George is a loser.  He's always been a loser and didn't even know it until
recently.  He finally figured it out when is beautiful wife, Brandy, began
thinking about fulfilling the one fantasy of his that she's resisted doing
for their entire marriage.

Codes: MF, cheat, oral, preg

   Author's Comment: This is another attempt to take a tired old plot idea
and spruce it up with a little humor and a LOT of satire.  So, if you're
tired of reading the same old wimp-husband story, or a wife-sharing story,
try this one on for size.  If you actually get off on those kinds of
stories, I give you fair warning that this one might not do it for you. 
And for those of you who are tired of stories about dense blond women ...
here's one about a man instead.

   Be Careful What You Wish For By Beating Off Bob

   You know, life is pretty strange sometimes.  There's a song - I don't
remember who wrote it, or sang it, but I hear it on the radio now and then
on the oldies station.  Anyway, in this song is a line that says "You don't
always get what you want ...  but sometimes you get what you need".  Or
something like that.  I used to like that song, because it gave me hope
that, if you wish for something, sometimes you get it.  That's what
happened with Brandy, anyway.

   Brandy's my wife.  When I met her and she agreed to go out with me, I
thought I was the luckiest guy on the planet.  If you look up "blond
bombshell" in the dictionary, her picture should go there.  They probably
reference her in the entry for "brick shithouse" too.  Anyway, the way I
met her was like this:

   I was just walking by Grabof's, which is a kind of combination corner
store, and gas station, and newspaper stand.  They sell Greyhound tickets
there too, so the bus stops there.  There was a bus parked by the curb and
I was walking by it when this woman pulled her suitcase out of the storage
area underneath the bus, and turned around to leave.  The suitcase kind of
swung out away from her body due to centrifugal force and, she more or less
slammed it into my balls.

   Or I walked into it.  It depends on who you ask.  Of course my story was
that she attacked me.  I was about the only one who thought that, which is
sort of an important part of this story.  That's because this story is
about judgement, and its role in making decisions, and how that can affect
whether you get what you WANT, or what you NEED.

   And I'm the king of making bad decisions.  I didn't know that then, but
I've learned it since.  I was a loser, even if I didn't know it.

   I've made bad decisions all my life.  I think it was genetic, because my
parents were both losers too.  Not that that was so horrible.  In a little
town like Wilton, with a population of only a couple of thousand, and no
real industry to speak of, there's a lot of call for losers.  I mean
there's only maybe thirty or forty positions where a real go-getter is
actually required, so not everybody can be a mover and shaker.  You need a
bunch of losers in a situation like that.  Somebody needs to buy all the
used cars, and serve the fries and clean the motel rooms and do all that
stuff that nobody actually thinks about setting out to do as a career.  You
just kind of get sucked into it, and if you don't have the skills, or
education, or the drive to find something better, you just sort of survive
the way things are.

   Me?  I was the kid who got slightly lower than average grades, and
didn't play any sports, and had acne so bad I didn't even think about
asking a girl out on a date.  I was blond, which I thought was good, but my
ears stuck out way far, which kind of cancelled that out in my own mind.  I
never got in a fight, and didn't have any hobbies other than being a member
of the Crawly County Thespian Society.  Well ...  I had one other hobby. 
That was beating off.  THAT, I excelled at.  And my imagination wasn't bad,
at least as far as things sexual went.  I could work up the strangest
situations in my imagination, and I got laid in all of them.  By the time I
was seventeen I had fucked all my mom's friends, their daughters, the
entire cheerleading squad, every female movie star I had ever seen, most of
the women in the catalogues that showed them wearing bras and panties, and,
of course, the women in all my dad's Playboys.  Don't get me wrong ...  I
only fucked them in my imagination ...  but to me ...  that was just as
good as the real thing.  That's because I was completely convinced that my
penis would never touch a real live woman in any way, shape or form.  It
just could not possibly happen.

   My dad is probably the source of my loser genetic material.  My Mom was
a pretty normal looking woman.  She had big breasts, that I fantasized
about a lot, but never got to see.  I hugged her long past the age when
most boys continue to hug their mothers, simply because I got to press my
chest against those mams.

   As I write this story, I'm ten years older, and I know, at least in a
cerebral kind of way, that I could have had a normal sex life back then if
I'd have just given it a shot.  The point is that I used some pretty poor
judgement to make my decisions back then.  They were generally bad ones.  I
made decisions based on what I wanted ...  not what I needed.  I wanted to
squirt.  I couldn't find a girl who would help me with that, so I invented
one in my imagination.  I was happy with her, she was happy with me (of
course) and that was great.

   I got what I wanted.

   Of course, it wasn't what I needed.  What I needed was the courage to
ask some girls out, crash and burn a few times, get a couple of real kisses
along the way, neck and eventually score for real.  But I didn't do that,
because I didn't think I could.  I made decisions on what I thought reality
was about.  Imagine that.  A fifteen year old thinking he knew enough about
reality to make a decent decision.

   Anyway, you get the drift.

   When I got out of school, still single, still a virgin, and still
unkissed, I opted for what I thought I could actually do.  That was work at
the feed mill.  How intelligent do you have to be to shovel grain, and
sweep floors?  The machinery is all automated, so the most smarts you need
are to know which button to push when you want something to happen.  It's a
dead end job.  A loser job.

   I was perfectly suited for it.

   And, because everybody else quit eventually and went on to bigger and
better things, in three years I eventually ended up as the manager of the
front end.  The front end is where trucks come in and dump their grain. 
You have to be able to read the scales, and take grain samples (automated)
and read the results.  On a tough day, there's a clog in the grate, and you
have to go out and poke it with a stick.  It didn't take any brain power to
do the job, which left me lots and lots of time to fantasize about things.
I know now that I lived more or less a life of complete fantasy back then.

