How the Coronavirus Changed My Life

Once upon a time, back when the word Corona only elicited thoughts of a beer with lime, there was an older man in his late fifties. His name was Tom. He was a good husband and the father of three grown kids. Tom and his wife Grace lived in a nice neighborhood in a nice town. Both had good-paying jobs, he as a part-time consulting engineer working mostly from home, and she as a scrub nurse. They laughed together, hiked together, cuddled together, and slept together. What they no longer did together was have sex. She simply didn't want to, claiming it was uncomfortable for her. Giving or receiving oral sex was also a big no-no for her -- she thought it was dirty. As one might imagine, Tom was rather frustrated by this state of affairs. Porn, Second Life, and Literotica provided some relief, but he usually released his sexual tension by fantasizing about his wife's friend Cathy.

Cathy and her husband Chris lived nearby in a much nicer house in the same neighborhood. Chris was Cathy's second husband. He was a urologist. Tom didn't like him, and was never quite sure what Cathy saw in him. They were obviously well-off based on their house, cars, and Cathy's extensive wardrobe of expensive clothes and accessories.

All Tom knew about Cathy's first husband was that he had left her and their ten-year old daughter for his much younger assistant and moved back to China. Cathy's daughter had taken a job working for her father in Shanghai after graduating from Cornell. Cathy and Chris had moved to the area soon after they got married.

Grace and Cathy had a lot in common. Both of them grew up in China. Both were scrub nurses, although they worked at different hospitals. At 52, Grace was four years older than Cathy. But the two ladies didn't have everything in common. Cathy was a runner and a yoga devotee. Her body would be the envy of a woman twenty years her junior. She had jet black shoulder-length hair. Dyed, according to Grace, but sexy as hell according to Tom. To top it all off, she had small perky breasts and an alluring thigh gap that she proudly showed off in the yoga pants she often wore.

Grace wasn't fat or unattractive, but she was anything but toned. Any thigh gap she might once have had was ancient history. Unlike Cathy, she wasn't turning anyone's head when she walked into the room. She kept her hair short, and she was adamantly opposed to doing anything about the increasing number of strands of grey. She dressed for comfort, not style, and the tallest shoe heel she had was an inch.

Cathy's custom-built closet was four times the size of Grace's. That closet was full of attractive outfits and accessories, and from formal event to working in the garden Cathy always dressed to impress. She had a large collection of shoes, and had this sexy way of dangling her red-soled high heel shoes when she was sitting on a chair or couch at a party. All of the men in the room pretended not to notice.

Tom was deeply infatuated with Cathy. He saw her in social settings just often enough to keep her front and center in his mind. From time to time, he thought or imagined that Cathy was attracted to him. But Tom had a sensible streak. He wasn't prepared to risk blowing up his otherwise-pleasant life by openly declaring himself to her. He consciously limited himself to mildly flirtatious comments, lingering hugs, "inadvertent" touches, and paying extra attention to Cathy when they were together. And to frequently jerking off to his collection of dozens of photographs of her.

And so it was and so it would likely have continued until one day a new virus came forth from either a bat or a lab and changed the world....

Grace was washing fresh-picked vegetables from the garden when her phone rang. She called out to me. "Tom, can you look and see who's calling? My hands are wet."

I put down my Kindle, and reached for her phone. The caller ID showed it was Cathy. Seeing her picture on the phone gave me a little tingle of desire.

"It's Cathy," I said.

"Tell her I'll call her back."

I answered the phone. "Hi, Cathy. It's Tom. How are you?"

"Hi, Tom," she replied in a very subdued way. Her voice was lacking its normal rich sultry tone.

"You OK, Cathy?" I asked.

"Not really," she said. "I've been feeling lousy, and I've tested positive for Coronavirus."

"That's not good," I replied after a brief pause. Grace looked up from the sink as I said this.

"What's wrong?" she asked as she began to wipe her hands on a towel.

I beckoned Grace over as I told Cathy "You know I had it, right? It was an unpleasant week or so for me, but I'm fine now. I really hope it's mild for you. Here comes Grace. Hang in there, Cathy. Take care of yourself." With that I handed the phone to my wife. She pointed to the kitchen sink indicating that I should finish washing the vegetables.

