Some things that really happened to us, mixed in with a few things that could have happened; so there is some fiction here…
…There had been a motorcycle accident a bit after we were first married, it wasn't his fault; a teenager had run a stop sign right into the path of his little motorcycle. She wasn't going fast, he wasn't going fast either, which was good as he likely would have been left much more seriously injured had that been the case. I wasn't with him that day, although one of our friends was out with him on his own bike as I was out shopping for clothes with our very good friend Ken. It would of course make for a much better irony in an erotic story if Ken and I were sneaking out and doing "it" someplace, at the exact moment of impact, but we were just two friends out innocently clothes shopping together that particular day.
…My guy had begun to grow a bit more distant from his other friends after the wedding, and this ride, this "found time" without me in tow to do something mutually enjoyable - share a shared love of riding - was therefore good for all, or so we had both hoped. My guy both had, and to this day has, a serious amount of empathy, unique in most men, or so goes my own personal observations.
The irony, if there was one, was that my husband wasn't on his bigger bike with more power and far better brakes, because that was once again broken and sitting at the dealership awaiting parts from overseas, so he was instead on his little learner's bike, and that meant that he rode in front so his buddy on his own larger and more powerful bike didn't accidentally outrun him. If they were both on bigger bikes and nearly side by side, the accident might not have happened, but who knows for sure; I suppose that's why they call them accidents…
Anyway, as explained, the friend was far enough back on his own bike to unfortunately helplessly watch it all happen - but not get directly involved himself - and when I eventually saw the crashed and twisted bike later on I also saw where his man package had dented the tall fuel tank, presumably on impact as his body slid forward on the smooth seat before smashing into the side of the car itself. Seeing him in the hospital all bruised up that same day - Ken and I arriving together - had obviously been quite emotional, but if Ken and I had actually been fooling around that day, instead of innocently shopping, it likely would have been overwhelming.
So the good news - if there was any - was that while he was injured seriously enough, he was also very healthy and fit, so his eventual recovery would have that advantage as well. A huge knee to shoulder bruise, several deep gashes from contact with the sharp parts of the car, some internal parts that were damaged, some external ones too, but a full functional recovery was likely on our eventual horizon; or so we'd eventually been told.
Ken was once again there for me, for us really; not as a sexual partner with the shock of my new husband being in the hospital obviously, my mind surely wasn't there in the least; nor Ken's to be sure. He was there for both of us like a good friend should be though, he got the broken bike where it needed to go with his truck and small trailer, and even eventually picked up his fixed bigger bike and got it to our little garden apartment's garage area. So, Ken pretty much did the things hubby couldn't do for himself being injured and all, which was hugely appreciated. Sometimes "thank you" just isn't enough, and this was one of those times.
So after a week or so in the hospital he's stuck home, there will be an eventual surgery to repair his right hand, but for now other things need to heal and start working at one hundred percent before that can happen, his damaged right kidney being one of them. Our wedding vows were for better or worse, and from this age I am now I obviously realize that worse can surely get much worse than this. Still in our minds we were young and invincible, and this little mishap reminded us that this just isn't the case. So anyway, my guy is home for a while in our little apartment, and he can't even drive himself anywhere between the injuries and the narcotics they have him on; and my guy just doesn't sit around well unless the narcotics are on the heavy side, it's simply not in his DNA at twenty-ish years old to sit around and do nothing.
The narcotics and other drugs they have him on have a few lingering side effects too, one being that his guy parts don't really function, which is probably both a blessing and by the doctor's design anyway, as they got banged around quite a bit during the collision with the fuel tank. We had an acquaintance that had a fuel tank to man bits kind of motorcycle accident, but in his unfortunate case he lost one of his two proverbial family jewels; where for us at this early stage they predict a full functional recovery… if of course we follow the doctor's instructions and let them heal and rest for a while.
This was obviously a seriously painful injury for a man, that part of him black and blue and nasty looking for a bit, and this was maybe even slightly embarrassing for him too. By the time we've been to several doctors - stripping off for them and putting on a dress-like gown becomes almost like a reflex action for him - and their youngest nurses were always in the room to assist too. This proceeded a very intrusive and emasculating examination of his tender and damaged bits - with several besides myself in the little exam room with him - and all this eventually weighed on his psyche. In his mind for a bit there he's a piece of meat, a broken non-functional husband kind of meat, through no fault of his own though!
