and she only fiddled with her food. Then she broke the quiet with a startling question.
“Are you leaving?”
I froze for a moment, then turned to look at Char. She had her head down and was staring into her plate while just kind of pushing the noodles around with her fork.
“Leaving… for where?” I asked in return.
“Are you gonna leave me?” she asked again. “I won’t blame you if you want to go.”
“Do you want me to go?” I asked, keeping our game of Twenty Questions going.
“I don’t know what I want, Chase,” Char replied, dropping her fork into her plate. She looked up at me with sad, vacant eyes. “I just know I’m not happy and you’re not happy and everything is kind of fucked up right now.”
The simple fact that Charity blurted out the f-word was probably the most telling part of our conversation. Char hated the word and any derivations of it, no matter how appropriate it might be for the circumstance. Well, it was obvious that she had reached a point in her existence where she found the dreaded f-word appropriate. That meant that things were definitely not good.
“Char, I don’t know what else to do,” I said, slapping my hands on the table in frustration. “You have a problem that only you can take the steps to fix. I can’t visit a shrink and make a decision on how best to proceed with treatment on your behalf. And I damned sure can’t take any medications for you, either. I’m stuck!”
“You’re not stuck!” she yelled in a voice that sounded near-possessed. “I’m stuck! I’m stuck in this life and I have no idea what to do!”
“Honey, let’s get you treated for this,” I said in a voice as calm as I could keep at that moment.
“Fuck that!” Char screamed. “You wanna leave? Then the only thing you need to get is out of here!”
I cranked my head to the left as the dinner plate zipped past my right ear while my face and chest were decorated with spaghetti noodles and meat sauce from Char’s incredibly accurate throw. She turned and ran down the hallway crying, slamming the door behind her once in our room.
I had been mulling over the thought of leaving for some time. It looked as though my decision had just been made for me.
Chapter 5
With Charity locked away in our bedroom – maybe sleeping, maybe crying; I didn't much care at that moment – I devoted time to gearing up for a motorcycle trip. To where? I had no fucking idea, really. I just knew that I needed to get the hell out of Dodge.
I finally accepted the reality. If one of us didn't get out of the house, even if only for a short while, someone was liable to seriously get hurt. Judging from my close call with killer spaghetti, it was easy to believe I would become the injured party.
Boogying around on my Harley Sportster was always fun, but a long trip on the H-D would beat the crap out of me – and I figured my trip would be better if it was a long one. That meant prepping my Kawasaki.
I had just performed an oil change and some light maintenance on my Vulcan Nomad last weekend, so I knew she was ready for a road trip. I attached the saddlebags and checked the tread and air in the tires. I then located my big leather duffel bag and my leather jacket. All that was left was to pack clothes and toiletries, but that would have to wait until Char unlocked the door to our bedroom.
I slept fitfully on the couch, dozing maybe four hours total between 9:30 pm and 4:00 am, coming fully awake when I heard the lock on the bedroom door being turned. I got up off of the couch and walked into the bedroom, stepping around Char and going straight for the bathroom.
I cranked on the shower and got in, not much caring what temperature the water was. For the record, it was as cold as my heart at that moment. I scrubbed myself quickly and was finished with my shower just as the water warmed up.
I toweled off and reached into the vanity under the sink to pull out my small travel bag and quickly loaded it with soaps and razors, toothpaste and deodorant, brusquely tossing my stuff into it without regard as to needed or not needed. It was just coming with me.
Char watched me, her face blank as I dressed. She was almost zombie-like as I rifled through the dresser to pull out t-shirts, socks, underwear and jeans, her eyes following my movements, yet seemingly unable to comprehend what was actually going on as I filled my duffel.
Not a word had passed all this time. I was in such a rush that I hadn't bothered putting on any briefs before I worked my way into my jeans. I pulled on my boots and grabbed my now-full duffel and headed out of the bedroom to the garage. At that point, Char followed me to the doorway where she could see the Vulcan in readiness for a trip, destination unannounced and still unknown.
“This is really happening, isn’t it?” she asked flatly, emotionless.
I looked at Charity standing in the open doorway and leaning against the frame. Her arms were crossed in a combination of defiance and vulnerability.
“Yes, it’s really happening,” I confirmed as I secured my duffel. “This must be what you wanted. I mean, you did use a flying dinner plate as an exclamation point.”
“I'm sorry, Chase.”
“Sorry for throwing the plate, or sorry that you didn't actually hit me with it?” I growled snidely as I worked on my helmet.
Charity spun away into the house, slamming the door behind her.
“Yeah, I love you, too,” I said as I climbed on the bike and fired it up.
After the early-morning visit to my dad's grave, I found myself on Interstate 5, heading south. I'll be honest and say that I'm not altogether sure how or when I had actually pointed my motorcycle in that direction, but I was motoring that way. I decided to roll with it and see where it might take me.
The funny part? I didn't really want to leave my wife during this obviously difficult time. But it became imperative that I do so for her safety, and mine. I needed to get out of there before things could even come close to turning violent.
But, there was another side to consider; the fling with Dean and Brenda had really stirred something in me. Not a need to just go out and have one night stand or an affair, but a need to feel... attractive again. Wanted. Yeah, silly things for a guy, but right now I was feeling pretty beat up and unwanted, no matter what I tried to do for Char.
Dean had said to me just the week before, “One person alone can't make a marriage work, Chase. You can beat your head against the wall all you want, but in the long run, the wall won't give a fuck and all you'll have to show for it is a headache.”
Don't take that to mean that I was on a mission to fuck around, or something. But, if it for some bizarre reason it looked like it might happen, I decided that I would give any opportunity to get laid some serious thought.
Another surprise that I gave myself when I neared the junction of I-5 and I-80, was to turn west on 80. It seemed as good a time as any to ride west and check out the coast, right after grabbing some breakfast at the truck stop just past my turn.
I wanted to call Char; see how she was doing, tell her that I loved her. But I began to question even that. Yup, we needed a break from each other.
I rode I-80 to the 680, a trip down a section of highway with crosswinds so strong they'll nearly topple a motorcycle onto its side. And the trip across the Benicia bridge – one built tall enough to travel over the original railroad bridge that was itself tall enough to allow old naval vessels to float easily below – puts a biker up into winds that feel as if they'll blow him right off of the bridge and sailing earthward into Suisun Bay. After that, the ride into San Jose was a relative piece of cake.