"What's wrong Cathy? Do you have Coronavirus?" asked my wife.

After my wife went to work the next morning, I went to my computer and brought up my favorite picture of Cathy. I was surprised how upset I was with the fact that she was sick. I had caught the virus right at the beginning of the outbreak, a week before things started closing down. I figured it was the result of an enjoyable evening at a Florida strip club which culminated in a private dance session where the young lady let me suck, kiss, and fondle her breasts. In this particular club, breasts were a high touch surface. For me, having the virus had not been that big a deal. I was crossing my fingers Cathy would be OK.

I decided that I had a good excuse to text Cathy to see how she was doing. I had texted her occasionally over the years whenever I could concoct a plausible reason to do so. I was mainly hoping to start an ongoing conversation, but she had never struck at my conversational bait.

Tom: Good morning, Cathy. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do to help?

She didn't reply right away. I was afraid she might not reply at all. And then about thirty minutes later, my text alert sounded.

Cathy: Hi, Tom. I'm a little better this morning. My fever is down. Didn't sleep well because I was achy all over, so I'm tired.

Tom: I guess you're quarantined.

Cathy: Yup. Two weeks. Chris moved down to the basement guest room.

Tom: Go try and rest. Sleep is good for you. Remember I walk within a block of your house every day unless it's raining or snowing, so let me or Grace know if you need anything at all. Take really good care of yourself. Please.

Cathy: Thanks, Tom.

After our text exchange, I took my regular ninety-minute walk through the neighborhood and into the local state park. On the way back I took a different trail through the woods and emerged at the backyard of Cathy's house. I was quite tempted to go up to the house and knock on her door, but in the end I chickened out.

That evening, Grace called Cathy. They talked for a while. I was in my office working on a report, so I didn't really hear much of the conversation. After they hung up, Grace went into the kitchen. I wandered in a few minutes later, ostensibly to refill my glass of iced tea.

"Was that Cathy you were talking to? How's she doing?" I asked.

"She says she's getting better," said my wife. "I'm going to make them some food. She's not hungry, but is worried about feeding Chris without infecting him."

"Hasn't Chris heard about McDonalds drive-thru? Or take-out pizza? Can't he even make rice soup for her in an Instant Pot?" I answered with more feeling than I perhaps should have. I knew that rice soup is the Chinese magic go-to food when someone is sick.

My wife laughed. "Cathy says Chris has a hard time boiling water."

By bedtime, my wife had prepared some containers of food, including rice soup. She told me to bring them over to Cathy in the morning. Since I had been confirmed to have recovered from the virus, she wasn't concerned about me being exposed.

The next morning, I texted Cathy.

Tom: Good morning, Cathy. How are you feeling? Grace made some food for you guys. May I bring it over soon?

Cathy: Hi Tom. Grace told me she did. I'm feeling better. Why don't you just bring the stuff over and put it in the refrigerator. The side door is unlocked. You don't have to come upstairs.

Tom: I'll put the stuff in the refrigerator. But I'm coming up to check on you and make sure you have everything you need. I'm not taking no for an answer. No visit, no food.

Cathy: But I look like a mess.

Tom: My guess is you've never looked like a mess in your life. See you soon.

After that, I went upstairs and put on a collared shirt instead of a T-shirt, brushed my teeth, and combed my hair. Looking good is a relative thing of course, but I wanted to look as nice as I could. I put on a backpack I had prepared early that morning. I gathered up the food containers in a large insulated bag and headed over to Cathy's. I entered the house via the side door which opened into a mud room adjacent to the kitchen.

"Hey, Cathy! It's Tom," I yelled as I entered the kitchen. "I'll be up in a minute after I put the food away."

I managed to rearrange things so I could fit all of the containers in the refrigerator, washed my hands, left my backpack on the kitchen counter, and headed upstairs.

Cathy was in the master bedroom, propped up in bed with some pillows with her legs covered by a blanket.

"Hi there, pretty lady. How are you doing?" I said as I stood in the doorway. She had said that she was a mess. She wasn't.

Cathy gave me a little smile. "I've been better." She coughed a couple of times.

I took the liberty of playing doctor. I walked to the bed and put my hand on her forehead. Maybe a little warm, but not burning hot. "How's your sense of smell? I completely lost mine for two weeks when I had it," I said.