Now looking back on this from today's perspective, I think this particular youngish male doctor was drawing this intimate "injury" out a bit, perhaps because he got off on keeping this almost newlywed couple that we were from coupling-up like we wanted to. He was hurt there specifically, and making sure "that" worked again would have gone a very long way towards keeping him mentally fit and healthy; but this youngish doctor was treating his physical injury like he was educated to do, not the collateral emotional one. It maybe wasn't evil so much as playfully naughty on his part though - exercising his somewhat new doctorly authority over both of us - but some things you just can't go back in time and ask either. Back then our twentyish year old mindset was "follow the doctor's orders, he went to school for years to learn this stuff." But these days we obviously know a bit more, and there's always "Dr. Internet" for a second consultation as well.
So anyway, my guy has this bath wrap kind of thing that was given to him a bit earlier by a family member, it snaps around his waist and is far easier to get into than anything else he owns with his present "man" injuries, not to mention his kidney and half-functional right hand. So, he's wearing this thing pretty much all the time as it's easy to put on himself - when it's not actually in the wash - and it becomes his favorite. It's actually made for a man, but trust me, to look at it it says "mid-thigh blue wrap-skirt" all over it; but with everything else he has going on I obviously bite my tongue on the skirt thing. At some point during this awful extended adventure though - knowing he's going to recover from his injuries - they become something less than serious, and more something one can see the obvious humor in. He has a great sense of humor too, it's one of the many things that I love about him, he can eventually even laugh at himself in this particular "emasculating" situation; which would be straight up depressing for a man with a huge chest thumping ego to constantly feed.
So at some point he starts playing the skirt thing up - too much daytime TV perhaps - wearing it and swinging his hips as he walks about the apartment in an obvious parody of what I hope I don't look like when I walk in a skirt myself. His steps are slow and deliberate at first with what he has going on down below, but somehow he makes it work, and only later on I realize that he's been practicing, alone while stuck at home out of sheer boredom. I've said this before, but it bears repeating, my husband has very nice legs for a man - always has - and this man-skirt has them on display from his upper thighs on down.
Anyway, one particular time Ken had followed me home from work after we had bumped into each other at the gas station, and I invited him over for an unplanned Friday night dinner with both of us; which was welcome and fine by me, as well as my recovering and perpetually bored hubby. I didn't call ahead - from a payphone - or anything like that, to tell my recovering husband that we had company, as back then cell phones just weren't a common thing, and certainly not in our modest budget either. It's not like I had to call and ask my husband's permission to invite a friend over either; we just don't have that kind of relationship.
So the short story is my "skirt-wearing" husband possibly could have changed into something else when Ken and I pulled up in our separate vehicles - damaged hand and all - but he instead just ended up setting an extra plate, and serving all three of us the dinner he had managed to cook for all of us with his injuries, dressed in his favorite apartment "skirt." But, if one bears in mind what the three of us had already done together pre-marriage, this skirt-thing is almost nothing, but it's still humbling and slightly feminine, and in light of his non-functioning man parts, curious as well.
…I have to back up here a bit though, tell a bit of an occurrence that happened on Ken's uncle's boat once before we were married; so that this will all make more sense. A short time after my insane foursome at Ken's cabin with his three older work friends; with my future husband stripped, collared, and locked out like a naughty dog, and really only seeing some of the action from that wild night through the windows, we had a kind of new beginning. It wasn't a fight between us or anything like that, but there were some collateral medical "issues" that I had to deal with as a result, and as a result of that we kind of pulled way back on the involving-others insanity.
My guy was there for me though, taking me where I had to go to get things sorted out, strong antibiotics doing the job and providing for a full recovery; recovering from something he himself didn't cause though. My "playground" was closed for a bit as a result, so this ended up being quite unfair to my future husband, who had sacrificed greatly for both myself and his needy best friend so that I could have an experience. Ken was needy, that particular time, partially because of my actions, so I had some obvious guilt and responsibility there to be sure. I was also freshly unemployed and freshly moved out of my own home; living on my future husband's dime, while living in his parent's spare bedroom, and also driving his car like it was my own, just to put everything into proper context. With everything going on here he still petitioned his folks to have me move in with them, although the exact details of why that was necessary must remain a secret…
Well, when the playground was once again open, and my boyfriend and I were once again hooking up in his car's back seat - like lots of teens surely did back in the day - the routine of that started to grind on me a bit. When that had been all I'd known, his back seat was fine, but by this point I've also done it on a for-real bed too, with "no-interruptions" time to fully enjoy the experience - oddly enough with Ken - and I'd like some of that instead with my future husband; call me greedy. We have separate bedrooms in his parent's home, one on the top floor, one on the bottom, and we're just not doing it there out of respect either. Later on when I have an engagement ring - and they're traveling - it's obviously a different thing, but this gift of a place to live when I was most in need was a huge and generous thing, something I've never forgotten to this day…
So anyway, back then I think Ken as well comes to the conclusion that our three way friendship needs some minor realignment too, no blow out arguments or anything like that there either, but I'm still pretending to be Ken's steady girlfriend for his recovering aunt's benefit at this "boat-incident" point in time, so in a way both guy's steady girlfriend. It's sharing in a more emotional way - other than just the purely physical way - and there are some adjustments that must naturally occur. This is in the form of my future husband "self-deporting" from me, from us really, so that he's not masculine competition, and Ken can then seamlessly take his place for a bit. My future husband still doesn't get jealous of Ken, but the nuances here now had him avoiding placing himself in a situation to get jealous as much as possible; again this thing we had going on was very complicated.
