tagLoving WivesMy Best Friend's Husband Ch. 01

My Best Friend's Husband Ch. 01


Dear Reader: The basic plot of this story was suggested to me by a guy with the nom de plume of BT Tap. I created the characters and put them into the situations that he suggested. Neither of us had any idea of how to get the characters out of these situations. Obviously I have put some of my own ideas into the story. Thank you BT for your suggested plot.


My name is Lois Barker and I owe a debt to my best friend, Trish Johnson − a debt that I can never repay. You see my husband Don developed lymphoma several years after we were married and the doctors said half the patients at his stage of disease could be cured. Don was in the wrong half! My best friend Trish spent many hours at my house helping Don in the last three tragic months of his life.

I still remember her saying, "Lois you go into the living room till I'm finished. You don't want to see him this way."

Then she went into his bedroom with towels and a basin of water and a clean set of pajamas. Every time I saw him he looked and smelled clean and well cared for.

The result of her loving care was that my husband died with dignity and my memories of his dying days were equally dignified. This is the kind of debt that you can never repay.

Don has been dead for over a year and I have not dated anyone. My younger brother Phil takes me out to dinner and to parties. Phil is twenty-three and conspicuously handsome. There are lovely gals standing in line for his attention and he tells me that it will be two years before he gets his travel agency in shape so he can afford to support a wife. Meanwhile, although he never says it, I think he's fucking his brains out.

I'm three years older than Phil and one gal who was dating him approached me aggressively in the ladies room of a restaurant where he was taking me to dinner.

Scowling at me she said, "You're too old for him!"

I laughed and replied, "I sure am honey. I'm his older sister and if he hears you talk to me that way you're history."

You never saw a bitch as apologetic as she was. But I get lots of frowns from gals who don't know me when they see me out with him.

Phil is handsome but he is also a sensitive person. I asked him what he thought I should do about dating. He gave me the most sensitive, caring answer I could have received.

"Do what you would want him to do if your situations were reversed," he said.

I thought about what I would want the man I loved to do if I had been the one who died and decided it was time to start dating again. But it was nowhere as easy as that. Scads of cute gals might pursue Phil but suitable men were hard to find. There were nerds, and guys who couldn't support a wife; there were old men who could but were not gonna last much longer; and, there were lecherous young men. Bottom line? Hard men are easy to find but good men are rare.

Trish was a very lucky girl. Art was the model husband. What I needed to find was a man just like him.

Phil had taken me to a Saturday night pool party at Trish and Art's place. It was a wild party and Trish was taking on more booze and grass than was good for her but everyone was having a good time when the phone rang and I saw Art talking very seriously to someone.

Then he apologized to everyone and quickly got dressed. It seemed that there had been a fire at his small manufacturing plant. Art had an expert staff that built specialized electronic devices for the Air Force − some of them highly secret.

No sooner had he left than one of the gals got sick and started throwing up and two of the wives bundled her in a blanket and drove her home. All of this put a damper on the party and people started wandering off. Phil took me home and drove off saying he was gonna go back and see if Art or Trish needed any help.

It was not until the next day that I heard what finally happened. Phil came by my house around noon with a solemn look on his face and I heard those words no one ever wants to hear.

"We've got to talk," he said.

Then he laid it on the line. It seems that after Art left and two wives took the sick gal home, Trish continued to drink and smoke grass. She may have sniffed a little of the white powder too. Anyway after all the other couples had gone home there were just three guys without wives and Trish. Her bikini came off and she swam in the nude. Then they wanted to go upstairs and she invited them up.

One guy declined the invitation and decided to go home. Phil met him in the driveway and found out what was going on. He went in the house quietly and when he got to the upstairs hall he heard Trish giggling. Looking in the door of the guest bedroom he saw two guys taking turns between her legs. It seemed to be a happy, laughing threesome.

Phil went back to his car and parked across the street. The two guys left a couple of hours later. Then Phil drove out to Art's factory and discovered that the fire had been put out and the damage was manageable. Then he went home.

"What do you think Art found when he got home," I asked.

"I have no idea," Phil said.

"That's not like Trish at all," I said, thinking of the caring way she'd helped me with Don.

"I'll go over there and see how she is."

When I got there an hour later Art answered the doorbell.

"Was there much damage from the fire?" I asked.

"Moderate but it's covered by insurance," he replied. "We'll be up and running in a few weeks."

