Ethan's Wife

Eighteen years ago there had been a daring robbery at Werthen's (Jeweler to the Stars.) Fifty million dollars worth of precious gems had been taken. They were gone. The jewels had totally disappeared. Even though the police were fortunate enough to have captured the culprit.

They had captured the burglar's face on a hidden video camera, and they even had his fingerprints on a banana peel near the safe, though not on the safe itself. The district attorney had built up an iron-clad case against Ethan Crosley, a career criminal, suspected in many other jewel heists. He had had an alibi, of course. He said he had spent the entire evening with his girlfriend, Mona Kensley at Dilly's, a local ice cream parlor, and that they had each had six chocolate Sundays. Later investigation, however, revealed that Dilly's had been closed that night when the refrigeration failed, and that Mona had spent the entire night at Candace Carney's. Candace owned the local whorehouse. She was a career madam. Candace herself testified that Mona had serviced forty-two men that night, one after the other, and not one of them had been Ethan Crosley. Both Mona, and Madam Candace had made quite a bundle for themselves. Candace was forced to reveal the names of the johns to the police, who were very decent about it, and did not tell their wives. Each of the men corroborated the story, and gave Mona excellent reviews in cocksucking, plus vaginal and anal intercourse.

The prosecution had won a conviction, and Ethan Crosley had been sentenced to twenty years in prison. International Re, the big insurance company, was in an awful position. They were on the hook for fifty million dollars. Unless.....Unless.....they could recover the jewels.

They tried everything they could. They tried to have Ethan tortured to reveal the location of the jewels. His lips were sealed. They promised to get him an immediate pardon, and set him at large again in the community, if only he would divulge the location of the jewels. His lips were sealed. Obviously his plan was to wait it out. To serve his twenty years, and then disappear. A fabulously wealthy jewel thief.

International Re had paid the claim thirteen years ago. But they wanted their money back. They were not about to give in so easily. They wanted to recover those jewels.

I had recently been hired by International Re as an investigator. The only talk around the office was 'Ethan Crosley' and the 'fifty million dollar stash of jewels.' Ethan's release date was only two years in the future now. Not much time to get him to reveal the information we needed. I was intrigued. I knew it would be quite a feather in my cap, if I could solve the case and recover the booty. This was a real career builder.

I began to be obsessed with those jewels. More than anyone else at International Re, I wanted to be the one responsible for recovering them. My name would be on page one of every newspaper in the country. 'Warren Westing, Master Detective, recovers stolen treasure.' I was Warren Westing, of course.

If only I could get close to Ethan Crosley. Be a friend to him. Be a Confidante. Yes. I needed to become a Confidante. A mad scheme started percolating in my brain. I made an appointment with Matt Rosenbee, the CEO of International Re.

At three o'clock the next afternoon, I approached Flossie's desk. Flossie was Matt Rosenbee's private secretary. Her desk stood right outside of his office door, which she guarded with the ferocity of a mother tiger.

"May I help you?" she asked me, without even looking up. I could have been the janitor for all she knew. No. I guess I couldn't have been the janitor. I was wearing a blue suit. I'm sure she saw my blue suit.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Rosenbee, Flossie," I said. She must have known that. She had made the appointment for me, when I called. She had conveyed my message to Matt Rosenbee that I had an idea about how to get the jewels back, and he had agreed to see me.

"Yes," she said. "You'll have to wait a few minutes. He's having his donut and coffee. Sit down." She gestured to the row of seats behind me. I sat. Donuts and coffee? I had this brilliant idea, and he was having donuts and coffee? I wondered what kind of donuts. Filled or glazed?

From the table beside me, I picked up this week's edition of the popular economics journal, 'Trickle Down.' I was reading about the latest merger in the Pharmaceuticals industry. Perkins Hodges was buying Lakeford Pills, with the object of eliminating Lakeford's cholestorol pill, Zapadril, which had been in competition with their own drug, Mucor. After eliminating Zapadril, they would be able to quintuple the price of Mucor. I was in the middle of the article, when Flossie called me.

"All right," she said. "You can go in now."

I replaced the magazine on the top of the pile on the table, and walked towards Rosenbee's door. I entered his office and shut the door behind me. He was wiping his lips with a paper napkin. A small leftover crescent of donut sat on the china plate, which he now pushed aside. The donut had been glazed. Maple.

