W.i.m.p.s.

My pity party was interrupted by the sight of two mysterious men dressed in black suits who made their way to my boss' office. It didn't bother me. I wasn't getting anything done anyway. I couldn't get my mind off my own misery.

I guess my misery started when I was a child. My mother was always degrading my father. No good at this, no good at that, no good at anything. Actually, he was good at one thing: disappearing. I got to hear how horrible he was for leaving us, day after day after day. Woe to me if I ever tried to disagree with her. Ninety percent of what I said to my mother was "Yes, mother."

"Wimp, nerd, momma's boy, pussy, wuss, etc." were among the insults I endured in school. I was not on any athletic team or any club, not even the chess club. I was bullied relentlessly. I never fought back. My salvation was the conclusion from the bullies that after a while I was no fun to bully.

Stephanie was what I called 'rich-girl-pretty.' That means she was not beauty queen good looking, but she was rich, well dressed and wore lots of makeup. She hung out with the pretty girls because her money made her acceptable to them. She seemed to be attracted to 'bad boys' and had a reputation of being wild.

The only way a girl like that would be attracted to me was if there were something in it for her. In Stephanie's case, it was social studies classes, at first. She never understood why she needed to know what dead men had accomplished, much less when. I was smitten when she asked me to tutor her. She had me at the smell of her perfume. Tutoring turned into doing all her homework which I was quite willing to do just to be able to spend some time with her.

I never dreamed she would go out with me, so I never asked. Our senior year, her boyfriend burst his appendix shortly before prom. I got the biggest boner of my life when at lunch she asked me if I would take her to prom. After five minutes of stuttering, I said I would. It cost me several hundred dollars and about three gallons of anxiety-induced sweat, but I had a prom date. Well, it was more like Stephanie had a stand-in for her prom date. There were giggles and laughter when we were introduced. I didn't care. We went to a table with her friends. I got the first dance with her. That was the only dance I got until the end.

She came over and got me for the last dance. Stephanie apologized explaining her dancing with others was the price of popularity. She pulled me close enough to her that I could feel her nice sized breasts on my chest, and she could feel my bulge on her, you know, down there. Even though I had jacked off two times before picking her up that night, I almost came again on the dance floor.

After the dance, I took her home. She thanked me and gave me a kiss on the mouth. I don't remember how I got home. I heard that she changed clothes and went out later that night to a prom party. I didn't care. I took Stephanie to the prom.

College was a repeat of high school for the most part. Insults still came from my peers. As far as Stephanie, I was 'tutoring' again and her last-minute date when there was no one else to escort her. One quick kiss on the mouth was all I ever got. I never dated anyone else. Asking a girl for a date was too scary. She would probably say no anyway. Getting married and having kids? Not in my plans. I just planned to work on computers. That would give me a good job and I wouldn't have to deal with people much.

Then one night late, an obviously drunk Stephanie called. "Have I got a deal for you. How would you like to marry me?"

I thought my head would explode. "WHAT?"

Stephanie explained that she had gotten knocked up. She wasn't sure who the father was. None of the potential fathers were interested in her or she wasn't in them. She was faced with a 'not if you were the last man on earth' choice. Evidently, I was the next-to-last man on earth. She said she liked me and thought I would be a good father and provide a stable home. The idea that I was a pushover and easy to manipulate did not enter my mind, but I'm sure in hindsight it was on hers.

I was scared to tell my mother and, as I found out, rightfully so. The news caused her blood pressure to spike and she stroked out. My wedding had to be postponed until after the funeral. All of a sudden, I had a wife, a house, and a nice life insurance inheritance. The fetus didn't do well with all the drinking Stephanie was doing. It was stillborn. Some might have concluded that Stephanie was trying to drown the sorrow after the loss of her baby, but I knew she was just doing what she normally did before and after the baby. I never told Stephanie what to do or what not to do. I was surprised she didn't ask for a divorce.

