Keith glanced out the window that overlooked the backyard. The landscaping beyond the large covered patio was pristine. It was one of his favorite places in his home. He loved what he and his wife, Pansy, had done in that space. But, in the middle of August, the West Texas heat was just too oppressive this time of day to enjoy that space. It was much more comfortable in the den, sitting in his oversized recliner.
The AC hummed quietly, keeping the house at a comfortable 75 degrees. The 60-inch flat screen TV on the far wall was tuned to some History Channel documentary about the mysteries of World War II. He really wasn't listening. A tall glass of iced tea sat on the hearth next to his chair, and his Samsung tablet rested on the arm. With his feet propped up by the recliner, he had been reading a story posted on the Literotica website. It wasn't particularly well written, nor was it a gleaming example of grammatics and spelling. Still, it had is positive attributes and he was enjoying the tale.
He heard a vehicle in the driveway and then the slamming of at least 4 doors. Glancing at the time displayed on the displayed on the screen. It was 2 pm on a Saturday. Pansy was at her regular Saturday quilting group. He didn't expect her home until at least 7pm. He had no idea who might be coming, so he started the long, laborious process of getting himself out of the recliner. Kevin had just about gotten to his feet when he heard the digital lock on the door open. That could mean a couple of things, but he suspected at some of his kids and grandkids were making a surprise visit.
As Keith suspicioned, As he came around the corner and glanced toward the entryway, he was surprised. Coming through the door were his kids. In the lead was his daughter, Angela, and her husband, Geoff. Behind Geoff was Mason and his wife Candida. Trailing behind as he stopped to lock the door was Carlito. Carlito was his foster son, and he was alone. His wife must have stayed in Virginia, where they lived.
Keith stopped and looked at the five faces arrayed facing him. There were none of the usual greetings, just four serious faces trying to look impassive and doing a piss poor job of it. Keith shook his head and turned back to the den.
"Come on in and have a seat. Either somebody has died, is going to prison, or this is an intervention. Since I don't drink anymore and rarely go out where I could carouse and chase wild women, I am sort of at a loss."
The five found places to sit. Not unsurprisingly, it was his daughter who spoke first. She had always been a 'daddy's girl' and she was the one who Keith would expect to bring bad news. Resuming his place in his recliner, he chose to simply sit and wait. He knew the value of having someone else speak first. It was Angela who finally came around.
"Daddy. I have some bad news, and I thought it best if we all were here to break it to you."
"It must be pretty bad for your brother to fly all the way from Virginia."
He watched as the five looked from one to the other as if they were trying to communicate telepathically. Keith tried to stifle a smile at their discomfort. He now had a sneaking suspicion what they were there to tell him. Angela leaned forward and spoke softly.
"Dad. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Mom is having an affair."
I sat silently looking at their worried and grim faces.
"I know."
The shock they all displayed was, again, almost comical. Angela's eyes went wide, and her mouth gapped open. It was my son, Mason, the cop, who exploded.
"God damn it. You KNEW! It's been going on for months. Why haven't you done something to stop it? For Christ's sake, Dad, she is messing around two or three times a week."
"I know. I set it all up."
There was a collective gasp from all of them. Mouth's worked up and down like a goldfish, eyes were wide open, and I wish I had a camera to record the expressions.
"And it has been going on for almost two years. I suppose now you want the whole story?"
Angela was about to go apoplectic, I think. Her husband had his arm around her shoulders as she sat, tense, on the couch. Mason and Candida were talking in whispers. I looked at Carlito and I saw a very slight knowing smile on his face. As I looked at him, I saw him nod and then head to the kitchen. Before anyone else could come up with any further remarks, Carlito returned with beer for the men and a bottle of wine and glasses for the two women. Angela got herself together enough to speak.
"I think the whole story needs to be told."
I took a swallow of beer and nodded.
"I suppose so."
Everyone found a place to sit. Angela sat on the couch, close to her husband. Mason and Candida nestled into the oversized recliner next to Keith's. Carlito sat on the cushioned window box seats, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Keith stretched out in his recliner and looked at his family. He could see the concern and curiosity on their faces.
Things were pretty normal when I retired from the fire department. Then, instead of taking advantage of the spare time, I decided to go into business. You are all aware of how that went. The time I spent teaching, then the consulting and the years as the financial director of the church. That ended when the gun and survival store I had started took off, and I decided to open a full bore retail operation. It was fun, exciting, and stressful.
I didn't realize how stressful until I found myself in the emergency room of the hospital, listening to the cardiologist tell me that I was headed for open-heart surgery in two days. The nurses and doctors didn't let me get too stressed. They used various drugs to keep me settled and calm. Four days later, I woke up in the recovery room, cursing like a drunken sailor. Of course, I couldn't really curse since I was still intubated and my wrists were secured to the bed rails. Your mother was holding my hand and trying to talk to me. I remember that the majority of our conversation was my trying to finger spell in her hand that I was hurting.
That all passed, and I seemed to be healthy again, with one exception. I could no longer get or maintain and erection. The doctors, at first, were adamant that it was a temporary and would certainly pass with time. Time passed, but the condition didn't. It was only almost a year later that I realized that I had enjoyed my last conjugal sex with your mother a few nights before I had the heart attack.
