Aftermath Just Loving You

Author's Note:

My last story

"Aftermath, or "I Can't Go for That"

, showed the fallout after the wife experienced a horrific attack, being abducted and abused. That version of the story focused on the husband's reactions to his wife's rape. The story didn't go into details of her experience, focused as it was on the husband's point of view.

One private comment from a reader said

"... there is so much unwritten here about what Cheryl must have endured, from the night of her abduction through the therapy and her inability to communicate with Paul until she finally left. Perhaps you can fill us in."

This rewritten version ADDS to that original story by sharing Cheryl's POV in the aftermath and restructures that story, to better ease the reader into the situation. You don't need to read the original story. But if you did read it this, has only minor changes to those scenes. This also goes on to a different ending.

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Prologue

When he came home, she was engrossed in her task at the kitchen counter as he stepped up behind his wife. With his hands on her hips, Paul pressed his groin against Cheryl's butt, and she felt his stiff member against her.

Turning her head slightly, she lovingly asked, "Can I take care of that for you?" and she reached her right hand down between them to caress it through his pants.

Bending his head down just a little beside her, he closed his eyes as he drew in the scent of her perfume.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, basking in the moment. When his lips met her neck, her body tingled in anticipation.

"Not here," she said with a gasp, and she broke from his embrace as she turned around to face him. "In the bedroom," and she took his hand in hers, drawing him out of the kitchen as she led him toward their afternoon delight.

She closed the drapes and turned down the lights. Discarding their clothes, she was first to lay on the bed, spreading her legs to beckon him in. He crawled onto the bed, entering her, slowly enjoying her velvety tunnel as he slid his stiff member in and at first gently moved in and out. Faster and faster, his passion built, and his thrusts became more insistent. He felt her legs wrap around his back, her heels pulling him in, demanding her own release when thrusting her hips up to meet his.

He reached his left hand under her leg, pulling her leg up and away with her foot beside him. After so many years together, he knew how best to make contact with her to help her enjoy it. Looking into her eyes, he saw them growing wide as her own passion built.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she gasped in time with his thrusts.

Her open mouth gasps and wide eyes told him how much she loved him, loved this with him. The sounds changed as she got closer, and he thrust his stiff member into her depths, over and over, feeling his own release approaching. Her voice changed to "Ah! Ah! Ah." Then it hit, "Ahhhhh..." and she moaned with her continuous stream of pleasure. He saw her eyes roll up and back as he felt her clenching him inside her.

In the dark room, she saw only his face, surrounded with the low light from the lamp, when every muscle in her body tensed and shook in her orgasm.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her right foot twitch and he could feel her leg quiver uncontrollably. She grasped him with her kegels, milking the pleasure out of him and he paused as his first surge spurt forth to fill her, then continued over and over, with pulse after pulse of his essence. He surged forth into her as he gave her his life.

...

When he was drained and empty, he reached for the box of tissues. Setting it on the bed within her reach, he pulled two tissues to catch his dripping member and he withdrew from his love.

She tugged out two tissues and reached with them down between her legs to clean herself. Tossing the tissues to the floor beside the bed, she rolled over snuggling up to his side. He felt her breasts spread beside him, the left one gently resting on the left side of his chest and the right soft mound pressed against his left side. She cocked her left leg, bringing her knee up and over him to rest across him, and he felt her soft furry patch press against his hip. With her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her shoulders and back, he pulled her in, as if making them one.

This never grew old. It was always just as intense, staring into each other's eyes as they become one in their moment of orgasmic heaven. They both felt and saw this brief glimpse of heaven since that first time, both their first, together on their wedding night ... almost thirty years ago.

Intro -- Paul's View

Cheryl and I were soulmates, destined to be together since meeting in Sunday school so long ago. Our families lived near each other, so we went to the same elementary, middle, and high schools, sharing the same classes together. And I watched her grow into the cute young lady she became in college. She wasn't a raving beauty, or cheerleader A-lister type of girl every boy in school might lust after. She cut her hair short and was sort of a tomboy when we were younger. But she was MY best friend! Then in college, her five-foot four figure filled out and she had problems hiding it in her usual baggy clothes and conservative dresses.

