I blame my initial naivety on my parents – just so you know, I'm not naïve any more.
I, Amy, was the fourth child and the only girl of a well-to-do family with a significant history in our part of the United States. I was pampered and protected not only by my mother and my three brothers, but by my nanny. All of them paled, in comparison, with my father, though, who thought that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He grew up in a family with three siblings and twelve cousins – all boys, and all of his blood relatives on both sides of his family were men. Spoiled didn't begin to describe my condition by the time that I was twelve although "brat" did not apply because despite the fact that I was spoiled rotten, I was nice to everyone – especially my family – and never threw tantrums.
The only area where I could not get my way with my family – my father especially – was when it came to dating. "Teenage boys are scum," my father loved to say; "I know, I was one once." Despite the fact that everyone considered me "cute" and my body was in the top ten percent of girls in the shi-shi High School that I attended, boys rarely asked me out a second time after meeting my father and/or brothers, who put the fear of God into them. I was certain that my parents also had moles at school who would report on my activities because the two times that I played kissy-face with boys at after-school events those boys avoided me like the plague afterwards despite the fact that I knew that they enjoyed my lips on theirs.
So, not by choice, I went to college an eighteen-year-old virgin who never had even been felt-up by a boy, let alone fingered or fucked. I became suspicious that my parents had at least one mole at the college that I attended too, or at least were somehow electronically spying on me, when after hot and heavy dates with three different guys where I first got fingered, and gave my first hand jobs, they avoided me like the boys in High School had after kissy-face.
I decided to take control of my sex life so, without my parents' knowledge, I transferred to a different college after the first semester. My parents had pre-paid the tuition to my original school but just by forfeiting a couple thousand dollars I was able to withdraw it and use it at the college of my choice.
At the same time that I transferred I sold the expensive smartphone, pad, and computer that my parents had given me, and purchased new ones.
My parents only found out about my transfer two weeks into the new semester – apparently their moles weren't really that efficient, or it was primarily electronic surveillance that they had been using. They were mega-pissed but, after all, I was their pride and joy and precious little angel, so after much huffing-and-puffing by them, and sweet demure comments by me, they "almost" accepted it.
I quickly found out that while it was easy to get laid it was not easy to find someone who was relationship material. I had always dreamed of finding a loyal spouse, having a big wedding, and marital bliss with a couple of kids, and after getting laid by a handful of guys, enough to give me the sexual experiences that I wanted, I started looking for "Mr. Right."
Near the end of my junior year I did come across a guy who might be relationship material. His name was John Tipton. He was what a valley girl would call "Way Cute;" actually the best looking guy to ever show interest in me. He was also very solicitous of my good will, did everything he could to please me, and always seemed to know the right thing to say when I was in a bad mood.
The sex with John started out OK, and got better as we got to know each other – not unusual, I guess, but since I had never had a real sexual "relationship" before it kind of surprised me. It got so that I orgasmed every time that we had sex, which included oral on both of our parts. In fact, it wasn't long before John was giving me the best oral that I had ever experienced, and his big cock (second in size and activity level only to a jock named Bryce who I hooked up with twice and could really plow my field) seemed to know just how to energize my G-spot. He not only was the best looking guy ever to show interest in me, but turned out to be the best pleasure giver.
One surprising thing was that John's family, before he said he was orphaned by an auto accident, had lived the next suburb over from my family even though our homes were several hundred miles from campus. Even more surprising was that he wanted to meet my family despite the stories that I told him about my clingy parents and over-protective brothers. Most surprising of all, however, was when I could not dissuade him coming over to my parents' house during the summer between our junior and senior years that my parents, and my one brother still living at home, embraced him and said nice things about him after he left each time that he visited.
Since this was my first real relationship, and since my family seemed to be perfectly on board with it, and since my dream was to have a faithful husband and ultimately a family of my own, I thought that I was in love.
While John was a terrific looking guy, I did have some doubts about him. For example, I thought that he wasn't all that smart even though he seemed to do OK in college, although since we never had classes even in the same building I had no first-hand knowledge. He also seemed to have a "wandering eye," although he never overtly flirted with any other girls, even at parties. I overlooked those aspects of his persona, however, and despite what I was told were typical pre-marital jitters I accepted his proposal of marriage our senior year. My parents were thrilled and sponsored a beautiful wedding and over-the-top reception, just like I had envisioned as a little girl.
One thing that I insisted on – I didn't just get off the boat – despite John's apparent devotion was a pre-nuptial agreement. I was surprised that my father actually poo-pooed one, but I was not to be deterred and after a week of hesitation John agreed to sign it when I told him that it was necessary to consummate our relationship. It was a fair agreement providing that if the marriage dissolved for any reason we each got what we brought into it, plus a percentage of the joint assets that corresponded to the percentage of money that we made individually during the marriage, and with no rights to any business that either of us started or were more than a 5% owner of.
