Oh! My Aching Back!

By

Virginia Kane

 

"Owwwwwwwwwwwww!"

"What’s wrong, dear?" My concerned wife asked, as I rolled over in pain.

"It’s my back. Ever since I got rear-ended last year, I get a crick in my back when I sleep wrong. This time it feels like someone stuck an ice pick into me. I need to see the doctor again. I’ve let it go too far. The pain is excruciating."

"You mean Dr. Nelson, our G.P.?"

"No, not him. He only gave me painkillers and suggested it was all in my head. Going to that pill peddler was a waste of time and money. After I insisted that the back pain wasn’t imaginary, he referred me to his brother-in-law; expert osteopathic surgeon who wanted to cut open my hip and let all the money out of my wallet back there.

He tried to convince me it was a pinched nerve leading to my left leg that needed fixing. The way those guys think. I’d rather go see the young chiropractor I was referred to after last year’s car accident. I felt great after his masseurs worked on me. Let me think for a second. Yeah, Wilson, Dr. Judd Wilson is his name. He manipulated my spine in his office, and prescribed what the masseurs did. The lower back pain gradually went away after a few weeks. I don’t know if this pain is related. It’s higher up and off to one side."

"Why not go to Mayo, dear? You thought they were magicians, the last time you went."

"They brushed me off when I called. I guess they’re too busy, or they think I’d be better off being treated locally. They’re more geared for diagnosing people anyway, ones with life-threatening problems, not a cranky nerd with a sore back, like me. I’ll go back to see Dr. Wilson again. He’ll know what to do."

I tried to get out of bed, and fell to the floor in agony. "Damn! This hurts!" I could barely get up on all fours; no matter how hard I tried.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

"No. Give me half a chance. It feels like it’s subsiding." I rolled on my side and rested.

It did subside, and I resumed getting ready for work. While shaving, I could feel the pain hit me again, in what I thought must be in the back of my ribcage. The more I thought about it, the more it hurt. I was worried about what brought it on. It was so intense I had to use my left hand to comb my hair. If I lifted my right arm too high, the pain returned.

At the breakfast table, my wife looked at me with true compassion in her eyes, knowing that I was feeling miserable. "Maybe you should stay home and rest today. Tax season is over. You can use a day off. You’ve been pushing yourself hard for weeks. You have to take stock. You aren’t as young as you used to be, you know."

"I have three months of back work to catch up on. As soon as everything is current, I’ll get a hold of Dr. Wilson and check it out. No sense in seeing him now, as I’ve got to pay bills and get the office into shape before I can devote time to getting rid of it. Last time, he had me come in three times a week for three months. Those massage sessions make me lose a half a day, each. I think it’s harder and takes longer to loosen up after massages than it is for me to recover from pain like this morning’s. I’ll be fine. I’ll go as soon as I can see daylight at the office."

"You said that when the last attack hit you. You can’t keep putting it off forever."

"I know, I know, but I couldn’t very well take time off during tax season. Clients don’t give a damn about your problems. They only care about their own. This crick in my back has been giving me trouble for years. It hasn’t slowed me down, so far. I just have to live with it. I’ll be fine."

"You keep saying that, but you know it’s not true, Frank. It’s getting worse. You’re too stubborn to admit it, but you know that I’m right. One of these days, you won’t be able to get out of bed, and it’ll be too late. I’m calling up your partner to tell him that he’ll have to manage on his own for a few days. Then, I’m calling in sick at work and taking you to see Dr. Wilson. I’m not going to let you become a cripple because you haven’t the good sense to realize that this problem isn’t going away on its own. It’s chronic, already."

"No it isn’t. This is only the third time, this year that it’s acted up like this."

"That’s what you think, Frank. Admit it. We haven’t had sex since last October, and you almost went into convulsions, when we did. I’m not exactly demanding when it comes to sex, you know, but I can count the times we had sex in the last five years on my hands, not that I mind. You used to be a regular sex maniac, until that bad fall you took playing touch football at the annual family picnic years ago. Remember?"

"Yeah, my deck shoe flipped off, and I slid on the grass in my stocking feet, knocking the wind out of me. I was a damned fool for trying to show off and keep up with your two younger brother-in-laws and all their brothers. I had no business playing touch football in cloth sneakers not designed for sports to begin with. I thought I broke a rib on that little branch that I landed on, but the x-ray I had taken of my back didn’t show anything."

"That ‘branch’ you’re referring to was an over two-inch thick, a tree limb with a big knot sticking out of one side. You went into shock and couldn’t breathe. You were turning blue by the time you were able to catch your breath. You know? You always seem to think that you live a charmed life, and nothing will ever happen to you. Well something did happen. I think your present sore back has nothing to do with the car accident."

"Baloney! I was fine until that kid in a sports car slid into the back of the van, lifting me out of the seat, seat belt and all. I never had a bit of trouble before that happened."

"You may think so, but I can remember you laying flat on your back for over two weeks after the fall at the picnic. Maybe the accident last year aggravated the other injury, and made it more severe. I’m not a doctor, but I know that you haven’t been yourself, ever since then. We’re going to see Dr. Wilson right away, and that’s that."

++++

Dr Wilson was happy as a lark to see me. Sure, I was money in the bank to him. My wife told him all about the ‘old’ rib bruise and how it started to act up ever since the accident.

He looked at me sternly, asking why I didn’t mention a previous broken rib to him when he was treating me last year for the lower back pain. I told him that I didn’t mention my throat infection, my asthma, or the appendix I had removed when I was fourteen, either. I recovered from them all years ago, and saw no reason to mention them.

"How long ago did you injure the rib?"

"Oh, about fifteen or twenty years ago, I suppose. Why?"

"Back in those days, Magnetic Radial Imaging wasn’t around. X-rays weren’t as refined as they are nowadays either. They didn’t always detect minute fractures that don’t heal properly that result in a weak spot. I think that we’ll have to have a closer look to see what kind of further damage occurred to your rib from the car accident. You may wind up in a wheelchair sir, unable to walk if we don’t find out if the damage was severe."