   So you understand now ...  right?  I was a loser.  You have to know this
so you'll understand what eventually happened.

   So there I am, walking along, and Brandy slams her suitcase into my
balls.  I fall on the ground and moan and groan and thrash around.

   Brandy, of course, was horrified.  Most everybody else was laughing. 
They all knew me, and what a loser I was.  I had met their expectations for
the day by walking into a speeding suitcase and attempting to emasculate
myself.  They would probably have approved if I'd have succeeded.

   Besides, they only paid attention to my writhing, moaning body for a few
seconds.  Then they paid attention to Brandy.

   How to describe Brandy?  Hmmmm.  I already used the vernacular that is
commonly used to describe beautiful women.  And I don't know her cup size,
like all those other guys do who write stories for the internet.  She was
just a fucking babe, with all this blond hair, and tits you could go to
sleep on, like a pillow, and a pussy that she shaved and that got so
slippery when she was turned on that you could almost hurt yourself,
sliding around in it.  I mean it's a good thing she wasn't a guy, because
she got so wet and slippery that if she was a guy you could put an eye out
just trying to lick her slit ...  except that if she was a guy she wouldn't
have a slit to lick ...  but ...

   Oh fuck!  See what I mean?  I'm such a loser I can't even think up a
good analogy.

   Anyway, I was lying there, about to puke, and this vision of loveliness
was bent over me, and her soft hands were stroking my face and she was
babbling about was I OK, and telling me she was sorry and what could she do
to make things better and so on.

   I don't know exactly what I said.  When you feel like your balls are
dripping off your body like candle wax, you don't pay attention to what you
say.  But it was probably something like "Just fucking get out of my life!"


   When your balls are mangled and hanging by a string, you also don't
enunciate all that well, I guess.  What she heard was something like: "Just
get me up and be my wife!"

   So she tried to pull me to a standing position, which isn't that easy
when the guy is trying to maintain a fetal position, but she got me there,
hunched over, and got me into Grabof's onto a stool while Alicia, the
waitress, wandered over and wanted to know what was wrong with me.

   Instead of telling her, Brandy ordered me a Coke.

   Now what the fuck was that all about?  Are women so clueless that they
think a guy with busted balls can be all fixed up by taking in a little
caffeine?

   Anyway, by the time Alicia got there with the thing I felt a little
better, and I actually WAS thirsty, so I drank the Coke through the straw
sticking up out of it.

   You have to understand here that Grabof's was an old time soda fountain,
where they mixed their own syrup with fizzy water, and Old Mr.  Grabof
liked a stout glass of Coke, so that's how he had the mixing thingy set. 
You just haven't had a Coke unless you've had one at Grabof's.  It'll get
you on your toes and bright eyed in nothing flat.  You might be a little
mush-mouthed, what with all that extra syrup coating your teeth and
paralyzing your cheeks and all, but you'll be very alert.

   Which is why I suddenly noticed the vision of loveliness who had almost
unmanned me, and perked up even more.  I know.  I was just as amazed.  I
should have been thinking like a eunuch, but when I saw those big breasts
rising and falling on her chest, I was, as they say, smitten.

   Well, we got to talking, and I learned she had left home after
graduating High School to go out and make her mark in the world, and on the
way to making her mark she took a job at a call center.  Her supervisor
kept trying to stick his hand up her skirt, and when she wore jeans he
pinched her breasts, so she called the cops one night.  She was from a
small town too, and thought cops were there to help people.  When the cop
couldn't seem to keep his hands off her, she got on a bus to go visit her
Uncle, Horace Stinton, who lived in our town.  She said she was just going
to stay with him for a while, until she could get her breath and go back
and get her stuff.  She mentioned something about how she had accidentally
kicked the cop in the balls, and how it was odd that practically the same
thing had happened with me too, and that was why she was so concerned about
my welfare.

   I was, of course, as mesmerized by her as any other man would have been.
So I didn't tell her that Horace had died peacefully in his sleep two
nights ago, and was currently on display up at Hammilton's Funeral Parlor.
When she asked me if I knew where he was I just nodded, but didn't tell
her. I wanted to be around her some more.  So, to keep her there, I told
her all about myself.

   I had to fudge things a little.  My life hasn't been all that glamorous.

   I suddenly had a past as a Marine that I couldn't talk about because of
all the secret missions they sent me on.  And I was the Manager of the feed
mill, as opposed to the Manager of the front end, which was a made-up title
anyway.  I was the only one who worked there, and there wasn't anything TO
manage.  And that wasn't good enough, so I threw in there that, before I
went off to serve my country and risk my life for the likes of her, I had
been a photographer for Playboy.

   Why did I pick that?  Well, I knew a lot about it, that's why.  It's
practically the only thing I ever actually studied.  I was so taken by the
pictures of those women that I was naturally curious about who got to be
there ...  WITH them ...  while they were naked and wet looking and smiling
like that.  And I went to the library and read everything I could get my
hands on about photography and cameras and why shooting fashion was so
different from shooting food and all that.

   I'd never held anything in my hands except one of those five dollar
cameras that you take the pictures with and then turn in at Grabof's and
they send it away and you never see it again, but you get your pictures
back a week later.

   She asked the obvious question.  Why didn't I go back to being a
photographer for Playboy when I got out of the Marines?  All I could come
up with was that, when I got out, I had to go someplace where "the enemy"
wouldn't find me, cause they were still really pissed off at me for all the
damage I'd done, and all the important people I'd had to (I raised my
eyebrows and whispered:) "deal with."

   We were a rural, very small town.  If she'd have talked to any of the
ten people within shouting range, she'd have learned what kind of crap I
was serving her up.  But she didn't.

   It turned out that Brandy was from a town just as small.  Which is why
she didn't recognize me for the loser I am.  That and the fact that she was
just a naturally trusting kind of girl.  She believed everything I told
her.

