Becoming Myself Ch. 02

Dear Readers,

This is the second installment of this series. Sorry that it's taken so long. This installment is a bit lengthier. I've enjoyed going on this ride with the protagonist. I hope you come along. This is not a stand alone, so please read the first chapter.

As always, comments are appreciated!

~M

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Shock does not even begin to compute with what I was thinking and feeling. This woman was standing there with tears in her eyes looking distraught, and she was my WIFE! I tried my hardest to not look at the guy to my right, but my eyes slid over to him anyway. Who was he? ... And why did I feel more for him than my supposed wife?

I hung my head, and let the tears fall. Whatever happened to me was worse that I could have expected. I glanced down at my hands, well the one that wasn't bandaged. I noticed that although my hand was badly bruised and swollen, there was no ring on my left hand... there wasn't even a tan line.

I held my hand up and asked, "Why aren't I wearing a ring?" It was the only safe question that I could ask. I couldn't exactly ask why in the hell I had a wife when I was gay. It was just something I was going to have to sort out when my memory returned... if it returned.

My wife... god that sounded weird, pulled out a jewelry bag, one of those small ones you put earrings in and showed me some bloody pieces of gold. "Your hands were damaged in the accident and your ring was cutting off circulation because of all the swelling so it had to be cut off." My wife said.

"Can anyone tell me what the hell happened to me and why I can't remember anything from before whatever happened?" My frustration was evident and so was my fear.

The doctor stepped forward with a look of concern. "You were on a construction site. From what we can ascertain, a pile of lumber was not secured, you walked to the side of the truck and when it went to move, the lumber came loose and buried you. You somehow blocked your face with your hands, hence the damage to your hands. You were very lucky in that the lumber was a stack of 2x4's and also wasn't stacked that high. That coupled with the fact that the wood created an almost barrier against itself and didn't completely crush you means that you are very lucky to be alive." The doctor rambled on but said that everyone needed to clear the room so that he could actually discuss my condition.

I didn't remember any of that. Not why I was even at a construction site or almost being crushed by wood. My wife put her hand against my cheek stating that she didn't want to hear about my injuries again. Once everyone had cleared out I learned about all the shit that'd happened to me and what I had to look forward. I almost wished that the accident had killed me.

The largest of my problems was the amnesia, which was attributed to the accident. I asked him why I knew certain things like who the president was or what a hospital was. He stated that this was a good sign. My memory of outside events, or things external to me seemed to be intact. I couldn't remember about me personally or my life. The doctor assured me that there was ample time to assess the extent of my amnesia and that my current condition was a good sign.

Now let's get onto my physical injuries. I already knew that my hands were damaged and my right one was even bandaged. My whole head was bandaged because my brain swelled and I had to have surgery to relieve the pressure, hence the medically induced coma. My left shoulder was badly damaged; I'd already had one surgery on it and was looking at a lot of rehab if not more surgery. My legs were badly bruised but otherwise ok. I had a broken ankle, a fractured collarbone, and a multitude of bruises and lacerations. Yeah I felt really fucking lucky.

I asked how long I'd been in a coma. Because the doctors were most concerned with the swelling in my brain, they'd done everything from icing me down to reduce my body temperature; they'd also given me some drug to help. When all of that didn't seem to work, they'd done surgery to decrease the pressure in my skull. When that didn't work they put me in a medically induced coma. Although I'd only been in the coma for a little less than a week, it took far longer for me to regain consciousness. Not mentioning all of the things that had happened before that, I'd been out of it for over a month. I'd been in and out of consciousness.

Now where would I go from there? Here's the kicker... I still didn't know my damned name or what I even looked like. I knew that in amnesia cases, the doctors liked for the memories to come back on their own, but surely there were some things that I could be told. I knew that my face was bruised and that I was pretty heavily bandaged, but I needed to see a picture.

"Doc?" I said. "What's my name?"

He looked at me with sympathy, and a little of something else that I didn't want to describe. "Your name is Marvin Rutherford... and your wife's name is Vivian."

