It Only Too a Second

(Revised 11/7/2022)

Foreword

This story has an interesting history.

It was difficult to write, required much research, and an insistence of making emotion the centerpiece of the story. We wanted it to be painful.

It's been read four times more than any of our other contributions.

It's been rated more often and added to more readers' lists than any other, as well.

When we submitted it, we misunderstood the purpose of the loving wives category, and misdirected it there. We suspect the misplacement is the reason for the massive relative read count, even though we moved it into the current category only a few weeks later.

We're proud of this story, and we hope you enjoy:

It Only Took a Second

"Oh! Um... Uh... I'm so sorry." She gasped. "I... I guess I should have knocked or something," she said, backing away before she closed the door.

I hoped she was embarrassed.

Well,

hoped

is the wrong word. I hoped she was

only

embarrassed and not outright disgusted or angered. And, if she was embarrassed, I was certain she wasn't half as much as I was.

"Shit," I whispered to myself, trying to recover from my mid-orgasm startle. I struggled to think as I zipped my fly and mopped up my semen from the hardwood floor with tissues.

Oh, fuck, I'm so dead

, I thought.

I leaned against the end of the desk, trying to conjure an excuse for what my wife had just witnessed. I decided there was none. I had no choice but to own it. I spent ten minutes or so reaching that conclusion before I left the room to look for her.

I found her at the kitchen table, head down, pretending to read the newspaper. I knew she was pretending because it was folded, and the only thing visible was the half-page advertisement for the latest model Ford pickup. A truck was something in which I knew for a fact she had zero interest. The paper also was upside down.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to her.

"You're apologizing? Why? I suppose I shouldn't be so surprised."

"I don't know what else to say."

"You don't need to say anything. We shall just forget about it. I understand."

"You understand? What do you mean?"

"You have... needs. And... I can't satisfy them. I--I understand," she repeated, trying to sound totally at ease, like it'd never happened.

She almost made me believe she hadn't come into the room we used as our home office and seen me rubbing one out. She acted as though she hadn't caught me masturbating, startling me, causing me to miss the wastebasket and make a mess with alarmed, wide eyes.

"I'm sorry, Kaley. I wasn't... I just--"

"Stop talking about it, okay?" she said with obvious frustration in her voice.

"I need you to know I wasn't thinking about anyone but you," I continued anyway.

"Oh, sure," she said. "You've been married for eighteen months to a woman who's become fat, can barely walk, can't feel much of anything below her waist, and probably won't be able to bear you any children," she managed to say before she began crying.

"Stop talking about it, okay? You're going to get me all messed up if you bring that up again. We just have to continue to work through all of this a day at a time, okay?"

"

Stop it!

Admit it to me right now. If you knew what was going to happen to me, but knew it before we married, you would have never gone through with it. Admit it right now or I'll know you're a liar. We'd only been married for six

months

!"

Her words were a gut-punch, but, somehow, they broke some sort of mental block in my head. It was as if some neurochemical cocktail spurted out of my adrenal glands and forced me to speak despite my manners.

"Oh, okay. Let's go down

that

road, shall we?

"If I'd somehow miraculously foreseen our future the day before we got married, you bet your ass I would have still gone through with it. That's

honesty

. It's honest because I was and am still deeply in love with you.

"You want to go the other direction? Fine. Here we go.

"If I'd have seen it coming the day I met you, then you'd probably be right. I doubt I'd have been so nice to you when you dumped my drink into my lap. I'd have thrown the cup out, walked away, and left the mess for a barista to clean up. If sooner than that day, I wouldn't have even gone there in the first place.

"You are, and always have been, a beautiful woman. But the day you drenched me with coffee, I was attracted to you emotionally because of how cute your smile was when you were gushing with apologies. You were so earnest and so... so... genuine... I

couldn't

ignore it.

"Then, I fell in love with you, and I knew I wanted to spend every single day of the rest of my life with you. I swore that to you when we said our vows.

"Yeah. Your falling backpack was the butterfly which flapped its wings and set a typhoon in motion. I'd change our circumstances if I could. But I can't. Neither of us can. But I'm not as ready to give up on you as you are.

