What Have You Done Amy

My wife and I are both in our early, early forties. Now a normal athletic, fit couple that keeps an eye on their cholesterol, the bathroom scales and their kids away at school. Why not? Both people involved, my wife Amy and myself, Jaxson Fuller, still find things exciting and fulfilling. We go to parties and have lots of friends. We have always been one of those couples to stop to smell the roses. We enjoy hiking in the mountains. We water ski in the summer. We just bought a brands new SUV for my wife. I drive a mustang my dad bought new, and I have rebuilt and babied since I got it at my college graduation. I know I've been washing that car since it was just a colt.

It's at this point I probably should tell you about my problem. Oh, yeah, it's a problem. It's not something I brag about, but I've somehow opened my mouth to all the wrong people... maybe.

You see, I have trouble getting an erection and keeping it long enough to do any damage to my wife. That magic blue pill won't work as well after a while, so they say, especially if you use it the way I have been eating them like Tic-Tacs.

After we first got married, and for the first sixteen or seventeen years, it wasn't a problem. But as time went on, like it will do, I had to take a pill to just keep from pissing on my shoes. I noticed Sargent York was coming up less and less and not quite as firm as I was accustomed. I realized I had a problem and sought advice. I think that's where I may have screwed up. Even you will admit, (being on the outside as you are) I have the right to make a mistake or four.

I called my pastor... Big mistake; I don't know what I was thinking. Then there was the old family Doc I had had since the day I came down the birth canal. That's when I realized I needed to be talking to a Family Doctor, one of those that makes you think they understand your problem. They actually don't understand shit. You know the guys or gals that look you straight in the face and say, "we're making progress." When actually, it's getting worse.

See......I really am one fucked up individual.

To give you background, after two kids and a seemingly never-ending work week, our love life started circling the drain. I can go as far as to say it was about to be flushed. It wasn't my wife... it was me. We talked and talked till we were blue in the face. Every conversation ended the same.... Yelling and crying and throwing hands in the air. In other words, it was going nowhere.

NO...Money was not the problem... period! Get that out of your head right now. I'm a financial guy, and there's more than enough money to keep us living a very comfortable life.

Remember, I told you about the problems with my private parts occasionally. Well, Amy has always been a real trooper when it comes to my issues with the family jewels. The first time it happened, she kissed me and gave me that line about it happens to all men, "once in a while." The first time she made that statement, I quietly wondered how she knew this. "Has she been doing research on other men behind my back?"

That thought alone gave me a woody. Now that's screwed up. At least that's what I thought at the time.

The second time it happened, I was a bit concerned. But when it happened three times "in a row" I was scared. That was the day I went to see the Pastor at our church. He told me to pray over it and if it continued, then it must be God's will. "What in the world was I thinking?" Going to a preacher to get advice on my failures in the bedroom? It was a wonder he didn't tell me to get twin beds.

The next victim on my list of people that needed to know I couldn't "get it up" was our Family Doctor. At least he had read a medical book. He failed just as bad as the preacher. But he did put me in touch with a female head-shrink. She was an older lady that had at least been around the block a few times. (Okay.... She had turned those corners many times).

I was beginning to think she had all the answers, but alas, she didn't help either. That may not be a true statement. She offered some ideas without really saying anything. She asked if we were willing to broaden our relationship? It wasn't really in the form of a question, the way you would normally ask a question. It was like she might be suggesting something without really making a suggestion. The word "doubletalk" comes to mind. And this broom riding old lady was damn good at doubletalk.

The next week she wanted me to bring my wife. So, Amy took a day of vacation from work and sat her skinny ass down on the couch beside me. Once again, I don't remember hearing a question. But there was talk (between the women) that there were ways of broadening a relationship without wrecking the whole thing. It had to be a slow and steady process. The only thing I heard of importance was "Ka-ching" and I had to talk more with my wife. Oh, yeah... and I had to listen to her too.

Night after night Amy and I talked; fuck, did we ever talk. It was always about sex, sex, sex. I don't think I ever talked about sex so much with the guys at work. The bad part was my problem was getting worse.

