A Civic Duty

It was 8:00 am on Monday morning in early November. I stood in the glare of the intense examination light with my pants down around my ankles. Dr. Alexia Harrison, seated on a stool, stared intensely at my crotch. My wife, Rita, stood behind Dr. Harrison and looked over her shoulder with a similar intense gaze.

I glanced down at what garnered the two women's riveted attention. My balls were swollen three or four times their normal size and my penis was half-erection size but floppy. Shades of blue, black, and purple colored all my swollen private parts. It looked like some kind of grotesque modern art down there.

The doctor sat back, switched off the light, and said thoughtfully, "Okay Tom, you can pull up your pants and have a seat. I complied with the doctor's directions, and my wife joined me on the couch.

Dr. Alexia Harrison looked over at my wife, but then her professional medical shell cracked. She was consumed with giggles and then cackled, "Oh my God Rita, you sprained your husband's dick. I only saw pictures in medical school, never a real live one."

Rita relaxed upon hearing Alexia's mirth at my condition realizing it must not be too serious. She replied with giggles of her own, "Oh no, not me. He fell out at the wrong time. It's all his own fault!"

Rita and Alexia roomed together at the University of Alabama-Birmingham as undergraduates and became life-long friends. Alexia and Rita were two very bright women, who, even now at forty, still turned men's heads with their well toned, athletic, feminine figures and pleasing features.

Alexia had gone on to the UAB medical school and now owned a prosperous concierge family practice in the suburbs of Birmingham. She was our family doctor and widely admired around the community and profession for her knowledge and compassion.

My wife, Rita, had gone on to get a PhD in physics at MIT. I met her there while I was finishing an MBA at Harvard. Upon finishing her degree, Rita returned to be on the faculty at UAB, and I went to work for a large construction company in Birmingham. Rita was a specialist in scanning electron microscopy and energy-dispersive X-ray spectroscopy and was in demand for consulting and lectures around the country.

Rita had an adventurous and nonconformist soul. While at UAB, she had taken up rock climbing and played women's club rugby. For several summers while at MIT she had been an exotic dancer in an exclusive men's club on Cape Cod to help pay tuition costs - or so she claimed; I always suspected she was a bit of an exhibitionist at heart. In both Birmingham and Boston she collected boyfriends and admirers like some people collect stamps. Her wild streak had been tempered by age, marriage, and the responsibility of parenthood but was never wholly tamed. Life with Rita was always fun and often jaw-dropping exciting.

I gave an exacerbated groan. "Oh come on you two, how about a little sympathy for the patient here," I groused. "And Alexia don't you dare tell Jackson. I am claiming my HIPPA rights."

Jackson was Alexia's husband and a close friend of mine. We played squash together regularly, and Rita and I often socialized with Alexia and Jackson.

My wife, Rita, smirked and teased, "Oh no honey, this is way too juicy not to tell. Don't worry Alexia, you all come on over for happy hour tonight. I'll fill Jackson in so you won't have to break the HIPPA rules." Glancing at me, Rita laughed, "Baby, you are not going to live this down any time soon."

Alexia recaptured her professional demeanor and said, "Okay, let's get back to business here. Tom, you suffered what is called a a fractured penis. Fortunately, according to the ultrasound no permanent damage was done, and the tunica albuginea were not ruptured. This could have been serious. I am glad you called me at home this morning and that the ultrasound technician and I could come in early to check you out. When exactly did this occur?"

Rita answered sheepishly, "About five this morning. We have both been traveling a great deal lately and passing each like ships in the night. I was going to start today off with a well-deserved bang for both of us."

Alexia smiled, "Understandable. Girl on top?"

Rita blushed and answered uncertainly, "Ah, yes."

Alexia explained, "This is a rare injury. Girl on top is one set-up that can allow it, though." Alexia smirked at Rita, "Like I said, you sprained your husband's dick."

"Oh hush," Rita laughed. "What do I do with him now?"

Alexia joined in the laugh, "Well, you are not going to be having sex with him any time soon; that's for sure."

Alexia shifted her gaze back to me, "Okay Tom, I want to see you first thing every Monday morning at eight for the next four weeks. I need to keep an eye on this. Call me if anything changes or if you see blood in your urine." She wagged her finger at me, "And no sex for at least the next month. I'll tell you when it is safe for you to resume."