I lulled over that name, turning it around in my head. I didn't like the name. It sounded sort of nerdy. I passed the day trying not to talk to anyone. I had a lot to think about. I tried to keep my recovery in the forefront of my mind, but it wasn't easy with all of the large questions hanging over my head. Namely, things like my wife and the fact that I was gay. Although the gay thing wasn't sitting with me well either. Unless I was just a complete bastard trying to live 'straight', I didn't know what to think.

The next day after my physical therapy my wife came in. I was so uncomfortable with her. I felt that she had expectations and I just couldn't fulfill them.

"Do you have a picture of me?" I asked. I was burning to know if I matched my name. I was kind of hoping that I didn't look like a total loser.

She looked a little startled that I'd spoken, but looked into her purse. "Sure Marvy, honey, let me get my phone."

I groaned, "Please don't call me that, it sounds so sappy." I looked at her face and almost winced at the hurt on her face.

She pulled out her phone and went to her photos. She went to a file with our names on it. She scrolled through the photos of us. I had to admit that we made a handsome couple. My hair was black flecked with silver, especially at the temples. I looked to be about early to mid forties. I couldn't see my body, but my suits seemed to hang nicely. I had blue eyes, long straight eyelashes. My lips were a bit thin, but my smile seemed to be bright, if not a little crooked. I had a slight dimple in my chin. Not bad for someone named Marvin.

My wife was very pretty with her long chestnut hair, bright green eyes, and pouty lips. She looked to be in her late thirties. Looking at the pictures did nothing to stir my memories or my lust. I felt nothing for her.

"Why was I at a construction site?" I asked her. She looked nothing like the pictures now. Her face was red blotched from lack of sleep and crying. Her hair was in a crazy ponytail and she looked extremely tired. I knew she cared and we must have had a good relationship. So how the hell did being gay fit into all of that?

She placed one hand over her mouth and another across her middle. It made me think about children. I hoped to god that we didn't have any children. I knew that my life would never be the same.

She cleared her throat, "You own a construction company, there were problems at one of the sites and the foreman couldn't keep his story straight. You went down there to see for yourself what the problem was because you didn't want to fire the foreman without being sure that he was the problem. You and the foreman were arguing and he walked away from you just as the truck was moving with the 2x4's. You know the rest."

None of that was familiar. It was so frustrating. She stayed until visiting hours were over. We didn't talk much. The doctors really didn't want anyone giving me too much information. I did find out that we didn't have any children because I didn't want any. That gave me pause. I didn't think I had anything against children, but if I were gay, bringing children into a marriage with a woman, was a very bad idea.

I didn't like the idea of this double existence, even if it were only a mental thing that I never acted on.

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As the days passed I started to slowly heal. I had some problems with how I was going to walk. Between the damage to my hands, my shoulder and my broken ankle, I couldn't use a walker and could only use one crutch. It would have been comical the first time they tried to get me up if it hadn't caused me so much pain. I had no idea how large I was before the accident, but I seemed to have lost a considerable amount of weight.

I hadn't seen the mystery man but I was glad for that. I didn't need the complication of his presence. That was my thinking until he showed up one morning holding a bag that smelled like heaven. I instantly felt guilty at my reaction to him. My heart rate sped up, my cock lurched, and I swear that I was breathing differently. My awareness of him was unsettling.

"What is your name?" I asked. He came to stand by my bedside and his scent assailed me. He smelled like soap, aftershave, and man. His own masculine scent was driving me up a wall.

"I'm Jarred." He replied.

God, that name fit him.

I was suddenly hit with these images of arguments, fragments of conversations. All I could make out was my voice when I said his name. Sometimes I spoke softly, sometimes I was yelling at the top of my lungs. It was like watching a skipping reel. The jolt was physically apparent, and Jarred looked at me with concern. I knew that there was nothing I could do with those snippets, but Jarred had been the only person to spark any kind of recognition.

I looked at the bag in interest. He held it up and smiled. "I brought you something that might jog your memory." He said. He pulled out a clear plastic tin with something that looked like cookies with frosting on top. He gave me one and oh my goodness, in comparison to all that hospital food, I swore I had never tasted anything so good. It was a red velvet cookie with chocolate oozing in the center with frosting on top.

