High Velocity Psa Pt 02

Reading the comments to chapter one gave me a new understanding of why so many Literotica stories are preceded by a brusque response to anonymous commenters. To those who wished I would get cancer, been there, done that. To the sophisticated souls who wished me dead, I will die, but it will have nothing to do with your desires. To the numerous people who have had personal experience with prostate cancer, who wrote to express their appreciation for the story, this conclusion is in your honor.

* * *

September 15

"Hey Google; call Mike Riley."

"Hello."

"Hey Mike, it's Barbara. I'm on my way to work now."

"Are you expecting traffic? You're going to get there way ahead of time."

"Yes, I know. I'm an hour early. I told Ethan I have a short training session. I didn't tell him who is doing the training."

"What training session? Are you making something up?"

"I didn't lie. I expect you to train me on the use of my souvenir. I want it up on your TV when I get there, and we'll compare it to the real thing."

"Barbara..."

"I talked with Ethan. He said I can have sex with whoever I want till his penis recovers. I have to warn you though: it might be never."

"I can't believe he meant that. You love him."

"I do love him. Mike, I thought you wanted this."

"Yeah, but..."

"Let me come over and we'll talk. I'll be there in about ten minutes."

Mike answered the door in his scrubs, his hospital ID on a lanyard around his neck. Barbara looked at him, and then at the TV, which was off. "What are you trying to tell me, Mike? I'm too old? Too ugly?"

He took a chair beside the couch. "You're married."

She pointed to the TV. "Where's my souvenir?"

"Imagine you see something beautiful. You want something to remind you of it, so you break off a piece to take home. Is that a good souvenir?" He handed her his camera. A closeup of her genitals was on the screen. "Is this a good souvenir?"

"You thought so the other day."

"Tell you what: take the camera home and show them to your husband. Get his opinion."

Barbara dropped onto the couch. "You didn't care that I was married last time we were together."

"We talked about your husband. It hit me after you left, how wrong I was. Why hasn't it hit you, how wrong we were?"

She clasped her hands on her lap, gazed out the window, then fiddled with the camera. After staring at the screen a while she put it on the cushion beside her. "I need a pen and paper."

He went to a drawer, took a pad and pen and handed them to Barbara.

"Idiot," she wrote in big letters. Handing Mike his camera, she held her sign in front of her. "I need a more accurate souvenir. Delete the old ones."

"It was fun while it lasted." Mike took the picture and cast it to his TV. You could see the wetness around Barbara's eyes on the sixty-five inch screen. "But this is the right thing. Now take a picture of me with the sign."

"You're not an idiot. A handsome young man has better options than an old lady like me, married or unmarried." she sighed.

"It's not that you're old. You're gorgeous, and I'd love to have sex with you. It's the married part. You made a pledge to your husband, and I don't want to be the cause of you breaking it. Otherwise I'd jump your bones in a flash."

"Thanks for the compliment, Mike. I don't believe you, but it's nice of you to say it."

"How about a coffee, instead of bone-jumping? We have forty minutes till we have to go."

September 15

I tried to teach my kids the right things. Barbara heard the lessons and agreed with them: take responsibility for your words and deeds. Don't say anything in anger that you wouldn't say when calm. I think they learned the lessons well; they are pretty good at controlling themselves. Too bad I'm not. I angrily told Barbara that because I'm not up to it, she could fuck whoever she wants. We made love right after that. Her affection, her beauty melted away my anger. I felt as close to her as I did when I put the wedding ring on her finger. Her eyes, her heart... I belong to her, I belong with her.

But I told her that she could fuck whoever she wants; she knows what I taught our kids. She knows what I believe about words spoken in anger.

I don't believe she has a training program today an hour before work. Never, in the decades that she's been working has a training session been dropped on her just a day in advance. They're usually on her monthly schedule, that I dutifully copy from her agenda to mine. Is she taking me up on my offer? If she is, I can't really hold it against her. I straight up told her she can get her needs taken care of by someone who is up to the task. I don't think I meant it, though.

Barbara came home at a quarter to midnight, her usual time. I met her at the door to the garage, with a peck on the lips. "I missed you."

She hung her jacket in the closet and headed for the kitchen. "I missed you too. How was your day?"

In the decades we've been together, she's asked me that question maybe ten times. I liked it.