…Not that this was part of any conscious plan on my part, but it was hugely ego-boosting to have two desirable young men chasing me at a time, something I really needed…
It sounds all so easy and wonderful when it's just words on a page, but there was just soooo much guy psychology going on here that I could almost write a book on the subject today - or several detailed erotic short stories - but back then I was truthfully still figuring it all out myself. So by this point my guy is quite comfortable in his own skin, even in front of Ken now with all we've done together, and he doesn't get jealous with Ken like ever, but he's also told me indirectly by both his words and attitude that while a part of him loved the foursome thing for me - in concept - a part of him also didn't. It was just a bit out of control-risky for him, and truthfully I'd have to agree for myself as well, so really we're on the same page here; as in no real conflict on this subject at all. He didn't "forbid" me from doing such again or anything like that - implying it was a straight up mistake and adding guilt to my back that I just didn't need at that point in my life - but he simply asked that we don't do that again. So this was super reasonable of him, all while assuming some of the responsibility for that wild night himself… fairly or not. He's like that though, things I F-up in life he somehow makes his fault, or even partial fault; like I've said here before, he's a keeper, he elevates me even when I maybe don't deserve such.
So anyway, to get back on track, story-wise; this thing, this important little proverbial puzzle piece I'm going to relate to takes place on Ken's uncle's boat, and just a little while after the cabin foursome thing. Ken was borrowing the big boat for a first-time-ever solo outing on it, so that he and I could get out alone together to work some things out, neglecting of course to tell Ken's facilitating aunt and uncle that my true boyfriend might be there too. They were left with the carefully crafted misconception that Ken and I were now the couple, but that somehow all three of us were okay with that and still friends, still liked to do things together too. They weren't asking the specific details of how that all went down, and we're just not offering in-depth explanations the few times we see each other socially either; so it all just magically happened from their point of view. One also has to bear in mind that this was their apparent end-goal for Ken and I at some point anyway, not to mention that they had a few other things going on in life at the same time a bit more pressing…
So that particular time we didn't end up dumping my boyfriend off - to solo camp - on the trip up to the lake like we maybe all wanted to; as would have been the more practical way to make him disappear for a bit as well. To be fair, that particular trip to the marina also had its fair share of provocative distractions, with Ken very much in full-on jerk mode and very "hands-on" dominant with me in the cab of his truck, pretty much all the way to the marina. To also be brutally honest here, I wasn't exactly giving him any signs to slow down or stop either, because he was seriously pushing all my proverbial buttons that day; as circumstances beyond my control had prevented my future husband and myself from hooking up for a bit proceeding this particular outing. Was hubby making himself distant so that Ken would have a randy partner perfectly within her "I need something" cycle, thereby facilitating Ken getting the best and most needy version of me?
Possibly, I realize, from today's point of view, but back then it was just something sexy, naughty, and most certainly taboo that happened between friends. I was feeling both randy, and giving - so very much up for this level of foreplay - and Ken was being Ken, and aggressively taking, just like I liked him to do.
Was Ken reclaiming me from his three very different work friends? Again, possibly, but some things you simply can't go back and ask, and since this is my version of things anyway, my version wins out and Ken was replanting his proverbial flag and reclaiming me from his older friends. Now here too was the fact that Ken still wanted me, that I wasn't "damaged goods" to him with the rough way his three friends had handled me, one after another, that night; which to be perfectly honest was what I was after at that moment in time anyway. I partially blame that on my costume that night, I was dressed up as somebody else, so I was free to act like somebody else too; somebody a bit slutty and needy who wondered if she could actually do what she had fantasized about doing in the flesh…
Anyway, all this nonsense in the pickup truck happened with my boyfriend sitting right next to me on the other side and half-pretending not to notice, self-deporting mentally like he must also do physically for this sharing thing to once again work. On the boat the plan B then becomes "maroon my boyfriend on one of the massive lake's many little islands, and pick him up some time later, maybe even a day later as we intend to dump him off with a sleeping bag and a tent." It's a hot and sexy concept - being marooned I mean - something I'd like for myself to be honest; but then again sometimes the very best gifts are the ones you'd like for yourself.