He gestured to the armchair across the big desk from him.

"What can I do for you, Westin?" He asked me.

"I have an idea about the jewels," I said.

"Yes. Yes. That's what Flossie told me. Very interesting. Would you care to tell me about this idea of yours?"

"That's why I'm here, sir," I patiently explained.

"Well. Out with it, then. I'm all a-twitter."

Was he being sarcastic?

"Well. I was thinking. Maybe I could become Crosley's friend."

"Oh," he nodded. "It's that simple. You can become Crosley's friend. And he'll tell you where the jewels are?"

"That's sort of what I was thinking, sir."

"Are you crazy?" He started screaming at me.

"But if we became very good friends.....???" I was beginning to realize that my idea might sound ridiculous. Why would Crosley ever pick me as a friend? Why would he ever trust me? If he had never told anyone in eighteen years, whyever would he tell me? My coming here had been a mistake. I had deluded myself with dreams of glory. All those headlines in my mind, had convinced me that I was invincible. That I could do anything. That I could get the information. I was a fool. I tried to save my dignity as best I could. "I could be very friendly, sir. I could be very sympathetic. He's probably never had a caring sympathetic buddy. I could provide a shoulder for him to cry on. If he began to pour out his heart to me, if I could get him to bare his soul??? I don't know. Maybe you're right. Maybe I am crazy."

"Yesss," he said slowly. "It would probably never work. But still, maybe, maybe, maybe, it might be worth at least a try? I mean. We have nothing to lose, now, do we?"

"No, sir," I assured him.

"How would we do it?" he asked me. "How would you get to be his friend?"

"I would need your help, sir."

"What were you thinking of?"

"Well. I would need to get into that prison. Preferably into the same cell? I don't know if that would be possible."

"I don't know," he said.

"You would have to have a lot of records faked, showing that I was some kind of a criminal. But you would also have to get the real facts on file somewhere. Like. In case you got hit by a bus, I would be able to prove that I was an investigator, not a criminal, so that I wouldn't spend the rest of my life behind bars."

"That sounds reasonable," he agreed.

"Some big official's office would have to be in on it with us."

"I could make all the arrangements through The Federal Bureau of Reinsurance in Washington. That way everything is covered. Everything is professional. Everything is legal. There would be no danger for you."

I thought this over. It sounded like a good plan. "Okay," I decided.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" He cocked his head.

I paused a few seconds before answering. The fame. The adulation. The large financial reward I would, no doubt, get. It was too much to give up. I was willing to try it. So if it didn't work, I would just get myself released. What would be the harm? "Yes," I decided. Definitely. "I want to go through with this."

"Okay, Westin. Let's do it. Nothing risked, nothing gained. I have to hand it to you. You're a brave guy."

"I am?" I asked naively. "Why?"

"To go to prison. To be in that atmosphere. With all those hardened criminals. I gotta hand it to you. I'm really impressed."

I hadn't really been thinking about it in that way. But I would just have to learn to deal with whatever came up. "I'll be okay," I assured him.

"Okay. I'll get the ball rolling tomorrow. Check with me on Friday. You know, if this works out, there could be a handsome bonus in it for you."

"Yes," I said. "I thought there might be."

We both stood up, and shook hands across his desk. As I was turning to leave, I saw him reach down and pick up the small remaining chunk of the glazed maple donut. He popped it in his mouth and devoured it.

It was arranged that I would be transported to Sandusky (the prison) on the 25th of the month. At the moment, Ethan was alone in his cell, having smashed his last cellmate's face into the steel bars one tense evening. The prison officials were leery about putting a new prisoner in the cell, but the Bureau explained how important it was, and they agreed. They also promised to try to keep a special eye on me. I was grateful for that.

At Sandusky, they took my clothes and gave me my prison-issue oranges (orange uniforms). Then they handcuffed me, and two guards escorted me down many long corridors to my new home.

Finally, they stopped before one of the identical metal cages, and one of the guards turned a large key in the lock. An orange-garbed man, sitting on the lower bunk, looked up in surprise.

"What are you doing?" he yelled. "This is my cell. I got a single here."

