Intellectually I knew that I was fooling myself--making excuses like I was some ethically-challenged politician. Emotionally -- well that's another story. I felt like I was being a combination award-winning psychiatrist and white knight at the same time, as I walked up the steps of the house that I had almost completely renovated.
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I had a comfortable marriage. My wife Evelyn Blanton is intelligent, kind, considerate, charitable, and attractive. I most often felt that she was too good for me, and that I was lucky to have married her. Our two kids were well-adjusted and fun. We made enough money so that we didn't have any financial worries except for saving for our kids' college educations if they wanted to go to the private schools Evelyn and I had gone to, Northwestern and Stanford.
The only -- and I mean only -- way that our life was less than optimum as far as I was concerned was the fact that at this stage my libido was much more intense than Evelyn's. We used to have sex four-six times a week almost without exception. In the last two years it was reduced to once or twice. While Evelyn is still loving and liked to cuddle and have body contact, her desire for balls out fucking -- or even gentle lovemaking -- had clearly diminished.
Things moved along smoothly as practical until Evelyn decided that we had not done enough outreach into our community. Although intellectually I was as charitable as Evelyn I hadn't really done many worthwhile things for people less fortunate; with Evelyn's prodding that was about to change. "Drake," she started out, "we really should give more back to the community because the need is great and we want to set a good example for our kids. This upcoming weekend, Drake, let's explore some options." So the next weekend the entire Blanton family started on our charitable quest in earnest.
One of the local charities that needed assistance, Bridge of Hope normally just referred to as "BOH," dealt with single mothers who had their own small house or apartment but were at or just above the poverty level. Evelyn decided that BOH was the charity where we could do the most good.
I'm handy around the house and with anything mechanical (such as gasoline powered vehicles -- any electrical one more complicated than a golf cart is out of my league however) so I did odd jobs for any client of BOH who needed help while Evelyn gave practical life or employment advice to the moms, and both of us helped out the client's kids sometimes with our kids assisting if the kids we helped out were about the same age as ours.
Things went along well in our work for BOH for about nine months. We usually spent about four-eight hours a week helping out, and it turned out to be more emotionally rewarding for me than I expected. The clients were universally grateful and there is no doubt that we had a positive effect on their lives.
After about the nine month period working for BOH and our reputation for effective helpers was established, Evelyn and I were asked to take a special interest in some specific mothers who were having a particularly hard time.
Evelyn was asked to help mothers named Benita and Jill while I was asked to help Charlene. In the past Evelyn and I often -- but not always -- worked together with clients, but the director said the need was so great for these three women she wondered if we could work apart for a while.
Charlene had both practical and emotional problems. She had been diagnosed with depression and except when interacting with her two children was just going through the motions of life. Her depression and other emotional problems had gone into overdrive when her worthless husband had left her about a year ago.
Charlene's major practical problem was lack of money, especially with rent for her rental house. She was two months behind on her rent and her landlord was talking eviction.
Charlene is a small woman -- probably five feet one inch tall, maybe 105 pounds -- who is of vague origin. If I guessed I would say that she is likely 75% Scottish or Irish heritage, with definite unspecified Asian and Native American mixes thrown in. I don't think that anyone would call her beautiful -- I certainly wouldn't -- but she also is not unattractive.
While Charlene appears to have innate intelligence she is one of less than 1% of American women who have a diagnosed autism spectrum disorder, although her case wasn't severe. She definitely is verbal and seems to have an inherent ability to take care of children. Her two kids, girls aged three and four, do not appear to have autism and are well taken care of by her.
Likely because of her autism, however, Charlene has a very difficult time doing anything around her rented house to maintain it and she is terrible with money.
Noticing the poor condition of her rental house and to try to lobby on her behalf to prevent eviction I went to see her landlord. Her landlord, Jeff Tipton, is an elderly gentleman who is well-meaning but has his own issues. He never does anything to maintain Charlene's small rental house because he can't do things himself and he is too cheap to hire anyone, and he was concerned about the missing rent checks even though he seems to have plenty of money so he wasn't going to lapse into poverty himself with Charlene's payments.
When I went to see Jeff I made it clear to him that his lack of attention to Charlene's house could pose significant legal problems for him. After his song and dance about no skills of his own to help and his own (fake) level of poverty I provided him with a solution.
"Look, Jeff, I have a proposal for you. I will fix up the house that Charlene rents and keep it in good working order without cost to you for labor or materials. In return you'll forgive her last two rent payments and will cut her future rent in half. The value that my work will add to the house will be at least three times what you will lose on the rent; and here's proof." After I said that I gave him a complete analysis of what I intended to do and what value that would add as projected by a real estate appraiser who was one of the other volunteers for BOH.