So not to tell the whole story here - it turns into a pretty hot little adventure for all three of us that I'll likely share at some point - but with the lake as busy as it was Ken tells my guy to go below once underway, to select a bathing suit from the old box of spares in the big cabin part of the boat. This way he'll have something proper to wear while swimming the short distance to the island we now intend to dump him off on, so he won't be aboard with us to potentially either hear or watch Ken and I go at it with each other in the captain's bunk; or as it turned out, out on the deck with the stars out overhead.
That "I want you" vibe between Ken and I was boiling-over pretty much all the way to the marina, and my boyfriend had almost certainly felt that himself and graciously "self-deported" that day as much as humanly possible - as a huge and generous gift to both of us - all while still sitting in the same little truck cab with Ken and I, all to make things easier for us. This is the way these kinds of things went; implied permission and acceptance by my future husband's actions, or even inactions. So something only a submissive man could possibly make work, and the turmoil he surely felt while it was all happening too, just wow! In a way I wish I could feel something like that for myself and like it - the intense emotional rollercoaster of watching somebody lovin-up on somebody you love - but I'm not sharing him like ever, and to also be fair my mind isn't wired like his is either on this particular subject.
Anyway, it's a thirty-something foot long wood-hulled boat with accommodations for several below, a galley, a small shower with a head - toilet - too, and therefore it doesn't beach like a smaller fiberglass boat could, so a short wade or swim to the island will be necessary. Ken can get him close, and then put the swim ladder down to give him the proverbial boot, all to maroon him like a castaway for a bit; all alone with his kinky thoughts and imagination to scratch out his very first rough draft of our first camping adventure.
After we dump him off Ken and I can then take the boat someplace else - or so goes the plan - to reconnect alone for a bit in total privacy ourselves, uninterrupted, as the foursome thing with his work friends wasn't good for Ken at all; like a "once and done!" So anyway, my guy comes up from below in "comic relief" mode, lightening what would otherwise be a heavy mood bearing in mind what was almost certain to happen next… if of course he had a different prevailing attitude about sharing me with our best friend. He's however wearing a white ladies bathing cap that he found down there in the box, and also holding a faded ladies green one piece suit up in front of his body, complete with a frilly skirt portion, so something far more suitable for any lady from her teens to quite adult; like one size and style fits almost anybody.
Ken laughs at my guy's playful implied offer to fem it up like this - further self-deportation with some suggested self-emasculation too - but I also vetoed his suggestion cold; back then I just don't think I could have unseen that if he had actually worn that suit for us. I'd seen enough along those lines already with what we had actually done to him - which was also more than partially my fault - but I just couldn't go all the way "there" on that particular day and dress him up like a female swimmer, even just for us three to see. The lake was fairly busy that day, so it was at least possible that somebody else might have seen him, which was why Ken didn't toss him from the boat nude to skinny-dip his way to the tiny island in the first place.
Today these things - as in "femming-up" your guy for fun - are a bit more easily accepted, but back then that was really "out there" for almost everybody, as well as threatening to place my future husband into a proverbial box that I just didn't want to see him in; one that in my teen mind he likely couldn't escape either. Bear in mind that nothing we three did together was ever intended to be evil or mean, it was truthfully an adventure of discovery, learning about oneself, and others obviously too, and maybe even with a few good and selfless deeds tossed into the mix too…
…So anyway, even back as a teen, there was already a set precedent for my guy wearing - or wanting to wear - something less than masculine - panties from that very first camping trip obviously comes to mind, even though I didn't actually see him wearing them - so this "skirt" wrap thing kind of makes sense if seen from a certain point of view, it's just another incremental step I suppose; but a step to where exactly? He's a married heterosexual man, and we even have our own place now, and he's also become quite the skilled lover. Ken is a different man though, with different physical attributes, but my husband has also upped his own game with me, once of course we actually had the time to enjoy and explore each other's bodies in relative comfort, on a for-real bed. In short, being married - to each other - has been very, very good for both of us. No real "serious" second thoughts at all on my choice in husbands, then or now. I've played that "what if" game in my mind a few times over the years; but with our peculiar history together is that really a surprise?