   I hate to break up the story, but I have to go back to that thing about
getting what you want. I had wanted her to stay there and talk to me.  I
didn't actually NEED that.  She was a beautiful girl, on her way to move
and shake the world, and I was a loser who was perfectly happy whacking off
to pictures every night and going to the mill the next morning.  But I
WANTED to be around her, so I lied.

   Well, it got to the point that she said she needed to go find her Uncle
Horace, because she was going to stay with him that night, and I finally
had to tell her he had croaked.  She got all weepy about it, and putting my
arm around her just seemed like the friendly thing to do.  It affected me
pretty strongly.  She was the only real knockout I'd ever had my arm around
before.

   It was evening, and the bus was already gone, and the neighborly thing
to do was to offer to let her stay at my place for the night.  Actually for
a couple of days, because the bus only came through town on Monday,
Wednesday and Friday.

   She, being from a small town, and being a trusting sort of girl, and not
knowing I was a loser, accepted my invitation.  I sort of forgot to tell
her I had a tiny little one bedroom house, with three rooms, not counting
the bathroom, which was off the bedroom.  I also had a kitchen and a living
room.  They were separated by the bedroom.  That's just how I set things
up. I figured the front door should open into the living room.  I couldn't
help it that the kitchen was at the other end of the house.

   Long story short, I gave her my bed, and slept on the couch.  She hadn't
had time to pack much.  After she kicked the cop in the balls for feeling
her titties while he searched her while she was making her complaint
against her boss, she took off and caught a ride back to her place.  She
threw a few things in her suitcase and waited at the intersection of two
highways where she knew the bus would go by and just paid the driver cash
when he stopped and she got on.

   So I loaned her a sweat shirt to wear to bed and let her rinse out her
unmentionables and hang them up in the bathroom.  There wasn't any hanky
panky, unless you count my beating off at the thought of those breasts
pressing into my shirt ...  in the other room, of course ...  but still ...
it was a pretty hot fantasy.

   She had come in on the Friday bus, so I had her all to myself on
Saturday and Sunday.  I had to work Saturday, and she just walked around
town and looked at things or something, until I came home.  I fixed some
hamburger helper and opened a can of green beans and we dined like the
royalty we both wished we were.

   It turned out she didn't have much money.  Her check book was one of the
things she'd forgotten, and the only other thing she had was a credit card,
which she didn't want to use because she had seen on TV that the FBI can
track you if you use your credit card and she didn't want the FBI arresting
me for harboring a criminal like her.  She had assaulted a Police Officer,
after all, and he was in the commission of his duties at the time, and she
was pretty sure that brought extra punishment.

   I had a car, and offered to drive her to wherever she was going.  That's
when I found out she didn't really have much of a plan.  She had skedaddled
while the scheduling was good, and that was pretty much all of her plan at
the time.  She didn't actually have any place to go to.

   So she just stayed there.  And of course I fell madly in love with her.
And there came a time when she came into the living room and suggested that
the bed was big enough for both of us, and that I didn't have to sleep on
the couch any more.

   It took me probably ten minutes to get up the courage to actually go in
there.  I was hard as a rock and had to walk bent over because my whole
lower body was all tied up in knots.

   The very first words out of her mouth when I got into bed beside the
very first woman I had ever even been CLOSE to in only my underwear were:
"I'm a virgin."

   You know what?  That actually made me feel better.  Yup.  I was a virgin
too, not counting the twelve million times my cock had fucked my hand.

   And that's when I did something else I wanted to do, instead of doing
what NEEDED to be done.  I plugged in one of my finely tuned fantasies, and
played the role of the tender lover who takes the faint-hearted virgin and
gently brings her into the world of being fully a woman.

   I had all these fantasies in my mind, and I had lived them countless
times.  Remember way back in the beginning of this story I told you I was a
member of the Crawly County Thespian Society?  Well, they put on two or
three plays a year, drawing from four or five little towns around the area.
We put on our productions at the "historic" Thurston Theater in the town of
the same name, which was the county seat.  Seeing as how I was living most
of my life in fantasy mode, I was a natural actor, and usually got pretty
good roles in the plays.  In fact, twice I got more than one role in the
same play.  I thought I was "that good", but now that I think back on
things, I think they just didn't have enough people to fill all the roles.

   Anyway, I plunged into my role as the expert at deflowering virgins.  I
had read a few thousand stories on the internet about such experiences, and
had tailored my own fantasy so that I figured I had all the best parts of
all those stories down pat.

   I almost forgot my lines when she took off that shirt.  Do you have ANY
idea how hard it is to concentrate on your lines when there's a real live
naked woman right there with you?  And she was a BEAUTIFUL real live naked
woman too!  But, with an effort, I kind of mentally shoved her aside and
played my role to perfection.

   She threw another wrench into the works when she produced a condom for
me to wear.  I didn't have any condoms in my fantasies.  It took both of us
to figure out how to get the thing on me.  It didn't fit very tightly, and
there was so much extra that we finally figured that it must be supposed to
cover my balls too.  Once we got them tucked into it, it was pretty firmly
attached.  I treated all this as though it were kind of like an
intermission and, once that was done, I got back into character and set out
to rock her world.

   She gave me rave reviews too.  When I pushed past her hymen, which she
still had, and which I felt, and which I knew what would feel like because
of all those stories I read, she didn't even complain.

   "Oh," she sighed as I got all the way in her.  "I thought it would
hurt."

   "I'm an expert," I said suavely.

   "Can you put some more in?" she panted.

   "You got it all, baby," I boasted.  "You're a real woman now.  You took
the whole thing!"

