Best Wife Ever

After writing "Cheryl's Lament," I felt the need to write something a bit different, if for no other reason than to engage in a bit of "soul-cleansing." So this is not my typical fare. This is a story about a real "loving wife," so if you're looking for a scorched-earth BTB, this isn't it. Maybe next time...

Elements of this story are based on actual events and people. No, I won't say which ones. I'll let you speculate.

Many thanks to those who offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories. For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper...

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (And yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

I guess at some point, every man who's ever been happily married, even for a short time, likes to think his is the "best wife ever." I really can say that, however. For 50 years, I was happily married to Wendy, and yes, she really was the best wife a man could ever want.

I say "was" because she's no longer among the living. A little less than a year ago, she was diagnosed with a rare non-Hodgkin's form of lymphoma, just the latest in a long line of medical issues that plagued her throughout her life.

They found that she had pockets of infection throughout her abdomen, mostly around her large intestine, and the doctor said she would need to undergo surgery in order to survive the rest of her chemo. It would be risky, but if all went well, the doctor said, she would be able to continue her chemo and recover from the cancer.

But all didn't go as planned. The infection had spread farther than they first realized, and they had to do much more than remove some of her large intestine. They did everything they could, but she never survived the operation.

I was devastated when they gave me the news, but we both knew going into this that there was a chance she might not make it. We also knew there was no chance of her surviving without the surgery. So we decided to give it a shot.

I had just returned to our home from the funeral -- a sad affair, but one well attended, as everyone who knew her loved her dearly. I sat in my recliner and pulled out our photo album, thinking about the life we shared.

It may sound strange, but I met Wendy before I met my first wife, Marcy. It was 1967 and I had just been assigned to my unit at Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, in southern California. My MOS, or occupational specialty, was 0311, Infantry. One of the guys in my unit set me up with a blind date so I decided to go -- after all, it sure beat the hell out of sitting on base.

My buddy, Tony, had originally set me up with Wendy's friend, Pat. It turned out, however, that Tony and Pat got along pretty well, so he ended up with her while Wendy and I got to know each other. I was instantly struck by her long blonde hair and pretty face. She had the biggest blue eyes I had ever seen and a smile that could launch a fleet of ships. I had always been a leg man, so her small breasts didn't bother me at all. In fact, I thought they fit her 5-foot 3-inch frame perfectly. But her legs... Oh my God, those legs were, as the kids today might say, to die for.

To say I was smitten would be the understatement of the year. We spent the evening getting to know each other and found we had a lot in common. Both of us were in the service, but where I was in the Marines, she was in the Navy, and worked at the Naval Hospital in Balboa as a corpsman -- the Navy's version of a medic. We both liked the same music, the same movies, and had lots of other interests in common as well.

Before the night was over, I knew that I was going to marry this woman. We dated for a few months but slowly drifted apart. She told me that she was worried we were getting too close, so we quit seeing each other on a regular basis. I was heartbroken at first, but eventually met Marcy, the girl who would become my first wife.

Was that ever a mistake! At first, Marcy was kind and sweet and fun to be with, but it seemed the moment we got married, the mask came off and I found myself waking up next to the Shrew From Hell. We weren't even married a whole year before I caught her in bed with some guy she went to high school with.

My unit was in the field, undergoing training, and we were scheduled to be gone for a full week, but we wrapped it up a day early. I was looking forward to getting home to surprise Marcy, but I was the one who got surprised.

I could hear them the instant I walked into the small apartment we shared off base. I went into the bedroom to see some skinny, long-haired, scraggly-looking maggot between her legs pounding for all he was worth. I was filled with rage and proceeded to kick his ass all over the apartment before tossing him out the door.

Marcy cringed under the covers as I came back into the bedroom for her.

"Please, Jeff, don't hit me," she begged. I shook my head. I was raised never to hit a woman, and I wasn't about to now, even though I felt like putting my fist through her cheating face. I pulled down a couple of suitcases and tossed them on the bed.