So back in the here and now, this motorcycle-injured husband of mine is a bit down on himself, he feels like he's not taking proper care of the womanly part of me with his injured guy parts, and quite truthfully he's not; but it's not even a little deal for me, let alone a big one. It is for him though as he likes to take good care of me in about every way he possibly can, he's a very serving and giving man like that. And, here's where one's own perceptions can become very real, even when they aren't really for somebody else. So my husband is serving both Ken and I dinner, in addition to himself, and wearing his little skirt-looking wrap and serving us far more like a maid or even a waitress, rather than a husband.
I can't say I like the connotation, especially bearing in mind his injuries, but his service to me, to the three of us really in this particular case, gives him purpose while stuck at home recovering, and it makes him feel needed. So I try to see the big picture here and allow him to serve us, and Ken sees this and makes brief eye contact with me as if to ask "is this really okay?" I don't verbally answer, but my smile and quick shake of my head I think conveys that we should let my husband, his best friend, just serve us the simple dinner he's made. So to be clear, Ken is most certainly a good guy here, and he's therefore anything but taking advantage…
There was wine with dinner, and still more after dinner for both Ken and I, but none for hubby with the narcotics they have him on. Ken and I are drinking, and being served too, and the implied message is that Ken and I are on one level, and my recovering husband is on a lower one; again, more like a maid. He's comfortable in his service, maybe even while serving this fully functional man that we both know; but I don't know that I am. How to change this without making a big awkward scene though, without embarrassing him for basically being a very good host; or is that waitress? I also remind myself that he gets lonely being home all day by himself, and latching onto human company once again is normal and reasonable too.
Every time a wine glass gets near empty hubby refills it - it was an inexpensive big bottle of screw-cap "table wine" - and soon Ken just isn't driving home. Did my husband have an ulterior motive in this, or was he just so caught up in serving us like a flippin serf that he kind of lost himself in the moment? I really didn't know the definitive answer at that moment, although I had my obvious suspicions. Our apartment only had a single bedroom, and while I was cleaning up from dinner and doing the dishes, at my insistence, Ken and hubby had some time to talk, which to me was perfect really.
What I didn't see though was hubby taking one of his little pain pills, but soon he's drifting from the effects, and he lays down on our couch to crash a bit. I directly look at Ken's empty wine glass and tell him he isn't driving home, pointing to the shower so he can both get clean for bed - he had a very physical job back then - and hubby and I can also talk for a few minutes privately. I think Ken is a bit surprised by my take charge attitude with him, but with hubby in the condition he's in I've had to assume the role of head of household a bit more here, and I also realize that this bubbles over even to today. We're a product of our experiences after all, it's not good or bad, it just is…
So anyway, I'm sitting on the coffee table next to hubby with his head on the armrest of the couch, and his eyes are half-open, but he also chose here to lie down and not our bedroom. He's pulled off his borrowed concert tee shirt by this point, and he's maybe even more buzzed than Ken and I are from the wine, but he's also super honest like this too, but to be fair he's impossibly honest with me anyway. I tell him that I'll give Ken our bed and I'll sleep out here on the floor with him, but he shakes his head no.
"You guys take the bed," he tells me dreamily. Okay, Ken and I had shared a bed several times before hubby and I were married, but not once after. Back before marriage it was different in my mind, Ken's too, but I'm a wife now, and there is commitment in that. I haven't suggested any Ken-time obviously, it honestly didn't occur to me to do so being married now, but hubby had also been taking very good care of me too, so it's not like I was going without or anything; before this unfortunate accident anyway. Ken's done so much for us recently too though, upped his own friendship game with the both of us in our time of need - which I personally appreciate - and he's even single once again too.
…It's a funny little side-story, but we were married on a Saturday - with Ken as the best man - and Saturday night was our first official night sleeping together in our own place - the apartment - the first of our circle of friends to both be married, and have our own place too. Ken had his up-state cabin that was really his uncle's, but he was still living with his folks down-state, as were our other friends at that point. Anyway, my brand new husband talks me into doing it on our wedding night, which to be honest I was only half-into with all the busyness of the day, but he had won me over with logic rather than passion by telling me I'd regret it one day if we didn't. Just like any other time I could easily have vetoed his desires; just because we were married didn't mean he owned me, but he wasn't playing that card either. So he talked me into it on our own hand-me-down marital bed, no condoms, and it was actually a pretty good one too. Maybe not a ten best ever, but years later - upon reflection while writing this - I realize that my brand new husband had been right, as I think I would have regretted not doing it on our wedding night as husband and wife.