"You are being incredibly selfish thinking this is all about you, and I get it. But it's not! It's changed my life as well, and you have to understand that. You need to stop feeling so sorry for yourself and tune into the fact that I'm still right here with you. I don't regret marrying you. I don't regret it for a minute, so knock it off and get your act together!"

She stared at me with glaring eyes. I half-expected her to slap me and prepared myself to allow it.

"I know what you're thinking," I said with a chuckle when she didn't do it. "You can kick my ass later."

My words brought a subtle, crooked grin.

"As if that'll ever happen," she said softly.

I watched her for a few moments. The conversation wasn't the first of its kind.

"Come on, honey. It's been a long day. I'm sure you're worn out. Let's get you to bed."

"Okay," she said, with resignation in her voice.

I handed her the pair of forearm crutches she'd propped in the corner of the kitchenette near where she was seated. I helped her to her feet. I followed closely behind her as she slowly made her way to our bedroom. For some reason I couldn't understand, she didn't count what she was doing as progress she'd already made. She was walking!

Sure, she was slow, guarded, and very cautious. But she was on her feet, despite the searing pain it sometimes caused, instead of in the wheelchair she'd used for the prior eight months.

I helped her to the bathroom in the master suite so she could do her business. When she was done on the toilet, I helped her into an absorbent undergarment.

At that point, she only wore them when she slept. Her systems were back under her control when she was awake and usually when asleep, but she felt more confident with the protection.

I helped her into our bed and situated several pillows around her the way she preferred. She'd recently started sleeping under a weighted blanket. It helped her feel steady and secure. Though the blanket was marketed to people with anxiety, the weight and pressure it provided brought sensations to her legs and feet that, she explained, assured her brain they were still there when she awakened.

The blanket was too heavy for me. It made me feel claustrophobic to the point it required effort for me to breathe, so I seldom snuggled under it with her, not that she wanted me to, anyway.

I stroked her soft hair. That was far from a chore. My wife's hair was one of her most beautiful features. I counted it a privilege that she permitted me to run my fingers through its silky strands. The act soothed me as much as it did her. Usually, when she was in her comfortable position with pillows propped just so, she could fall asleep in less than ten minutes.

"Tell me what you were thinking about," she said in a soft, easy voice.

"What, baby?" I asked.

"Tell me what you were thinking about when you... um... were doing what you were doing."

"You," I answered immediately, with total and complete honesty.

"Please," she whispered. "Tell me. Tell me more."

"It kind of makes me feel a little weird."

"You don't have to. But I'd like to know how I still comfort you... that way."

"I was thinking about the first time you and I were physically intimate."

"Oh?"

I nodded. "I remember the evening so very vividly, like it was yesterday."

"Tell me," she said, very serenely, as I stroked the edges of her ear softly with my fingertips.

"I remember those cute little flannel tartan jammies you were wearing that evening. We were snuggled on the couch watching a Blu-Ray. It was

The Intern

. Remember?"

"Yeah. Since we were at my flat, I rented a chick flick."

"I had the most beautiful woman in the world wonderfully close to me under a comfy quilt. We were so warm and cozy all snuggled next to each other. It was such a perfect evening. We'd just enjoyed one of the first dinners we made together and were settled in with the best bottle of wine I could afford at the time. We were perfectly toasty with a fire in your fireplace and dimmed lights.

"Of course, since we'd chosen not to live together, I wasn't wearing pajamas like you were. Except for my shoes, I was still in my work clothes, but that didn't keep you from chilling.

"I remember you pausing the movie. You kind of nuzzled your nose into my neck and started rubbing the inside of my thigh with your hand. Then I felt you nibble the crook of my shoulder, and you started giggling when you felt my skin go all bumpy."

She smiled. "I remember. I'd discovered one of your spots."

"

Yeah

you did. And then you surprised the crap out of me when you reminded me, out of the blue, we weren't going to sleep together until after we were married."

"Hmm."

