Did She, or Didn't She? Ch. 02

Preamble: One of the things I like about the Loving Wives rubric is the number of comments a story engenders. There's an especially large number of comments if the story is not popular. My recent story, "Did She, or Didn't She?" seemed to be (almost) universally disliked. Here are three of the recent comments (as I write this):

**

Anonymous

There's more mileage to come from this story JBEdwards so finish it

.

RanDog025

Damn, lowest score I've seen in years! That Bad, huh? Think I'll pass on it.

Anonymous

Stupid?

What rock do you live under to not know about DNA tests. Duh....

Hahaha

**

The DNA comment was especially frequent. So ... I'm doubling down. Here is some more of the story. For the many commenters who suggested DNA testing, and ask what rock I lived under, let me say that the rock I live under is one of my own making. Forgive me, but all that I know about DNA testing for paternity comes from watching reruns of the television show Law and Order. I'm sure some of the readers have better expertise!

**

It's now two years since the birth of our sweet daughter Hazel, and my wife Melissa is talking about having a second child. This is a problem because, as Melissa now knows, I have a low sperm count and it's not obvious I could get any woman pregnant. It was a miracle that I knocked up Melissa the first time, but I did: I secretly got a DNA test and little Hazel is my biological daughter, and she is sweetness incarnate.

I felt sure Melissa had cheated on me. I had an arduous commute between Central Indiana and Southern Wisconsin, every single bleeping week, and Melissa would be lonely, I suppose. Melissa is, after all, when all is said and done, a highly sexual person. She is a party animal. Even if she did cheat, however, it was nevertheless I who fathered our child, if DNA is to be trusted, and of course it is.

Now I have the good fortune to have my old job back, in Central Indiana, and Melissa and I live together. I got a raise, too, so all is good. Now that I live with Melissa again, I don't worry about her cheating. I go with her to all parties, and if she gets rip roaring drunk and she's molested a little by other men, I'm right there, keeping an eye on things. Even drunk as a skunk, Melissa stops the men if they get too fresh. Sometimes a guy will get her boobs out, but nobody ever gets farther than that. As her hairdresser, confidante, and best friend Brandy says, everyone has seen Melissa's boobs already, anyway.

Due to my fertility problems, I'm back to using all those little tricks, including dietary supplements (Fenugreek, Vitamin D, Ashwaganda, etc.), and fucking Melissa all the time. Melissa makes it fun. For example, she once greeted me when I got home from work in only a bra and panties, and whenever I got close to her she ran away. I finally caught her in the backyard and then we did it there, in full view of the neighbors (from their upstairs floors). It was my first time making love outside, and I enjoyed it. Melissa was hyper noisy, gasping, groaning, and moaning, as if she actually wanted the neighbors to notice us.

The next month, during her fertile period, she greeted me when I came home from work. She was wearing high heels, hold up stockings, and nothing else. That time she made me wait until after dinner to enjoy her body the way a husband likes to do. I barely tasted the food, even though she made roast beef with roast potatoes, and roasted asparagus. The wine was a French Beaujolais, and we had chocolate mousse for dessert, with ground Viagra on the top of it.

The Viagra did its job. I don't think it was needed, but it sure didn't hurt! When I entered Melissa, she felt different somehow. I wondered right then if she had cheated on me that very afternoon? Was another man going to father our second child? Was all of this -- admittedly fantastic and hugely enjoyable -- seduction, designed simply for me to believe I was fathering her second child? I began to wonder about the DNA tests regarding Hazel, our first child!

After all, I knew it was a miracle that I got Melissa pregnant, due to the lack of swimming talent of my sperm, and the lack of quantity of them, too. Seminal fluid I made in abundance; it just didn't contain a lot of sperm. Of course, you only need one overachieving sperm to reach one of Melissa's eggs, hence the possibility of good old-fashioned husband-induced pregnancy.

After all, if my chances of knocking up Melissa with a single fuck, during her fertility period, were one in 500 as the doctor had once said, and if I fucked her 500 times, wouldn't the expected number of pregnancies be one? That's the way Melissa phrased it, and so I fucked her at least three times a day for five days during her fertility period. In reality, we did that every single week, fertility period or not; menses, or not! That came to an average of 67 times a month, so if we did this for ten months straight, that would be 670 times, well beyond the 500 times!