"Get out," I told her. "Just pack your fucking trash and get the fuck out. NOW!" She packed her stuff while I grabbed a beer and waited. When she finished, she came out into the living room, where I sat.

"I'm sorry," she said. I never said a word, but pointed at the door. She called her parents, and they came to pick her up. Her father was also a Marine and I told him what I walked into. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Jeff," he said. "I thought we raised her better than that." They took her away and I never saw her again, thankfully. The next day, I filed for divorce. I was surprised that she agreed to my terms and our marriage became yet another statistic.

A couple months after I filed for divorce, my unit was deployed to Vietnam, just in time for the February 1969 Tet offensive. I'd like to say I beat them all back with the jawbone of an ass, but I can't. Truth be told, I was the one who got beaten. An enemy bullet tore through my upper left leg and another hit me in the abdomen.

They managed to save my leg, but told me I would be in physical therapy for some time. I also ended up going through several surgeries to fix the damage to my gut. Eventually, I was shipped stateside and ended up at Balboa Naval Hospital.

A day after I arrived, I woke up to find Wendy standing over me. At first, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. I'll never forget her first words to me.

"What are you doing in my hospital, Jeff Hammond?" she asked with a smile. "Is this a ploy to get me to go out with you or something?"

"Can't blame a guy for trying," I said. I looked and saw she had two chevrons on her white uniform, making her a Petty Officer, Second Class. "I see you made Second Class," I said. She nodded her head.

"Yup," she said. "And if I'm not mistaken, that means I outrank you, Corporal." I smiled.

"For now," I said. I noticed she didn't have a wedding band and a big part of me was glad. "How are things with you? Have you met someone yet?"

"Nope," she said. "I guess you kinda ruined me for anyone else," she said with a smile. "Now, Corporal, you need to get your rest. I hear they're going to start your physical therapy before too long."

"Will I see you again?" I asked. She gave me a sly smile before answering.

"You'd better believe it, Marine," she said. "I'm going to be watching you like a hawk." I couldn't help myself and flashed a big shit-eating grin. That was the best news I had heard in a long time. She looked around for a moment, then slyly kissed me on the cheek. "Take care of yourself," she said. "I'll check on you later."

She kept her word and came by about the time my dinner was brought into my room. Her shift had just ended, she said, and she wanted to see me before she left for home. We sat and talked as we both picked at the dinner on my tray. After she asked, I told her about my failed marriage to Marcy. She listened in silence, then took my head in her hands.

"She was a fool and an idiot," she said. "You deserve much better than that." We talked until she was told that visiting hours were over. I stopped her before she left the room.

"You know, I thought about you an awful lot over there in 'Nam," I said. She looked at me for a moment, sadness on her face.

"I've thought about you almost non-stop since our last date," she said. "Maybe if I hadn't pushed you away," she began, before her eyes filled with tears. Wiping her eyes, she ran out of the room. What was that all about, I wondered. Surely she didn't blame herself for me being wounded?

I saw a lot of her for the next six months. She came by my room at least twice a day to check up on me -- even on the days she was off-duty. Many was the time she would take outside in a wheelchair so I could enjoy a smoke. We spent hours talking about one thing or another. When she was off-duty, she would wear her shorts, knowing how much I enjoyed looking at her legs.

As time went on, I knew I was in love with her and there was no denying it. I could tell she felt the same way, but something was holding her back. I decided to press the issue. One day, while we were outside, I told her how I felt. Tears filled her eyes as she spoke.

"Oh, Jeff, I love you, too," she said.

"Then let's get married," I said. She looked down for a moment before saying anything.

"But, you don't understand," she said.

"What?" I asked. "Is there someone else?" She shook her head.

"No, there never has been," she told me.

"I don't understand," I said.

"I can't have children," she said. She explained that she was diagnosed with Turner Syndrome, a condition I later learned affects about 1 in 2,000 women born in the United States. This explained her relatively short stature and, she said, affected her ovaries, meaning she could never conceive a child. Worse yet, she said, there's no cure.