"We'd been engaged for three months, but it was a good reminder that we'd made the decision to wait until our wedding night. When you said it, I thought the evening was about to end, and then you took my hand and put it on your breast and made me touch your nipple."

She chuckled. "

Made

you?"

"You know what I mean. You held my fingertip and massaged it through your top and I could feel... well, you know. It was incredible how you did that. Up until that moment, the only nipple I'd ever touched was my own."

She laughed at my purposefully explicit confession of my inexperience.

"I can still remember the way your breath caught. When you asked me to touch you between your legs, I thought I was going to die. I really thought you'd given up on wanting to wait. You were leading me down such a confusing and dangerous path. I mean, you'd just said 'no sex,' and then asked me to touch you there.

"I remember you letting me slip my fingers into the leg of your shorts, and I felt your body through your panties. I remember how warm the cloth between your legs felt, and you asking me to touch you... inside."

"I was so aroused I wasn't thinking straight," she said with a sigh. "I could tell you were, too, because I could feel how hard you were."

"I loved every moment of that night. The way you offered just... something... to satisfy my curiosity. The way I could still smell you on my fingers the next morning--"

"That's enough," she said abruptly.

"But you--"

"I know."

I heard her begin to softly cry again. "Baby? Honey. It'll be okay."

"No, it won't." She sobbed. "We shouldn't have wasted so much time. I'm your wife now! I'm only twenty-five years old, and I won't ever be able to make love to you again!"

I didn't argue with her. I continued to stroke her hair until I heard her breathing slow into sleep.

I'd seen Kaley Renée Haslett on campus many times before, and always thought she was beautiful, but I never tried to chat her up, or even get close to her for that matter. She was a woman I'd figured was way out of my reach.

We were both in our junior years at Tufts University in Medford, Massachusetts.

I had just sat down at my favorite coffee shop and had placed my venti frappe on my table. I leaned over in my chair to pull my laptop out of my backpack to finish working on a paper when Kaley scurried by in a hurry for reasons she still can't remember to this day.

She bumped into someone going the opposite direction, which caused her backpack to slip from her shoulder as she passed. Her bag crushed my cup enough that the plastic lid popped off before it toppled over, dumping its full contents into my lap. Luckily, my computer was spared, but my clothes weren't.

I'd never seen a woman blush as deeply as she did. She struggled to find words to apologize, but words weren't necessary. Her body language alone conveyed the sincerest regret. I didn't need the attempted explanations or offered apologies. I couldn't even pay attention to her specific statements. The ice-cold beverage soaking into my jeans was a distraction, to be sure, but her green eyes and accent were what kept my rapt attention. Oh, my lord, her accent was so divine!

Kaley insisted on replacing my drink, but I was more focused on cleaning up the mess and getting out of my cold, wet clothes and getting them into the laundry before any stains could set. We, instead, agreed to meet at the same time the next day so she could restore her honor. It was an arrangement to which I readily agreed. Not only did we meet the next day, we met the day after, and the next two after that. We met almost every day, sometimes to run together when we discovered we both enjoyed that form of exercise.

I could sit and listen to her talk all day long. I was certain she could simply recite the alphabet and a few nursery rhymes at a TED Talk and it'd be one of the most-watched videos of all time. Her voice was simply enthralling to my ears.

She was not only physically and aurally attractive, she was crazy-intelligent, confident, outgoing, and more tender-hearted than I could have ever imagined. I was perplexed as all hell why she thought I was interesting, and I remember asking her one day.

"Why do you enjoy hanging out with me?"

"Why do you ask?" It sounded like "

aahsk

."

"I don't know, maybe because I can't help but think you're out of my league," I answered.

"I'll be the judge of that," she said with a lovely smile.

Her answer was so believable. It was genuine. She had me hooked. Her upper-crust English accent spoken in a marvelously rich, tonal voice so completely clutched at me, especially when it spoke words of affection as our relationship evolved.

It took me ages to work up the nerve to kiss her. The first time I pulled her toward me, I was scared to death. My brain kept telling me I was unworthy of her affection and steeled itself against the inevitable upcoming face-slap of rejection.