So we can't pop for a proper honeymoon or anything like that, we're relatively young, and relatively poor too, so Monday morning we're both going back to work, albeit from a new address, and in my case with a new last name. But Sunday morning, after hubby and I made our first ever married breakfast together, we called Ken from our wall phone - maybe just to check to see if the telephone company hooked it up - although we invited him over for drinks and snacks just like this was any other day. He'd told both of us that he intended to leave us alone for a few days, but we simply weren't having it, in other words "business as usual" we're still friends. Not exactly a jealous husband laying exclusive claim to his brand new wife, but no offer - nor desire for an offer - to share me with Ken going forward either…
Fast forward back to the couch and the narcotized offer to have Ken sleep in our marital bed with me, a potential first, not to mention a very big step to take for any married woman, most especially a very happily married one with an injured husband in the next room. Was hubby being drug-induced super honest with me, or was he just babbling incoherently? I might have been slightly physically needy here, but my need to be a good and faithful wife overshadows that by a lot, and this is also temporary too, a year or so later my husband's "disability" will become a distant memory, something to make jokes about. So my gut reaction is to laugh it off and say no, but then I realize that not taking care of me like that is weighing heavily on him, and I wonder if I can somehow do both things at the same time; in other words, walk the proverbial tightrope and go there, without "really" going there.
So, it's been quite some time since I had to bring hubby off in his backseat with both a hand-job, and an erotic story about me having some kind of against-my-will sex, maybe even while he was forced to watch, or even just listen. But, I also figure that since he's not able to have real sex yet, maybe this might work instead, or at least give him something he needs in the form of a release of some kind. I'm short on the technical details of how to exactly "pull this off" if you'll pardon the cheap pun, but with unconditional love I'm sure we can make something wonderful happen for him, so I try something that I know really works him up, or at least used to.
"Ken and I, your new wife, in the same bed together, and you, all alone out here and only able to listen in," I offer, in my most seductive and naughty tone, just to get a feel for his half-asleep kink level here. I'm fishing a bit and my "only for us" playful tone suggests such, but it's also with nothing but love. I want to do something wonderful for him, selflessly, there is nothing in this for me personally.
A sexual groan is my response, so not exactly a "don't you dare!" from my medicated and incapable husband.
Now his right hand is damaged, it still needs surgery at this point, but he can half-use it for some things with some difficulty, but I haven't exactly asked if he can use it for THAT. We don't really talk about self-entertainment all that much, and trust me, being newlyweds, there was no need at all three weeks out of every month, at least before this accident messed that up for us. He also has a perfectly fine left hand, but he's right handed, although surely to a man in desperate need this is a small detail easily overcome.
Anyway, with his shirt off I rub his little man boobs - which sometimes turns him on - making little circles around his nipples, which become erect as he groans again. This is as close to anything physically passionate - since the accident - that we've managed, and while not doing anything for me, it's a wonderful feeling to be doing something for him. I miss the passion of being with my husband, and this unfortunately reminds me of what I'm missing too. I also can't help but to think this passion is somehow related to Ken's presence, to him sleeping over, but no matter the motivation, getting him off might be very good for him, although actual penetrative sex with his damaged body and healing kidney might not be.
I don't especially like to give oral - or to be more accurate, it's not a go-to thing for me unless I'm really worked up - and my face down there, near his still banged up family jewels, most certainly wouldn't do anything for me at all; so I decide to snake my hand down his body, almost like he's done to me like a hundred times before. Wow, I both feel and see his stomach roll, and his hips thrust, and now I'm onto something, a woman on a selfless charity mission. I know to stay away from his right kidney though, really his entire healing right side.
"So, you're okay with Ken and I sleeping in the same bed together, our bed, while you're out here all alone and helpless on the couch?" I ask seductively. I haven't committed to anything here, it's just a fictional story, a "what could possibly happen" kind of erotic scenario.
"Yeah!" was his one word answer, but it was just so sexy the way he said that one single word, so impossibly honest, nothing held back at all. He has no self-preservation at all with me in this mode, so uber passive and trusting, vulnerable too should I overstep, especially while injured. His tone is saying "go for it, I don't mind at all" but I'm still a married woman, with a vow to uphold. At the same time though, Ken is just so damn tempting, as in I already know how good that will be, because it was every other time with Ken.
"I've been a really good wife here, I've unconditionally put him first, but maybe I have legitimate needs too, and maybe fate herself brought Ken and I together at that gas station," I briefly tell myself in justification.