"It turns out Smithson did appreciate my work on the Hudson Portfolio. He's getting into a new portfolio with a big investor, and my participation is key. I'm getting a carried-in share in exchange for my input. This could be really big. The project is—"

"You do good work, Ethan; I'm proud." She buried her face in the fridge, resurfacing with a slice of cheese and an apple. "What a long day today."

I hovered beside her as she sat down to her snack. "How was the training program?"

"Training program... oh, that. Meh. I don't want to talk about it." She flexed her shoulders, rotating her arms. "We had a heavy patient today. My shoulders are sore."

I stood silently behind her and massaged. I didn't say anything, because according to my lessons to our kids, I would be held responsible for whatever nastiness came from my mouth. She finished her snack, stood up and wrapped her arms around my waist. There were tears in her eyes.

" You are so good to me, Ethan. You care so much about my happiness."

My suppressed rage had been getting hotter and hotter. Her unexpected affection quickly snuffed it out. "I... I love you, Barbara. Your happiness is my happiness." I put my hands on her buttocks and squeezed her to me. I bent my face to hers, digging my tongue between her lips. She pulled back, and tenderly patted my cheek. I took her hand and kissed it.

"Just one thing, lover," I said. Now there were tears in my eyes. "Don't humiliate me, don't take what's left of my pride."

"Of course not, silly man. Didn't I just say I'm proud of you?" The laughter in her eyes gave way as she spotted the tears in mine.

"I know what I said to you yesterday. I'm sorry I spoke angrily."

"I heard you with my heart, Ethan. It listened to your love, not your anger. I answered you with my body. We'll get past this. Whatever it takes, we'll get past this."

September 22

I went early to the clinic near our home; they only did blood tests till nine in the morning. As I waited my turn I looked at the dozens of people sitting on hard, plastic chairs. Some had canes, some held babies. Some shuffled, some limped, some looked healthy and strong. I was in the healthy-looking category. My cancer treatment had required no chemo, no radiation, nothing debilitating. Less than eight hours from getting the anesthesia to leaving the recovery room, one night under observation, and then home. I was confident that the PSA test I was about to have would result in another next-to-nothing reading. After all, the last time I was at the urologist's office to get the results, he told me "you're cured." Even my leaky bladder was pretty much under control. The only big issue that remained was that I couldn't get it up.

Life was good. I loved my wife, she loved me. Our children were doing well in both their careers and their love lives. Smithson's latest project, if we pulled it off, would give me enough of an income to feel secure about retiring. I grabbed a coffee, and then headed to my desk for a couple of hours of data analysis and projections.

It was almost noon when I decided to wake Barbara. I quietly opened the door, got undressed and slipped into bed beside her. She was lying on her side, facing away from me; it was perfect access. I slipped my hand under her nightgown, and gently brought my fingernails down the length of her back. She moaned in pleasure, and I pulled her nightgown higher. I scratched lightly, up, down, across, reaching occasionally to cup her breast in my hand, reaching occasionally to stroke her thigh, squeeze her ass. I pushed my groin into her bum, my chest against her back as I wrapped my arm around her. I kissed her neck, her cheek, her ear. Before my operation she would often take me in her mouth at this point. I couldn't really blame her for not doing so now; I felt a small trickle of urine leak from my dick. The pad in my briefs kept her from noticing, kept the mood from being ruined.

Barbara rolled onto her back, stretching her arms above her head. The smile on her face was angelic, reflecting the adoration I had for her. The bond between us was more solid than any penis could be. I kissed her lips, I kissed her nipples, rubbing them with my tongue. I bent to kiss lower, but she pulled my face back to hers, wrapping her arms around my neck, gazing into my eyes, pushing her leg between mine. We lay quietly, locked in an embrace.

She noticed the small bandage on my arm. "Blood test?"

"Yeah."

"You must have been up very early. When do you see the doctor for the results?"

"Early for you. My appointment's for the twenty-fifth."

She pulled her arms from my neck and rolled onto her back. I bent to kiss her, but she spoke first. "They've changed the charting protocols. I have to go in to work early to make sure I understand them."

I straightened out. "How early?"

"Half-hour, forty minutes should be enough. Can you prepare my toast and coffee?"