"Give me a break! It was only a bruised rib!"

"I think you already had a break, and don’t know it. Now, if it didn’t mend properly, you could suffer with it for the rest of your life, unless we fix it now. The longer you delay a treatment, the worse a weak rib could get. I’ll know more, once you’ve had an M.R.I.

I’m scheduling you for one as soon as the radiologist can fit you in. Just because you feel okay at the present time, doesn’t mean the pain won’t return with a vengeance to cause you no end of grief. Besides, the auto accident was less than two years ago and the case is still open. The other guy’s insurance should cover the cost of the M.R.I. They paid for the entire treatment of your spinal injury. I see no reason why they would deny payment for this diagnostic procedure, if it’s related. It may save them a fortune in the long run."

 

++++

I thought he was overdoing it, but the thought of being confined to a wheelchair instead of out boating was enough to convince me to go for the diagnostic procedure he ordered. It wasn’t painful. I had one when he first diagnosed the lower back problem from the car accident. All you do is lay on a machine and wait. It wouldn’t cost us a cent, either.

Besides, my overcautious wife wouldn’t let me back out of having it done. (Sorry about the pun). I don’t know what put a bee into her bonnet. She once told me she didn’t care if we never had sex again. Now, she was bitching because I wasn’t climbing up her back in bed every few weeks, for a change. The last time, I got the ice pick in my back, just when I was about to cum. Instead, I fizzled out. Women. I thought they were supposed to slow down when they enter pre-menopause. I’m in my late forties. She’s not far behind.

Sure, I like having sex as much as the next guy, but I’m not into S & M. Pain isn’t my idea of fun at all. I prefer ecstasy. Ever since the accident, I told my wife my back hurt from regular sex, and asked if she’d fellate me. She never did like giving oral sex, and she thinks it’s degrading. She’d do it a little to get things rolling on occasion, but insists on ending up with traditional penal penetration in her vagina during the climax. Even then, she doesn’t get very excited all the time. She just fakes it for my sake.

I like things a bit on the kinky side. Anything worth doing is worth doing well, as far as I’m concerned. I find that careful preparation and a long period of stimulation are more satisfying than the actual force of a quick orgasm. I like my juices flowing freely, first.

My wife, on the other hand, got annoyed whenever I asked her to get all dolled up like a trollop, and always wanted me to get sex over with in a hurry. She also didn’t like acting whorish for me. I wish that we were more compatible than we are. Maybe that’s why I started to play around with her things some myself beforehand, so I’d get all keyed up in advance. The trouble is, I got keyed up more often than she wanted sex. That is, I did up until the car accident. Ever since then, I haven’t asked her for sex once, and she found out why, the one and only time she tried to initiate sex with me. I rolled off of her in agony. My lower back was still too sore from the injury that I sustained in the accident.

Ever since then, I was hoping that my back would eventually heal up and our lovemaking return to normal, whatever that is. Meanwhile, I found interim gratification for my sexual urges manually in the shower. I suppose it was selfish of me to resort to whipping the bishop, but she never before complained if I lacked desire for frequent sex, leastwise, not until after the fateful morning I woke up in so much pain that I could barely crawl out of the bed.

All of a sudden, when I’m the one not in the mood, I’m not man enough for her. Big deal. Where was she when we were younger and I had the hots for her body constantly? You’d think that she’d be grateful that she was off the hook. No, she used the opportunity to make a major issue out of the fact that I wasn’t in the mood for a change, instead of her.

The M.R.I lab took me right away and found the bottom rib on the right side had an old fracture with a tiny chip displaced that had escaped earlier detection. The rib had healed up, but the alignment was less than satisfactory, with a minute gap that pinched nerves at the break like a pair of needle-nosed pliers when I twisted my spine in a certain way. That was the cause of my sudden outcries in the mornings, when trying to get out of bed. They said the gap would gradually open during the night while I was sleeping, and crunch the nerves near the break when I got up. The prognosis didn’t sound good. I needed surgery.

It was out of Dr. Wilson’s league, so he referred me to a spinal neurosurgeon. He was one of the best in the city, so I felt confident he knew what to do. He was very gentle with me when he examined me, as I made it clear that I had a low threshold for tolerating pain. He said the end of the right rib would have to be removed, and told me I wouldn’t even know it was gone after a while. It was too late to try to mend the worn out rib bone. The interior had deteriorated from the way it healed. If left unattended, an infection could develop and cause more problems, like peritonitis or worse. My brother nearly died from a ruptured blood vessel after peritonitis set in, so I knew this was nothing to fool with. I accepted his diagnosis and signed the necessary papers for surgery. Since I was ambulatory and the injury wasn’t critical --- yet, I had to wait until they had an opening in the operating room schedule. In the meantime, I wasn’t to return to work. I’m sure my partner was thrilled.

++++

I awoke groggy after the surgery, in severe pain, not knowing how long I’d been sedated. My chest felt like someone had placed an anvil on it. I was expecting the operation to be a minimal procedure, with a short recuperation period. I had my practice to run. Instead, I was told that the doctors had removed the lower rib on both sides of my abdomen. I had thought they were only going to remove the chip and move the separated part of my right rib that was floating free inside my chest, near my spine, so it wouldn’t pinch anymore. The doctor explained that significant swollen tissue surrounding the lower ribs indicated advanced deterioration. The risk of infection and future complications indicated the entire rib and its partner had to go to guarantee total success.

They took out two ribs without consulting with me! If I had known, I would have taken my chances with the way things were. Convalescence was to take weeks instead of days. I was laid up in the hospital immobile for well over a month, with my chest and abdomen bandaged tightly to prevent me from tearing things up inside.

It took another week or two of slow rehabilitation in order to walk upright. Even then, a hospital therapist recommended I wear a stiffly supported back brace, which amused my wife, highly. She told me that she already had a few ‘braces’ available that she could let me use with metal vertical stays and laces, to provide the support recommended.