   I couldn't quite get the rhythm right at first.  I think that's because
I was having real trouble controlling the amazing feelings that my penis
kept trying to send me.  I mean she felt really hot and nice and I kind of
just vibrated for a few seconds, until I blanked out that feeling and
started doing what I thought I was SUPPOSED to do.  I WANTED to make this
the perfect night for her.  That wasn't because I was completely concerned
with her happiness.  Sadly, I have to admit that, if it was perfect for
her, then that meant I was the perfect lover, and that was what I wanted to
be.

   I know.  I should have done what we both NEEDED, and that was just make
love with each other and enjoy it.  But ...  I'm a loser.  I did what I
WANTED to do, instead.

   Well, Brandy was the kind of girl who, once she gave up her virginity,
figured that meant she was in love, and I was the kind of guy who was so
completely overwhelmed by the reality of the situation that I more or less
retreated into my fantasy world, where I could believe what I wanted.  Had
I grown up a little, and taken the time to figure that reality out, I might
have found that we actually liked each other, and we might have grown to
love each other too.

   But I fucked it all up ...  like a typical loser.

   See ...  I didn't have any good ideas of my own.  I had to use other
people's good ideas.  I mean all my fantasies were other people's actions,
and I just plugged myself into those, cause I wasn't original enough to
come up with anything of my own.  One of those fantasies was that I had
this beautiful wife, and that I shared her with some other guy who was
blown away by her and couldn't resist her, but she was mine, so he only got
to borrow her.

   That may be the real reason I proposed to Brandy.  I mean the fantasy
was that it was my wife I was sharing, not my girlfriend.  I'm not saying I
actually thought about all this at the time.  But I've learned a hell of a
lot recently, and as I think back on it I'm pretty sure that thought was in
there somewhere.

   And if Brandy had had a job, or prospects of some kind, I'm pretty sure
she wouldn't have felt so beholden to me as to give up her cherry to me,
and then get all confused as to that meaning she must be in love with me.

   Anyway, when I proposed, she said yes, and we got married and she was
really happy.  That made me pretty happy too, because that meant I was a
good husband, right?

   One night we were having sex, and I was pretending I was the gorilla and
she was the animal trainer.  She didn't mind playing the games at all.  She
said they were really cute and innovative.  So anyway, I was at that point
where the Gorilla was finally pronging her and she's supposed to ooo and
ahh and say how big the Gorilla is.  I had to explain that part to her
because her own imagination wasn't so hot and she hadn't seen the porn
video where I got the idea in the first place.

   She stopped for a minute and said "George?  How big ARE you?"

   "Huh?" I asked.

   "You know ..." she said.  "How big are you in the man department?"

   "What the heck are you asking that for?" I asked, upset that she had
broken character.

   "Well, you're pretending to be a gorilla, and you're saying how I'm
supposed to squeal and say how big you are.  Are Gorillas bigger than
people?"

   "Well sure they are," I said.  "I mean just look at them."

   "I've never seen a gorilla penis," she said.  "Just yours."

   I didn't know what to say.  I hadn't seen any videos where any kind of
conversation like this went on.

   "So are you bigger than other men, or smaller?" she asked.

   Well, if you're a guy, you know what I said.  I mean no guy wants to
think of himself as a shrimp in the man department.  I was trying to be a
gorilla here, after all.  So I told her I was huge, and that I had probably
ruined her for all other men already.  I saw that in a video one time. 
This guy said "I'm going to ruin you for all other men." The chick he
fucked agreed with him too.

   "What other men?" she asked.

   Well, the mood was broken already, so I decided to just switch
fantasies.

   "I mean that some day, we might decide to share you with some other guy
who deserves a real treat or something," I said.

   She sat up in bed, looking really serious.

   "You'd let some other guy have sex with me?" she asked.  Her voice
sounded funny, and I hadn't been married that long, so I didn't understand
tone of voice yet.

   "Well, I think that would be pretty hot ...  don't you?" I said.

   "No," she said.  "I don't."

   Well, that wasn't the way my fantasy went, so I had to switch to another
one right quick.  I forget which one I switched to that night.  I was
pretty confused about things just then.

   I thought she'd forget all about it.  But the next morning she plopped
some eggs down in front of me and said "I can't believe you'd let some
other man have sex with me."

   I tried something mostly original.  That means I hadn't seen this actual
comment in a movie.  "But baby, you're so gorgeous, you're a national
treasure.  It wouldn't be fair for me to hog you all to myself."

   She looked at me really weird, and didn't say "Thank you" so I figured
it hadn't gone as well as I wanted it to.

   "You're all the man I need," she said, her voice kind of trembly.

   Even I could tell she was unhappy.

   "That's good, baby, because you got me, that's for sure," I said to make
her feel better.  "It was just a fantasy of mine, that's all.  It don't
mean nothing."

   Yeah, I know, that's a double negative.  Maybe she was smart enough to
know that too, which meant that, to her, I'd actually said words to the
effect that my fantasy about sharing her with some other dude WAS important
to me.  That wasn't exactly true either.  It wasn't important, exactly.  It
was just something I wanted to think about.

   I had a whole list of fantasies, so I didn't need to talk about that one
any more.  She wanted to know how come every time we had sex that I came up
with some role playing things for us both to do.  Since I didn't actually
KNOW why I did that - not back then, anyway - I just explained that I was
an actor.

   I even took her with me to the quarterly meeting of the thespian society
over in Thurston, and they decided to put on a play called "Missing In
Action", about the wife of a woman whose husband is off fighting World War
Two and she gets a report that her husband is missing.  She thinks he's
dead and is given solace by his best friend, who couldn't go to the war
because he had flat feet, and they fall in love and so on and practically
set up house.  It turns out the husband is actually fine, but was in a
prison camp and comes home to find his best friend and his wife in bed. 
It's a drama, which means I didn't much care for it.  I like comedies
better.  You can't use most of the lines in a drama in normal day-to-day
conversation.

