(Editor's note: this is an edited version of a multi-chaptered work that was previously on Literotica under this author's name.)
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Chapter 1 Amy needs a shoulder
Amy is a neighbor and one of my favorite people. She's in her mid-twenties, dark red hair, slim--even after two kids, cute, great sense of humor, and generally a joy to be around. My name is Robert, Rob for short. I'm 20 years older, and live one house away from adorable Amy. Currently I am unemployed, by choice. I left my last position with enough money to take a year off and plan my next foray into the business world. My wife runs her own business, the kids are all gone out into the world, and I was enjoying a serious unwinding from years of living the rat race.
Over the past several months, Amy and I had developed a comfortable routine. Three times a week, or so, we would meet for coffee at my house. It came about because we would see each other outside and start into some of the greatest conversations. We would talk about almost anything, argue politics, even share cooking and gardening tips. She has the green thumb, while I am a closet gourmet chef. It evolved into a ritual, usually Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at 10:00AM, she would walk in from the deck after cutting across John and Joanie's backyard, and I would have the coffee ready. It might sound boring, but without a doubt it's a highlight of my quiet days.
A typical day for me was pretty dull, which is exactly what I wanted. I get up with my wife, fix breakfast and see her off to her shop. The rest of the morning was spent on any household chores and exercising. I wasn't a fitness fanatic, but a belt is designed to hold up pants, not hold in a gut! Besides with the way I like to cook (and eat), a fitness regime is a requirement. I was usually cleaned up and ready by 10 to relax a bit. Amy, or Aim as I started calling her, would come in almost on the dot of 10. If I was still in the shower, she would grab a cup of coffee and browse my book and movie collection until I came down. From there our conversations would range from the depths of Dante's Inferno to the heights of Burroughs' Barsoom. Nothing was beyond us and over time we developed a genuine trust and affection for each other. Amy became my best friend and I think I became one of hers.
Was any of this a secret, no! Our spouses knew about our visits and all four of us were always getting together for almost any reason. Our neighbors were already used to us helping each other with chores, hanging out on my deck, or attacking each other with rubber band guns and water pistols. Of course the neighborhood rumor central made some passing comments, but since nothing seemed to support them, the rumors died down. We had nothing more than a perfect friendship, until it became something more.
One day as I was almost down the stairs, I saw Aim sitting at the kitchen counter staring at her coffee. She was early, which was a little unusual, but nothing to comment on. I stood there for a moment and watched her; she was absolutely still, now that was way out of character.
"Hmmmm." I said, clearing my throat so I wouldn't startle her by walking in. She didn't jump, but she turned and offered me a wan smile, far less satisfying than the megawatt grin I usually get. Without a word I poured myself a cup and sat next to her at the counter. Maybe you, the reader, think I should say something, but remember, I KNOW this girl. Whatever was troubling her would come out in good time. The best thing I could offer her was space. While we sat there I wracked my brain trying to think what could be wrong. Kids, no way, she wouldn't be sitting here. Dave, doubtful; money, probably not; they weren't wealthy, but Dave earned good money. Thinking about many of our conversations, some extremely personal, nothing came to mind. After a while my coffee got cold, so I got each of us a fresh cup. Hers was practically untouched, another out of character item to add to the list.
Sitting down again, I finally hear her talk. "You have the patience of a saint!"
"Nope, no patience at all, I was wondering when you were going to stop wasting my good coffee." Smiling, I asked, "Do you want to talk about it?”
"I'm not sure." She paused. "I mean you are a guy."
"Last time I checked I was. And also the last time I checked that didn't matter between us," I stated quietly.
She looked at me, reassessing something I couldn't pin down. From her comment the problem had to do with Dave. Dave is a nice guy, who I know loves Amy. He can be a bit of a stick-in-the-mud sometimes, but there isn't a hurtful bone in his body. He is also a touch of a wimp, well that might be harsh, but sometimes I wonder where he keeps his backbone.