"Can't smell a thing," she said.

"Have you eaten anything today?" I asked.

"No. Not hungry."

"You need to eat. You might not want to eat. But you have to eat anyway. I'll go

heat up some rice soup, and I'll make sure you finish it, and then sit here and keep you company until you're ready to take a nap."

"Yes sir," she said with a smile.

It didn't take long to heat up a bowl of soup in the microwave. I couldn't find a tray, so I improvised with a dinner plate. I carefully navigated my way upstairs with it.

"Do you have a bed tray or something?" I asked.

"I'll sit at my desk over there. I'm not a complete invalid you know."

"You're not ready to run another 10K race either," I said as I moved a magazine out of the way and put her soup on the desk.

Cathy slowly made her way to the desk. She was dressed in pink silk pajamas. They looked good on her. I tried unsuccessfully not to stare at her nipples pressing against the pajama top. I sat on the bench at the foot of the bed as she settled in to eat. I admired her in profile view as she took a spoonful.

"How does it taste?" I asked.

"I can't taste it. It's just warm liquid with stuff in it," she replied.

"Eat it anyway. You need your strength. It's not like you have any fat as a reserve food supply."

"Yes sir," she said again.

"So what else do you need? Bottled water? Should I make you a pot of tea?"

"If you could go downstairs into the office next to the front door and get my Kindle charger, that would be great. It's plugged into a power strip on the floor," she replied.

"OK? Anything else?"

"Would you carry the laundry basket downstairs for me? It's in the bathroom. Just put it in the laundry room off the kitchen."

"I can do better than that. How about I start the laundry for you?" I said.

Cathy smiled at me. "That would be lovely. I forgot you're the laundry person at your house. Chris doesn't do laundry."

"Eat your soup and I'll go find the charger."

I grabbed the basket and headed downstairs. I had had the grand tour of the house, so I knew where everything was. I went into the laundry room. I started to go through the basket to separate out the whites. And then I struck gold. I found a pair of her panties. Aquamarine blue. Lo-cut and lacy of course. I brought them to my face, and inhaled deeply letting the scent of her fill my nostrils and my mind. It took a lot of will power to keep from jerking off right there.

Reluctantly, I put the panties aside and got the wash load started. Then I rummaged around in the kitchen until I found a medium Zip-Lock bag. I wanted to preserve her scent. After putting the panties in the bag and the bag in my backpack, I went into the office and grabbed the charger and slowly headed upstairs, giving my erection time to subside. I checked to be sure there was no telltale wet spot on my pants.

"How are we doing on that soup?" I asked as I reentered the bedroom.

"Almost done," she said.

"Good girl," I replied. "Here's the charger. Where's the Kindle?"

"On the bed stand."

I plugged in the charger, connected it to the Kindle, and came back and watched her finish her soup. She didn't seem to mind that my eyes were locked onto her. She took a last spoonful, wiped her lips with a napkin, and stifled a yawn. The yawn became a burp.

"I guess you liked it," I said with a smile. "Ready for a nap?"

"In a minute. How long did it take you to recover, Tom?"

"About a week after symptoms started. It was slowly downhill for about three days, and then maybe four days until I felt 100% again," I replied as I began gathering up the bowl and plate from her meal. "Don't mess around, young lady. You're a nurse. You know better. Take it seriously and get some rest."

"OK." Cathy got up from the chair and seemed to wobble a little. I put down the dishes and took her arm to steady her. I guided her to the bed and she sat on the edge of it. I liked being close to her like this, despite the circumstances. She gently disengaged her arm from my hand.

"I'm good, Tom. Go on home. I'll text you if I need anything."

"I'll go downstairs, clean up, switch laundry loads, and bring you a pot of tea. Close your eyes and go to sleep."

Cathy smiled, rearranged the pillows, and slid under the covers. "Oh, one more thing, Tom. My laptop computer disk is full. You're a computer expert. Can you figure out how to free up more disk space?"

"Sure. I'll take a look. Where's the computer? I might need to reboot it, so you'll need to stay awake long enough to enter your password," I answered.

"The password is Pw123456. The computer is in the office. Mine is the silver one. Chris's is the black one connected to a large monitor."

