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Authors Note: TO ALL WHO LIKE A GOOD BTB, THIS AIN’T YOUR CUP OF TEA! DO NOT READ IT AND THEN RAISE HELL BECAUSE THE PROTAGONIST DOESN’T CUT HIS NOSE OFF TO SPITE HIS FACE. He does, however show the old saying that “Even a Rabbit will fight when cornered,” MIGHT have some truth to it.

To understand Al, our protagonist, you might remember the joke about the young Marine in the squadron shower being teased about his short dick by his buddies.

“Who do you think you’re going to satisfy with that thing?” one asked.

Our hero promptly replied, “Me.”

Well, in this story Al makes decisions to suit him, not based on what others might think. Enjoy or not, but you’ve been warned up front.

This story could have fit in either Loving Wives or Mature. I picked Mature.

THE WORM TURNS

My wife Patricia, Pat to her friends and family, strode confidently into the den where I was trying to watch Clemson get the shit kicked out of them by Alabama’s Tide. She was twenty years younger than me and built like the proverbial “Brick Shithouse.”

“What are you doing with that junk?’ she asked. It was the first time she’d seen me exercising my arms and grip. Usually I do it only when she’s not around–too much temptation to test my progress by squeezing around her neck. Naw, let me stop my crap; I wouldn’t hurt her for the world but sometime that woman’s bossiness can drive me to distraction.

“Just trying to build my muscles a little.”

“You? Build muscles?” She laughed. “Honey, you’re sweet and I love you to death, but a muscle man you’re not. You’re not the ninety pound weakling we used to see getting sand kicked in his face in the advertisements, but you’ll never be the guy who decks the bully.”

Damn! She was never going to forget that time, about ten years ago, when we were on the beach and some bastard had balls enough to sneak a feel of her ass. I saw it and started to protest when he sucker punched me and the next thing I knew I was flat on my back and the bastard was face down in the sand, whimpering like a baby that his arm was broken, and Pat was standing over him saying, “Serves you right, you big bully. Next time pick on somebody your own size.”

I never forgot the way she kissed the welt on my jaw as she helped me to my feet. “See,” she said, “Told you that martial arts training would come in handy.” Then with a final kick right in his balls, she led me back to our car while the cop’s sirens were still in the distance.

That incident taught me two things; don’t piss off Pat, at least not when she’s up close, and it was time for me to start working out. I never could beef up like most guys, guess I just wasn’t that into it that much, but I could run five miles without needing EMS and when us guys at work started arm wrestling I got so I could win over half the time.

I snapped back to reality when she came closer and caressed my cheek with the back of her hand saying, “But it doesn’t make any difference, I love you anyway, even if you couldn’t fight your way out of a paper bag.”

Wow! She really knew how to make a guy feel good about himself. I wonder what she’d say if she knew when us guys got to horsing around at lunchtime I could make every one of them cry “Uncle!” in the hand squeeze contest.

Aw, what the crap? It don’t make no difference anyway. I know I’m a wimp, she knows I’m a wimp and everyone else knows I’m a wimp. I don’t like confrontation and that’s all it is to it. Yep, Go with the flow–go along to get along–and all that other crap guys like us spout to keep from admitting we’re out and out cowards.

Sweet, tender Pat had disappeared and Hurricane Pat was saying, “We have to hurry and get dressed, Honey. Mr. Jamison is depending on me make a final check to assure this office party is perfect. You know he has invited several important clients to attend tonight and he’s depending on me to help land them.”

I tried to watch just one more possession, in the desperate hope the Tigers could pull another ‘rabbit out of the hat’ but Pat was having none of that. Pulling me by the hand, she led me upstairs where she had outfits spread out on the bed for both of us.

“Do you think these will look good on me?” She indicated a pair of lacy black panties, that wouldn’t cover the hair around her pussy, much less anything else, and a black bra that was almost there; it might hide her nipples, but I doubted it.

“They’ll look sexy on you, but sure ain’t gonna cover much.”

“Sure they will–they’ll look great. Let me show you.” In a flash she’d shed her regular undies and turned toward me. That’s when I realized she wasn’t concerned about the sexy black panties not hiding her hair; she’d shaved it all off. Her mons was as smooth as a baby’s bottom.

“You like?” she gave me a good look before slithering into them. “Here, help me snap this thing.” She was trying to corral her breast into that black bra. It was like trying to stuff ten pounds of meat in a five pound bag.