"Not any more, Ethan," said the guard with the keys. He unlocked my handcuffs, and they left me there, locking the door behind them. I was in my new cell with Ethan Crosley, the famous jewel thief.

He was an imposing man. Around six foot four, padded with muscles-everywhere. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and multi-colored tattoos covered his bulging arms. His prison uniform was unbuttoned at the top, and I saw more ink on the exposed skin of his chest. I saw a skull and I saw a dagger dripping red blood. His head was completely shaved and looked like a round-tipped bullet. Even if there had been a large crowd in the room, you couldn't help noticing him. There was something.....I don't know....fascinating???

"Hi," I said jovially, approaching him with an outstretched hand. "I'm Warren. Warren Westin."

He didn't answer me, and he didn't take my hand. I stood there like a lunkhead for a few minutes, and then I climbed up to the top bunk. That was the available one.

"Okay," I said. "But if you need anything, just remember I'm here."

We went to the mess hall for dinner, and then we returned to our cell. I, wisely, didn't utter another word. When they turned off the lights, I tried to sleep. I was a nervous wreck, and my brain was doing cartwheels. I could have used a sleeping pill. It must have been after four a.m. that I finally dozed off. They woke us at six. I was very tired the next day.

Ethan kept giving me nasty looks. He was friendly enough with the guards and some of the other prisoners in the yard. They seemed to be bringing him things. Doing favors for him. Well, why not? He was a wealthy jewel thief. He could take care of them financially, I figured.

But my plan wasn't going very well. We were two complete strangers, stuck in the same little cage. He didn't like me, and he didn't want me there. He was certainly not going to confide in me and tell me where the jewels were. He wouldn't even talk to me. He wouldn't even acknowledge my presence.

But one day something happened, and everything changed. What happened was terrible, and nothing I would ever have wished for, but it happened. Poor guy.

In the middle of the afternoon, they came to take Ethan from the cell. They told him he had visitors.

"It's not even visiting day," he argued.

"We're making an exception," said the guard. "Your sisters are here. Irma and Elsie. They need to speak to you."

His face suddenly clouded over and he looked very afraid. And very human.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked in a small voice.

"We don't know anything," the guard answered. "Your sisters want to see you. Come on."

They handcuffed him and led him down the many corridors toward the visitor's room. I was curious, myself. How come they were allowing him a special visit? Did it have anything to do with the jewels???

An hour later they brought him back. His eyes were red and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Something awful had happened. The guards removed his handcuffs and left us alone. He stood there with his face lowered and pressed against the bars, holding the bars tightly in his hands. Silent sobs were wracking his body. I could see it in the spasmodic twitching of his back. What could I do for him? I needed to help him. But how?

I stepped up to him and laid my hand on his back, near his shoulder.

"What is it, Ethan?" I asked him. He just shook his head and gave an audible sob.

"Oh, Ethan. Tell me. Tell me. What happened? Let me help you."

"You can't help me," he said bitterly. "No one can help me."

"Tell me what it is. Confide in me. Please," I begged him.

Finally he gave in and the words started pouring forth.

"It's my mother," he said in a wet, choked voice. "My mother. She was run over by a snowplow. She's dead. My poor mother is dead."

I was shocked. How terrible. Poor guy. I didn't know what to do, so I just put my arms around him, and made him lay his head on my shoulder. "Ssshhh," I soothed. "Ssshhh."

I gently ran my hand down his cheek and just kept stroking him. He cried and he cried, as I stroked his shiny head and his face. "Ssshhh. My poor baby. My poor baby," I crooned. What kind of words were those coming out of a hardened criminal's mouth? Was I crazy? 'My poor baby?' Where had that one come from? But he was responding. He put his arms around me and held me, as he cried, and as I stroked him. I led him to the bottom bunk, and we sat side-by-side, and continued. For about a half hour. I suddenly realized why I had used the phrase 'my poor baby'. It had been a stroke of genius on my part. The man had just lost his mother, and I was acting maternal. I was filling in for the poor woman. I was giving him what he most needed at this moment.

"Ssshhh. My poor baby. Everything will be all right. I'll take care of you. Everything will be all right." I had once said something about providing Ethan with a shoulder to cry on. Well. Now I had done just that. Maybe our friendship would develop after this. I was hopeful. "Ssshhh. My poor baby," I continued.