I could tell this bothered her, but I reassured her that my love for her wasn't based on any ability to have children. She cried as I held her tight.

"But you deserve a complete woman, someone who can give you children," she said. I held her face in my hands and looked her in the eyes.

"You ARE a complete woman," I said. "When the time comes, we can adopt," I told her. "There's lots of kids out there who needs a good mother. Hey, look at me. I was adopted, and I turned out alright." She smiled.

"Seriously?" she asked. "You were adopted?"

"Yeah," I said. "My birth parents were killed in a car accident when I was just six. My aunt and uncle took me in and adopted me as their own."

"You mean, you'd let us adopt a child?" she asked.

"Maybe two children," I said. "Who knows?" She smiled as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

"I love you, Jeff Hammond," she said.

"I love you too, Wendy," I said. "Now, will you marry me?"

"Hell yes," she said, smothering my face with kisses. "I'll be the best wife a man could ever want." After a few minutes of intense tongue-wrestling, I looked her in the eyes.

"Just curious, is this why you didn't want to date me before?" I asked. She looked at me, tears in her eyes.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "I was afraid you'd hate me if you knew the truth."

"I could never hate you," I told her. "The truth is, I loved you the moment I first laid eyes on you."

"Really?" she asked.

"Really," I said. "In fact, I knew then we would get married." She wrapped her arms around me and kissed me some more.

"I felt the same thing myself," she said. "I was just too scared at the time. By the way, you should also know that I'm still a virgin." That shocked me. I figured a woman who looked as good as her would have men banging her door down. Excuse me, that should've been "hatch." She was Navy, after all...

"Seriously?" I asked. She nodded her head.

"Yup," she said. "I promised my parents before they died that I would save myself for my husband. And that's exactly what I did."

"Wow," I said. "Are you upset that I'm not a virgin?"

"No, silly," she said. "You'll just have to promise to go easy on me on our wedding night." I smiled at her before answering.

"I promise," I said.

I finally got to the point where the service felt I could get around okay, so long as I used a cane and didn't put too much weight or pressure on my damaged left leg. I lost a few pieces from my abdomen, but the scars had healed and there was no other damage.

In its infinite wisdom, the Marine Corps determined that since I was medically unfit to serve in combat, I would be given a medical discharge under honorable conditions, which meant I would receive a small stipend every month.

Wendy and I discussed it and she offered to let me stay in her apartment since her latest room mate left, having been transferred to another duty station. Not wanting to be away from her for even a day, I accepted. Besides, we were set to be married in January 1970, which was just a few months away.

So I moved in with her and stayed in the second bedroom, the one her former room mate had used. Wendy was adamant that we were not to sleep together until we were married. It was hard, as I longed so much to make love to her, but I respected her wishes.

Things were tight -- after all, I wasn't getting anywhere near what I used to make -- but Wendy proved to be quite well organized and she somehow managed to make it work. All she asked from me was a little bit to help cover the utilities. I was more than happy to do that for her.

I contacted my folks in Wichita Falls, Texas, and gave them the news. They were thrilled to hear that Wendy and I were going to be married and promised to come out. Dad suggested that I needed a new truck, since my old one had a manual transmission. I told him I couldn't afford the payments for a new one, but he wouldn't hear any argument.

"Call it a wedding present," he said. "We'll use it to bring all your stuff out and we'll fly back." He also suggested I call the local bank where I had a savings account and arranged to have some of those funds transferred to California.

When I was married to Marcy, we had an account with the credit union on base, but closed the account and divided it up when we divorced. I opened a new account with a civilian bank in town, using my half of the money, and still had funds sitting there, since that's where my checks had been deposited. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't much, but with the cash I had sitting in Texas, it would certainly help get us over the hump.

I knew I couldn't stay in Wendy's apartment all day doing nothing and wanted -- no, NEEDED -- something that paid actual money. Wendy, however, said I should use the time to check out the local colleges and get my degree, using my GI Bill. Since I didn't have a car, she let me use hers, provided I took her to work and picked her up. Fortunately, her car was an automatic.