After getting her snapped casino siteleri up she gave a twirl, displaying all her assets, and giving me an instant hard-on. I reached for her, but she adroitly dodged my hands. “No, no, no–no touching; this is for looking only.” Then she wiggled into the LBD she’d laid out earlier. “Zip me up. Then you can get dressed while I finish my hair.”

In my mind I screamed, ‘No you stupid Bitch! I’ve had enough of your shit. That’s my pussy and I’m getting some now.’ That’s what I thought, but what I really said was, “Yes Honey.”

Okay, so you think I’m not just a wimp, but a pussy whipped wimp–news flash, you’re right. I hate confrontation with a capital H. Why? I don’t know, but I always have, I’d always take the path of less resistance–guess I’m like an electron in that respect. Yeah, I’m an electronic nerd–love the crap. It makes more sense to me than a lot of people and the crap thy do–like my wife Pat, for instance.

Why would she act like she does? I make a good salary, in fact a very good salary; I don’t give her a bunch of shit about spending money on her wild whims–things like taking a couple of her girlfriends on a shopping trip to NYC, at my expense.

I don’t know if she’s screwing around on me yet, but if she ain’t, she soon will be. Shit, I don’t know why I said that. She really hasn’t done anything yet–that I know of, but then she’s slick; she wouldn’t blatantly do anything. No, not her, she’d be too slick to get caught, at least that’s how she’d see herself.

Well maybe she wasn’t as slick as she thought. Just this afternoon, while I was working on strengthening my grip, I’d overheard her on the phone with Mr. Jamison, her boss, except this afternoon she’d called him “Harry, honey.” After that she added “You’re such a bad boy,” and the way she giggled really pissed me off. I’d heard that giggle and tone of voice before, usually when she’s horny and needing a good screwing, but like the wimp I am, instead of throwing her on the bed and fucking her until she’s screaming for mercy, (Hey a guy can dream, can’t he?) I’m here now helping her get dressed.

I don’t understand the big deal; what’s he got that I haven’t got? I mean, I looked it up on google; my cock rates well up in the higher percentage on size, and she always cums before I do–well most times–okay maybe seven out of ten times or so, but she always claimed she was satisfied and if I finished first I never failed to use my fingers and tongue until I had her screaming how good it was, before she collapsed like a limp rag–so what the crap was wrong?

I was struggling with my tie and thoughts when Hurricane Pat swept into the room. “Aren’t you dressed yet?” She immediately set about to remedy that problem. Within minutes she had that stupid bow tie fixed like she thought was right, (Damn I hate those things.) my shirt re-tucked to suit ‘Her Majesty,’ my coat adjusted just so, and a fancy triangle of a handkerchief peeping out the breast pocket. (There’s a name for that damn thing, but I don’t know it and don’t give a sh*t.)

With five minutes to spare–her timetable, actually thirty minutes before anyone else, except “Mr. Jamison” would be there–we were backing out our driveway.

We pulled into the parking lot of the Carolina Pines, the hotel where everything was being held, just as Mr. Jamison was getting out of his car. He hurried around to open Pat’s door. I noticed his eyes were not on her face as she twisted her legs around to get out. Knowing how short Pat’s dress was, I’m sure he was getting a good look at an outstanding pair of legs.

I hurried around to escort my wife, but was only partly successful. I got one arm, he claimed the other, and with all the charm of a snake he offered his hand saying, “If I remember correctly, you must be Alfred, of course. Any husband of Pat’s is a friend of mine.” The bastard almost looked sincere.

Naturally I had to release Pat’s arm in order to shake his hand, and as I did he pulled her around so they were face to face as he hugged her tightly and said, “I don’t know how the business could run without this little lady.”

Taking his hand, I said, “My friends call me Al.”

“And I’m just plain Harry to my friends; and Al, I just know we’re going to be friends.”

The look on Pat’s face said she was just eating that crap up. When I tried to take her arm again to escort her in, she sort of pulled away–not blatantly, but I knew whose arm she was really on.

As soon as we got inside, Pat handed me a couple sheets of paper containing names and table numbers. “Al, will you check each table’s nameplates and things in general, just to make sure everything is perfect; can’t have any boo-boos on a big night like this.”