   The thespian society welcomed Brandy with open arms.  In fact, they
offered her the lead role in the play.  She tried to turn it down, but the
women all gathered around her and clucked like hens and told her who knows
what until she said she'd do it.  Besides, she was the only one young
enough to be convincing in the role.

   They offered me the role of the soldier, and were all giddy about it,
seeing as how I really was married to the lead female.  The role of my
"best friend" in the play was given to the football coach of Thurston High,
since football season was over and he didn't have much to do but teach gym
classes.

   So, Brandy and I started going to play practice two nights a week, which
is how they did things.  We took three months to put on a production, with
practice twice a week for the first month, and then three times a week for
the second month, and then as often as the director thought was needed for
the last month.  If you weren't practicing your lines, you helped with
scenery and props and all that.  We had to do everything ourselves, because
we only charged a dollar to get in to these plays.  Everything was low
budget.

   Brandy took to it like a duck to water.  Whether it was the practice she
got playing roles in our bedroom, or just because she understood things
like that, I don't know.  But she was pretty good.  She had some flaws. 
When she and Coach Chuck had to do physical things together she was kind of
stiff.  I was painting a set one night and watching them rehearse.  The
director kept telling her to loosen up.

   "But he's touching my breasts!" said Brandy.

   "It's just acting, dear," said Mrs.  Walinski, who had been chosen to
direct this play because her husband, now dead, had actually been in World
War Two.  She was in her seventies and usually just played the parts of old
women in the plays.

   On the way home Brandy complained about it.

   "Look, honey, I said.  Like Mrs.  Walinski said, it's just acting.  You
have to make it LOOK real, so he has to actually touch you."

   "This fits right in with that nasty fantasy you have, doesn't it?" she
accused me.

   "What fantasy?" I asked.

   "The one where some other man has sex with me," she said.

   "Oh, yeah, that one," I said.  "Well, I guess it would if I'd have
thought about that.  But it's just acting." I said.

   "So you aren't mad that Chuck is squeezing my breasts?" she asked, her
voice tight.

   "Like I said, baby, it's just acting.  Of course I don't mind.  Like she
said ...  loosen up."

   She didn't say anything, and just looked out the window the rest of the
way home.

   The trouble was, that after she brought it up, that's all I could think
of when I saw them together.  He was "the other man" and suddenly I was
sharing my wife with him.

   She did loosen up, and after some rough starts, their kisses got more
and more realistic, until you would have sworn they were actually swapping
tongues and all that stuff.  They got to be good friends too, which I'm
sure helped, and had started hanging out in our dressing room.  Brandy and
I shared one since we were married and all.

   Then they started rehearsing the bedroom scene.  I didn't have to be
there for that one, even though, in the play, I walk in on them while
they're doing it.  In the play I'm supposed to walk in quietly, to surprise
my wife while she's asleep in bed.  I see them going at it, and I'm
overcome with sadness and remorse.  I leave the room and sit down where the
audience can see how torn up I am about all this.  It follows a scene just
before that where I'm on a train with a bunch of other returning soldiers,
and we're talking about how things will be when we get home.  Then the
scene changes and I walk in to find my best friend humping my wife and I
sit down and cry on the other side of the wall while they finish doing what
they're doing.  In the end I shoot my best friend.  It's supposed to be a
statement about the horrors of war, and how war keeps destroying stuff long
after the war itself is over and all that crap.

   But they didn't need me for the bedroom scene.  After all ...  all I had
to do was sit on the other side of the wall with my head in my hands and
shake like I was sobbing.

   So I helped build the train set while they moved around on the bedroom
set.  She was kind of stiff again, and I told her about it on the way home.

   "You've got the kissing and necking thing down cold," I complimented
her. "It looks as real as it can be." I swerved so as not to hit some road
kill.  "Just do the same thing in the bedroom scene," I counseled her.

   "So it looks real," she said in this funny voice.

   "No, it needs work," I corrected her.

   "I mean about the kissing and touching," she said.

   "Oh," I said.  "Yeah that part is fine."

   "What if it WAS real?" she asked.

   "Huh?" I asked.

   "What if I was REALLY kissing him, and not just acting?" she said, with
her arms folded over her breasts like she was mad about something.

   "It's just a play," I said, not getting her point.

   "Oh, never mind!" she snapped.

   "What's the matter with you?" I asked.

   The next time we had play practice I was working on the train set again
and needed a stapler that I had seen on an old desk in the prop room.  I
went there and there was Brandy and Chuck.  He was against the wall, and
she had her back to him, and his hands were all over her breasts, squeezing
and all that, and as I walked in he was nuzzling her neck and saying
"You're everything I've ever wanted in a woman."

   She had her head lolling to the side, like she was making room for his
mouth, and her hands were on top of his, like she was helping him fondle
those fabulous breasts.  They both jumped when I walked in and got the
stapler.

   "Looks real," I said, complimenting them.  "But that's not the right
line.  I don't think Mrs.  Walinski is going to appreciate you adlibbing."
I smiled encouragingly on my way out.

   That was the first night that they actually got into the bed and pulled
the sheet over them and made the fucking motions.  It wasn't very realistic
at first.  Then they kind of got the hang of it.  He was going kind of
slow, like he was taking his time with things, and she had her hands on his
upper back, sliding them around.

   Mrs.  Walinski called a halt because she didn't like the lighting.

   "You two just stay there," she ordered Brandy and Chuck.  She yelled for
Ralph, the lighting guy and they had a conference.  He wrote down a bunch
of stuff while Chuck and Brandy practiced their humping routine, just to
make sure they got it right and didn't forget it.  Then Ralph went back and
for the next hour they went through all the lighting schemes they had
thought up until Mrs.  Walinski found just the one she wanted.  I felt
pretty sorry for both Brandy and Chuck.  They had to lie there and pretend
to fuck for a whole hour.  I know it bothered Brandy, because as soon as
they were given permission to get up, she ran to the dressing room and
slammed the door.  It didn't bother Chuck so much.  He just grinned and
slapped me on the back as he went by me.  He did look pretty worn out,
though.