After fully reviewing my documentation it took Jeff about three minutes to agree; I presented him with a rental contract with those provisions for him to rent the house to Charlene for the next two years, extending month-to-month after that, and he signed on the dotted line.
Although I'm not sure that Charlene understood all of the details, she was very happy -- her first sincere smile since I met her was proof of that -- with it too since it meant that her meager earnings from working a part time job at home and her public assistance would insure no food insecurity for her family for the next two years, and she could even buy some clothes or appliances -- with my help in purchasing them, however, since as I said she was bad with money and had only a rudimentary understanding.
It took a little while for me to get used to what Charlene meant when she was talking since her thoughts weren't always particularly well organized (especially when she was excited), and except with her kids she had difficulties communicating. However, once I got used to her I found her to have a pleasant and humorous personality, not like I expected for someone on the autism spectrum. The social worker who helped her out told me that after I had worked with her for about three weeks Charlene's mood had dramatically improved and if she still had depression no one could tell by her demeanor and smile.
I read up on autism as I worked with Charlene and found that many functioning people with autism have one or two subjects on which they are an expert. Charlene never exhibited what subject or subjects she was an expert on (except child care) until I had gotten to know her for a couple of months.
Sometimes I brought my kids with me to do projects at Charlene's house, once in a while Evelyn would come over, and once in a while I would go with Evelyn to see Jill and Benita. However, usually I was at Charlene's by myself and I spent about eight hours a week there, typically four hours on Saturday that didn't conflict with my kids' activities and a couple of hours each on Sunday and one weeknight. Her rental house was only about a mile and a half (two kilometers) from mine and on nice days, where the tools and materials that I needed were already at her house, I would often ride my bike there for exercise and fun.
Helping Charlene out got more and more rewarding as time went on and I got to know her personality, limitations, and strengths better and better. Whenever she would see me she would have a smile that was as brilliant as a searchlight and despite the fact that she normally didn't like body contact -- except with her kids -- she'd give me a hug, which grew progressively tighter as time went on.
When she really got to know me I found out one of the things that she was an expert on -- sex. She knew everything about sex and would talk with me nonchalantly if I had some down time from doing projects or we were watching the kids play or if she was giving me some lemonade. At first I was gobsmacked -- but then got used to it and didn't act nervous or non-plussed -- not that she would have recognized those reactions anyway.
When I finished a significant project one Saturday after I had been helping Charlene out for about four months I brought Evelyn and my kids over to show them. Charlene was over the moon with how the project improved both the functionality and the aesthetics of the house, causing her to talk so fast that she almost wasn't understandable. She gave me a big hug in Evelyn's presence, which caused Evelyn to chuckle. Then the seminal event of my relationship with Charlene occurred; when I went over the next day to do a small repair to the plumbing under kitchen sink.
When I got to her house that sunny late spring Sunday she hugged me tighter than ever and excitedly advised me that he kids were with a neighbor who had kids the same age. She was dressed in a sundress that may have been her best article of clothing, and had light makeup on her face -- the first time I had seen her with that. She was as cute as I had ever seen her -- as cute as a baby panda.
I was under the sink with my hands full, one hand trying to prevent water from a pipe spilling onto me while the other hand was holding a wrench, when I felt activity at my shorts. I first thought that I was hallucinating but suddenly there was no mistaking that a hand was fishing my cock out of my boxers and shorts.
I instinctively sat up, hitting my head on a pipe or the bottom of the sink. That hurt like a sonofabitch and distracted me while I still had my hands full. By the time that I was no longer distracted there was no doubt that a mouth was sucking my cock and that my cock had already morphed into a piece of steel it was so hard -- so hard that it hurt.
Evelyn wasn't too big on giving a blow job, and wasn't that good at it either. Charlene was a master, which I guess shouldn't have been surprising given what I had presumed was her book-learned expertise on everything sexual. Apparently her expertise had not been acquired just by book learning.
At first I tried -- I really did -- to get her to stop both by yelling "Stop" (under the sink it was like an echo chamber) and trying to wiggle out while not causing some catastrophe with the pipes. However, after about thirty seconds the feeling was so good that my mind blanked. I somehow was still able to hold the pipe with one hand but the other hand dropped the wrench and I zoned out. Some short indeterminate time later I blew my wad as powerfully as any other time in my life and Charlene -- whose mouth had to be the one on my cock -- swallowed it all.
As I lay spent and groaning Charlene's mouth left my cock and migrated -- along with her hands -- to my balls. I gained enough awareness to tell her to stop again, but there was no force behind my words and the feeling of her sucking my testicles was heavenly.
After another indeterminate period of time I realized that my cock had either come back to life or was still hard -- I couldn't be sure which. As I looked out the restricted view that I had from under the sink I saw a bare twat start to lower on my stiffy.