I clung to that.

**

"Your brother Tony called while you were at work," Melissa said, over dinner. "He's coming to town and wants to stay with us. I said I'd ask you, but I was sure it was okay, since he's family and all. Shall we invite him to dinner tomorrow?"

I didn't like Tony that much, but as Melissa said, he was family, my own family, even, and he was going to stay with us, so, "Sure," I replied. "Is he in town for long?"

"Just a few days," Melissa said. He ended up staying with us in the guest bedroom for the three days.

Dinner was fine. Tony and I avoided two key subjects: politics and football, so we got along fairly well. Instead we talked about bland things, and when the conversation dragged, Hazel would pipe up with something cute. One of Tony's best features is that he is the world's most doting uncle. I never would have predicted that from his personality, as I understood it. It just goes to show a man that much as he would like to believe he knows and understands everything, sometimes he just doesn't. Tony became more likeable when he was around Hazel.

Part, and only a small part, of what I disliked about Tony was the way he almost drooled over Melissa, his own brother's wife, indeed, my wife. Melissa just brushed it off, with the occasional polite giggle, since she hated to make waves, especially when family was concerned. I never realized what a horn-dog Tony was, always trying to peak down Melissa's blouse, or grab a small, discreet feel of her ass.

I have a theory. It's that if two people have enjoyed sexual intimacy with each other, they don't look at each other the same way. There's a certain happy conspiratorial look that flashes between them. The Japanese understand it well, and you can see it reflected in their Manga comic books, where the woman has a sparkle in her eye, often portrayed as a little star, when she looks at her illicit lover.

Now, it's possible my theory is just a crock, and nothing at all ever went on between Tony and her, and maybe my imagination is running away with me, but I was sure I saw that sparkle, that little knowing flash, almost an ocular giggle, when Melissa and Tony would catch each other's eye.

I knew Tony would like nothing more than to lay Melissa, not because she is a delightful, always cheerful, totally without malice, luscious sexpot, but simply because she is my wife, his very own brother's wife. God got the commandment slightly wrong: Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's ass, should have been Thou shall not covet the ass of thy brother's wife.

So, I wondered. I couldn't help it, but I just wondered if some hanky-panky had gone on right in my own home, right under my nose? I wish I were not such a sound sleeper, but also, I am.

Tony generally wasn't that way when he was around other women, but there was something about my wife Melissa that seemed to bring out the lizard lounge in my brother. I even saw him once caress, squeeze, and pinch my little wife's (admittedly luscious) ass, when he thought I wasn't looking. I even think his hand was up under her mini skirt. Melissa did not react, preferring to act as though it hadn't happened. That was probably the smart thing for her to do, since Tony was, again, family. As for me, I continued the fiction that I hadn't seen it happen.

I didn't realize how tense Tony's visit had made me, until he left. A wave of relief washed over me. I even complimented Melissa, since she behaved admirably the three days Tony was a house guest. They were also the three most fertile days of Melissa's time of month, and she had to be quieter than normal when each night I would fuck her near to death in our bedroom, at least twice. Our young daughter Hazel, of course, slept through it all.

**

My paranoia resumed. I drove over to Indianapolis, to the DNA labs who had checked on the parenthood of little Hazel, our daughter. A man likes to believe the infrastructure of our country is trustworthy, especially in such a rock-ribbed state like Indiana. So much of what we do depends on trust. We order online and give away our credit card numbers. We trust what we order will turn out to be what we ordered, and not some cheap knockoff.

I spoke with the director of the lab, a Mr. Himmler, who seemed to be quite the boss. The man who had certified me as Hazel's father, a Mr. Heydrich, was on a "garden leave." I could tell he had left under a cloud. After some questioning, I further learned that he had been suspected of accepting bribes. They weren't bribes in the traditional form; no, they were bribes where he would agree to say what a woman wanted him to say on the DNA reports, if she would agree to sleep with him. It took me weeks to learn that little detail.

I had done the DNA tests of Hazel and me in secret, since the outright and open questioning of Melissa's fidelity to the point where I thought she might have let another man father our baby would have been setting off an explosion akin to the bomb over Hiroshima. I did know, after all, that Melissa uses a diaphragm when we're not trying to get her pregnant.