   On the way home Brandy was quiet.  When we were almost home she finally
spoke.

   "You lied to me," she said.

   "I did?" I asked.

   "Yes," she said petulantly.

   "I'm sorry," I said automatically.

   "So why did you lie to me?" she asked, looking mad.

   This was a problem, because I had lied about so many things I couldn't
even remember them all.

   "I didn't want to hurt your feelings," I said.  That seemed like a
pretty safe thing to say.

   "Why would it hurt my feelings if I knew you had a little penis?" she
asked.

   "Little penis?" I asked, confused.

   "Yeah," she said.  "You told me yours was really big ...  remember?"

   "It is!" I insisted.

   "It is NOT!" she said angrily.

   "How the heck would you know that?" I asked.

   "Because Chuck's is about three times as big as yours and HE says he's
completely normal!" she snarled.

   "How do you know how big Chuck's penis is?" I asked, with the first
glimmer that all was not well.

   "He was wearing shorts during rehearsal ...  you know ...  those
basketball shorts that are loose and comfortable.  He gave me a pair to
wear too.  You remember, he said we'd both be much more comfortable in them
since we'd be all covered up with a blanket."

   "I don't remember that," I said.

   "You were right THERE in the dressing room when he had me put them on!"
she said.

   "Oh," I said blankly.  "So what does that have to do with anything?" I
asked.

   "Well, when we were rehearsing, his penis came out of the leg of his
shorts and rubbed up against me," she said.  "I felt it and reached down
there and there it was ...  rubbing up against me."

   "Wow," I said, my fantasy kicking into high gear.  "And it was big?"

   "I just SAID it was three times bigger than you, didn't I?" she said,
sounding upset.  "You're having that stupid fantasy again, aren't you?  Did
you get me into this play just so you could share me with Chuck?"

   "Of course not," I said calmly.  "I forgot all about that fantasy until
you brought it up last time."

   "Sure," she grumbled.  "Right." She rode in silence for a while.  "So
why did you lie to me?"

   "I didn't lie to you," I said.  "I've always thought of my self as
larger than most men."

   "Well you're not," she said firmly.  "There's no way those condoms we
use would cover his balls.  They're twice as big as yours."

   "You felt his balls too?" I asked, excited despite my intention not to
embarrass her.

   "Well, my hand was down there already, and when he felt it, it must have
startled him, cause he moved and his balls ended up in my hand." She
sounded defensive.

   I didn't know what to say.  I'd never seen a conversation like this on a
video either.  I decided to go for the good old compliment.

   "Well, for what it's worth, you guys made it look pretty real while they
fixed the lighting."

   "I'll agree with that!" she said softly.

   "I was impressed." I went on.

   "So was I," she said so softly I could barely hear her.  I figured she
was just being modest.

   When we got home Brandy said she needed a bath, because Chuck had
sweated on her a lot, and gotten her legs all wet.  I asked if tonight was
the night when Mr.  Burglar sneaks in on Mrs.  Housewife while she takes a
bath.  She said it wasn't.  I was kind of sad about that.

   ========================================================================

   I WANTED my wife to have a good experience with her first play, so I
encouraged her every chance I got.  I told her to throw herself into the
role, and she seemed more and more comfortable doing that.

   One night, after we'd had sex and were lying in bed, she pulled the
condom off my balls and used it like a squeegee as she pulled it off my
penis.  She held it up to the light.  Even though they made the condom
itself a little big, that little extra tip thingy they put on those things
is exactly the right size.  My semen filled it nicely.  I had figured out
long ago that all those guys in the porn flicks that shoot out long ropes
of cum is all done with smoke and mirrors.  They had implants or something,
because in the millions of times I had beaten off I had become an expert at
how much a man ejaculates, and it certainly doesn't spurt up into the air
like that.  That's fantasy that not even I can get into.  But they like it
in the porn industry, so I ignored that part.

   Anyway she looked at my sperm in that little extra tip thingy and said
"How come you've never talked about having children?"

   "I don't know," I said.  "I guess I never thought about it."

   "You never thought about having children?" she asked.

   "Guess not," I said.  "How about you?"

   "I want to have at least three babies," she said calmly.

   "Wow," I said.  "That's cool."

   "So you haven't been trying NOT to have children?" she said in that
questioning kind of statement way.

   "No," I answered.

   "So, how come we always use a condom?" she asked.

   "I thought that's what you wanted," I said.  "I mean you had one with
you the first time we did it."

   She looked at me like I was from outer space or something.

   "Yes ...  I guess I did," she said.  Her eyes narrowed.  "You didn't
graduate at the top of your class, did you?"

   I started to actually answer her, but she cut me off.  "Never mind,
dear, you don't have to answer that.  I'm so glad I'm finally getting to
know you better."

   I thought that was a pretty weird thing to say to a man you'd been
married to for almost six months.

   The next time we had sex she brought out another rubber.

   "I thought you weren't going to use those any more," I said.

   "I believe a pregnancy should be planned," she said calmly, pulling it
up and expertly enclosing my balls.  She was good at that by now, so
intermission was short and sweet.  "I'm working on the planning part," she
said.

   ===================================================================

   The dress rehearsal went flawlessly.  I was so proud of Brandy as she
and Chuck made it look like they were actually falling in love.  I didn't
see the lovemaking scene, of course, because I was on the other side of the
wall, but I heard it, and it sounded very realistic.