"How's Trish? She looked pretty bad when I left."

He laughed and shook his head.

"This will teach her to watch how much she drinks. She's still in bed with a splitting headache."

Thank God I thought. He wouldn't be laughing if he knew what she did last night.

"Mind if I go up?" I asked.

"Go right ahead."

I found Trish in bed propped up on pillows, hair a mess, last night's make-up still on her face. And she had been crying. I sat down in a chair by the bed.

"You want to talk to me about it?" I asked.

"I need to talk and you are the only person I CAN talk to," she said, on the verge of tears. "You have no idea what I did last night."

"I know exactly what you did last night. What I don't know is WHY. Art is the most perfect husband I know. As good a man as MY husband was," I said, partly in anger and partly with concern.

She looked shocked and sat bolt upright in bed. "How the hell do you know?"

"Phil came back here last night after he took me home to see if everything was all right. He talked to the one guy who didn't want to fuck you and then went upstairs and watched you fuck the two guys that did."

"Oh my God!" Trish exclaimed and her tears flowed freely.

"I was out of it. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't realize until this morning that ... "

"That won't do Trish," I interrupted her. "In the first place you used the guest room not your bedroom. You didn't want hubby to notice wet spots in the bed. In the second place Phil heard you laughing and calling them by name. They weren't banging a helpless unconscious wife. In the third place I can see your douche bag hanging there in the bathroom. You cleaned yourself up afterward just in case. You knew exactly what you were doing."

She dropped her head, and then slowly looked up at me with an imploring expression. She needed help and I was the only person in the world who could help her now and I owed her so much. I'd do anything I could.

"Okay Trish let's look at this thing without pretending," I said. "First you loaded up on booze and grass and then you took a sniff of dust. Right?"

"Yeah I did," she said not looking me in the eye.

"When you started to get horny you figured your loving hubby would take care of you after the party so you kept right on smoking."

She nodded her head, "He always takes care of me."

"Then when Art left, instead of telling everybody good night and sending them home like you should have done, you kept partying and puffing."

"Yeah I did," she said softly.

"Because you were horny and wanted to fuck."

"Yeah," she said almost in a whisper.

"Then you got naked with three guys in the swimming pool and let them feel you up."

"I was drunk and stoned out of my gourd," she said plaintively. "I didn't know what I was doing."

"You knew exactly what you were doing. Then you invited them upstairs," I continued.

"I did not! One guy, I think it was Lenny, said we should go upstairs."

"What was Lenny wearing?"

She hung her head and mumbled, "He was naked."

"Did he have a hard on?" I asked.

She looked down and nodded her head slowly.

"Okay Trish. Standing there naked by the pool with a naked guy who had a hard on what do you remember thinking EXACTLY when Lenny suggested going upstairs?"

She shook her head no in a stubborn manner.

"ANSWER ME TRISH!" I shouted.

She closed her eyes and said slowly, "I remember thinking we were gonna have to use the guest bedroom."

"Use the guest bedroom to what?" I demanded.

Trish took a deep breath and let it out slowly almost like surrendering.

Then she said softly, "Use the guest bedroom to fuck."

"There it is Trish," I said. "All simple and straight. You knew exactly what you were doing. And the only reason you fucked two guys instead of three was that the third guy didn't want to fuck you. Right?"

She slowly nodded her head yes.

"Okay," I said. "We got your head straight so let's talk about what you're gonna do. First, you're NOT gonna tell Art. Art is a decent man. He'd have bad feelings if he found out he was married to a whore. He might not be able to take it."

Trish nodded her head and seemed to collect herself a bit.

"Second," I continued. "You need to think ahead Trish, about what you're gonna say if Art hears rumors about this thing. You're gonna tell the truth − well mostly. You're gonna tell him that you were so stoned you lost control. You and I know you got horny and wanted to fuck but Art is a decent man and he wouldn't deal very well with the truth about that."

Trish looked down at the bed covers and said softly, "No he wouldn't deal well with the truth about that."

"Except for that one lie everything else you tell him MUST be the truth − because if you get caught in one lie, even a tiny little lie, he'll be gone in an instant. You might get away with this if you tell the truth. Are we clear on that?"

Trish wiped away her tears and sniffled a bit before she said, "I'm all clear. Thank you Lois. You're right about everything."