"Aha! Therein lies the problem." I thought. Stop taking the abuse of Broom Hilda and start putting the blame on the only person that possibly could be the root cause.... my wife.

Then one night we went to a company function. One of those functions, you know, "if you want to have a job Monday, you'd better be here tonight." Amy, my wife, was wearing one of those dresses you only see in Vegas. It was a screamer. Her blond hair and the red, almost neon dress barely hanging onto her body caught every eye in the room. I was filled with pride in my choice of a mate, but shouldn't I be jealous? I wasn't. All I could think of was "eat your heart out suckers."

The speaker was boring as a doorknob, and I had to pee. I made my way to the men's room and everyone in there was talking about the boring speaker. Hey, while I'm in here why not take a toke or two and chill a little. So, I closed the door of my stall and started the relaxing process. When I was finished, I returned to see some butt-wipe of a guy sitting in my seat talking with my wife.

Their conversation didn't seem all that earth shattering, till Amy turned her head back to the stage, and this jerk was openly looking inside my wife's dress. My thoughts went to "Hey Buddy, those are my tits... I'm the only one that gets to gawk at them."

That was the very second, I noticed I didn't need the blue pills. I was toting a tree in my pants.

Blood does move around in the body, and I lost my timber to a group of six musicians that thought they knew how to play music. Amy and I danced to several numbers. It wasn't long till I was danced out. That's when Prince Charming landed on his broomstick and asked my wife for a dance. I just nodded when she looked at me (I swear she was salivating).

By this part of the evening, most of the revelers were heading for home, and I wanted to follow, but Amy had other ideas. She clung to this guy like he was saving her from the Titanic. Watching her bury her face in his neck brought life back to the forest, and now I really needed to get home. I thought I saw his hands moving between their bodies, and I could just imagine what he was up to.

I had had enough of this crap, so like Mighty Mouse to the rescue. I was on my feet, ready to put some guys' lights out. Amy resisted a whole nano-second when she saw the look on my face. She excused herself from the arms of this jerk, and when I handed her that bag of luggage she called a purse, there was no doubt. It's time to go home.

Later, in the car, with a tiny tinge of anger, I asked her if she had a "good time?" She said yes, she did, then she turned her face away to peer out the window. "What about that young jerk that was stepping on your toes before we left."

She turned back to see the scowl on my face. "You were jealous, weren't you?" Her smile turned into a nasty, naughty smile. "You should have heard some of the things he wanted to do to me."

"I'd love to hear all about it...." I turned my face back to the street. "Did he say he wanted to fuck you?"

"Oh, baby...that's just part of it."

"Well, don't just sit there.... Tell me.... what did he say?"

"Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Amy, are you going to tell me what he said, or do I have to put your ass out and let you walk home?"

"Baby.... In this dress I won't have to walk far, and you know it." She looked at me like she couldn't believe I wanted to hear about her conversation with Prince Whatshisname. "I think it would be better if you just keep your panties on and wait at least till we get home." The look on her face was one I only see when she is desperately trying to help me, "get it up."

She was right. If the wind got a good grip on that dress, she would be showing God, just how good his work was when he created her.

Somehow the accelerator on the car inched closer to the floorboard, and we were speeding toward home and the bed waiting at the end of the hall. By the time she had related all the lies she dreamed up, my dick was hard enough to punch a hole in the side of a ship.

When I wandered into the kitchen the following morning, Amy was grinning like that cat from the Disney movie. Was last night a success, or was it just a good night for daddy? From the look on my wife's lovely face, it was a smashing success.

"I never thought you were the jealous type." My wife confessed, pouring me a steaming cup of coffee.

"I never thought I was jealous. Let's face it, I watch you leave the house every morning to work in the testosterone factory you call a job." I responded. "I guess every once in a while, I wonder if those legs of yours catch comments that would make me a more than just a little upset."

Amy shot me one of those grins that had more than a little promise. "If you saw this guy at the gym, sniffing around your wife every morning, I guarantee you'd be hard all the time."