Alexia shifted her gaze back to Rita and chuckled, "Well girl, you might as well get yourself a temporary boyfriend. Your husband is hors de combat for the time being."

Rita gave me a saucy smile and teased, "I might just have to do that. After all we, have reservations for this coming weekend at The Lodge at Gulf Shores. No sense wasting them." She turned back to Alexia and explained, "We were going to take advantage of Genie spending the weekend on the farm with her cousin to have a romantic get away."

Genie is our daughter who is a senior in high school. Our son is a freshman at Auburn University.

Alexia smirked as she replied, "Well you can still have the get-away with your husband, but you better pack your own boyfriend for the romance part."

I ignored my wife and Alexia's teasing and asked petulantly, "Alexia, what do we do to treat this thing now?"

Alexia smiled at me, "Tom, treat it like a sprain. Baby it, and, whatever you do, don't re-injure it. Try some ice packs every hour or so for the next few days. That may reduce the swelling some."

"Ice packs? You have to be kidding me," I groaned.

Alexia gave me a sympathetic smile, "I am afraid not, Tom. I am just delighted the injury was not more serious. It is much better that we can laugh and tease about it rather than be rushing you in for emergency surgery."

NEXT WEEKEND AT THE BEACH

Rita and I took Friday afternoon off from work and made the five hour drive down to Gulf Shores. We arrived about six, checked into The Lodge, and then had a relaxing dinner of grilled red snapper with a bottle of Chardonnay.

We luxuriously slept in Saturday morning and then took a glorious stroll down the beach. Regal pelicans skimmed the gentle Gulf waves, sea gulls and colorful oyster catchers swooped, and perky ruddy turnstones and terns hopped down the beach ahead of us. An eagle in an old dead cedar tree watched haughtily as we ambled past.

After an hour, the breeze picked up and ominous, black clouds began to build. The Gulf turned angry, and large waves began crashing rhythmically on the beach. We turned back to the hotel where we grabbed a bit of lunch. By two o'clock heavy driving rain and gusty winds set in, leaving us stranded indoors.

Normally, this would have been an idyllic afternoon for extended lovemaking on our king-sized bed overlooking our balcony and the stormy Gulf. However, given my damaged privates and Alexia's stern admonishments not to even consider trying sex, Rita and I were left sitting there staring at each other.

We played a little gin rummy to pass the time while watching Alabama destroy Ol' Miss on the gridiron on TV. Finally at 4:30 we gave up and wandered down to the bar. It had a great view of the storm roiling the Gulf waters outside and inside had a giant TV with another football game on. We settled down at a table in front of the TV. I went to the bar and got a Tequila Sunrise for Rita and a Wild Turkey on the rocks for myself.

This was off-season so we had the place largely to ourselves. The usual throngs of tourists were not here this time of year. When we checked in I noticed the hotel was hosting two weekend meetings, one for an insurance group and one for an electronics company.

We sipped our drinks, watched the storm, and kept an eye on the football game as we chatted amiably.

My cell phone rang and after glancing at the screen I said to Rita, "Honey, this is Peter. He's trying to put together a proposal for Monday for the Chattanooga bridge job, I better take this."

Rita smiled understandingly, raised her Tequila Sunrise at the Texas A&M game that was just starting on the TV, and said understandingly, "Don't worry dear, I am well entertained here."

I went out into the lobby with my drink and phone so I could hear Peter better. The call with Peter drug on for half an hour or so.

When I returned to the bar, I saw three young men had taken the table next to my wife. They all wore natty business suits that had name tags. I glanced at a similar tag on another guest who walked by me. It had a logo and the title of a company called Modern Electronic Security, Inc. It was now almost five-thirty, and they probably had all just been released from their meeting.

The three young men, boys really, were chatting away gayly with Rita and sipping beer. I could see they had bought my wife another Tequila Sunrise. Rita was half turned toward them and leaned back comfortably in her chair. Her crossed legs had hiked her skirt to mid-thigh, and, no doubt, that provided an enchanting view of Rita's shapely legs for the young men to ogle. My wife was smiling coyly and said something to the men. The men all replied in unison, but I could not make out what they said. Rita blushed and laughed while she waved her hand at the men in dismissal. My, my, that cute little wife of mine was flirting up a storm with men half her age. And she was having a grand time doing so.