Somewhere along the way, Stephanie seems to have gotten the idea that staying married to me was good for her image and a safe base of operation from which she could do just about anything and get away with it. Initially she was discreet with her affairs. Success there led her to be more open. I never challenged her. I was too grateful to have her part-time. I was afraid that if I fussed, I would not have her at all. Before long she was open with her cheating. "I'm going out tonight, don't wait up" was what I heard if she told me anything. Occasionally, I got pity sex or sloppy seconds.

That brings me to last night. My wife and her lover tied me to a chair. I had to watch while they had sex. When they were through, they explained to me what the role of a cuckold was and why I better not disobey or even think about divorce. I was told that I was a wimp of a man. My dick couldn't satisfy my own hand, much less a woman. If I received sex from her once a month, I should be thankful. From now on, I would be a slave to her and her lover.

As usual, there was no fight in me. I had given in to anything my wife had wanted in the past, why should I stop now? What else could I do?

My thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of my boss at my door. The two men I had seen earlier were with him. "Bruce, these men are here to offer you a special training program. I think it would be a good idea for you to go. You'll be paid during the training."

"What kind of training program is it?"

One of the men spoke, "life-changing."

"I don't understand."

"Do you like the life you're living now?"

I only thought a second. Why lie? "No."

"Then please sign this consent form for the training."

I was not used to making up my own mind even for important decisions. I asked my boss if I should. He said I should, so I did.

After I signed, the other man who hadn't spoken notarized the statement. I was told to come along. Every question about my job, notifying my wife, gathering clothing/toiletries, etc. were met with, "Don't worry. It will all be taken care of."

I was escorted into the proverbial black car. I sat between the two men. One got my attention while the other man injected something into my arm. Nite-nite, Bruce.

When I was awake, I was being walked into a mountain cabin, a luxurious mountain cabin. I was given some wonderful coffee and was told I would be briefed when the cobwebs in my brain had cleared.

A big, tall, very fit man invited me to sit at a round table near the huge fireplace. "Mr. Pennington, I know you have lots of questions. I will give you a brief orientation and then you can ask whatever you wish."

"The people here are part of an organization called W.I.M.P.S. That stands for Warriors: Internally, Mentally, Physically, Sexually. We all, men and women, were previously called 'wimps' by former spouses and others. We all have learned how to become an independent person who do not let people walk all over them anymore. You have been selected to go through the training. At the end, you will be a new person. A person you can look at in the mirror and respect. Our training is very intense and lasts 90 days. Questions?"

"90 days? I'll lose my job."

"No, you won't. Your boss has agreed to hold your job. Frankly, with the way you were acting you were about to be fired. Your employment is among the things that this training will save or improve."

"My wife. Does she know what's going on?"

"She's the last person we want to know what we're doing. Do you really care what your adulterous wife thinks? What kind of wife has sex with her lover in front of her husband? Did you hear what they have planned for you? You may not like this, but you will thank us later. Your wife will be served with legal separation papers and given instructions not to try to contact you during that time. The end of the training and the 90-day separation coincide. You two can do whatever you wish after that. If you go for divorce, it can be done in 60 days."

"What if she cleans me out financially in the meantime?"

"Already being taken care of. Half of all your assets has been transferred to a new account in your name only. One of our lawyers is working on protecting more of your assets. Our private investigator already has photo, video, and audio evidence that could be made available to her lover's wife and to her boss. Her lover works at the same place, so there are multiple revenge options there."

"How can you do all these things legally?"

"First of all, you gave us full Power of Attorney. Secondly, who said everything we do is legal? What we do is 'just.' Surely you know, justice and legality don't always match. Any more questions?"

I was still in a daze. I resigned myself to seeing what came next. What did I have to lose?

My next day started bright and early. Stretching, hiking, and then eating. Eating the worst tasting stuff I ever had. They said it was healthy. After the pre-breakfast workout, I was hungry enough to eat shit. Now I don't know what shit tastes like, but it couldn't be much worse than what I had to eat - five times a day!