The two women were giggling when she described them. One was the fancy one I bought her to wear years ago. She refused to wear it after one try claiming it was uncomfortable during the sexual role-playing that I kept insisting we try out way back then.

"That’s irony for you, Frankie. Since you liked it so much, it’s yours, darling. Now you won’t be messing around with the rest of my things, so much."

She knew that I had rummaged through her things! I burned from inner embarrassment.

"Didn’t you think I could tell when you ransacked my negligee drawer? Well, you did try to be careful with my delicate things, but nylon and lace crease if not handled properly. Besides, you stretched out my waist cinchers, split open a few seams and left a distinct male body odor on them. You may as well have those as well, because I’ll never wear any of them again. Come to think of it, I believe they’ll fit you better now. You’ve lost a lot of weight during your hospital stay."

"Mary. Please. I was only fooling around with those to get into the mood. Those waist cinchers helped me keep my back straight, too. I really didn’t fancy wearing them. I was a bit intrigued the first time I came across them in the drawer, thinking about how great you look in them. It was a way for me to feel closer to you, dear. That’s all."

"Good! Now you’ll have lots of time to feel real close to me. Since I’m the only one with a job, you can stay home to mind the household while your incisions heal. I knew you weren’t going to like what Jack decided recently, so I waited ‘till now to tell you the good news, Frank. Newsome Industries hired Jack as their full-time in-house accountant for a price he couldn’t refuse. He’s making more than twice what he did as your partner. To take the job, he had to sell the practice. There was no way he could handle the load and do them both justice with you in the hospital indefinitely."

"He sold the practice? What will I do? We can’t afford our place on your salary alone."

"I changed jobs while you were laid up too Frank. You know I’ve been turning down a great offer from my family to help expand Elite Designs for years, working my butt off part-time in retail sales, all because you wanted me home to raise our kids and be there for you, instead of traveling. I love to travel and yearned for it for years. We never went anywhere. With you at home to do chores, I won’t have to wash and mend your clothes, feed you, and clean up so much. Nor will I be at your beck and call anymore. I’ll be free to travel as much as I want, finding new customers for Elite. In plain English, I’m tired of thinking about everyone else. It’s time for me to do what I want. Think of the excitement, Frank. When your back is healed, you can join me, and see some of our great country."

"You don’t need to take that job, Mary. What’s wrong with what I accomplished. Didn’t we send both kids through college on what I made? The kids needed you at home when they were growing up, not parading all over the country selling. I thought we both agreed that your relatives could handle the family business without you. You don’t get so excited about fashions. Remember? Your brother, Marty fits right in with those wild people. He knows more about the latest designs than a man should. Makes me wonder about him."

"You should talk. He never borrowed my underwear and nylons, like you did."

I cringed. "He didn’t have to. He keeps enough garments packed for his selling trips to wear anything he wants, without borrowing yours. I always knew he was a big fag."

"Be careful what you say. He’s still my twin brother, and I love him dearly. Besides, you don’t have just cause to criticize. He can’t help it if he’s a bit effeminate, any more than you. I love you because your soft streak dear, so think carefully what you say about him.

If you tried to be half the man you think you are you would have been more aggressive at building your practice. No dear, you rode on Jack’s coattails, and didn’t generate as many good clients of your own. When Jack advised them of his great job offer with his biggest, rich account, the others threatened to get someone else, rather than stay with you. He had to sell the practice, dear. He didn’t want to sell, but clients didn’t want the lackadaisical service you’ve provided them without him there to back you up, so he had to sell.

I was in shock. The practice was sold out from beneath me. What could I do? I’d have to start all over. Years of development were gone. I built up the quality clientele as much as Jack ever did. If he thought for one minute that I was riding on his coattail he would have told me so a long time ago. That’s how Jack is. No, something wasn’t right. I would have to go talk to each of the clients and find out how the situation stood, as soon as I could be released from the hospital, if not sooner.

My private room had a phone. I asked Mary to bring me a list of our clients. I wanted to call each of them to get them to come back. She told me the deal included a non-compete clause. If I tried to call them, the buyer would cut off the remaining long-term payments and keep the clients that preferred his services without paying the remainder of the price that he agreed to pay off over the next five years at twenty percent of billings per year.

She said Jack would probably sue me for his share of the uncollected proceeds if I tried to interfere, and the hefty litigation fees of a nasty courtroom brawl would put us in the poor house and prompt the clients to go elsewhere sooner. I was stuck. Mary further explained that I wasn’t allowed to solicit accounting clients within a ten-mile range of our ‘former’ office, except for tax work. She said I didn’t have to fret, because, I’d soon be working out of the house, beyond the range of the non-compete agreement.

"Don’t worry, Frank. Between my new salary and your share of the monthly proceeds from the practice sale, you can work at home and we’ll manage just fine. Besides, with the housework to keep you busy, you won’t have time to run off to those little bookstores for relief anymore, either. Yes dear, I know all about your penchant for obtaining oral sex at those places.

Any woman worth her salt can tell when her man strays. After returning from a night out getting your tubes cleaned, you smelled to high heaven. It was easy to figure out where you had been going for sexual relief. Women of ill repute don’t have to satisfy horny men through bookstore peepholes, unless they employ the technique that men use. Those that go to those places aren’t real women, they’re women wannabes, you old fool.

You can’t get a toothless hag for a measly twenty dollars these days. You’d never dream of spending any more than that to get your ashes hauled. You risked your health and mine by settling for the depraved men who frequent those insidious pestholes to get the quick, effortless release you sought. Why do you think decent women deplore the act of fellatio? It reminds us what horny men will stoop to doing for pleasure."

"You know about that, Mary? I suppose you want a divorce, too. I guess that malarkey you gave me about working out of the house was merely to keep me from spending the money to open a new office. That’s a fine way to treat the guy who spent more than twenty-three years putting food on the table. Fine. Throw me out. I guess deserve it. Were you shocked to find out that I’m not the knight in shining armor that you thought you married? I wish that I could claim that I am, but I can’t. I’m just a stupid old lug that didn’t have the sense to see it coming. You must have been planning this for some time."