I walked to the kitchen, my thoughts in a muddle. Why was I confused? I knew there were lots of changes going on at Barbara's work. Unlike her training session a week ago, going in a little early was quite plausible. I put the toast down on the table and slipped away to my office as I heard her footsteps approaching.

"Circle One" was a proposed mixed-use real estate development project, including retail, entertainment, office and residential components. Smithson was using the equity from the Hudson Portfolio sale, and had options on all the land. His pockets weren't deep enough to satisfy the guarantees for construction financing, so he brought Edgerton Investments into the picture. My afternoon project was due diligence on Edgerton.

It was a holding company owned by four primary partners. Edgerton owned shares in a variety of named and numbered companies, which in turn owned real-estate, retailers, a transport company, fast food franchises, restaurants and bars. One of the latter caught my eye: Guy's Gentlemen's Club. The previous owner had offered my wife a job as a stripper when he was a patient of hers. I teased her about it, but she didn't laugh. Barbara had threatened to have him expelled from the hospital. My curiosity was now piqued.

I quickly hid the browser window as I heard Barbara's approaching footsteps half an hour before her usual departure time. I met her at the door to the garage, and held her lunch box and purse while she put on her jacket.

"I'm proud of you, Ethan," she said as she took her things and put them in the car.

What did that mean, "proud of you?" Why was she saying goodbye with "proud," of all things?

"Love you, Barbara. Don't work too hard on those charts."

She grinned as she shut the car door. I retreated to my office, upset over "proud of you," and upset that I was upset over "proud of you." Why did such a straightforward, positive statement bother me?

"Hey Google; call Mike Riley."

"Calling Mike Riley."

"Hey Mike, it's Barbie. I'll be at your place in about ten minutes."

"You will? Why?"

"I told you yesterday we had to talk."

"I didn't know you were coming over. I'm exercising... Okay, I'll wrap up."

"I won't get in your way. See you soon."

Mike answered the door wearing gym shorts, a towel around his neck and a sheen of sweat over his chest, arms and legs. Barbara looked at him appreciatively.

"Come in. Help yourself to coffee or a soft drink while I take a quick shower."

"I came here to talk. You're tempting me for more."

"You know your way around. Help yourself to whatever you'd like." Mike went into the bathroom and shut the door. Barbara took a cup and coffee pod, but hesitated before activating the machine. She walked over to the bathroom and tried the door handle. It wasn't locked. She turned it about a quarter turn, took a deep breath, then returned to the coffee machine.

She had barely started her drink when Mike came out of the shower, a towel around his waist.

"No robe? Or is that your way of welcoming me?"

"I don't usually have visitors while I'm showering. What do you want to talk about?" Mike sat at the kitchen table.

"Should I make you a coffee?"

"No thanks. We have to leave in a few minutes. What do you want?"

Barbara sat down opposite him. "In a word, you. I had a long talk with Ethan. He wants me to be happy. He knows I want something that he can't provide. We discussed it a week ago, and then re-affirmed it the next day. I've been going over it in my head, to make sure I understood him properly."

"Did he tell you to have sex with another man?"

"Let's not be idiots. I answered that last week. He insists that we don't humiliate him, that we respect his dignity. Asking him again would be rubbing it in his face."

Mike's towel fell to the floor as he walked over to Barbara. He bent to her, pressing their lips together as Barbara stroked his erection. "We have to go to work. You leave first; I'll get dressed in the meantime. We'll continue this soon."

September 22

Most of the strip joints in the city are at the fringes of the old industrial park. Not Guy's. It was for gentlemen, and was on a side street off a high-end shopping area. The parking lot had Buicks and Acuras rather than Chevies and F-150's. Mine was the only Subaru in view. My sport jacket was appropriate; the men in the club wore mostly dressy casual. The women wore... mostly nothing.

The cover charge was twenty dollars. A tall, well proportioned blonde wearing a sheer white blouse and tight black skirt greeted me at the entrance, showing me to a small table near the stage. Many tables were occupied by single men, some by a man and a woman. Most of the women at tables were dressed as befits employees of a 'gentlemen's club.' A few might have been customers.

"I'm Alicia. First time?" she asked, pulling out a chair for me.

"Am I that obvious?"

"Newbies don't know where to point their eyes. We have a special for first time customers: thirty dollars for a lap dance and drink. Tell your waitress if you're interested."