I went to the bar passing behind Rita and out of her sight. I grabbed another drink and took a seat several tables to the rear of my wife. There I watched with wry amusement for several minutes. The whole time the young men assiduously courted my wife without respite. I was too far off to make out the conversation but body language and animation suggested a friendly and lively discourse. Their flirty conversation undoubtedly was couched in risque innuendo and suggestive double entendres. Rita could give as well as she took in that form of linguistic sparring.

I glanced around the sparsely populated bar and realized my wife and the bartender were the only unattached women. The three wolves had identified the only available female and were on the hunt. With the fierce storm breaking over the resort they were not likely to go out nor were other women likely to show up. Hence they were making a serious play for my wife's affections and sizing up the potential for taking her to bed.

I made a quick phone call. I took a sip of my drink, thought for a minute, and then called my wife. Rita's buzzing phone interrupted the group's saucy flirting. My wife hastily pulled the phone from her purse with a guilty start.

She answered with a chirpy, "Hello dear, where are you? Wait a minute I can't hear you with the football game going on."

Rita stood up with her phone and said to the men, "Excuse me, it's my husband. Don't let them take my drink; I'll be right back."

She walked to the window on the far side of the bar and looked out with her back to the men. I noted that my wife had a fine figure. Her young men were also gazing intently upon my wife's feminine hourglass shape appreciatively; maybe lustily would be a more apt term.

Rita asked laughingly, "What happened to you? I was beginning to think Peter finagled you into returning home to help him."

I replied lightly, "Oh, I led him through a couple of tricky contract issues. Now, I see you with your trio of admirers; you know the ones who are not much older than your children. I certainly didn't want to interrupt such fun."

Rita answered with a giggle, "Oh, it is good for an old woman's ego when handsome young men flirt with her. They are making a gallant play to get in my knickers, that is for sure. I feel like I am eighteen again! Come on over; it will be fun to see their crestfallen looks when I introduce you."

I replied evenly, "I just called the front desk and reserved the room next to ours. Keep the boys busy for the next half hour, and I'll get all my things moved next door. Then you can be free to allow whomever you wish to storm your feminine ramparts."

A shocked, "What?" was Rita's reply.

I answered quickly cutting off further debate from my wife, "Your husband is not of any use to you for another month. Go ahead and exercise your libido. You have a willing stable to select from."

There was an extended pause, and then a questioning, "You're serious? It's okay with you for your wife to just haul off and shag some stranger tonight?"

I laughed, "Honey, celibacy does not become you. We haven't had sex in almost a month because of our travel schedules - well, not counting the Monday morning disaster where you sprained my dick, to use your friend's parlance. I'm going to be out of action for at least a month. Yes, it's okay. I can't service my wife properly right now so it's fine for her to get a thorough tuneup from elsewhere. At least until I can take up my marital duties again, that is."

My wife's a lusty old girl who delights in the carnal pleasures of life. In her past, before I met her, she had spread her affections liberally. Since our marriage, to the best of my knowledge, she had been faithful.

Our recent travel induced celibacy had her hot to trot Monday morning when the unfortunate spraining of my dick brought our carnal pleasures to a screeching halt. No doubt the embers of that unrequited passion smouldered hotly all week. Flirting with these young men would act like a bellows igniting a raging inferno in her loins by now. I was sure that gal of mine was dying for some physical relief.

Rita was quiet. She did not reject the idea out of hand though. She was actually considering the proposition seriously. She murmured thoughtfully, "Hmm, I am desperately in need of a tuneup these days; that is for sure."

I quipped, "Even your family doctor said you needed to pick up a temporary boyfriend for romantic services this weekend. It's your doctor's prescription, after all."

Rita chuckled and said quietly, "Our doctor did prescribe a boyfriend for me didn't she?"

My wife turned and searched the bar. When she found me sitting in the back, we locked eyes. She asked with a tremble of nervousness in her voice, "You are sure about this?"

I smiled at her over the distance. "Yes, I am sure. In fact, I double dog dare you to do all three. Heaven knows you are woman enough to handle them."