"I don’t need to divorce you, Frank. If I wanted to be free of you to do as I please, I could have left you when the kids first got married and started lives of their own. No, divorce never entered my mind for a second. What would our children think? No, whether or not you believe it, I’m still in love you, in spite of your infidelity and total lack of courage.

Since you didn’t feel it was important to restrict your desire for passion to our bedroom, I won’t demand it from you any longer. In the future, I expect the same degree of latitude from you. Refuse me, and I’ll ask Jack to tell everyone about the way you wore nylons and my waist cinchers to work underneath your business suits. Your name would be mud in this town, as soon as the word gets around. Maybe you’d like that? The company that you’ve been keeping will be appreciative. You’ll get a lot more offers for sex from other men who frequent those bookstores. That’s what you’d like, isn’t it?"

"No, it isn’t. It wasn’t my intent at all, Mary. I went there looking for reading material, that’s all. One thing led to another, and before I knew it, I saw what was happening in the back rooms of those places. It fascinated me. I only watched other men doing sexy things together, and it made me get horny. I’d run home to discover you weren’t in the mood, which was frustrating. You have to believe me Mary. I never intended to participate."

"Maybe not, but you did participate, eventually."

"I didn’t start by choice. I was inside a booth, with my pants down, uh, using my hand, getting up a head of steam, so to speak. I must have neglected to lock the hatch on the stall’s entry. This huge guy came in and forced me. He was massive. My back was sore. He could have broken me in two. I had to do what he demanded. You must believe me."

"Oh, Frank. Did you really? That must have been the night you cried in your sleep all night long. It must have been a terrible thing to experience. Why in the world did you ever go back there? I think getting raped once would be a sufficient deterrent. I could have understood you not wanting to get hurt one time. Why did you go back again and again if you weren’t involved voluntarily?"

"You know? I really don’t know why. I really don’t. I couldn’t get over the shame of my being forced. I wanted to die. What’s worse, I survived. I wanted the man to choke me to death for what I let him do. I didn’t feel I had the right to come back home and lay beside you. I survived, and it didn’t kill me. I wished that it had ever since."

"Well Frank, at least you now know how demeaned women feel when men force them to perform fellatio. It isn’t a pleasant experience, is it? I want you to tell me exactly how it all happened, that first time, I mean. Getting it off your chest will help you to realize what a fool you are. It may also rid you of the guilt you must feel for betraying my trust."

"Mary you must believe me. I didn’t want to do it. It was perverse. I was being forced. It wasn’t what I had expected to find in there. Truly, it wasn’t. I only went into the booth to masturbate, nothing more. It was crazy of me. I should have known better than to wear a waist cincher and nylons to that place. It made that big guy act like a demon possessed. He grabbed me and fondled me as if I was a woman. I couldn’t stop him. In spite of all my pleas, he forced me to bend to his will, calling me names, like ‘sugar’ and ‘ baby’ and ‘sweet lips’. It was horrid!"

"Why, Frank? You called me those names often while making love to me-e-e."

"That’s just it! I remembered saying the same words to you. He was treating me like his woman, even as he grabbed my soft penis. It was ghastly. I could only think of one thing: survival and escape. Then he forced me to my knees and pushed his way into my mouth. He smelled rancid, a thick ammonia smell. I thought that I’d lose consciousness when he forced himself all the way in. I couldn’t breathe. I saw bright stars and began to feel faint, so I tried to push him away, but didn’t have the strength. I knew I’d be found robbed, cut up and dead in some alley, wearing your nylons and the waist cincher. The police would assume I was a transsexual hooker and stick me in the morgue as a ‘Jane Doe’. I didn’t care if they did. I thought I was a goner, for sure." I stopped talking; hoping Mary would find the compassion to forgive me.

"Go on. What happened next? I want to know every last detail. Understand?"

"I can’t. It was horrible. You can’t imagine. I can’t talk about it."

An attendant entered into my hospital room, giving me reprieve. Mary surely wouldn’t demand that I continue my confession with another person in the room.

"The doctor will be here soon to examine you and approve your release, Mr. Lee. He has consulted with your wife earlier about your continued care. She was instructed how to replace your bandages and maintain your abdomen’s continued support while you are recovering at home. He wants you to remain in bed at home for at least two more weeks except for necessary trips to the lavatory."

She handed me a set of printed pages. "Study these exercises. You may begin as soon as you feel that you’re up to doing them, but not until after two more weeks of quiet rest."

Mary took the sheets from me and said she’d make an extra copy, first.

The nurse continued. "In case the doctor fails to mention it, he will send a visiting nurse by to see you regularly and expects to see you in his office in about a month, unless you feel it necessary to see him sooner. Apparently, the operation was a complete success. The external stitches will dissolve soon, leaving the incisions almost invisible. The last set of x-rays show that the internal sutures have already dissolved, and everything inside is mending as was planned. Do you have any questions?"

I didn’t, so I looked at my wife. She shook her head, and the matronly lady left us. Mary didn’t tell me to resume my confession, so we sat quietly, waiting for the doctor. He soon stepped into the room, raised the bed and checked me without speaking. Manipulating my chest lightly, he asked if I felt any undue pain. I whispered: "no".

"Very well, then. You can go home. I’ll send up an orderly with a wheelchair."

That was it. No apology. No explanation of what went wrong to prompt him to remove both ribs instead of the tail end of the one. He didn’t even say good-bye or wish me luck.

Mary went to the small closet and emptied it out. She put my clothes into a shopping bag and laid out a flannel robe on the foot of the bed for me. "I’d rather get dressed, dear."

"Nonsense. Your clothes won’t fit properly with your chest bandaged up, dear. Once we are at home, you can wear whatever you like – in bed." She smiled, coyly.

The way she said: "in bed" reminded me of the game we played at the Chinese restaurant. We added the words "in bed" to every little slip of paper’s words found inside the fortune cookies. "True happiness awaits you" ---"in bed". "New friends will come your way" ---"in bed". I chuckled.

"What’s so funny, dear? I’m not in a jovial mood. Why are you?"