I flip his little skirt up - no guy underwear for him with his injuries - and I rub on his flaccid and shrunken cock; he might be mentally into this, but little hubby most certainly isn't, almost certainly due to the narcotics… we hope. "What if something else was wrong down there, and the doctors were mistaken, or just not wanting to tell us yet that it won't ever work again?" I remember asking myself. What if my husband had the same fears? This was way before viagra, and non-functioning man parts was a TV commercial thing, but my fears were damaged nerves and blood flow down there. So there I am, maybe wanting to do something wonderful for him, but the potential is that I'm going to instead confirm his worst fears, that everything won't eventually be okay; if I can't "bring this off" and somehow take him all the way to orgasm, pun intended.
So I simply can't stop now, it would almost be more cruel to stop, especially with the "left-hanging" implied offer for Ken and I to do what he and I obviously can't. Listening to that from out on our couch would be like serious mental torture for a new young husband so incapacitated, nothing fun and kinky at all; like when we had done similar things before as teens. Anyway, with inspiration from some of my own intimate actions a fresh new idea pops into my head, and I take the two fingers of my left hand and put them into his mouth, and he gets the idea and sucks on them, almost giving me digital oral. He's good with his mouth too, but we haven't done that either lately, just with me not feeling good about him doing that for me while we couldn't do something for him.
With my wet fingers I rub on the super-sensitive head of his flaccid cock, little circles at first almost like I was rubbing myself off. His shaft is just so flobbly, tiny, and soft though that my fingers chase it clear into his pelvic cavity, so technically retreating back inside his body. It's injured and as small as I ever remember seeing it - worse than that first camping trip incident when Ken and I ganged up on him - so really almost feminine looking down there. As a result, this feels very close to rubbing myself off now, and this plus his skirt, plus the little moans he's making, plus his little man boobs and erect nipples, twisting body and all; makes it feel almost like I'm rubbing another girl off. I don't dare make the obvious observation to him though, and I still think he needs this too, maybe more than ever now. It's odd to be sure, but he's both done, and allowed some very odd and unnatural things as a boyfriend for me as well, "for better or worse…" and all of that.
I rub in little circles and his body is snaking all around, he's not faking this at all, but he's not going over the top either; right on the proverbial edge. I then pause and stick my two fingers back into his mouth to lubricate them some more, and then go back to rubbing off my injured husband almost like he was my girlfriend instead, this surely one of the more unique sexual things we'd ever done as a couple to date. He just needs something else to get there though - more erotic input, to get the desired output - and with my free hand I molest his man-boobs a bit more aggressively, like I like for myself if the moment is right, rubbing hard circles on them too. It doesn't get him any closer, but I do notice the sweat on his forehead, the personal effort he's therefore putting into trying to achieve orgasm.
"Words," I tell myself, he gets off on words and fantasy scenarios, and on "against my will" things being done to me, all as he's helpless to prevent it. We've actually lived some of that in the real world too though, and it's good to maybe confirm that this still "does it" for him…
"Do you think Ken will have to gag me with a pair of my panties, or maybe bind my wrists to the headboard with my belt so I don't wake the Murphey's next door? You know they like to listen!" I add seductively. I also slip the two fingers of my free hand into his mouth to suck on, to not only keep him quiet in case Ken's listening, but to give his mouth something erotic to do. My guy's body goes rigid and he stops breathing for like fifteen seconds as his face contorts and turns almost blue, he obviously having himself one hell of an orgasm. It's not lost on me in the slightest what sent him over the top either; Ken being rough, in our bed, with my married self, and of course having something to suck on too. Not to imply that hubby would like to suck any real flesh and blood man off, but he is a very oral man, and a mouth can be used for all sorts of fun things, other than using it on another man.
I feel something obviously "pumping" down there, and to look at his face and bodily reactions it was an obviously intense orgasm, one that I'm nearly envious of, but there's almost no resultant biological mess. I expected to ruin a couch cushion doing this "on the fly" so to speak, or even his man-skirt, but there's almost no external manly emission from him. It's odd, but I have him lick the tiny slippery mess he did make from my fingers, our eyes meeting while he did so, likely with the same unspoken hanging questions that I had myself.
"Where the F did that go?" I wondered.