Rita laughed, and I could see her blush from across the room, "Well, it would be hard to select one winner and jilt the other two. They are such sweet, ardent young boys." She giggled, "And they certainly all want a piece of your wife's ass."

I cut in, "On a serious note, we don't know these guys. I'll be next door and will have the connecting doors between our rooms unlocked. If things get out of hand just holler, and we'll bring it to a halt."

"Oh, I think these boys are pretty harmless. Harmless, that is, except for desperately wanting to fuck your wife. But it is always good to know the cavalry is just next door, if needed."

I heard Rita take a deep breath and whisper seductively, "I suppose that there is nothing really wrong with a good and proper wife doing naughty things with her husband's permission, especially when he foolishly double dog dares her!"

Rita gave me a smile and strode determinedly back to her table. She left us connected so I could overhear what she would say to the boys.

As she took her seat, she exclaimed brightly, "Well gentlemen, that was my husband, and he stood me up. I am here all alone tonight. I don't suppose any one of you would like to keep this old woman company and buy her another drink?"

With that she cut the connection and put her phone up. As the young men swarmed over and pulled up to her table, she unobtrusively glanced over and winked.

I took that as my cue to exit and prepare for my wife's arrival upstairs with her string of studs in tow. I went to the front desk and got the keys for my recently reserved room next door to our original room. I opened the connector doors between the two rooms and quickly moved all my luggage and toiletries from what was now my wife's adulterous trysting boudoir to my new room next door.

We had brought two bottles of champagne with us that I had stored in the room's mini-fridge. I put those in the little kitchenette sink in Rita's room and covered them with ice from the hall ice machine.

The room was laid out with a small front sitting area which is where the connecting doors between rooms were located. Behind this was the bathroom and a short hall that had a little kitchenette with a sink, small refrigerator/bar with wine, beer, liquor, and soft drinks, a microwave, and various snacks available at inflated prices. The bedroom was luxurious and expansive with a king-sized bed. The spectacular view looked out on a private balcony, across the undulating white sand dunes, and out to the storm-tossed Gulf of Mexico beyond.

If Rita did get in over her head, I might not hear her call for help with the geometry of the rooms and with the connecting doors in the front room. This would be especially true if she was, as was likely, back in the bedroom when trouble brewed. I pulled up a team meeting software app on Rita's tablet and hooked my cell to the meeting hosted on the tablet. I switched off the camera and screen and placed the tablet on the lower shelf of the bedside table. It should go unnoticed there, but I would be able to hear over my phone if Rita called for help.

With all evidence of my previous presence erased from Rita's room, I exited to my celibate exile next door using the double connector doors. These I closed behind me, but ensured they were both unlocked in case I needed to enter suddenly on a rescue mission.

I texted Rita about my new safety measures with her tablet and my phone. I got back a saucy text, "Well, you are going to get an earful!" with a flirty, winking emoji.

I laughed to myself thinking "Yes indeed, I probably will."

Soon I heard the laughing men and my giggling wife come down the hall and enter her room. She spied the champagne and called out to her rambunctious companions, "Well, my husband jilted me and is missing the champagne. Pour us all up some while I freshen up a minute."

I heard whoops and excited chatter from the young men punctuated by the pop of a champagne cork. After a few minutes everything went dead quiet.

I heard my wife say in a sultry voice, "Okay boys, what do you think?"

The sudden silence and then the following babble of excited male voices hurling compliments suggested my wife had reappeared in something quite eye catching. Funny she brought that along knowing my limping sexual condition. Had she had plans of her own that I just opened the door to? Or was she going to wear that to supper one night just to torture me? Interesting. Guess I will never know for sure.

Rita purred, "Bottoms up, boys. There is nothing like champagne to warm a girl up for sex."

Then the music of a stripper's routine began; no doubt Rita had found it on her phone while in the bathroom and now had it blaring. There were whistles, cheers, and exhortation to take it off bursting out of the boys now. It sounded like my wife was putting on quite the strip show to whet the appetites of her lovers-to-be. Well, in her youth at Cape Cod she had gotten the professional experience to do so and to do it quite well.

After maybe ten minutes of male exhortations and wolf whistles, Rita laughed excitedly as she purred steamily to someone, "Come on baby, you get to be first."