"I was thinking about what you just added: ‘in bed’, like the fortune cookies, that’s all."

"Well, you should be used to staying in bed. You’ve been here in one well over a month. I’d think that you would welcome a change of scenery. At home, you can continue to tell me more about your exploits at the bookstores once you’re in a hospital bed of your very own, at home where it will be more comfortable. The doctor felt a hospital bed would help you to change positions and sit up, so you don’t get bed sores, so I rented one."

"What did you do with our bed?"

"It’s right where it belongs. The hospital bed I rented is set up in the den, closer to the main bathroom. It will help your back to heal. You’re less likely to wake up in pain, if you add a bit of incline to the bed before you retire each night. The doctor said so. You will find out when you read these instructions he had printed out for you."

The attendant arrived and delivered us to a waiting taxi in front of the hospital. It wasn’t hard to move into the wheelchair or from it into the taxi, but I was concerned about the walk up the stairs into the house until I realized that the attendant folded the wheelchair and put it into the trunk of the taxi.

The cabbie helped Mary bring me into the house. I was surprised at how agile she was. He did most of the grunt work, pulling me up the few steps backwards, but Mary took some weight off of the wheels, as he lifted. For once I was glad our house had a suitable room on the first floor, as well as a full bath. After she paid him the fare and tipped him, the cabbie offered to assist her in putting me to bed, but she declined his offer.

I was glad, because I wanted to shave off the month’s growth of whiskers on my face and asked her to bring me my shaving kit from upstairs.

"Not now, dear. First, I want you to continue your story."

"I’m tired from the trip home. Can’t it wait until later?"

"No, dear. I want the whole story, right form where you left off, on your knees doing the act men normally expect from women, to satisfy their urges without their exerting much effort. Let me think. Oh, yes. I remember. You said something about the strong scent of ammonia. What happened next?"

I stopped to think of what to say. I couldn’t tell her. She must have already thought I was too easily persuaded. No man should simply relinquish his dignity without first putting up a proper fight. How could I explain the intense fear that prompted me to readily comply with the huge man’s demands? I had to convince her I had no choice, but was too afraid to lie or concoct a story that she would refuse to believe.

"He grabbed me by the back of the neck and forced me. I was blacking out from the lack of oxygen and the pain. I tried to resist, to no avail. He was too powerful to fight off. If I was to survive at all, I had to wait until his urgent needs waned, dear. I had to swallow my pride and give him what he wanted. I had to."

"You swallowed more than your pride. You swallowed the right to call yourself a man. Is that it? Do you want to be a woman? Seems like you did, dressed the way you were."

"No! No! That wasn’t it at all. I couldn’t help it. He misunderstood why I was wearing a pair of nylons and the back brace."

"Brace? You said it was a waist cincher."

"I meant that I wore it for a back brace, but it would ride up, so I wore nylons to prevent the bottom from rolling up, irritating my back. I had no intention of misleading him to think I was a crossdresser. It’s true! You must believe me!"

"Okay. It doesn’t matter whether you wanted to lead him on or not. Seeing you in a booth dressed as you were was provocation enough, though. I can’t blame the man for his error. You must have looked like a tart, or he would have left you be. Then what happened?"

He wasn’t satisfied with the way I was doing it, so he leaned over and pulled me to my feet, without removing his – thing – from my mouth. He said it would allow me a better angle to service him. I almost fell forward and felt him hit the back of my throat. Then it was going deeper, and I gagged. I couldn’t breathe again. I put my hands against his body to push him off, but he liked gagging me, and kept up the pressure. When I tried to back away he pinned my butt against the wall and held me against it with his arms at my spine.

It hurt like hell, so I stopped resisting him and concentrated on getting him off. He kept on saying I had nice lips, the kind that he always wanted on his ---."

"Say it! His cock!"

"His – his cock. It was enormous. It stretched my lips. I couldn’t believe how big it was. If I didn’t force myself to stroke it with my lips, he would have suffocated me. I had all to do to get some air into my lungs in between his lunges. He had me backed up all the way against the wall, and I suddenly felt cold fingers playing with me from behind. Whoever was in the next booth was massaging my testicles and was playing with my –penis."

"Did it feel good, considering where you were and what you were doing and wearing?"

"It was---strange. I was responding to the touch, involuntarily. I didn’t want to, but I was in distress. I wasn’t in control of what was happening. It wasn’t my fault."

"But you let other men fondle you on other occasions, did you not?"

"No. I only watched them. No one ever touched me before. The man’s fingers made me take a deep breath and inhale my tormentor’s manhood deeper. I" ---

"Call it a cock! He buried his cock into your throat and you let him! Say it!"

"Okay! Okay! His cock was buried in my throat to the hilt. His groin hair was on my lips and I sucked it deeper, so he’d back off and let me have some air. Satisfied? I was in no position to argue with him. His hands were on my head. With a quick twist of his wrists, he could have broken my neck."

"I thought you said his hands were on your waist?"

"Once I was pinned against the wall, he moved them back to my head. The guy in behind me had me by the balls. I had no way to get away. I was being pulled down from the rear and had to spread and lower my legs to keep from having my nuts torn off." I broke into tears. Never did I imagine I’d have to retell the nightmare to anyone, least of all, Mary.

She sat silently and watched me cry. After a few minutes she ordered me in a low voice: "Continue. What happened to you next? Don’t leave out a single detail."

"You’re enjoying this. Aren’t you? I was brutally raped, and all you want is to hear every gory detail. Isn’t what I told you so far enough? Must you make me tell you everything?"

"Every last detail, Frank. I must know. Forgive me if it seems cruel, but letting it all out in one session will help you feel a lot better. You won’t feel you held something back from me. You’ll sleep better and recuperate far sooner, once you get the whole story out of your system. Trust me. Go on, now continue."

I composed myself. If she were right, I’d have to try to include everything. It wouldn’t be easy, but I’d gone so far, nothing would really matter if I told all of it to her. Her opinion of me was shattered beyond hope, so I took a deep breath and let it all out.