Without thinking I said, "God Jarred, I haven't had these in years, how the hell are these warm? You couldn't have made these at home when you live three states away..." I kept munching, intermittently sipping my water. I looked at him expecting an answer when I realized that I'd made the utterance and I'd remembered. That was the second time I'd remembered something and it was all because of him. His only response was to arch an eyebrow and smile.

He sat down and I knew, just knew that his being there wasn't common. "We don't visit, do we?" To which he shook his head 'no'. I saw his eyes lose some of the mirth that had been there. "We were friends?" He nodded yes to my question. "But we aren't anymore, right?" He looked like he was going to shake his head 'no', but he stopped and hung his head.

"Marv, I'll always be your friend, but..." He paused and didn't want to go on. "I don't think you are my friend anymore. You don't like me very much." He said.

He looked like there was a lot more to it, but I knew he wasn't going to tell me. "But you came," I whispered. "I supposedly don't like you and we aren't friends, but you came... why?"

He shrugged, "Like I said Marv, I'll always be your friend." He sat down and put his face in his hands. His pose reminded me of something. I saw it like a movie in my mind.

"You what?!" I yelled. Jarred looked at me with pain in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to happen Marv, I promise you that." Jarred was so distraught and I was so angry at him.

The flashback left me even more confused as to why I would be so angry with him. That must have been the last time that we spoke.

"Why was I so angry with you?" I asked him.

He looked like he didn't want to answer. "You didn't exactly take it well when I told you I was gay." He had a sad smile on his face.

I sure in the hell didn't seem to have a problem with him now. I'm no shrink, but I could tell that whatever happened between us was more about my own issues. Why else would I have no problem with him and even be attracted to him if I had a problem with him being gay?

I gasped my reply as my eyes bugged out of my head. "I have a problem with you being gay? And you came to see me anyway? God, I must be a total fucking dick." I shook my head in disbelief. It looked like I hadn't been honest with anyone, myself included.

He looked a little weirded out about my response, but he answered anyway. "Yeah, well I just needed to make sure you'd be okay. I knew you hadn't told your wife about it when she called, so I came. You were my best friend. Plus, it isn't like you could get up and kick my ass." He added the last bit with a smile. "You can still ask me to leave though." He added barely above a whisper.

"No, don't go. I don't know what was going on with me, but I need to sort it out. I have nothing against you. I don't know if it's because of this blank slate that my mind has become, or what. But I don't care. I need all of the friends I can get." I smiled at him as I spoke.

He visibly relaxed.

We didn't get to talk too much because I had physical therapy, and then my wife came. I felt bad knowing that I'd rather sit quietly with Jarred than talk to my wife. I was also concerned that I'd only started remembering things with Jarred.

Jarred left soon after and I felt the loss of his presence. In that moment, I was ready to go home, ready to try and piece together the tatters that my life had become.

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Physical therapy was a bitch but I was slowly getting stronger and stronger. I did find that food seemed to be my link to unlocking my memories. After Jarred's cookies, I asked my wife to start bringing my favorite foods and to not tell me what she was making in advance. That seemed to brighten her mood and she stopped looking so worried.

One day she brought me some stuffed venison, garlic mashed potatoes with sautéed baby carrots. The minute I smelled the food, I was taken back to what I assumed was the first time that I'd had it. My wife was trying to impress me; she'd invited me over to dinner at her place. By the time I arrived, she was a mess. I wasn't early, but she definitely was frazzled. Her hair was out of place, she had food stains on her blouse, and she hadn't put any shoes on. She looked so lost that we couldn't help but laugh. I suggested that we forgo the fancy dinner and just have fun. I set up everything in her breakfast nook and ignored the formal dining area. I started the cleaning in the messy kitchen that looked like a bomb had hit it, and by the time she'd changed I'd rolled up my sleeves, kicked off my shoes and taken off my tie.

We had a wonderfully intimate night and the food was delicious. I'd started falling for her then. I was brought back to the present when I finished off the last of the food. My wife brought out dessert and I waited anxiously for her to open the carton. Inside were coconut macaroons. I smelled it and felt my stomach lurch. I had no memory of loving those things. I sat back, no longer feeling any anticipation.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I like that." I felt bad for telling her that. She gave me an impish smile. "Well at least you finally admit it. You used to eat it just to appease me." My wife laughed at my relieved look.