Blossoming into such a beautiful young lady, I couldn't understand what she ever saw in me, as an average guy just five or six inches taller. I wasn't an athlete or super-genius in school, and I would have been jealous if she ever showed any interest in those types of guys. I was an average guy who went on to college and eventually became a middle-manager in an industrial company. I just loved the fact my gorgeous friend stayed with me, forsaking all others.

So, I proposed to my steady girlfriend, my Best Friend Forever, who then became my wife and the mother of our kids.

We were both virgins until our wedding night, even though we were each other's constant companions as we grew through puberty. We managed to suppress those teenage urges to explore sex together, without arguing over it. And when we finally gave in, consummating our joining on our wedding night, it was worth the wait.

Sex to us became that loving giving of ourselves to each other. In our monogamous marriage it was for making babies, ... and for stress relief. She could tell when I would start getting amorous, that I needed ... no, ... I WANTED her company in bed. And I learned her cycles and stresses, giving her space when she needed it or helping her relieve the itch when hormones craved it. Our lovemaking was always soft, slow, and easy, ... never rushed. We were compatible and complementary.

Intro -- Cheryl's View

Our sex life was great, loving and caring for each other ever since that first time on our wedding night. We both enjoyed seeing each other's face during sex. I appreciated watching his eyes burn with passion as his pace quickened when he was in me. Wrapping my legs around him, I would pull him to pound him against me. And he knew just where I wanted his pounding, because he'd pull my leg up to better hit that spot. I would use my other leg to help twist and grind it against him as he'd thrust into me. When I'd feel the head grow ever so slightly inside me, I'd squeeze my kegels to help his release. Then I'd feel him pulsing inside me, and it would drive me over the edge and my whole body would shake. Watching the passion in his face as he loomed over me was the last thing I'd see before everything would grow white as I blanked out, moaning in pleasure.

After he'd finish, I'd recover, and we'd snuggle together. Putting my head on his left shoulder, I'd pull myself closer, pulling him in between my breasts and throw one leg over him holding him close. We'd relax together, basking in the afterglow of that glorious high.

My girlfriends described doing other things with their guys. But I couldn't see how I could ever enjoy anything like that. When Paul and I first kissed, I enjoyed his lips on mine. Our tongues eventually wrestled, and it felt and tasted so nice. So, when the girls would talk about putting other things in their mouths, I'd cringe at the very idea. I never wanted to taste myself knowing where he'd put that. So, I didn't want his mouth going down there on me either. I wanted his mouth and tongue just as they are. And my greatest pleasure was always when watching his face as my body drew his essence.

There were those monthly times when it was just too messy and uncomfortable for me. But when I'd feel him growing hard, I'd ask him if I could take care of it for him. I enjoyed playing with it, feeling it grow ever harder in my hand as I caressed it, and stroked it. And watching that juice suddenly pop out of the end to land on his chest and stomach was ... funny. I thought that was so cool that I could make him do that, feeling it pulse over and over in my hand as it shot out. And I'd look up at his face to watch the pleasure and passion I could give him shining in his eyes as I drained him. Then I'd clean him with a washcloth, and we'd snuggle together. Of course, at those times, my body wouldn't shake, and I wouldn't see any lights. But I loved the fact that I could do that for my love. He was always there for me.

Out of curiosity, we tried watching porn together, to see what my girlfriends were talking about with their "other positions." But just thinking about those tastes and not seeing his face ... I mean, how could I ever enjoy something like that? Paul never hit me, and I'd never want him to do that to me. Call me selfish, but I want to SEE him there, SEE his face when we're doing it. Watching the joy on his face is part of my ultimate high.