   During the first performance they adlibbed too much during that scene,
what with her whispering "Deeper ...  ohhhh yesssss" and breaking character
when she said "Ohhhh Chuck, I can't believe this" once.  But I don't think
anybody in the audience heard their mistakes.  They heard her moans as she
pretended to have an orgasm, though.  You could probably have heard that
out on the sidewalk, she hammed it up so much.  And he got a little carried
away too, with all the panting and grunting as they supposedly finished and
I put my head in my hands and shuddered realistically, like I had actually
lost my wife.

   I was a little disappointed that he didn't put quite as much effort into
dying convincingly when I shot him.  Maybe he had used up all his emotion
in the bedroom scene, but I thought he could have done better.

   Still, we got a standing ovation.

   In fact, we got a standing ovation all four nights the play ran.  We
even got covered by a couple of newspapers from way down in the State
Capitol.

   It was the following Monday that we got the news that the society had
been invited to put the play on in five different cities all over the
state. It would take two months, because each town wanted at least three
performances, and the sets all had to be set up in each place and all that.
They offered to put the actors up in motels, and we'd be our own
roustabouts and all that, but it would work.

   Well, it would work for most of us.  About three quarters of the cast
were either retired, or didn't work.  The rest of us couldn't take all that
time off from work.

   In a way, the thespian society really NEEDED something like this.  It
would be a real shot in the arm, and we would get recognition, and some
badly needed funds, and maybe even an influx of potential actors.  Those of
us who couldn't take part, though, didn't WANT it to happen.  That's
because we were jealous of the others who got to do it.  I know, we were
just being selfish, and we got over it.  By the time we got the sets redone
so they could be taken apart and moved from place to place, we were all one
big happy family again.

   New people trained in the parts we working people had to abandon.  Chuck
said that he'd take extra good care of Brandy on the road, since I wouldn't
be there.  He said he'd share a dressing room with her, to make sure she
was well guarded.  Brandy said she'd miss me, and that as a special treat,
she'd give serious thought to letting me have my "nasty little fantasy of
sharing her", as she called it.  I said I'd try to drive down and catch the
show whenever I could, and she said to make sure to give her plenty of
notice so she could make sure she had a ticket for me.

   "We're sharing motel rooms," she said, "to keep costs down, but I'll
make sure that whoever I'm in with understands that sometimes you may spend
the night."

   I thanked her for that.

   They had a wonderful run.  Everybody loved the show.  I got to see two
of the performances, and seeing Brandy and Chuck in the bedroom scene was
truly amazing.  If I hadn't known better I'd have sworn he was actually
fucking her.  I knew they weren't, though.  Brandy had left all the condoms
back home, and I knew that even if she thought about making my fantasy come
true, she would use a condom, not to mention telling me about it so I could
arrange to watch whoever she decided to be shared with.  And she and Chuck
had to be just sick of each other by now, being forced together like that
for so long.  She took it like a trooper, though.  She didn't even complain
when she and Chuck got stuck sharing the same motel room in one city.  That
was one of the times I got to go see the show, and Brandy snuck me into the
room that night.  She had me go get something to eat, while she and Chuck
went back to the room like normal, so that housekeeping wouldn't see
anything unusual.  It turned out that they Chinese place she had sent me to
didn't actually exist, and it took me another hour to figure out I wasn't
going to find Chinese, so I got burgers and took them back to the motel. 
When I got there Chuck was already spread out on the couch in the room,
which was nice.  He could have gotten a roll-away bed, but then the motel
would have known an extra person was staying in the room, and they didn't
want that.  He said he didn't mind, since he'd already taken a nap in the
main bed while they were waiting for me to get there with the food.  It was
all rumpled up from him sleeping in it, but I didn't mind.  He was
sacrificing his place in the bed for me, after all.

   That was a special night.  When we got into bed, Brandy said that, as a
first step toward fulfilling my fantasy, she had decided to have sex with
me while another man was in the same room.  Chuck had said he didn't mind,
even if he didn't plan on actually watching us.  And, another thing was
that Brandy didn't have any condoms with her.  I hadn't thought to bring
one, and when that came up she said that she had also decided that the
planning was done, and that she was ready to have our first baby, so no
condoms were needed anyway.

   So, I got to make a baby in Brandy that night.  I'm pretty sure I did
too, because I was so motivated to make this special for her that I went
twice as long as usual, lasting at least three or four minutes.  AND, I
usually only spurt once, and that night I spurted TWO whole times!

   It turned out Chuck HAD watched us.

   "That was amazing," he said as I looked up to see him standing beside
the bed.

   "Really?" It seemed like an odd thing to say, but then I'd never
actually been in this situation before, so I didn't really know odd from a
hole in the ground.

   "Yeah, really.  I never thought about moving the way you moved.  I don't
think I've ever seen anything quite like that," he said seriously.

   "Thanks," I said, feeling pretty proud.

   "I think we could probably work some of that into the show," he said,
cupping his chin in his hand like he was thinking.  "What do you think,
Brandy?"

   "I think you're right," she said brightly.  "But we'd have to rehearse
quite a bit.  My husband is an expert at those moves.  Do you think you
could actually learn them?"

   "I can only try," he said modestly.

   "We should try it once while it's fresh in your mind," she suggested.

   "Well, I guess so.  Is there enough room on the bed for all three of
us?" he asked.

   "We'll try it and find out," she said.

   I guess all three of us could have fit, but I got kind of creeped out by
the idea of rubbing shoulders with a naked guy.  Well, he wasn't naked
exactly.  He had on those shorts he loved to wear, with the loose legs. 
And Brandy forgot she WAS naked when she lifted the sheet to let him in
next to her.  She must have remembered, because she looked at me and
blushed and covered up again right away.

   "Oops" she said.

   "Don't worry," said Chuck.  "I'll just turn the light out so I can't see
anything, how's that?"

   "You're so thoughtful, she said."