I spiraled into depression. Your mother stayed with me, held my hands, held me... She was an angel, and I cursed myself for all the things I did and didn't do to keep myself healthy. Years of poor diet, drinking and partying, the effects of a high-stress job, and, to be honest, a certainty that I was virtually immortal. Now I was less than a man. I couldn't perform my husbandly duties. I wasn't even as useful as a wimpy cuckold. Not only that, but I started drinking and ignoring your mother.
Any other woman would have looked at the worthless hulk I had become. She would have dumped me, taken what she could, and gone on with her life to find happiness and fulfillment. But she didn't. She got in my face and made me understand that she wasn't leaving nor was she giving up on me, even if I seemed to have given up on myself.
It was a friend of ours who finally got into the pit where I kept myself and jolted me into realizing what I was doing. His name is Ken Worthing. Ken and I had worked at the fire department for years. He and his wife Beth were some of my and your mother's best friends. Ken came by the house one day and sent your mother off to find Beth to do some shopping. I took away the scotch bottle that was my constant companion, handed me a giant cup of black coffee and sat down on a stool in front of my chair, our knees almost touching. I can remember his conversation almost word for word.
"You stupid, selfish, asshole. What the fuck has gotten into you. I never knew you to back away from anything. I have seen you charge into doorways that no one else would dare enter. I watched you fight your way through a flashover to rescue a damn dog. But here you are, shaking in your boots, scared to face up to the challenge. Not only that, but you are tearing the heart out of the most wonderful woman other than Beth that I have ever known. She sees you trying to kill yourself slowly, and it is killing her at the same time. God-damned you, Keith, If you were sober, I would take you out in the yard and kick your sorry fucking ass around that pool."
The way Keith looked at me and the tone of his voice seemed to flip a switch in me. I sat stupefied, trying to digest his words and make sense of what he was saying. I don't know what he saw in my face, but he put his hands on my knees.
"Come on, Keith. Get yourself together. You have so much going for you, and the most important thing is Pansy. This is the time you are supposed to be enjoying all the hard work and heartache you put into this marriage, enjoy your kids and grandkids, and bask in those memories you have built together."
I listened and as Ken talked, something inside seemed to expand and begin to rush out. I collapsed forward, my hands covering my face, the cup of coffee forgotten and spilled onto the tile floor. Admittedly, I bawled like a baby. Ken sat with me, his hands on my shoulders, letting the emotion spend itself.
Pansy and Beth came in later. I don't know how much later, but Ken was still sitting there with me, holding my hand and talking quietly. He had listened patiently as I unloaded all my fears, my self-doubts, and my loathing for myself. Ken and Beth left, and your mother took Ken's place with me. That was the start of a long recovery for me. If it weren't for your mother, I wouldn't have ever made it back.
To keep this short, we talked. A lot. We worked at it. We visited urologists to learn that there was probably nerve damage from a combination of things. My heart problems, diabetes, and my energetic lifestyle when I was younger. The major concern was what I called the hydraulics. They just didn't work anymore. I had full feeling and could still orgasm and ejaculate. We explored all the options, splints, prosthetics, and less elegant solutions that you can buy on the internet. We asked about an implant, but it was the cardiologist who put up the roadblocks on that. He didn't think my heart was up to that kind of elective surgery.
That left us to the usual. I became quite skilled at satisfying your mother in several ways. We had a drawer full of toys, gadgets, lubes, and gels. I still had the use of all my other appendages. My fingers got to be quite dexterous, and I learned a lot about oral sex.
My son turned up his nose.
"Come on Dad. TMI!"
I chuckled.
"Mason, I know it's difficult to think about your parents in that kind of situation, but believe me, it is as natural as breathing."
Angela took the opportunity to get in her question.
"Dad. Ken.. Is he the one that?"
"Yes. I'm getting to that. Be patient."
I stopped to take a sip of the beer before it got warm, then took a deep breath as I continued my story.
"Things seemed to be ok for several years. I was still carrying on with different projects. You are all aware of the different businesses that I started and maintained for a while. None of them were ever very successful, but they kept me busy, brought in a little extra income, and it was fun, for me at least.
Then, my health began to slowly get worse. I had my second heart attack and the soc put in two more stents. As I was recovering from that, my libido took a nose dive, and relations between your mother and me began to slow down. As things continued, I closed my businesses and became more introverted.
You all know that your mother's personality is totally opposite mine. I much prefer alone time, while she needs to be around people and have those interactions. I can be social and engaging when I need to be, but it is an exhausting situation. Your mother, on the other hand, blossoms in those kinds of situations. If we go to a party, I come home totally spent while she is almost on a physical high, charges with energy, and excited.
As I retreated into my own little world, I sensed that she was becoming more and more distressed. She missed going out. She missed being with groups of people. Meanwhile, I was more and more satisfied to work with my HAM radios, sitting and writing, or just reading. In addition, our sex life had dropped to virtually zero."
I stopped to finish the beer that was now rapidly getting warm and set the empty bottle on the hearth. I looked at my son, Carlito.
"Get everyone another beer or wine. I'll wait until you get back."