…Orgasms for my husband, especially back then, were messy affairs, there were no shortages there at all for him, so much so that I almost always had to take another shower after we fooled around, or more "clean-up" oral from him if I could talk him into it! If I was still very needy, many times there wasn't a word spoken, I'd just flip around like a pro wrestler and pin his arms to the bed with my knees, feeding him while he brought me off with his experienced mouth. A few times I'd waken this husband of mine from a dead sleep, telling him that I needed something with some gentle rubs on his arm. Not sex though, at least not the kind that left me a mess afterwards, so these specific times he'd just go down on me and get me off to like half a dozen earth shattering orgasms so I could sleep. The first time that happened I thought maybe he did me in his sleep, but he wasn't sleeping, and he told me quite sincerely that If I ever wanted anything, just wake him up and he'll take care of me, without looking for something for himself; again, my husband was a keeper. Hubby obviously loved sex as much as any man, but a close second was going down on me and bringing me to orgasm, and he'd do this not really expecting something in return too…
At this moment Ken breaks our stare when he pops out of the bathroom wearing only a towel; so perhaps he was listening. The couch-back faces towards the door though, so both men can't see each other, and I silently motion my head towards the bedroom door in such a way that hubby can't see me do so. I don't know if there's a plumbing issue with hubby's hardware, or even if this is normal for this kind of injury, but how on earth does one have a discussion about this with any doctor, especially with young nurses hanging around?
"'Doctor, I have a question, when I was rubbing my husband off like a fricken girl, with his guy parts inverted and shoved back into his pelvic cavity, while he was wearing a skirt, he orgasmed without anything coming out; is this normal?'" asked no patient's wife ever. None of it's normal, nor is Ken having a sleepover in my bed either…
Anyway, when hubby's breathing returns to normal he tells me he was dead serious about Ken and I sharing the bedroom, and I tell him that I know he was, covering him with a blanket, and then a tender kiss on the forehead; all while not addressing the eight hundred pound gorilla in the room of this orgasm-less orgasm. I then make my own way to the shower with a whole lot to ponder, knowing first hand how very good it can be with Ken. I've been a good wife, I've gone without, all while taking care of my husband for weeks by this point, and fully functional Ken is even waiting in my bed, all showered up and squeaky clean just exactly the way I like a man, and also still likely half-drunk just like I am…
…So to make a long story short, neither Ken, nor I were actually into doing something physical in bed together - we did talk a bit though - too much on my mind for that to happen after that odd hubby experience, and truthfully Ken didn't necessarily want to take advantage of his best friend's needy wife at that moment in time either. We quite easily could have, and to be honest there was a certain thrill in having that "permitted" option for myself at least, but in the end we didn't collectively take what was offered by my injured husband that night; tempting as it was…
…In the morning Ken and I woke up together, really he was just laying there and watching me sleep for a bit first. We're whispering to each other almost like lovers might do, especially while not wanting to be overheard if hubby isn't still sleeping. Anyway, I have a potentially self-serving idea that Ken is game for, really more as part of a prank rather than anything with clearly defined far reaching goals; although the practical future elements of this particular prank are obvious. Hubby is still apparently sleeping on the couch, and even though I'd taken a shower right before bed, I took another one anyway, implying that Ken had left me a manly mess the night before while sharing my bed; which he obviously didn't.
We all saw a college dorm scene from a movie once - can't remember the name of it though - but with our unique history together hubby made a joke about it several times - the idea was that if a college boy got lucky and had a woman in his room, he'd hang her panties on the outer door knob as a sign for his roommate to go away for a while. So wanting to be playful - while also testing the proverbial waters - I took a clean sleepshirt and two pairs of clean panties into the bathroom with me, stopping on the way to leave one of them our outer bedroom door knob, as in "I have somebody in here, so keep out!"
So by the time I'm done in the shower hubby is up and moving around himself, making coffee for all of us, and he hasn't commented on the "panties on the door knob" thing, but I know he has to have seen them.
"How was your night?" he asks, without any underlying tone at all. "Is he thinking Ken and I really did something last night, something he somehow slept through with the effects of the narcotics?" I ask myself. I had closed the bedroom door the night before so Ken and I could talk without waking him, he had to have known that too.
"Pretty wonderful, thank you for that" I tell him with both a perky tone and smile, implying that Ken and I also had some naughty "stress-relieving" fun the night before, even though I'm married to him. I leave it there though, not fabricating an elaborate story about what we did together, which was nothing but sleeping on opposite sides of the bed in the real world. Body-language wise I don't know that I'm pulling this charade off, but I am wearing just a sleepshirt and panties, walking around the apartment braless like that with my boobs swinging and moving to each step. It was obviously one thing to dress like this for my husband, but another for Ken when he presumably got up himself, at least from my husband's perspective.
So this is a nuanced message I'm sending here, and if my injured and non-functioning husband acts the slightest bit hurt, or really does anything at all that suggests that he's unhappy that his offer the night before was actually taken, I intended to come clean and tell him we didn't do anything; that I was messing with him just a bit.
The short answer was that he didn't have a single objection; food for obvious thought once he was back "up" and running again, assuming of course that I became hungry for something once again that shouldn't be on my married menu…