Don't get the idea that all we talked about over the months was books and movies and Dave. We touched every topic--including sex. It is also not that we were lusting after each other. I consider Amy an extremely lovely young lady, and have no problem with noticing her charms in the same manner as one appreciates fine art. I just happened to know that she was a bit sheltered as a teen; I also know she was a virgin when she got married, and that Dave is the only guy she's ever known in a biblical sense.
"If we talk about this, you have to promise to be honest with me, even brutally honest," she stated flatly.
If her appeal was less than earnest, I would have been insulted. I have always been honest with her, including the time she added lighter red highlights to her hair and looked like an auburn and pink zebra. Laughing at her hair might have been a little more than honesty required, but you should have seen her.
I looked her right square in the eyes and told her, "I will be as honest as I could be, as honest as I always have been."
She dropped her arms down on the counter and buried her face sobbing.
Immediately I was beside her, holding her shoulders, thinking evil thoughts at Dave if he was the cause of her pain. In the midst of the sobbing I could hear her asking herself, "What's wrong with me?" and "It's my fault."
Stroking her hair, I try and calm her down, hoping I could help her. This went on for quite a while before she finally looked up, her beautiful face all blotchy, eyes red from the crying. Taking a deep breath, she started to apologize. I cut her off, "You have nothing to apologize for. Just talk to me. Tell me how I can help."
She sniffed a couple of times, and out of the blue dropped a bomb, "Dave doesn't want me anymore."
Now I know Dave pretty well and I know he loves Amy. "How do you know this?” I asked.
"I found . . . I found . . . magazines", she said in a low whisper as if she was ashamed of everything.
For a second I thought she was going to tell me she found Dave with another woman. Instantly I knew what she had found -- some pornography. Dave must have stashed some stuff somewhere and she found it.
"What exactly did you find?"
"I found a pile of disgusting magazines in the garage, in his tool cabinet. He hates me, he must hate touching me if he has to read that filth." I didn't know how to respond right away. "And that's not all. There was one of my towels, and it had these yellowish-white stains on it."
Now I was surprised, Dave reading porno and jerking off in the garage. I didn't think he had it in him.
I almost smiled, but that would have hurt Aim. Trying to be sensitive and honest can be a challenge sometimes. "What do you think it means, hon?"
"What do I think, it means he hates me, I repulse him, and he doesn't want to have sex anymore."
I placed my head above her and smiled, knowing she couldn't see me. "When did you discover them?" I asked.
"This morning," she sniffed.
"Up to today, when was the last time you had sex?"
She hemmed about that.
"Listen. If you want me to be brutally honest, you have to do the same," I stated firmly.
"Last night," she said, lowering her eyes again.
"Was there anything different about it, or any changes recently in your sex life?"
"Noooo, the same thing. We cuddle, he gets on top, we each orgasm." She puts her hand to her mouth in embarrassment.
I pull her hand away and tell her, "Look at me!" She looks up and looks away. "Not good enough. Look-At-Me!" I touch her chin and gently lift her face up. "You know me and I know that if you didn't trust me you wouldn't be here. You can tell me anything and you know I won't be judgmental (well not about her, but if Dave hurt her!)."
Several sniffs later she starts talking. "We had sex last night, our usual routine. We have sex quite often, always the same. Until I found the magazines, I thought everything was fine."
"OK, tell me about the magazines."
"I needed the cordless drill to put up those new shelf brackets, you know, the ones I was telling you about."
I nodded.
"When I couldn't find it, I checked his tool cabinet in the garage. I saw one of my good towels, the real soft ones. When I pulled it out, under it was a pile of magazines. I wouldn't have really paid any attention to them if one hadn't fallen out. Right on the cover was this picture of . . ."
I'm not sure if it was anger or disgust the caused her to stop. She was speechless. "Tell me all of it. It's the only way I can understand," I said.
"The picture was this girl . . . and she had it . . . in her . . . mouth."
"What did she have in her mouth?"
Aim looked up at me, pleading with her eyes. I just waited patiently. She took a deep breath and said in a low whisper, "A penis."
"A what? I can't hear you."