   They practiced pretty well, as far as I could tell.  I couldn't actually
see them, of course, because he turned the light out.  And his shoulder
kept bumping into mine, so eventually I got out of the bed.  I was pretty
tired, and they were pretty noisy as they talked about whether he should do
THIS and she said no he should do THAT instead and things like that.  He'd
left his blankets on the couch, and I was tired from the drive, so I lay
down there.  I must have been more tired than I thought, because I fell
asleep there, too.

   They were dedicated, I'll tell you that.  I woke up twice that night,
and they were STILL rehearsing the new moves.  She had worked her vocal
cues into it by then, and they had their lines timed perfectly, even if
they weren't the right lines.  I corrected them once, and they got all
quite for a minute.  I guess I broke their concentration.  Finally Brandy
said they got bored with the right lines, and were trying some new ones,
but that they would remember to use the proper lines in the actual
performance.  That satisfied me and I went back to sleep.

   It was a good run, and they got great press.  It did wonders for the
society too, and we got twenty more volunteers.  They planned on increasing
the number of productions from three or four to six per year.  That made
Brandy happy.  She was sad when the tour ended, and was looking forward to
working on the next play.  She's even volunteered to do sets if they don't
have a part for a pregnant woman.

   Yup, I was so virile that I knocked her up that one night in the motel
...  the night I gave Chuck the inspiration for the new moves they
incorporated into the on-stage scene that always brought down the house. 
She said she was exactly two months pregnant when she came back.  The baby
came a month early, in the end, but was healthy, so I didn't care.

   That tour also resulted in another fantasy I finally got to live out. 
Brandy, in a moment of boredom, learned from another girl in the show how
to give a blow job.  She took to that like a duck to water too.  She was
almost an expert the first time she gave me one, and she loved it so much
that that's about all we ever do any more.  She said that fantasies are
fine, but she really likes doing that.

   I wanted her to be happy, and I got to cum either way, right?

   =====================================================================

   Well, life has been good to us, or I thought it was being good to us. 
Brandy was in almost every play after that, and even got elected president
of the thespian society one year.  She dabbled at writing her own plays
too. She was pretty careful about letting me make love to her without a
condom, what with me being so virile and all, and that was reinforced each
time she did let me go without a 'raincoat' as she called it.  Both times I
got her pregnant again, with just that one fuck.

   I was pretty proud of everything until lately.

   Just recently I heard her talking on the phone with Chuck.  They're
writing a play together, getting together once or twice a week for the last
eight months to bounce ideas off each other and do the writing.  So, when I
came in from work and she was lying on the couch and I heard his name, I
thought they were rehearsing lines or trying them out on each other or
something.  Brandy is about eight months pregnant with our third, so I
understood why she was resting while she talked.

   "I can't do that, Chuck," she said into the phone.  "He may be a
goofball and an idiot, but he's my husband, and I really DO love him."

   I closed the door behind me and she jerked, looking around at me.  Her
eyes got kind of big as I blew her a kiss.

   "He's using his real name in the play?" I asked.  "That's kind of vain,
isn't it?"

   "Um ...  I'll tell him to change it," she said, looking uncomfortable.

   "It's just that the critics will make a big deal about it," I said.

   She smiled at me.  "Yeah, you're probably right." She spoke into the
phone, giggling a little, to let him down easy I think.

   She said she had to go because I was home, and hung up.  She levered
herself up off the couch and gave me as much of a hug as she could with
what seemed like twins between us.

   "So, when are you finally going to tell me what this play you two are
writing is all about?" I asked.

   She looked at me seriously.  "It's about your old fantasy," she said. 
"The one where you share me with another man.  Except in the play I don't
tell you you're sharing me."

   "What's the point of that?" I asked.

   "Well, the woman in the play has a really wonderful time, and both men
are very happy.  She ends up making love with both of them pretty much
whenever she feels like it."

   "Oh," I said.  "I thought you had decided that it was too awkward ... 
after that night in the motel when Chuck watched us."

   "Well, you've been so sweet to me all these years ...  I just feel I owe
it to you to give you what you want," she said, kissing me on the nose.

   "So you don't mind another man having sex with you now?" I asked.

   "Oh, I'm not so sure I could actually DO that," she said, kissing my
nose again.  "But I thought that if we wrote the play that way, and if
Chuck and I star in it, you might be able to fantasize about it ...  you
know?  I know how much fun it is for you to fantasize in the bedroom with
me."

   "Wow", I responded, getting excited.  "You'd actually do that for me?"

   "If it's what you want, darling," she said.  "I'd love to."

   ====================================================================

   So why is it that I'm worried now about making bad decisions, and using
bad judgement?  Well, you see, we've been married for almost four years
now, and we've got two kids and another on the way.  I'm still just the
manager of the front end at the feed mill, and money is getting a little
tight.  I know that some couples begin to get a little bored with each
other around that time in a marriage.  I mean just the fact that she came
up with this crazy idea for the play shows how she's thinking about things
she never thought about before.  At least not seriously.

   I know, I know, it's been my fantasy for all this time to share her with
another guy.  But you know ...  lately ...  I've been thinking that maybe
that's not really such a good idea.  I mean I'm having to recycle a lot of
old fantasies in the bedroom, and if she really DOES have sex with some
other guy, he might have a bunch of new ones, and she might get attracted
to him, and things could go tragically wrong in our marriage.  I mean,
think about it.  If Brandy writes this play too well, she might be tempted
to actually DO something like that it.

   Maybe wanting her to get it on with another guy is just one of my old
loser ideas.

   I need to try and break this loser streak I've been stuck in for so
long. I mean what with my record of making bad decisions and all, I should
pay more attention to what I think I want.

   I guess I finally learned that you really have to be careful what you
ask for.

   You might actually get it.










   