"The guy in the next booth spread something wet and cold into the crease of my butt. The next thing I felt was a finger, pressing. It entered me, and started to stroke me in cadence with the man in front of me. Another finger was added, then a third. My --- cock --- was getting hard, in spite of the intense fear that engulfed me. The fingers left my butt, and were replaced with a firm---hot ---cock. I was being pummeled at both ends, unable to extricate myself. I ceased resisting, letting them do as they pleased with me. I didn’t care anymore. I was being treated like a woman at both ends by then.

I abandoned myself to my fate. I heard a crack. At first, I thought they broke my back, but didn’t feel any more pain than that which I endured inside my bung and my throat. The man in front of me put something beneath my nose. It startled me when the smell hit my nostrils. I got a buzz on. My mind reeled, as I felt the pain in my butt subside. Later I found out it was an ampoule they used to heighten sensation. That it did. The man began to pulse and fill me with his ejaculate. I was drowning in it.

Then he pulled out and wiped his cock off on my face. He had gotten what he wanted. He held me in place until the man behind me in the next stall grunted and filled me with his spunk from behind, and slowly pulled away. I felt so used, I crumpled up into a tight ball in the corner of the booth and cried like a baby."

"That’s all? There must be more."

"My tormentor didn’t give me much time to feel sorry for myself. He pulled me back into position and pushed me back onto another stiff cock protruding from the stall next door. He laid his body up against mine and stuck his cock between my legs, making me ride the guy in the next stall by holding on to my butt cheeks.

Someone else entered our booth. He made me lean forward and take the new man’s cock into my mouth; then, a third and finally a fourth man while he took snapshots of me being defiled by the line of men that paid him for the privilege. He pimped me out to the others who gladly paid to take their turns.

By the time he let me get dressed, I had serviced seven men one way or the other. I was so sore at either end I could hardly move or speak. I begged him to let me go. He did, after he ransacked my wallet, took all my money and wrote something down on a receipt from the gas station. Then, he was gone. I stayed on the floor in disarray. No one came to my aid. Men looked into the booth, saw me, and left, not wanting to get involved."

She opened an envelope and laid out snapshots on the bed. "Are these the pictures of you that he took? You’ve seen them before, haven’t you?" It was more of a statement of fact than a question. You see. Your new pimp also wants me to join your circle of friends and provide them with the genuine article. If I refuse, these pictures will be sent everywhere. What do you propose we should do, dear? Should I let your pimp blackmail us?

What do you think your children might say if I do agree to join his harem, and still these pictures find their way into their hands, anyway? Will the fiend try to induce them to join his harem next? What do you think, dear? Since you were the one so foolish to get this nightmare started, I feel you should have some say in resolving it."

I looked at them in abject horror, nodding affirmation. The bastard had sent pictures to my wife, to torment me, because I stopped showing up at the bookstore. They clearly showed me fellating a stiff cock, in obvious bliss. "How did you get a hold of these?"

"They came via a parcel service. Whoever sent them was smart enough not to use regular mail. He may think he is clever, but he’ll soon learn he’s met his match. Performing sex with consenting adults isn’t a felonious crime, but blackmail is. All we have to do is have him meet with you and spell out specifics of his demands in the presence of witnesses. Think I should meet him with you, or are you willing to have someone else present?"

I broke out into tears again. I wrecked our lives and submitted Mary to witness my failure to prevent it. Now the man wanted to lure her into the arena. She has no idea what it was like to be blackmailed into satisfying a long line of horny men. I only did it to save face. The man threatened to expose me to my wife and family if I didn’t do as he commanded. When I had to go to the hospital for surgery and couldn’t possibly show up, he backed up his threats with action. I was spared nothing. Mary now knew everything. I felt she must hate me for being so weak and putting her through this ordeal.

"You can’t go. I won’t let you. You don’t know what he’s like. He’s a monster. I won’t let him demean you like he did to me. Now that you know all about what I’ve done, he doesn’t have that threat to hang over me. You can’t go into a place like that, Mary. The lowlife there would abuse you even more than they did me. It would be insane!"

"Don’t worry, Frank. My family has dealt with their kind before. I won’t bother you with all the details, but Marty encountered as chap when he was younger that tried to con him into a similar situation. I’m telling you this because my brother will be here soon to assist us in putting this blackmailing jerk in his place."

"But Mary. Marty is a docile guy. He’s no match for a monster with an attitude. He’ll be drawn in more easily than I was. Don’t send for him. He doesn’t have a chance."

"You don’t know my brother like I do. He may seem docile outwardly, like you say, but Marty’s very cunning and knows how to protect himself from riffraff, unlike you. He’ll know exactly how to prepare you to face the man and bring him to his knees."

"No. I won’t let him! Don’t do this, Mary. Please! Let’s just forget about him!"

"Do you think I’d put my brother in a risky position if I didn’t have complete confidence in him. Trust me. Marty can handle himself. Just don’t be too shocked when you first see him. He won’t look a bit like what you remember. He’s changed considerably. He’ll tell you exactly what to say and what to do. Follow his instructions to the letter, or I’ll never forgive you. He devised a plan to expose this man for what he is. He knows how to deal with a critical issue like this better than you or I do."

"Why is that?"

"I’ll let him explain. Remember, dear. Do exactly what Marty says. If you don’t, it may spoil the extensive plans he’s made. He’ll arrive early tomorrow the morning. Until then, don’t get any bright ideas. You’ve done enough already. Keep this in mind. I do love you, and know why you got into more than you could handle. That’s why I called on Marty.

I’ll have to be off to begin working at the new job soon after he arrives. The business is growing rapidly and the competition is grabbing a lot of the trade. Marty won’t tolerate both of us being preoccupied with this dilemma at the same time. Be civil with him."

"Are you sure, Mary?"

"I’m sure. Now, get some rest. You’ve had enough excitement for one day. I’ll be back to feed you your supper. Hopefully, you’ll be able to be up and about soon to take care of most of the chores in my absence. Marty will teach you how to do that, as well. He’s quite the homebody. If he brings a friend with him for support, be cordial. Now, rest."