I double checked everything and even stuck my long nose into what the caterers were doing. Judging by the aromas filling the serving area set aside for them, they were doing a fine job. I guess I was making too much a pest of myself because before güvenilir casino too long one of them headed my way menacingly waving a long handled ladle.

“Okay! Okay! I get the picture; I think I hear my wife calling anyway,” I said. I moved out of the area. I say moved because sauntered sounds too slow, and scurried sounds too undignified. At any rate I got the hell away from that spoon wielding character.

That’s when I started wondering just what the crap happened to Pat, so not being very imaginative I wandered into the main hall, where doors opened into smaller rooms. I peeked in the first one and saw it contained what looked like a high class game table, four chairs, and a sofa. The next two were similarly furnished and there was no sign of Pat.

I turned away from the third door and was just about to give up when I thought I heard that giggle again; it was coming from the far end of the hall so I eased down that way. Sure enough I found some kind of storage room, the door half open, and inside, joking as they searched some kind of trunk, was my two missing characters–the one who liked ‘bad boys’ and the ‘bad boy’ himself.

I can’t say they were doing much that would fail the husband test, but damn it; they just seemed to be having a lot of fun and doing just too much flirting and his hands were ‘innocently’ touching the body that only I should have been touching.

Damn Right! I’m jealous; but I’m a wimp–remember? I’m the guy who hates confrontation; the ‘good guy’ who lets the Alpha Males shit all over him. So I didn’t rush inside and rescue the fair maiden, instead I stood outside and listened to see what would happen next. Boy did I get an earful!

“Pat, when are you going to tell the worm you’re married to about us?”

“Harry! I’ve asked you not to say humiliating things about Al. He’s a good guy, a great dad, a good provider, and I love him.”

“If you love him so much, why do you welcome me into your bed every chance we get?”

“I, I” she stumbled over the words. “I don’t really know. Al’s tender and loving. When I’m with him he treats me like a precious china doll–don’t get me wrong, I love that, I really do…”

“What do you call what we do, if not making love?”

“Seriously? You just fuck me–fuck me without any consideration for what I want, but you know what–I like that too. I guess I need to be treated like a queen most times, that’s Al’s job; but once in a while I need to be treated like a whore, like a fuck toy, and that’s where you come in. I just love it when you demand what you want without considering me.”

I couldn’t believe my ears; that was my wife, the woman who vowed to be true to me, admitting she liked to be fucked by another man–not just another man, but a Neanderthal like this asshole. I didn’t want them to catch me listening, but I simple couldn’t walk away.

“Humph!” Asshole had to run his mouth some more. “Good thing you got me, then, no way that worm you’re married to is going to act like a man.” He gave a derisive snort. Man! Did I wish I had balls enough to walk right in there and slap the shit out of him. I guess the thing that really pissed me off the most was hearing Pat, the woman I loved with all my heart, telling another man I didn’t supply what she needed.

“Don’t call Al a wimp, Harry. I love him, even if I do need rough sex from a ‘Bad Boy’ like you occasionally.”

“You still haven’t answered my question of when you’re gonna tell him about us.”

“I…I…It’s just so hard. I’m torn between you and Al. I’m trying to keep him in the dark as long as possible.”

“Yeah, but having to dodge around him is keeping me from getting your pussy every time I want it. That’s going to come to an end.”

“But…but…”

“No buts about it. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll let him catch us, that way he’ll know without you having to tell him, and I’ll explain to him that while I’ll be fucking you several times a week, you’ll make the off days very special for him.”

“Don’t I get a say in this?”

“Nope. You wanted a ‘Bad Boy’ shoving the dick to you and you got one–me. My women do what I say.”

I couldn’t believe my ears; was Pat really going to put up with that kind’a shit? The woman I’d married sure wouldn’t have.

“What about me?” Pat asked. “What do I get out of the deal, ‘Mr. High and Mighty’?”

“You get to stay married to the worm and I get to fuck you when I want.” He grabbed her hand and started leading her my way, saying, “Hell, that ain’t a bad deal.”

Thank God they halted for him to run his mouth a bit more, giving me time to hide behind a couple tall lockers someone had left in the hallway, where I’m sure they should not have been.

“I tell you one thing though, Baby; I’m tired of this hiding around shit. I’m spending tonight at your place, I’m gonna fuck you in the wimp’s bed; he can stay and watch if he wants to, but tonight that pussy is mine.

“You…you can’t do that…” I could hear the tension in her voice.