I was gloriously surprised how she accepted it. I felt the tension evaporate, and she returned my kiss just as passionately. She shared the scent of her breath and the flavor of her tongue with me, and I so freaking

adored

her.

We were, most definitely, in love. She doted on me as much as I her. We were, in fact, quite good for each other.

"You fret about me being out of your league," she told me one day. "I think the same of you. You're the most handsome, clever man I've ever known, and you're much too good for me."

She kissed me so deeply I almost fell to my knees.

She was, as may be obvious by now, of English heritage, but had lived in New York since her father had transferred to Chase Financial in Manhattan before she entered the ninth grade. She had begun her studies at the university on a student green card but had since earned her United States citizenship.

We dated for almost two years. As graduation neared, we received a number of excellent job offers. She and I agreed we wanted to continue our relationship, so being in geographic proximity to each other was important. We reviewed and mulled through our respective offers together.

Though a handful of the offers we received were from the same corporations, we thought it best to accept offers from separate ones. The arrangement offered us togetherness, but reduced the risk if, somehow, our relationship was to sour.

I'll admit we even argued about the specifics. We argued like couples do. We argued like couples

should

. We debated. We discussed. We listened to each other. We countered, evaluated, and considered. We compromised and decided together.

We accepted positions at two different companies based in Tucson, Arizona, and we graduated together after our first year and a half as a solidly intertwined pair.

I know. It probably sounds overly analytical and maybe even callous, but the arrangement obviously worked for us since we later married.

She accepted my proposal six months after we'd moved there.

I wasn't the kind of guy who wanted to make it a public affair. I'd once been at a baseball game where a guy had apparently informed the stadium of his intentions, and his proposal to his girlfriend was shown on the Jumbotron between innings. The look of sheer panic on the woman's face was obvious to me. Even though she nodded, sending the entire stadium into uproarious cheers and applause, I was certain the poor woman would have answered in the negative if the question had been asked in private. I felt horrible for her.

I would never put Kaley on the spot in any similar way.

I, instead, asked for my love's hand one chilly evening as we walked a trail in a state park. It happened under a beautiful moon and starlit sky. I even scanned around us to ensure there wasn't a soul present to observe the event. I thought it delightful that even her shouts of surprise and joy had an accent.

The emotions she exhibited as she accepted my proposal were so incredibly gleeful that I briefly regretted

not

asking in front of the entire world. I bawled with joy when she accepted, and I do mean

bawled

.

We, quite literally, tasted each other's tears as we kissed them from each other's faces. I can honestly say I'd never before felt such incredible happiness in my entire life.

We were married in the very same state park just shy of a year after our engagement. We exchanged wedding bands and said our vows right on the spot where I'd offered her the engagement ring. Dozens of friends accompanied our families and pastor, all humoring us the required short hike to that glorious spot.

I never could have imagined how intense my wife's libido was. We were an hour late for our own reception because she insisted we go to a secluded cabin she'd reserved as a wonderful surprise gift. We made love for the first time. We only stayed at the reception for about two hours until we went back to the cabin and stayed up almost all night enjoying each other.

We had waited. It was the best decision we'd ever made. We were each other's first. The consummation of our marriage was perfection on top of perfection, even though we were, admittedly, a bit clumsy.

I know! It sounds cliché, but we seldom left our hotel during our honeymoon in Destin, Florida, because we were having furious fun exploring each other's intimate bits and parts, finding each other's "spots," and becoming less clumsy.

It needed a little coaxing from me for her to permit it, but the first time my mouth feasted on the succulent flesh between my wife's legs, her scent and flavor made me lose control of myself and I wound up making a mess all over the bed.

She laughed so hard she turned almost as red as she had the afternoon she'd dumped my frappe all over me.

It wasn't a laugh meant to humiliate. It was a laugh of released nervousness and relief that my delight in the deliciousness of her feminine form caused me to erupt so quickly. It made her feel incredibly good about herself because she, as she told me later, was very self-conscious about her "lady-bits." My inadvertent, accidental emission was seen by her as the truest expression of my appreciation of her incredible sexuality.