I gave her a stern look. "You're kidding, right? That's not a password, that's an invitation. When you're better, remind me to give you a long, boring cybersecurity lecture. Should I bring it up when I'm done?"

"No. I'll go down later."

I gathered up the dishes and took them downstairs, leaving the bedroom door ajar. It took ten minutes or so to find the tea and the teapot, and boil some water. I brought the teapot and a cup upstairs and put them on her desk. She was fast asleep. I quietly headed back downstairs.

I had hoped to get access to her computer and perhaps find more photos of her. I had brought a bootable USB stick with the notion of booting into Linux and imaging her computer drive, but this was going to be much quicker and easier. Once in their office, I took a 1 TB USB portable drive from my backpack and plugged it in to her laptop. There were lots of photo files in her home directory tree. There were some videos too. I typed in a simple batch script to copy all file extensions that could be photos or videos to my USB drive. I didn't stop to look at any of the pictures -- that could wait until later. I let Windows do the work of cleaning up temporary files and defragmenting the disk, and then I manually moved some large video files from the C: drive to the D: drive. Once the copying was finished, I dismounted my USB drive.

The thought occurred to me that Chris might have pictures of Cathy on his computer. I hit the space bar on Chris's computer. I guess he wasn't big on cybersecurity either, as he was still logged in, and I didn't need to reenter his password. His browser session was iconified. I opened the browser. The weather tab was active. Other tabs were medical journals and news. On a whim, I looked at his browsing history.

I was more than a little shocked. Chris was apparently a big fan of CD and TS porn websites. I didn't bother to click through and bring up the pages. The page titles said enough. I felt really pissed off. This guy was married to the hottest woman I know in real life, and he wanted to look at chicks with dicks? I decided to copy his entire home directory to my USB disk using command line tools. I was very curious. The copy was going to take twenty minutes or so. I put the first load of laundry in the dryer, ran the second load of wash, and went up to check on Cathy. She was still sound asleep. I looked at her through the doorway, and had a compelling urge to go to her. I looked down at her for what seemed like a long time. Then I bent down, softly kissed her forehead, and headed back downstairs.

The disk copy was done. I closed the command window and browser, unmounted my drive, put the computer back to sleep, and left things just as they had been. I put my USB drive in my backpack and headed out the side door to walk through the park.

Once I got home, I texted both Chris and my wife to let them know that Cathy was sleeping and would not starve to death. I texted Cathy to remind her not to forget about the laundry. And then I took out her panties.

They were soft, sexy, and fragrant. Nothing like the plain Walmart cotton ones my wife wore. Her scent made me hard in a moment. I imagined my face buried between her legs as I stroked myself to a quick orgasm. After that, I took a long hot shower and washed my clothes to reduce the risk of getting Grace infected.

I spent the rest of the afternoon working on some software mods for a European customer. The beauty of working part time from home is that you can mostly work on your own schedule.

I was engrossed in the work when the garage door opened as Grace arrived home.

I met her at the door as I always do. Our days and nights of frequent sex might simply be memories now, but she was my wife, and I still loved her.

"Hi," I said as she opened the car door. "What's new?"

"Nothing. SSDD." she replied with a grin. "What's for dinner?"

I grilled some Costco seasoned chicken wings, and paired them with garden-fresh salad and wine. Over dinner, we talked about Cathy.

"How was she looking?" asked my wife. I was tempted to answer "Sick but still sexy" but left off the "but still sexy" part. "She ate your soup, but said she couldn't taste it."

"I'll call her while you do the dishes."

They were finished talking before I finished the dishes. I sat down next to Grace when I was done. "How's she doing?" I asked.

"She's feeling better. Slept a lot today. Her fever's gone. She said to thank you for coming over this morning. Chris is not home yet, but he should be soon."

As soon as my wife left for work the next morning, I hooked up my USB drive and started looking at Cathy's photos. Lots of vacation shots of grand vistas and such, of course. But there were a quite a few nice pictures of her. I had never seen her in a bathing suit. She looked good in a bathing suit. Very good. The collection of pictures on my computer grew substantially larger. After all, variety is the spice of life.

I texted Cathy.

Tom: How are you this morning?

She answered right away.

Cathy: Better. A slight cough but that's it.

Tom: I'm headed out for my walk. I'll stop over.