“And canlı casino why not, I’d like to know?”

“Cause he might leave me, and I told you I love him; he’s my always man–a married guy like you is just a bit of entertainment. Before long you’ll tire of me or your wife will find out about us and I won’t see you again. Al and I are for life, even if I do need a bit of strange once in a while.”

Their voices faded away as they continued walking and I stepped from behind the lockers and followed. My mind was all awhirl from hearing Pat confirm she really loved me–so why does she have to fuck that assshole? What does he give her that I don’t? Shit! She just answered that; she likes to be treated rough sometimes. Realizing that didn’t make me feel any better, because I just don’t think I could possibly treat a woman rough. My momma just didn’t raise me that way.

One thing for sure, a guy like me would never find another woman who’d take care of me like Pat does, so I guess I’ll just have to resign myself to letting her continue fucking other men.

My brother was right, all those years ago when he said, “Al, your problem is you just ain’t got no self-confidence. Boy, you need to stand up for yourself; it don’t hurt but a little while when you get your ass kicked.”

I knew he was right, he didn’t take no shit off anybody and nobody fucked with him. He also had his pick of women–I can’t tell you how many times I wished I could be like my brother, but I just couldn’t do it.

Anyway, the party was a great success–at least to hear Pat and the Asshole tell it. I guess it was pretty good too, the food was good, the drinks free, although I didn’t have but a couple, and early on I even got to dance with Pat several times,–on the slow ones. When the modern dances started all I could do was sit back and watch.

And watch I did; watch Pat and Harry really put on an exhibition of how it should be done. A few times they were the only ones on the floor while others just looked on and clapped. I gotta admit, I felt proud of Pat watching her and Harry perform.

Later pride gave way to pissed as the music became softer and slower and every time Pat came back to our table to rest a minute, while downing another drink, she’d refuse dance with me, claiming she was too tried, but as soon as Harry Baby reached for her hand she quite willingly followed him out on the floor.

Oh yeah–the drunker they got the more they rubbed on each other, while dancing. His hands were all over her, I’m pretty sure he was finger fucking her right there on the floor one time. I was getting pissed and in my head I imagined how I’d go over there slap Harry and drag Pat back to our table, kicking and screaming.

Of course, all that only took place in my mind; each time I tried to fetch her, my legs just wouldn’t lift my body, so I just sat through the humiliation until they announced the last call for drinks and the singer said, “Okay men, last chance to claim a dance with the girl you’ll be taking home.”

There was a lot of shifting about as most women shifted back to the fellow who brought them. I could only go mostly by sound, because I kept clenching my eyes closed, trying to keep the tears from dripping down my cheeks. That’s when I got the shock of my life.

“Don’t you want to claim the last dance?” My eyes flew open–Pat was standing there, her hand extended.

I was up in a flash and we moved to the music, her body pressed against mine, her arm around my neck and her lips nibbling on my ear. Lord it was wonderful! Even if she had been playing up to Harry most of the night, at least for these few minutes it was like it had been back in the old days.

As the last strains faded and we all headed for the exit, Pat pulled me to a halt, saying, “It’ll be just a few minutes till Harry is ready.”

“Why do we care how long it takes for Harry to get ready? He has his own car, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, but since he’s had so much to drink, it only makes sense for him to ride with us.”

“Oh! We taking him by his place–guess that makes sense, he does look like he’s ‘three sheets into the wind.’

“No, we’re not taking him by his house; his wife would raise hell if he walked in like he is now.”

“Well where are we taking him?” I asked the question, but had a sinking feeling I knew the answer.

“He’s sleeping with us tonight. I will not let his wife see him like this; she’ll make his life miserable.”

“She was right there at the party–don’t you think she already saw him?”

“Fat lot of attention you were paying! She left before things got started getting good–claimed she had one of her many migraines coming on. So, No! He’s sleeping at our house tonight and that’s all there is to it.”

“Where? In the guest room, I suppose.”

“Don’t be silly, he’ll be sleeping with us in our big king sized bed. I always did want to see how it felt to do a threesome.”

The way she said it told me there was no use to argue, but I had to give it a try anyway. “Don’t you think it’ll get a bit crowded?”

“Naw,” She answered, “There’ll be plenty of room; I suspect he and I will be atop one another most of the night anyway.” She giggled like a school girl. The alcohol will do that to her.

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