I had brought the reports with me. I showed them to Mr. Himmler. He first made me sign an NDA that I would neither sue nor publicly defame the company. I reluctantly signed the agreement. He told me that my DNA and little Hazel's DNA had an 80% match. I asked him what that meant? I showed him that the report had concluded I was the father.

"Well, you certainly could be the father, no question about that," Mr. Himmler said, "but we usually like a stronger match."

Himmler was nervous as he spoke. I knew there was more that he wasn't telling me.

"With an 80% match I doubt it could be one of my friends, right?" I asked.

"Right," he replied. He was determined not to be a fountain of information.

"So, who else could it be?" I asked. "Could it a family member?"

"I think you're the father. It's rather obvious, isn't it? Melissa is in fact your wife, isn't she? And you have sexual relations with her, don't you? And your daughter has an 80% match of her DNA with you, am I right?" Himmler said.

"My brother visited us recently. Here is a glass he drank from, with the remnants of the beverage still in it. Could you use it to test against the sample my wife provided, please? I'll pay," I said.

"It's quite irregular, you know. This is not a forensics lab like you see on TV," he said.

I added a Ben Franklin. "Try, please."

"It will take a little while," he said.

"Here's my confidential email. Send me the results when you have them, okay?" I asked.

Two weeks later I got the results for my brother. He was a 55% chance of being Hazel's father; a much smaller chance than I had. Better news rarely came! I decided that, as Melissa had always claimed, I am the father. The jury was still out on whether or not she had cheated, however.

I devoted my psychic energy to trying once again to knock up Melissa. I enjoyed the task thoroughly, and so too did Melissa. So far, there was no luck, and Thanksgiving was coming. Melissa so wanted to get knocked up before Thanksgiving, but it just wasn't happening.

**

This year we went to my parents for Thanksgiving. They had been complaining that we always went to Melissa's parents, and besides they wanted to play and to bond with little Hazel. Melissa tolerates my family, but she doesn't like them. She feels they have never approved of her, and she's right. She wasn't a virgin when we married, and in fact, she was quite far away from being one. Put bluntly, my mother considered her a slut, who was nevertheless wearing white at the wedding.

"Who in all creation does the slut think she's kidding?" my mother had said quietly to a friend, at the wedding. We know this because Brandy, Melissa's hairdresser and best friend, overheard that nasty slur from my mother.

Despite my fears, and Melissa's grumbling about missing Thanksgiving with her own family, we all three of us had a great time. Hazel got to experience new levels of being spoiled. When the evening came, both my mother and I got amazingly tired and sleepy. We retired early, along with Hazel, leaving my brother Tony, my Dad, and of course my wife Melissa, all still up, drinking, carousing, and watching television.

I don't know what happened that night. Perhaps nothing, and in fact that's the most likely outcome. However, a couple of weeks after returning home, Melissa missed her period. I knew that because we had champagne before dinner, and she once again made my favorite meal. It was her "I'm pregnant!" meal.

"Do I look different? Smell different? Can you tell?" Melissa asked.

"No, you look exactly the same. What's happened?"

"I missed my period. In a week or so I'll get one of those tests down at CVS," Melissa said, smiling from ear to ear. "I think all that Ashwaganda did the trick, my love. Congratulations, it looks like you knocked me up again! I so hope he's a boy and that he looks just like you!"

"How can you be so sure without a test?"

"A girl knows. This is my second time, after all. My body is sending signals that say, 'Hello, Melissa, you're pregnant.' I'm hoping the baby is a boy and if he is one, that he looks just like you!" Melissa repeated.

"Well, he might. You know how much I resemble my Dad. It's Tony who looks as if he comes from another planet," I replied. "Sometimes he acts like it, too."

"You know, I agree. Do you think your Mom cheated on your Dad, perhaps with a Martian, and someone else is Tony's father?" Melissa asked.

"My mother? No, I can't imagine her cheating on Dad. She adores him, just like you adore me," I said. I think I hit a nerve, because Melissa suddenly became silent and scurried about getting dinner ready, while quietly distracted, and lost in thought.

I too became lost in thought. Was I imagining it, or did Tony resemble his Uncle Tyler? I dug out some old pictures of Uncle Tyler when he was around Tony's age, and dammit, the resemblance was uncanny! That, of course, proved nothing, genes are weird and can express themselves at inopportune times, but it did give me pause.