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Married life with John was "nice;" particularly the sex. The marriage was not really "great," however, because the more time that I spent with him the more I wondered how he was smart enough to graduate from the exclusive University that we attended and how non-intellectual his interests were. He seemed to know his limitations, however, and was pleased to let me handle finances and most important decisions. He got a job working for one of my father's companies – doing exactly what I wasn't sure even after questioning him and my father about it – while I was an entrepreneur and started one company, sold it, and then started a second, dealing with unique, patented, hi-tech products.
One thing that I found out about John that kind of surprised me was that he had a specific ambition that, to my way of thinking, was both bizarre and beyond his intellectual capabilities. He dreamed of being the CEO of a company headquartered in Europe. The two vacations, and one business trip (mine, but he came along), that we took to Europe our first four years of marriage intrigued him to no end. He started taking German lessons, but when that proved to be too difficult, French, and finally Spanish since that seemed to be the easiest foreign language for him.
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The wheels started coming off the marriage bus a few months after our fourth anniversary. The first nut coming loose was the result of mistake and sheer serendipity. When I was opening the mail at home one Saturday while John was out of the house, there was what appeared to be a piece of junk mail from a Community College in the same city where John and I had attended the University we graduated from. I wasn't real careful looking at the addressee since I was sure that it was just a piece of junk mail. Imagine my surprise when I read the salutation on the fund-raising/class reunion letter: "Dear Alum:"
I quickly returned to the envelope and saw that it was addressed solely to John Tipton. Apparently the Community College was convinced that John was an alumnus and was taking the opportunity for his upcoming five year reunion to solicit a donation.
Bells, whistles, sirens, and even explosions, went off in my head. Either this was an enormous mistake or it explained why John had an emergency trip out of town on graduation day at our University, and how someone with his intellect could really have graduated from it. To paraphrase The Bard, "Something was rotten in the State of our marriage!"
I carefully put the letter and envelope in my safe in my home office, called a friend who is an assistant manager in the security department of the company that she works for, and in short order had the contact information for a P. I. I had made an appointment with the P. I. for Monday morning before John got back home that Saturday.
That weekend I acted 100% normally. I had always been good at compartmentalizing, and this was no exception.
After my meeting with the P. I. on Monday, her firm started a complete background check on John, which even included electronic surveillance and, where appropriate, a tail. If his attendance at the University that I graduated from was a fraud, what else about his life was? It could be anything and everything! I told the agency that I wasn't interested in evidence for a court of law, just information.
I'm not sure how the detective agency got all of the information that they did, and I didn't want to know. Within three weeks, however, I found out that John had never attended any school after High School except the Community College that sent him the solicitation, that the modest fees and room and board for Community College were paid by some third party, that his job in one of my father's companies was low level, and that he had long lunches one or two days a week patronizing various "pleasure establishments" around town.
The day that I was given the report by the detective agency I went for STD testing and that night I tearfully informed John of a severe medical condition that I had just been diagnosed with that was contagious and required me to sleep in a separate bedroom. He gobbled that up like a fish would a worm; "perhaps Actress should be my next career," I chuckled to myself. Well, actually, "chuckled" is the wrong word. I was anything but happy that my marriage was disintegrating!
Lying in bed that night instead of trying to sleep I forced my mind to start working logically, devoid of emotion. I came to the scary conclusion that the entire scenario with John appeared to be a setup by my parents, most notably my father. I had to find out for sure.
My mother is the weak link in my family – what I mean by that is that she is the one most subject to pressure, and least able to be duplicitous. The day after my "Eureka moment" I called her and asked her to go out to lunch with me.
Mom was all bubbly when we met in front of the restaurant I had enticed her to, right next to a quiet park. After I gave her an affectionate hug I said "Mom, let's walk in the park; there's something that I need your advice about."
I asked for her advice so rarely that my comment shocked her; but she smiled and said "Of course, baby."
We made small talk until we reached a secluded bench where I sat her down. "Tell me Mom, what should I do about advising a friend of mine? My friend just found out that her husband is not who he has been pretending to be, and that he was set up with her by her parents. She is furious with them and wants to have a screaming hissy-fit in front of them, and then disown them, never to see them again. How should I advise her?"
Mom turned pale; then started sniffling; then started sobbing. "I can't lose you Amy," was the main theme of the words that she was trying to get out through her tears.
"There is one chance, Mom. Come clean; NOW."
"I...I...I can't," she sobbed some more. "Your father would kill me!"
I got up and left. I heard her moaning hysterically, but kept on going.
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I was trying to figure out how I could do what I wanted to without my parents' help when the unexpected occurred. The afternoon after my mother's meltdown, while I was at my office desk, my receptionist buzzed me. "Your father is here to see you."
I walked out to the reception area. There, my father, figuratively with his hat in his hand for the first time in my life, said "Hi, baby girl..."
I cut him off with venom more powerful than a King Cobra's. "Cut the shit, Arnold. If you want to talk to me meet me at the swing set in Municipal Park in one hour. Otherwise get the hell out of my life!"
With that I turned, walked back into my office, and slammed the door shut.
I called my receptionist and after she confirmed that my father had left I asked her into my office. "I'm really sorry that you had to be part of that, Ann," I said. "If I could have handled it any other way and achieved my objectives I would have – but I couldn't. Can you overlook it?"