As she walked back to her post I realized that her height was a function of her stiletto heels. How do women manage to say upright in shoes like that? I don't think I've ever seen Barbara in more than two-inch heels.

The oldies rock music was loud, but not obnoxiously so. There were a couple of women stripping on stage, doing amazing things with their legs and a flask of oil. A well-endowed young lady with a mostly unbuttoned blouse and ultra-short skirt approached me. Her brown hair was in a pony tail, hanging in front of her shoulder, reaching to the top of her breast. "Hi! I'm Tina. Can I get you a drink?"

"Scotch on the rocks, please."

"Would you like the novice dance special?"

I was here for due diligence on Edgerton, not cheating on Barbara. I knew it was a rationalization, but I also wanted to see if Tina could rouse my prick from its long slumber.

I wouldn't say she woke it up, but she definitely got it to open its eyes. Tina was disappointed. She expected more hardness as she rubbed against my crotch, as she held her nipple against my lips.

"You don't find me sexy?"

"Oh, I do. You've gotten more of a rise out of me then I've had for months. I had surgery down there, and it must have done some nerve damage."

"Prostate?"

"Removed. Cancer."

"What was your Gleason score?"

"Three plus four. How do you know about Gleason scores?"

She sat back down on my lap. "My father had prostate cancer. How's your post-operative PSA? Does your dick leak? "

"Point zero-one. How's your dad doing?"

"He died eight months ago. I started working here to pay for his treatments. It's good money, and I'll soon be out of debt. Watch your PSA levels; they can still go up."

"I'm so sorry. Why don't you go bankrupt? It will save you a lot of trouble."

"I'm a stripper, but that doesn't mean I have no sense of honor. People lent my father money to help us out. I will repay those debts. I believe in doing the right thing, even when it's the harder option."

"What about your mother? Siblings?"

"She cheated on my father when I was five, then disappeared. I'm an only child."

"You're an impressive young lady. Have you considered going to university once you get out from under your debt?"

"I was accepted into a PhD program in biotechnology but then my father had his relapse." Tina wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "Enough about me." She re-buttoned the bottom of her blouse. My hand was still on her thigh, but my mind had been taken by her sorrow.

"What did the urologist say about you getting a hard-on?"

"It can take up to two years till the nerves recover. Often they never do. I can still have a dry orgasm though."

"What's it like?"

Her nipple was practically in my face, and I desperately wanted to take it between my lips. How could I, after what she just told me about herself? "Different. Have you ever been on the Rocky Mountain Roller Coaster at the Tempest Amusement Park?"

"Yeah. It's been a few years."

"A large part of the pleasure of an orgasm is the release that follows the build-up. Like that roller-coaster, you feel like you're ascending a mountain. That sets up the pleasure of going down. Only now, there is no going down. You slowly reach the top of the mountain, the anticipation has reached its peak, then suddenly you're at the bottom again, without having had the release of the descent, the in-between. It's a painful emptiness, of something that should be there that's not. It's an orgasm, it's a mountain roller coaster, but it's not the whole thing."

Tina rubbed my forearm as she digested this. "If it's painful, why not simply give up sex?"

"I'm a man, with desires. There's the pleasure of the getting towards an orgasm. But most of all, I want to pleasure my wife."

She held still, thinking about this for a moment. "Wow. She must be a special lady."

"She is indeed."

"I've never met a husband so devoted to his wife. What's your name?"

"Ethan."

"Ethan, I'm going to get you hard next time you come here."

"I wish you could."

"What will you give me if I can? Not hard as steel, but let's say hard enough to penetrate your wife's pussy."

Could she do this? Tina placed her hand on my leg. "A thousand dollars," I said. If she could get me up, then I could satisfy Barbara.

"Is that all it's worth to you?"

"How about two thousand?"

Tina laughed. "A thousand is fine, plus two hundred dollars to use Guy's office. I was curious how important it is to you. Tomorrow's my day off. Can you be here the day after at nine?"

"I'll have to leave no later than eleven, to be home when my wife finishes work. What's 'Guy's office?'"

"It's where Guy, the original owner auditioned new staff. It's got a desk, a dance pole, a comfortable couch, and of course a bed. It's very luxurious, very erotic."