I completely understand that posting stories in the Loving Wives category of Literotica puts a writer in the crosshairs of the toughest critics on this site, especially since about early 2017. I don't know what happened at about that time, but I know that scores dropped off considerably since then and the comments have gotten rougher.
I've got broad shoulders, however, and continue to post here because I like the challenge. I get that Loving Wives is more weighted toward BTB than RAAC, and almost any kind of a cuckold story will be dragged down. Still, every now and then I've gone off the deep end and taken some chances, and in most cases been crushed for them, although some have considered the attempt.
A lot of people didn't get my last effort, but a few did, and their comments were especially good ... and funny. So as a salute to those who made my day, I say thank you. You will see your "curtain call" several times within this story.
Rrrriiinnnggg!! Rrriiinnnggg!!
Son of a bitch! Got the house to myself, the game on the big screen, two cold ones down and more sitting in the mini cooler right next to my La-Z-Boy, and someone's calling on the phone. Better not be one of those asshole sales calls, or a robo-call. Someone's getting their head bitten off.
It was about 8 p.m. on a Wednesday night. My wife, Traci, often worked late on Wednesdays, and I always made plans for a night out of fun or a relaxing night in. Tonight was a night in. I put away a medium meats pizza from Papa John's earlier with a couple of beers, then turned on the Cubs game and started to unwind with some more Coronas. I had two more in the little cooler next to me and another six in the fridge in the kitchen. This was going to be a good night. The wife would walk in around 10, take a quick shower and we would be spooning by about 11. Wednesday was a quiet night at the Avendales'.
This phone call, however, was going to ruin my karma. I just knew it. But being the responsible guy I am, I answered it anyway. Turns out it was Chel Tremaine, the wife of Traci's boss, Jacques, who was practically hysterical. Seems Jacques had a heart attack while he was working with Traci, my wife, who called 911, and the paramedics had transported him to the hospital in bad shape. Chel told me Traci went with Jacques in the ambulance, and would need a ride home as Chel intended to stay as long as Jacques needed her. I told her I was on my way, and wished the best for Jacques.
Jacques had been Traci's boss for 22 years. She had started working for his software company right out of college, and had moved up to where she was now his right-hand man, so to speak, as well as his "work wife." I was already dating Traci when she went to work for Jacques, and through the years our families have had occasion to do things together. He seemed to be a good guy, Traci said he was a fabulous boss, and he took good care of Traci in the paycheck department as well.
Jacques, a citizen of France, is 10 years older than Traci and me at 55. He is a handsome guy who works out and has a decent body for a guy his age. He's a dynamic personality, the center of attention in a crowd. Both men and women gravitate to him. I understand that God has a plan for all of us, regardless of how well we take care of ourselves, but I have to admit to being surprised that Jacques had a heart attack.
I parked my car in a visitors' lot just off the emergency room, walked in, and asked about Jacques. I told the nurse at the desk that I was the husband of the woman who came in with him, and I was also looking for her.
As I said this, I noticed a pair of EMTs just off to my right. One quietly tagged the other on the forearm and whispered, just loud enough for me to hear, "Cuck's here. Wonder which way this'll go."
Although he was looking in my direction, I had no clue as to what he was talking about. I didn't know what a "cuck" was, nor did I really worry about it. I was just looking for Traci.
Five minutes later, Traci and Chel both came out of a room, tears streaming down both faces. They spotted me and headed over, and we embraced in a group hug.
"He's gone, Rick," Traci half-wailed as we hugged. "He died a few minutes ago. Doctor said it was a massive heart attack. He's gone."
I was stunned into silence as the three of us hugged in the hallway, both women bawling hard.
Chel, also a French citizen, had been married to Jacques for 35 years. They had married when they were both 20 and had come to this country when Jacques got a job with an
American software company at the dawn of the computer age. They have a daughter, Aimee, who is three years older than my daughter, Allison, who is 18, and the girls look enough alike that they could be sisters. Jacques treasured Aimee. This was going to be very hard on her, I thought to myself.
Just then one of the EMTs came over to me, and asked me if I was Traci's husband. I said I was, and he handed me Traci's purse, telling me she left it in the ambulance when they arrived at the hospital. I had separated myself from the crying women, and as I took it in my left hand I thanked him and shook his right hand with mine. I then started to wrap the dangling strap around the purse to get it out of the way when I thought I saw a bra stuffed into the middle. That didn't make any sense to me, so I took a second look, and sure enough, there was a bra tucked into the purse.
Things were so crazy when the women came out of the room wailing that I never really took a good look at Traci. She was indeed braless, I noticed. That was odd, I thought to myself.
I don't know how much longer we stayed at the hospital with Chel before she decided she needed to leave. Aimee was going to get in from her university in the morning, and Chel decided she needed to get some sleep. I drove Chel home, then took Traci and me to our house. I figured I could help both women get their cars tomorrow, Chel from the emergency room lot and Traci from the work lot.
Traci didn't said a word to me when we got in the door, heading right up to the main bathroom and getting in the shower. She joined me in the family room about 20 minutes later, her eyes red and swollen from all the crying. She sat on the sofa, and I got out of my La-Z-Boy and joined her, pulling her in for a tight hug. She was breathing raggedly, and I felt her body wrack with sobs. I wanted to ask her about the braless thing, considering she was supposed to be working with Jacques, but I didn't have the heart to go there with her tonight. Instead, I quietly held her for another 20 minutes, until she said she was tired and going to bed. It was midnight, so I figured I would turn in with her.
I called in for a personal day the next morning, and after getting a shower and shave, I offered to take Traci to the office to her get car. She suddenly looked gut-punched and started to stammer before taking some time to breath and calm down. She asked me to take her to Chel's instead, and they would get a cab and go to the office and get some of Jacques' things. Then Traci would drive Chel to the hospital to fill out some paperwork and collect Jacques' personal effects. I offered to help, but was quickly rebuffed.
That actually worked out pretty good for me. I needed to find the EMTs who handled the emergency last night and get a couple of questions answered. After dropping off Traci at Chel's and getting a brief update on how she was doing, I jumped back in the car and went straight to the hospital. I quickly was able to get the name of the EMTs who handled the emergency, and was told where to find them.
I found my targets at the fire station that I was directed to, and they remembered me from the night before. I looked at the one who had handed me Traci's purse, his nametag listed him as Gage, and asked him directly where the run had started.
For the second time in a short while someone stammered out an answer to me.