If Mom had cheated with Uncle Tyler it would explain so very many things about my childhood! I had to admit, even if I already knew it, my wife is one smart cookie!

**

Melissa and I were at a party. Melissa was five months pregnant, and she had a nice baby bump, and she was off alcohol. We had a babysitter for Hazel, who was back home. With Melissa, being pregnant did not diminish her love of partying, however, and she was dancing with every male there, it seemed to me, and letting them molest her to the limits of propriety, and loving it.

As Melissa tripped the lights fantastic, Brandy and I watched from the sidelines. I took Brandy to a quiet bedroom. She looked questioning; her eyebrows were raised. Later I found out that that was the way she "did" her eyebrows. She looked gorgeous, and sexy as hell. She was also Melissa's confidante. The two of them were thick as thieves. They told each other everything. Absolutely everything. Speaking with Brandy was basically speaking to Melissa with a time delay.

"Do you like my tits?" Brandy asked. Brandy was braless, as she often is, and her blouse was diaphanous so I could see her boobs right through it, and I guess I was staring.

I was caught checking her out. "They're very pretty, Brandy. I've always admired your boobs," I confessed.

Brandy took off her blouse. "You can touch them, you know. They won't break," she said, and she giggled. "Do you like the rest of my body, too?" she asked, and she did a quick 360 for me. Lord help me, she is a gorgeous woman.

"Please remain dressed, Brandy. I'm a married man," I said. Brandy giggled,

"Why did you take me here, to this bedroom? What's a girl to think?" she asked, giving me her sexy, sultry look, and running her tongue over her top lip.

"Did Melissa teach you that seduction trick?" I asked.

"Which one? No matter, she and I taught each other everything," Brandy said.

"You're like two versions of the same person," I said.

"But I have better boobs," Brandy said, shaking her body a bit. "Oh, goody! You got a hard on, just from my boobs. And you're blushing! This is amazing. Melissa's going to love hearing about this!"

"Why would she love it?" I asked. Brandy just smiled.

"Brandy, I want to ask you a question, okay? It's important to me," I said.

"The answer is yes. Missionary or doggie style?" Brandy asked, and began to undress.

"Stop, Brandy. That's not the question I was going to ask you," I said.

"It's a good one though, right?" she said, and then her tongue caressed her upper lip again. "So if that's not the excellent question you sneaked me off to this very nice bedroom for, what is the question, stud?"

"Yes. Yes, it's an excellent question, but Brandy, why are you trying so blatantly to seduce me?"

"Melissa asked me to," she said.

"I don't believe you. Melissa would never ask you to do that. No woman would ask another woman to seduce her husband. Unless, of course, it's a kink sort of thing?"

"Look, she wants us to fuck. Why should you care why? I sure don't! I've wanted your body for years," Brandy said.

"First of all, I don't believe you about anything you've said, except that you want to fuck," I said.

"Well, it's all true. Okay, listen. Melissa knows you think she's cheated on you. We think if you cheat on her, you'll feel guilty, and stop this obsession about Melissa's fidelity. She hasn't cheated, you know," Brandy said.

"That is crazy logic," I said.

"So, what's your question, anyway?" Brandy asked.

"My question? Oh, yes. You're the only one I can ask. Has Melissa cheated on me?"

"What a disgusting question, and about your own wife who loves you! Melissa was right: You need to fuck someone, and who better than me?" Brandy replied.

"Nevertheless, has she?"

"You should ask your own wife those questions. You're pathetic."

"I have asked her," I said.

"And ... what did she say?"

"You don't know?"

"Of course I know. She told you the truth," Brandy said.

"Well, did she cheat?"

"Listen to yourself. You're like a broken record. If you think she's cheating, why don't

you try to catch her at it? You're pathetic."

"Answer me, Brandy! Did she?"

"Take your hands off me! ... Unless, of course, you want to fool around a little bit? Trust me, you'll love it. Nobody gives a man illicit sex like I do."

I dropped my hands from Brandy's neck and shoulders. I didn't know what had gotten into me.

"Tell you what," Brandy said. "Melissa says you're fantastic in the sack. Fuck my brains out, and I'll answer your cheating question, okay? Fair is fair. You'd better give me so many orgasms that my brains fall out. To protect my brains, let's get some cushions to distribute around, okay? Deal?"