I checked out the local colleges and after discussing it with Wendy, decided to go for an engineering degree. Classes would begin about three weeks after our wedding, so that worked perfectly. I made the arrangements with the VA, filed the necessary paperwork, and it was a done deal.

We got married in a small ceremony in a chapel close to where Wendy worked. Many of her colleagues came out to wish us well, as did my parents, who fell in love with Wendy. My dad had arranged for us to stay at a nice hotel in Las Vegas for our honeymoon, so after the wedding, we were off.

I'd like to say that we screwed like rabbits on our wedding night, but we didn't. There was no doubt in my mind that first night that Wendy was a virgin -- that was something new for me, but I certainly didn't complain. I also learned that the key to sex with Wendy was foreplay and oral stimulation -- lots of it. And I was certainly up to the task.

It also helped that her doctor had put her on hormones. It was slow going at first, and I had to learn to be patient, but it was certainly worth it. Once she got warmed up and started lubricating, it was "Katy bar the door."

She surprised me when she attempted to give me a blowjob. She had never done it before, and it showed. Not that I complained, mind you. What she lacked in experience, she more than made up for in enthusiasm. She promised that she would get better at it -- and did she ever!

Wendy discovered -- much to my delight -- that she preferred to be on top. That way, she could control how much she could take at one time. I enjoyed it for several reasons -- the first being that my left leg was still a bit weak and couldn't take very much weight for any length of time. The second being that I loved watching her petite frame bounce naked on my stiff dick. And I could play with her B-cup breasts as she rode me.

We enjoyed our time in Vegas, and came back happy and ready to start our new lives together. The first four years weren't easy, as money was fairly tight, but Wendy was able to make every dollar stretch and we always made it from month to month. She re-enlisted in late 1970 for four more years to give me time to finish college. In her mind, it was an investment in both of our lives.

She also turned the old guest room into an office where I could study in relative peace and quiet. Somehow, she scraped up enough money to buy an old desk and some bookshelves from a local thrift store. Then, she had them delivered to the apartment and refinished them so they matched. When she finished, they looked like she had spent a small fortune. I still have that desk and those bookcases, and they look as good now as when she first got them.

Many evenings, as I sat and studied in my "office," Wendy would entertain us both by playing her piano or her violin. I loved listening to her play, and would sometimes pull out my grandfather's old guitar or my mountain dulcimer and play along with her. We were never really that good, but we had fun anyway, and the musical breaks often turned into foreplay, which inevitably turned into romantic interludes in the master bedroom.

During those early years, we made sure to save enough money to go out on a date at least twice a month. It was during one of those outings that I got a glimpse at another side of my wife. I always thought that Wendy was the most beautiful girl around. Apparently, I learned, so did a few other men, some of whom worked at the same hospital she did. One of them happened to be at a club Wendy and I sometimes liked to frequent.

With my leg in the shape it was, I wasn't able to dance for very long at any one time, and even then, all I could do were slow dances. Forget that hopping around stuff -- it just wasn't going to happen. Wendy, on the other hand, liked to dance fast, and was often asked to dance by other guys in the club. She always asked my permission first, and I usually let her after giving the fellow asking her the once over.

I also kept an eye on what he was doing as they danced. I trusted Wendy, but I didn't trust some of the guys who asked her on the dance floor. One night, this guy came to our table and started chatting my wife up without so much as a "by your leave" to me. Wendy recognized the slight and introduced him to me, letting him know I was her husband.

"Good to meet you," he said nervously as he shook my hand. "So, you mind if I have a dance with your wife?" I looked at Wendy and could tell she wanted to dance, so I nodded my head. As they danced, I saw him try to reach for her several times, but she backed away from him.

I took a sip of my beer and that's when I heard the commotion from the dance floor. I looked up and saw him on the floor, looking up at her. She stood over him, furious. The others around them stopped to watch what transpired between them. I grabbed my cane and headed over to them.