I was exhausted after the pre-breakfast exercise and wanted to take a nap. A nap was not on the agenda. First was a full physical. I was deemed healthy enough to undergo the training. Next was baselining. They had me do sit-ups, pushups, barbells, sprints, and various other feats of strength, speed, or endurance. My main instructor had the saddest look on his face. He sighed deeply and said, "We have a lot of work to do."

The first week was almost all physical improvement. I worked harder the first afternoon than I had in the last five years. There was a lot of muscle confusion type of exercise. Eight hours worth, after lunch. I was sweating, huffing/puffing, and I thought my heart was going to jump out of my chest. I made the mistake of complaining. It seemed like the ten worst drill instructors from Hell suddenly appeared and chewed me out. Once burned, forever learned.

The intense aching muscles I had the next morning took hours of exercise to recover from the first day's soreness. Luckily it got better as the week went on. At the end of the first week, they put me in front of a full-length mirror. Beside the mirror was a full-size cut out of me when I first arrived. I couldn't believe the difference. I looked so much better.

They explained to me that it was easier to accept the rest of the training when I could start out seeing a positive physical difference. There was still plenty of body training, but they introduced sessions on improving my self-image. It wasn't all positive. Basically, they tore down to build me up. There were short sessions where they would role play what my wife and her lover had told me. Then they would ridicule me and ask why any man would put up with it. I was ashamed how I had behaved before. Next were sessions on how I could respond other than accepting the insults. It was easy to transform revenge on my wife and lover as motivation to complete the training. Believe me, I needed every bit of motivation I could muster.

I received some basic martial arts training. They did not teach me a lot of moves. That was not necessary according to the instructor. Being able to win a fight is mostly in being able to use some techniques really well, not on knowing a large number of techniques.

I had been wearing a gray sweat suit most of the time. I wondered why they had not gotten some of my clothes or bought me new ones. Finally, I figured out that my body was going to change so much, it was not practical to buy clothes until my body re-structuring was finished. Then I also learned that most of my clothes were 'loser' clothes. 'Dressing for success' class was an awakening to me. Towards the end, I was given a make-over. I had heard of those for women, but never men. Believe me, it was worth it.

The part of training I enjoyed most was Sex Training. I learned to control my ejaculation without little blue pills. Foreplay, erogenous zones, positions were practiced on some of the finest women I had ever seen. This training wore me out like so much of the other, but I didn't even think of complaining anymore.

At the end of the time, I looked great and felt great. I was ready to kick ass and take names. They dropped me back at my house. Her lover's car was there so I entered the house carefully. I quickly ascertained that they were 'occupied' in the master bedroom upstairs. I went up silently.

Once in the bedroom, I calmly went over and pulled her lover off my wife by his hair. My wife didn't appear to recognize me at first. Her lover caught on quicker and moved to re-establish his dominance. He threatened me and moved to hit me. I side-stepped him and smashed the toes on one of his feet. Next, I knocked the wind out of him and smashed his nose. I had forgotten about my wife. That was when the lights went out.

I awoke to see that I had once again been tied to the chair. My wife and her lover were explaining my proper role as a cuckold. Then I was shocked. There was no sign I had even touched her lover. I looked over as much of my own body as I could. My old, weak, ugly body was back. Then I realized: there had never been a W.I.M.P.S. training session. I had been dreaming. I was back to my role as a cuckold.

It felt like my mind and my heart were tossed down an endless well. Nothing like that had ever fallen so quickly and so hard. I almost started crying. Then I remembered one of the instructors from my dream saying, "When someone knocks you down, bounce back stronger." I may have lost what I had achieved physically in my dream, but I realized that the mental toughness training in my dream had come from within me. I had known all along what I should be doing. The kick-ass man that graduated the training was still there, inside. I looked around for options.

My wife and her lover decided to go to the guest bedroom as the bed in the master bedroom was too wet from their liquids, mostly from my wife's squirting. I was to wait and not cause any trouble. As soon as they left a plan formed in my mind. I was able to rock back in forth until my chair fell forward and I was on my knees with the chair on my back. I crawled on my knees to the nightstand. I had noticed my wife had left her cell phone. I rocked the nightstand and the phone fell into the floor.