After dinner, at lights-out, Ethan had a strange request. "I could use some company tonight," he said. "I know it's kind of narrow, but could you stay with me on the lower bunk tonight?"

"Of course," I said. "Of course. I'd be happy to." My scheme might work after all.

We lay down side by side, and it really was a tight fit. But I cradled his head against my neck, and he wrapped his big arms around my chest, and we both fell asleep.

After that.... I know you won't be surprised, but we got to be very good friends. We sat next to each other in the mess hall. We played ball together in the yard. And when he got me a pack of cigarettes, I accepted them gladly. I couldn't bear to tell him I didn't smoke.

We were still sharing the lower bunk every night. At first we had slept in our orange uniforms, but we needed to keep them fresher during the day. They only changed them twice a week. So eventually we just slept in the raw. I couldn't help noticing the big thick floppy piece of meat dangling over his hairy balls, but I just averted my eyes as much as possible. Occasionally I felt I was getting an erection, (after all, I certainly hadn't had any sex since I'd been in prison.) but I just kept my back to Ethan so he wouldn't see it.

One night, while we were lying side by side, he said something to me.

"You know, Warren. You're a real good friend. I appreciate it. I never had a lot of friends. I guess you're the best friend I ever had."

I thought about that for a few minutes and realized something. "You know I never had any friends either. I guess you're the best friend I ever had." I felt a tremendous warmth spread first through my stomach, and then all over, as I made this observation.

"Well, anyhow," he didn't want to get too sentimental. "I'm really glad, you're here. I'm sorry I acted like such a prick at first."

"Forget it," I said. "It just doesn't matter anymore."

We were lying there trying to fall asleep, and he was making funny sighing noises.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing," I pressed him. "What is it? Tell me. You know you can tell me, don't you?"

"Yes," he said.

"You can tell me anything," I pressed further. Would he ever??? "What is it?" I touched his face again, and stroked it a few times.

"I'm going crazy," he said. "It's just that I need a blowjob so bad. I haven't shot a load in such a long time."

"You haven't?" I asked.

"You know that," he said. "We live together."

"Yes," I said. And then nervously I asked him, "Did you want me to do it for you?"

"Did you ever give anybody head?"

"No," I said truthfully. "Never."

"Forget it," he said. "Just forget I mentioned it. I don't want to presume on our friendship. I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I know some guys in prison rape other guys, but I would never do anything like that. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes," I said. "I know that."

He twisted around a little bit and sighed a couple of times.

"I don't like to see you like this," I said. "I want to do something to help you."

"No. Absolutely not," he answered, and turned slightly away from me.

"Please. Please let me do it for you. I want to. It would be an honor. I would be proud. Please."

"You really want to?" he asked me.

"A lot," I said. "Let me help you out. Please."

"Well, okay," he said slowly and rested more comfortably on his back again.

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"Crawl down between my legs."

I followed his instructions as he guided me. He was very hard. And I could feel the heat radiating out of his instrument onto my face. I began by grasping and licking it, and getting it good and wet, just as he told me to do. He had me take each of his large balls in my mouth and suckle on them. Finally he pressed my face down over his dick, and it entered my mouth. We spent about two hours, with me sucking him, and him working my head around into different angles. He was determined to break me of my gag reflex, so I would always enjoy nursing on his fleshy milkbottle.

"Oh. You're so good," he crooned in a low voice. "Watch your teeth. Wrap your lips around your teeth, honey. We don't want teeth."

After a half hour or so, I learned to retract them. This wasn't so bad, but I would have to inform Rosenbee about the latest change in our relationship. I wanted him to know what a sacrifice I was making for International Re.

"Oh, baby. You suck like a pro. You sure you never sucked a cock before?"

I lifted my mouth off it for a moment. Only to answer him. "Never. Never. I swear it. You're the first."

"Do you like it, baby? Do you like sucking on my big prick?"

"Yes. Yes," I said. "I love it. I love you."

He laughed. "Now don't go getting all sentimental on me. It's just a cock. It's not true love."

"Yes," I agreed, and I laughed a little, as I was blowing him. I didn't want him to get scared and shy off. "No love," I assured him. "Just a blowjob." I laughed again and he was reassured.