So, when it came to even thinking about other guys in high school and college, the things my girlfriends were telling me about what they liked just turned me off. Paul was my best friend. We'd always talked about EVERYTHING together, and I knew how he thought and what he liked. So, I couldn't see myself being with anyone else.

And when he finally proposed, it felt like I had it all, everything I wanted for the rest of my life! My life, our life together, was PERFECT.

The After -- Paul's View

Some couples see a distinct separation in their long marriages, grouping the years as "before kids", raising kids, and the empty nest years after the kids are out of the house. My life with Cheryl began when we were much younger, as kids ourselves. We knew each other from living so close together. And we've been married for thirty years. Through all of that and even though our own kids are now all out of the house, our life is now divided into just the "before" ... and the after.

As we approached our thirtieth anniversary, we decided to spend one fateful evening dancing at our favorite nightclub. We had been going there once or twice per month for ten years. It was our special place for date nights when our kids were finally old enough to allow us time to reconnect as a couple. It's not that we ever grew apart in the first twenty years of marriage. But priorities change when you have kids, and those little ones were the most important priorities in our lives. Once they were old enough, Cheryl and I looked to each other and again found our private, loving connection, spending the last ten years dating and having fun again.

The last time I saw my soulmate that evening is now burned into my mind, seeing her as she walked down the hallway toward the nightclub's lady's room.

My whole world up to that moment was the "before".

***

Then came the "after" ...

Fifteen minutes is not a long time, but longer than my wife had ever taken in a public restroom. I asked a waitress we knew to check on her, hoping my wife hadn't fallen or suddenly fell sick. The waitress came back out, quickly walking over to the manager, talking to him as she pointed at me. Then the club manager almost ran to his office.

My wife and I had heard there were two girls within the past year claiming they were assaulted near here. But we assumed the girls probably knew their assailants, or that it might have been drug related. After all, this was our favorite nightclub for almost ten years, and we knew many of the people who came here. But the club manager took those women's accusations seriously and had recently installed additional security cameras.

I pushed past several patrons to get to the waitress, asking "What's wrong? Is she okay?"

She grasped my arm, pulling me toward the manager's office, saying "Cheryl's not in there."

When she opened the manager's office door, he was looking at a computer monitor, with the screen's back turned toward us and he was talking on the phone.

"Yes, twenty minutes ago. We know this couple, and the video shows she's been taken, probably like the others. ... Thank you," and he hung up. Looking at me with a worried expression, he said "They're sending investigators and broadcasting an alert."

My relating these events may sound rather clinical and emotionless, but for me at the time it was very emotional. My initial worry of not knowing if she was alright in the lady's room grew quickly, now knowing something else was wrong. Then seeing the manager's face and hearing him describe the video, ... and with the police reacting so quickly, my worry turned to panic.

He described a woman coming out of the lady's room, and a man grabbing her from behind putting his hand over her mouth, as two other men picked up her struggling body and they hauled her out of camera view through a back service door into the alley behind the club.

After the death of the last girl, the police this time reacted quickly when the manager called. In hindsight, the speed with which they checked adjacent building security cameras, traffic cameras, and various private home front door cameras should have been impressive. It took less than three hours to find them pulling her into a nearby, vacant building, dispatching the police, then quickly breaking in to stop them ... from further harming her. But they could never be fast enough.

A few hours later, the woman I saw in the hospital wasn't the same as the one I married, or even the one thirty years later who smiled at me when she left for her restroom break. The woman in the hospital was bruised and emotionally broken, damaged and in need of repair.

Therapy

It was a warm, sunny afternoon, with only a few clouds in the sky. The two women were sitting near each other in a relaxed setting, reclining on two lounge chairs on the deck. Overhead, there was a tan cloth awning strung between the house and poles at the corners of the deck to shield them from the bright sun. One recliner, the patient's, looked out toward a nice view of the flower gardens. The other recliner was positioned facing the two-story house and the glass doors into the dining room. The therapist, Rachel O'Keefe, had set the recliners opposed to each other so she could better see and read her patient's face.