I tried, only because I was exhausted from baring my soul to Mary. She was right about my feeling better after I shared my woes with her. She was a marvel. She didn’t flinch at what I told her, even the gorier details. It was unlike her. She didn’t press me too hard for the things I didn’t want her to know. I guess the severity of the problem did cause her to be highly inquisitive. Yet, she didn’t pump me for every minute detail. Did she?

Later, after supper, I asked her to bring down my shaving gear again. She said it wouldn’t be wise. Shaving my whiskers would make matters more difficult for me later. I’d get a chance to get cleaned up, and even have my hair styled, after meeting with Marty. I let it go, stroking my beard. I didn’t like it. It made my face look odd. It wasn’t the real me.

++++

Marty arrived early the next day, as expected. I heard them talking in the living room, Marty introducing the friend that he brought along. Laughter made me wonder what was so funny and was taking them so long to come in to the den. Years ago, I had gotten the impression he didn’t like me from the start, and thought I wasn’t good enough to marry his twin sister, but he always tried to act as if he accepted me, if only for Mary’s sake.

I also knew he was after Mary to help him expand the family business. Well, he finally got his way, which was probably why he was willing to help straighten out this mess we were in. Fine by me. As long as he got Tilo the Terror off our backs, I didn’t care. How he went about doing it wouldn’t bother me a bit either. If nothing else, Marty is deeply devoted to his twin sister, so I don’t think he’d do anything to upset her, like I did.

Mary came into the den with a stranger in tow and kissed me. "Marty went up to get washed up from the all-night drive. This is Larry, Marty’s best friend and - companion."

So it was true. Marty was gay, after all. The guy was a hunk, if I ever saw one. "Pleased to me you, Larry. Sorry if I don’t get up. I’m not supposed to exert myself yet."

"Don’t bother Frank. Mary asked me to bring in a television set with a tape player. She wants you to see some videos we brought with us later. I’m a cosmetician. I travel with Marty to clients and show them how to emphasize creations he sells by styling hair and doing makeup. We met a conference some time ago, and I’ve been at his side ever since."

They kept giving each other furtive glances. They knew something I didn’t know. Mary touched his hand. She never seemed so casual with a stranger before. I let it go. Maybe he knew her before we two met, but he looked too young for that. Maybe it was Mary’s way of telling me she no longer felt obligated to restrict her love life to me. After all, I had been cheating on her, in a way. She suddenly left me in the den alone with Larry.

"The first thing I’ll do is to remove your facial beard. In a week or two, you won’t have to shave, ever again. Mary insists. Besides. It’s an important step in the plan for you to be free of your beard shadow. She hates the grubby feel of your face against hers late in the evening anyway and wants it gone, forever. I hope that you don’t mind. I told her there are several other ways to prevent a man from chaffing a woman, but she was adamant. Please don’t think any of this is my idea. I’m just a pawn in the game."

Jut then, Mary returned. "Game? Is it really necessary? Mary? Is that what you want?"

"What I want isn’t as important as setting up a scenario that won’t fail. Think of this as a release from your macho prison. Without a beard, you can go for days without scratching an irritated chin. You know how bad nicks can irritate. You’ll hardly notice the absence of stubble after a while. You’d be surprised at how many movie stars get electrolysis, so scenes that require many takes don’t show the changes in their beard shadow to impair realism. If you really want to have a beard at some point in time, you can wear a false one. I think that having to shave all the time must be a nuisance, anyway."

"Okay. When do we start?" I wasn’t about to put a fly in the ointment right off the bat.

"Right away. It will irritate for a while, but I’ll use a balm to suffuse it and ---."

"Don’t bother explaining. Just do it and get it over with. I told Mary I’d do anything to be in her good graces. I might as well show her that I meant what I said. Get to it."

He did. It stung, but I was resolute to keep my word. I had let some goon do whatever he wanted to me. Why shouldn’t I allow my wife the same privilege? I was stuck in bed for then next two weeks with nothing else to do. This way, at least I’d have some company with Mary away, starting her new job in the family business.

"Say, how long did you say this would take?" Mary left us alone again but peeked into the room every now and then to check on my behavior, I guess.

"Please don’t talk. I don’t want to jab you wrong. I’m using five needles at a time. It will take far less time this way. Shouldn’t take more than a week, if you can stand the pain. If you can’t, hold up a hand and I’ll take a break. A grown man like you shouldn’t let a little thing like tiny needles get the best of you. I had my chin done. It took less than a week."

"You did. Just your chin?"

"Please. We’ll talk when I take a break, not while I’m working."

Mary left again, while Ben’s friend kept sticking my face with the sharp needles. I tried to ignore the smell of ozone, but got the idea he was burning my flesh with the needles, as he used tweezers to yank stubborn hairs out. I kept telling myself to hold my tongue and endure. It would be over, sooner or later. I hope Mary knew how painful it was and how far I was willing to go to please her.

When Mary returned, she put her hand upon Larry’s shoulder and took a peek at what progress he made so far, as if it was a perfectly normal thing for him to be doing. I looked into her eyes as she continued to rub her hand on Larry’s shoulder. I could swear she was coming on to him. Larry was good looking. I had to admit, far better looking than I was.

"Take a break, honey. Time to let Frank in on who I am. It’s me, Frank. Marty."

"Marty? No. Was it you that kissed me earlier? You look just like Mary!"

"Hey we’re twins, remember? No, that was Mary, but we’ve been taking turns to see if you could tell. I guess I passed muster. If her own husband couldn’t tell the difference, no one will. I’ll explain why I’m dressed like her. The brute that lured you into prostituting yourself called her and dropped by while you were in the hospital. He told her he wanted her to work in his new brothel. If she refused, he’d circulate all the pictures of you he has. Seems he lured you into turning tricks to recruit her, too. He already had sent her pictures of you that you’ve seen before he showed up at your front door.