"God Viv, I hate those things. You're a wonderful cook, but coconut makes me hurl." I laughed with her and frowned as I saw her eyes tear up. "That's the first time you've really said my name since all of this."

She laid her hand on my arm. I really felt like an ass. All of these memories that I'd gotten a snippet of didn't make any sense to me. I didn't feel love for her now, or even lust. What kind of man was I? She saw that my mood had gone sour. We talked about benign topics for a while and then I made her promise to go home for a few days and pamper herself. She deserved it.

Those last few days that I was in the hospital were the most peaceful I'd had. No wife, no Jarred, no expectations that I couldn't fulfill. I'd gotten to know the staff and was very comfortable with them, but I was damn glad to get out of there. I was able to hobble around now a bit more comfortably. They wheeled me out of the hospital, my wife at my side. We got to the entrance of the hospital and there he was. Jarred was leaning against a black SUV and was holding a 'get well soon' balloon. That smile of his just made me want to either howl in frustration or blow my load all over the pavement.

Somehow, I made it into the backseat without getting a complete boner over Jarred's gentle touch. I knew he was just helping, but my nerves were shot. It was a good thing that I was so banged up; my actions were attributed to being jostled into a car. My wife hopped into the driver's seat and Jarred slid into the passenger seat.

We began the journey into the unknown as I thought of it. I didn't know what my house looked like or which direction it was in. We pulled up to a two story grey stone house with a circular drive way. It looked to be on about one acre. I got settled into one of the downstairs bedrooms, grateful that during my recuperation I wouldn't be sleeping in the same bed as my wife. Most of the furniture in the room had been removed and some of the equipment ordered from the physical therapist was placed around the room.

I won't bore you with the minute details of my recovery. Physically, I was doing better than expected; my body just needed time to heal. My mind, however, was another matter. I still didn't really have any semblance of who I was or what I was about.

Things came to a head for me about three months after I'd been home. The snippets that I'd been seeing weren't making any sense, but I seemed to be having some vivid dreams. I'd wake up feeling like I'd run a marathon, drenched in sweat, or so hard I wanted to plow through brick. Each time I'd wake up, the dream would fade and I couldn't remember any of it. One morning that I woke up, I remembered the dream.

Jarred walked up to me and placed his hands on my arms. We were already naked. He began kissing me, claiming my mouth in a fierce kiss. I realized that I was about two inches shorter than him, putting me at the perfect height to nibble on his neck. He grasped my hair at the base of my neck with one hand, and tilted my chin up with the other. The look in his stone grey eyes was a swirling of molten lava. He wanted me and I certainly wanted him. There was nothing that I wouldn't do to continue this moment.

He walked me backwards and I fell onto the bed. His hands roamed all over my body making my skin tingle. It felt natural and fluid, as if it was a normal occurrence. He lightly kissed and bit my thighs, making me groan in anticipation. He kissed my cock but didn't linger. He quickly made his way up my torso to my neck where he sucked hard, marking not just my tender flesh but my soul as well. He moved along my jawbone back to my mouth. He kept moving up until his balls were resting on my chin and the base of his cock was resting on my lips. I couldn't help but kiss his cock reverently. His seven inches of cut and thick meat was so warm against my lips. I tried to move my head to get the head in my mouth but I couldn't. I moved my chin downward so I could lap at his balls. I heard him groan. My arms were roaming all over his back as I gave his balls a tongue bath. I licked my fingers as I took a break from his balls. There were no words spoken, there didn't need to be. I lubed my finger with spit and began playing with his bud. He was moaning loudly by now. I slowly slid my finger into his tight ass. He rose up, dislodging my finger and flipped around. He attacked my cock while lifting my legs. He massaged my balls with his hand while probing my bum. I'd all but forgotten about the beautiful cock in my face. I began lapping at his cock, licking up all of his cock honey. He doubled his efforts on my cock, slurping it from root to tip. I knew exactly where this was going.