"Whoa.... wait just a fuckin minute here, wife of mine. What's this about a guy at our gym?" My wife had struck a chord that probably shouldn't be played on any instrument in our house. "Who's this dirt-bag I need to know about?"

Three minutes later, my wife was digging ditches through the flesh on my back, and my butt was jumping up and down like I was drilling for oil. The fact is, I was getting all the oil I required to drown that gym-rat. Second, I didn't even notice the pain emanating from the bloody scratches to my back.

Truth be told, it was a one-time showing of this dirty movie. As much as we tried, I was only good for one performance. Amy even started making up shit to see if it was going to have any effect. No! None effect whatsoever.

Just so everyone understands the simplicity of our daily lives. Amy and I usually leave the house at the same time. I go to work at six in the morning. Amy leaves with me at around half past five. She goes to the gym and puts in her time doing whatever she does to keep herself looking like the sexy wife she is. Me, I go to work and when I get finished, I go to the gym. My job pays for the gym workout, so I'd be a fool not to take advantage. Besides I enjoy giving the body some time stretching out since I sit at a desk, drink coffee, and advise people on how to spend their money most of the day.

I could tell my problem was beginning to influence my normally effervescent wife. I felt so bad. I had long ago faced up to the depression it was causing me. But Amy, well she was like I said before, a real trooper. I thought.

One Tuesday morning, after a tense yet fun weekend with friends. Amy seemed a little more nervous than usual. We had been out with the gang; a group of friends from school. We were celebrating a friends' birthday on the boat of Amy's boss. It was a three-day weekend, so why not? She was able to borrow the keys, so off we go to get seasick and vomit up all the money we spent on food. Even with the lack of sea legs, we were having a ball about ten miles out in the Gulf. There was a lot of teasing and flirting, but nothing more than that. As far as I could recall, several of us had a little more than a buzz, but that was all. Come-on... we were the gang that hung around the same neighborhood we grew up in. High School and College buddies that made their living and raised their families no more than ten miles from the hospital where we were born.

Saturday night before heading back into the real world, it was like a camping trip when we were kids. There was a lot of storytelling, a lot of fart jokes, and a confession or two. But nothing anyone would see as a problem. At least the guy with his own problems, couldn't see anything out of whack.

Late Sunday we were tying up at the dock. Just like the true friends we are, Amy and I were stuck getting the boat back in shape for her boss. We stayed the night that Sunday night on the boat. And when it came time to crawl into the sack, we were both too tired to do anything but rest.

Then we came to that Tuesday morning. I could feel a little tension in the air. Now it wasn't coming from me, but I had no problem feeling it. It could have been something she said, or maybe a look or possibly something I ate the night before. Now, I don't claim to be psychic or anything like that; this just didn't feel right.

I asked Amy if there was anything wrong, but she gave me her assurances everything was fine. Now what the hell does that mean? You have a knot in your stomach that tells you something is amiss. But your wife is telling you she's going to be late to the gym, and you are going to be late for work.

Well, she wasn't right about the gym or my work, but that didn't do anything to ease the knot in my gut. If she would just be honest with me. The confusing thing was... maybe she was being honest. Maybe, just maybe, I was getting signals that weren't signals at all. But still, it felt like I was standing on the outside of a whorehouse with not a penny in my pocket. There was no kiss goodbye, only something that looked like a kiss, blown my way from across the garage. And the knot grows bigger.

There was nothing I could do about it now but get in my car and go to work. I could see Amy's SUV in my mirror as I puttered down the street. But the next light caught me. Now, at this hour of the morning, I have always considered this light just a suggestion that I stop. But when I saw a member of the local constabulary lurking, I had second thoughts. I stopped. When the light turned green, I looked in my rear-view and didn't see my wife behind me. It was a bread truck making morning deliveries.