The guy is brave and persistent. I’ll say that much. When she threatened to expose him, he laughed in her face. That’s when she called on me, for help. You were out of it from your surgery at the time. You didn’t even know that she came to see me.

I had a tail put on the guy, via a friend of mine. The guy has friends of his own in high places, so he isn’t afraid of getting busted for running a whorehouse. Being a pimp is one thing. The crime is considered victimless, so authorities often sweep the matter under the rug. Being an extortionist is something else. In order to shut down his operation and put him where he belongs, we have to catch him dead to rights, threatening a target.

Exposing you won’t help the cause. So, we’re keeping you under wraps. He’ll hit on me, taking Mary’s place, and Larry will be our witness to testify that we aren’t just trying to falsely accuse him and detract from him wanting to entice you to continue your voluntary service in his stable as well as Mary’s.

Mary will take you to my place, once you’re fully recovered. You’re too vulnerable to be of use here. By then, we’ll have a trap set for Tilo. The less you know about it the better. I’ll tell him that you left me, uh, Mary, because you were ashamed and couldn’t face her. I, as she, will accept his offer to work in his brothel in exchange for all the negatives. I, as Mary, will use the protection of her name and his promise to not advise your children of your past indiscretions as the premise for agreeing to his demands.

It’s a clear case of extortion, if we can get him to fall for it and make the offer on camera. Even if the filmed evidence isn’t admissible in court, it can be used to corroborate Larry’s testimony as an eyewitness. I’ve already alerted the state agency and the feds seeking to crack down on sex crimes against helpless women. I’m a well-known transsexual, Frank. The police are glad to have me help them nab a felon when sex for hire is involved."

"Marty. I don’t know what to say. I don’t understand. If you dress like this all the time, you can get hurt, too. Why do you do it? It’s wrong. Ow. That stung, Larry!"

"He does it because we’re in love, stupid. He’s my wife. We’re a happy couple. Having a bit more flesh than most girls doesn’t bother me. In fact, I like it. I love Marty. It may be hard for you to accept our way of life, but we’re not that much different from you and Mary. Hell, Marty sure isn’t very different from Mary at all. You love her. She loves you.

We have a slight problem that we deal with in our own way and no one gets hurt by what we do. Lately, you started to have a problem, too. Don’t point any fingers at my darling wife until you consider what you were doing. Do you consider a man who walks around in women’s underwear normal? What you do is your business. What we do is ours."

"I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to be insulting. I agree. It’s not my business or anyone else’s. I’m simply not used to accepting how it looks to the rest of the world yet, that’s all."

"Forget about the rest of the world. Mary thinks enough of you to accept you for what you are, or we wouldn’t be here. If that means dressing unusually on occasion, so be it. Personally I think Marty is absolutely gorgeous regardless of what he wears. When he’s in drag, we can go dancing or out to dinner, even to the beach, wherever we please.

It’s nice to live like everyone else, without getting sidelong looks and nasty comments. It’s refreshing to be able to go where we please, to do what we want whenever we want. Being gay isn’t regarded as being as terrible as it once was, but plenty of folks can’t be polite, or can’t handle the issue without being downright prejudiced. Hell, if Marty made his sales calls in a seersucker suit, half the customers would refuse to give him an order.

What’s the difference if he has a big lump in his panties? It’s the lump in my throat I get when I see him, on his side, when I wake up every morning that matters. He’s mine. I’m in love with him. Get it? Mary loves you, too. Maybe she’s afraid to say it, but she wants you to be happy. What’s done is done. She’s willing to accept your desires, if you meet her halfway. She told Marty seeing pictures of you only made you more precious to her."

Marty took over. "You’re vulnerable, man. Take stock. Maybe Mary’s seeing you being defiled changed how she felt about your sneaking into her dresser and using her things. I tried to explain how compunctions gnaw away at a guy. I felt guilty about doing ‘drag’ for years. How a person dresses only represents a way to express inner feelings. It doesn’t mean the person is a pervert or demented.

The guy who forced you to perform sex acts against your will is the pervert. He’s the one that is a threat to others. How you choose to live is your business, as long as you don’t force others to debase themselves, or commit any crimes in the process."

Mary came into the den. Side by side, I could tell them apart. Either one alone could be my wife. Seeing them separately, knowing one was Marty, and not Mary, made me think about appearances, and how little they meant, if you love the person behind the façade.

"Mary? Can you continue to love a guy that made the serious mistake of not sharing his fondness for things that he shouldn’t wear? If I knew you could, I would have told you about how they excite me, honest I would. Hell, you hated wearing those things. How can you tolerate my fondness for wearing them?"

"Frank. In a few more weeks, you’ll know for sure. I want to help you express the inner girl that you feel is trapped inside of you. When Larry finishes with you, you’ll be able to professionally apply cosmetics and wear the kind of clothes that make you feel complete, anywhere you’d like. We’ll travel together. You can be Frank one day, and Fran the next.

If the mystique wears off in time, which I’m hoping it will, you can happily dress in male clothes for the rest of your life. If it doesn’t, well, we’ll see. If you’ll want to be my close girlfriend and traveling companion like a female carbon copy of Marty and Larry, we can pretend we’re two lesbians for all I care. I think we owe it to ourselves, don’t you?"

She leaned over and whispered in my ear. "From what I could see, you’re experience at the bookstore cured you of your reluctance to provide oral service and enjoy penetration, Frank. Think of how you’ll feel when I’m penetrating your mouth with a stiff prosthesis while we’re on our sides in bed together. Mmmm. I’ll have to find one that will give you access to my love button. What’s good for the gander is good for the goose. I can’t wait to try it out, ‘sweet lips’. "

I blushed deeply. Then, I thought about what being submissive to her would be like and smiled. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about injuring my sore back, if we faced our objectives side by side, -- or inverted, or --- oh my!

She added the final touch. "When Tilo the Terrible is safely in jail and we’re free to do whatever we please without reservations, we’ll decide. We’ll decide together, dear. We won’t even think of do anything separately ever again. Will we?"

The End.

 

 

 

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© 2002 by Virginia Kane. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.