It caused horrible pain, but I was able to maneuver enough to pick up the phone with my left hand. Taking a lot longer than normal, I was finally able to dial 911. Luckily, I knew my wife's phone passcode. She forgot it often, and she relied on me to remind her. I told the dispatcher that I was being held hostage by my wife and her lover. "They are going to kill me." So, I lied.

I rug-burned my knees in the process of inching over to the door. My wife had bugged me for a long time to fix the door. I was glad I ignored her. The door wouldn't close all the way. All it took to open it was to push it and it would swing back partially open. I used my head to push the door and scooted back on my knees as quick as I could.

My knees were now bleeding, but I didn't care. From my bent-over position, I was able to use the back of the chair to open the door wide enough to get out. I stopped. From the sounds my wife and her lover were making, they couldn't hear my efforts. I scooted into the hallway between the rooms. In between the rooms was the landing at the top of the stairs.

I was able to rock back and get the chair sitting up right again. Then using all the strength, I had in my legs, I stood up. The ropes burned and blooded my legs, but the ropes gave enough to allow me to get up three-quarters way. I waddled towards the top of my stairs with my back to the top step. Then I waited. I laughed inwardly thinking how glad I was that my wife's lover had cum earlier. He lasted longer than normal for his second time. If he could just last long enough until I heard what I was waiting for.

"Police, open up!" Soon I heard the crash of the door giving way. That was my signal. I screamed, "Don't push me!" With all the strength I could muster, I pushed backwards and went down the stairs, chair first, my bound body on top. My chair broke apart on impact as did several of my bones. My body and the pieces of the chair slid down to the bottom where I looked up at the police.

"Help me! They're trying to kill me!"

By that time, two nude people were standing at the top of the stairs. The police had guns pointed at them. They were told not to move. My wife started in with the "It's not what it looks like. He wanted to be tied up. We didn't push him." The police ignored her statements. She and her lover were told to put clothes on and were taken to the police station. I was taken in an ambulance to the hospital.

Their story was that the three of us were just having a sex game. I was supposed to be a willing participant. They had no proof, however, that I had agreed. My wife said to ask me, I would confirm her story.

My story was entirely different. I had just discovered my wife and her lover for the first time. They tied me up and threatened to kill me if I did not agree to be a cuckold. I refused. When they went to their room to discuss how to get rid of me, I made it out of the room. That's when they rushed at me and their contact caused me to do the back dive off the top of the stairs.

The police told me what my wife had told them. I said, "I didn't tie me up in the chair. If I had agreed, why would I have still been tied up? I could have died falling down the stairs. Why would I risk that?"

My story made more sense than theirs did. By the time of the trial, I still had visible, physical evidence of the injuries from my being 'pushed' down the stairs. Based on my appearance and the lack of evidence to support their side, they got 3-5 years for assault. They got off on the attempted murder charge. My divorce was granted. I got the house and she got 50% of joint assets. No alimony was awarded or household support.

Once I got better, I went in to work. My boss was gruff, "It's about time you're back. It's been difficult on the others here to pick up your load. Now get to work."

"Nope."

"What did you say?"

"I quit."

"Now Bruce, let's not be hasty. We've been able to get along without you while you've been recovering. I guess we can go a little longer. Just let us know when you'll be back."

When I walked by his sultry secretary who I knew had been eavesdropping, I noticed she looked at me in a totally different way. I swear she was undressing me with her eyes. She said, "Let me know as soon as you come back. I have something for you."

It was quite a while before I did come back. I was a little surprised that my job was still open, and I even got a raise. What I found out that the secretary had for me was what a number of women were offering, sometimes shaved and sometimes not, but always tasty.

What did I do while I was away? Let's just say it was making a dream come true.

Epilogue - five years later

I went into the bar. Ernie, the bartender, was waiting for me. "He's the one at the end of the bar, Bruce." I passed him a hundred dollar bill as it was my standard finder's fee.