Rachel had experimented with different counseling techniques and settings over her decades in this job, although she didn't consider this work anymore. This was a passion of hers, to help others through it. She now starts by meeting every new patient in the sterile, clinic office when beginning to help them through their horrific experiences. Most react with fear or suspicion when being questioned in such a detached and unemotional environment, and they try to hide their feelings and are leery of discussing it. But when she felt the time was right, she'd invite them into her home for their sessions, reshaping herself to be the friend, sister, mother, or whoever they needed to open up.

She should have retired by now. Still attractive, she might have started dating again to find another husband to fill the void after her "one and only" passed so many years ago. But continuing to help these women was her calling. Not every victim could be saved. One patient, even after two years of therapy still woke EVERY morning, screaming, crying and shouting that she had just been raped. Her nightmare never ended.

Rachel wasn't naïve, believing she could get any of them to "just forget it, and move along." There is no forgetting! Her goal was to lead them away from the nightmares, reduce their depression, and get them back to a functional life, or as normal a life as that might be in their new circumstances.

Today, Rachel had donned her "matronly" look, with glasses perched on her nose, her hair pulled back in a bun, and wearing a casual sundress. She learned that the fiftyish-year old woman next to her had a domineering and judgmental mother, one who wasn't very supportive after her incident. The client, Cheryl, said she had a falling out with her mother when she tried to really talk to her about it. So, knowing who Cheryl wanted to talk to, the therapist took on that role.

"Paul told me you had another nightmare, Cheryl," Rachel said, after they had settled into their seats with a plate of cookies and glasses of iced tea on the small table between them. Looking at the other woman, watching for her reaction, she patiently waited for a response. Body language was the tool of her trade, and Rachel had studied Cheryl's.

'Cheryl won't fidget or tense, somehow instinctively knowing that's a futile effort. Watch her eyes! If they start darting back and forth, she's looking to escape from the moment, and she'll retreat into her solitude. Try to get her to talk, but never push so hard she retreats.'

Dressed in jeans and running shoes, with a loose conservative blue blouse hiding her figure, Cheryl looked like a younger soccer mom or MILF as her husband, Paul proudly described her. He doted over her since the attack, trying desperately to help her out of her depression and other emotional issues. Cheryl sat very still on the lounge, pensively staring ahead at the flowers, thinking about Rachel's statement. Her lips started moving slightly, at first without sound, before she carefully selected her words.

"It's not happening as often," she said defensively. She brought both hands up to casually push the shoulder-length brunette hair behind her ears on both sides, as if needing it out of the way to hear clearly. But she dropped her hands back to her sides.

Rachel noticed Cheryl never tried hiding her face as some women did by turning their heads, hiding behind their loose hair, or covering their face with their hands. In normal social situations, some women did that as a coy, flirty move when trying to play with men. But in these therapy sessions, women would do things like that when they wanted to hide their face. They know their face could betray them, giving it away that their words aren't completely honest. They intuitively knew when they were hiding their feelings that they needed to hide it from the world by concealing their face. It was a reflex, when shutting down and retreating. Some women cry in pain, while others cry to deflect. When deflecting, they'll hide their face. It's a subtle thing Rachel learned, and she can now tell the difference when the patient is in pain, hiding, or merely looking for sympathy. And Rachel knew Cheryl never deflected or tried to hide, she would just retreat.

But even in retreat mode, Cheryl didn't hide or cry. She was strong and could sit there openly exposed, and yet isolated in her mind, mostly ignoring the world around her. And Rachel knew it.

'Watch the eyes, first for the twitching or darting around. That would be followed by the dull stare and unresponsive time lags. Then it would be a problem and would take longer to draw her back out after that. So, don't allow the eyes to go dull with indifference to what is said. If her eyes twitch or dart around quickly, distract her to keep her engaged. Patiently draw out the information.'