"Now that's interesting." I thought, as I pulled over to the curb to let the truck pass. "Where is my wife?" There was only one cross-street between where I was parked and the last time I saw Amy's car. I wondered if there's something wrong. No need to waste time, I did a U-Turn and headed back in the direction I came. When I got to the point where I had seen her car, there was nothing. Now, the knot in my gut is just a little smaller than one of those balloons you see in a Hot-Air balloon festival.

I recognized the street as the one we took to go to the dock to get the boat last Friday evening. "Oh, that's it. She forgot something on the boat. What the hell, I have time to help her." I took off toward the dock where her boss's boat was tied up.

When I got to the dock, there were only three cars parked in the lot. I used the same code I used Friday. The gate buzzed, and I passed through. The dock was full of all types and sizes of private boats. I walked down to the dock slowly, to make certain I was on the right pier. I could see a light coming from the boat; we just spent two and a half days on celebrating something or other. Since I am such a genius, I was wondering what I was going to tell Amy when I broke in on her to tell her I was there to help her do what she had to do....

That wasn't necessary. When I stepped onto the deck, I could hear her talking with someone. There was a tiny crack in the drapes pulled over the porthole. They weren't exchanging recipes. Most of the conversation was about me while they were taking their clothes off. I heard a voice of someone ordering my beautiful, loving wife to suck his dick. A second or two later the slobbering sound of my wife responding to his instructions. But my morning came to an end when I heard her say "It's nice to have a hard cock in my mouth and not have to work half the night getting it hard." I slowly backed away and returned to my car. If my wife had put a knife to my throat, she couldn't have possibly cut me as deep as her words did.

That day, to say the least, was one of the longest days of my life. I didn't take a lunch. I didn't accomplish anything I normally get done. My day was punctuated with barking at my PA when she kept asking me if I was all right.

There was no longer a knot in my gut. The only thing I had left was what remained of a broken, badly beaten ego that wondered what I was going to do now. How was I ever going to face her again? How could I ever recover? Did I even want to recover?

It was me.... all me. I was the one who turned her into something or someone that allowed her to justify what she had done to me. It was me....my fault. I didn't know how it was going to end, but I couldn't live with the gut-wrenching prospects of what I knew I was facing each time I looked at her.

Finally, my day ended, and I couldn't go to the gym. Fuck the gym! I'm going home to face this like a man. I was going to throw myself at her feet and do what?

Once I walked in the door from the garage, I knew there would be no graveling. There would be no begging. There would be no throwing anyone or anything at her feet. There would no longer be a Jaxon Fuller living with the shadow of constant pain and suffering hanging over his head. I was going to man up and leave.

Ha.... You call that manning up?

I called her phone and said I would be home early. I told her I wasn't feeling like a workout today and she asked me. "What was wrong?"

Just like she told me that morning, I said everything was fine... when I knew that wasn't true. When I made my decision, there was no turning back. I loaded my home computer and some business stuff I needed into my car. Now I know why men like pickup trucks. I was still driving around in my sixty-eight Mustang that had been rebuilt and repainted at least three times. But it still looked just like knew. The only problem, it didn't hold shit. Also, on a good day it only leaked a half quart of oil.

I got my computer and stuff in the car okay, but there wasn't much room for anything I really wanted. My Baseball card collection took up a lot of space and then I knew my Playboy collection would have to be left behind. There was only enough space for several suits, and some gear I use at the gym. If I needed anything else, I would have to go shopping. That was okay, I've never done that before, but there was no time like the present to learn.

Right on schedule, Amy drove up the driveway to the garage. As she walked around her car, she could see the junk I packed in mine.

"What's this?" she asked pointing at my Mustang.

I took a deep breath. I wasn't expecting her to be so quick to see there were clothes in the back seat of my car. I couldn't think of any other way to put it, so I said. "I saw you giving the boat keys back to your boss this morning."

She collapsed to her knees.

"I'll be in touch with you so we can talk. If we try and talk right now, you won't like what I have to say. So, let's give it a day or two and wait till cooler heads can think this through."

There was no response, except the sound of her crying. She said nothing.

I opened the driver door, sat back in that bucket-seat, turned the key, and backed out onto the street. I was gone.