I didn't see Trish again for almost a week and when I did she looked well. I was with Phil and she was quite embarrassed because he knew the truth about that night, but she handled it well. A week later she called me and I could tell she was obviously very upset. She came over to my place.

"It's Art," she said as she came in the front door. "Something's very wrong with him."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Yesterday Art came home from work and seemed depressed. I asked if something was wrong and he said no. I asked about the repair work on his building and he brushed off my question. We had a nice dinner and some drinks and when we went to bed I tried to get him to fuck me but he wouldn't do it. Said he wasn't feeling well. He KNOWS something Lois. I'm sure he does."

"Let me make a call," I said.

I pushed the speed dial on my cell for Phil's number and he answered right away.

"Can you talk?" I asked.

He said he could.

"Have you heard any rumors? You know what I'm talking about."

It was short and sweet. Lenny had been bragging about fucking Art's wife and the word was out. Nobody believed him but the story got repeated.

"What about the third guy? Rich I think you said."

"Rich is not talking," Phil answered. "In fact he says he doesn't remember anything about swimming naked. But he says he left early."

"What's the bottom line?" I asked.

"Most people think Lenny is blowing off steam. Nothing to the story they think."

"Thanks Phil," I said and hung up.

I shared with Trish what Phil had said.

"Let's wait and see," I said. "We have no other choice."

Trish still wasn't sure but I was glad I talked with her. I was headed out on a two week singles cruise to the Caribbean. I was getting serious about meeting some single guys.

I wasted my money! If I had been forty-six or fifty-six instead of twenty-six I would have had a field day. The guys my age were nerds or studs looking to get laid. Every time I got to a port with phone service I had messages from Trish telling me she needed to talk.

When I got back and saw Trish the news was not good. Art tried to fuck her and he was impotent! Shit! This was serious. He was seeing a psychiatrist.

"He knows! I tell you he knows," she said.

Clearly Art was depressed and it was killing his sex life. Trish asked me if she should tell him about what happened and tell him how sorry she was. I didn't want to be responsible for THAT decision. I suggested she talk to his psychiatrist. She did and was told that a confession and apology might help but there was no guarantee. It might even make things worse.

Trish and I talked and I did not offer an opinion either way. Art's impotence persisted and when he was still impotent after almost two months Trish decided to confess and apologize.

I was visiting Mom the weekend Trish told him. Monday after I got back she came to see me. She was in tears when she came to my house to tell me about it.

"What did he say when you told him?" I asked.

"He'd heard the rumors and thought they might be true," she said. "Then he thanked me for telling him the truth. Then he offered me his forgiveness and said anyone can make a mistake when they are drunk and stoned. And I felt like a SLUT! A filthy slut! Then he offered his forgiveness again and said if he had been there to take care of me it would never have happened. He said it like it was HIS fault! He didn't mention the fire burning down his business."

What a man! I thought.

Trish cried for a few minutes. Then continued with her story.

"We tried to make love the next two nights and he still couldn't get it up. Lois what the hell am I gonna do. It's all in his head not in his dick. And it's MY fault. What am I gonna do?"

Weeks went by and nothing changed. Art met weekly with his therapist. I had regular meetings with Trish who updated me but I felt more like a therapist than a friend.

"I'd send him to Vegas to get laid," Trish said one afternoon. "But he's not the kinda guy who fucks whores. Maybe his dick knows I'm a whore!"

I almost laughed at that but Trish was deadly serious when she said it. And then I thought about Art's subconscious mind. Maybe his dick did know she was a whore.

"That psych guy is not helping," Trish continued. "There's gotta be some way to show him that his dick still works dammit! And he's so damned depressed. Except when he talks about you. How brave you were when your husband was sick. How you're out there trying to start your life over. Lois why don't you come over for dinner tonight? It might cheer him up."

I went to their house for dinner and Art seemed glad to see me. I told him flat out that he shouldn't be so depressed about the damage to his factory. It was almost repaired now and things were gonna get better. It seemed to make him feel better.

The next day Trish called me and said I had been good for him. He had talked about me a lot after I left. She invited me to dinner again and this time we had a swim under a bright full moon. Trish loaned me a bikini. Art complimented me on my appearance and said I should not have any problem finding a husband.

For the next several weeks I was at their house often and Trish said that Art was much improved by his contact with me. I enjoyed his company very much. Sometimes I'd sit there talking to him and think how much he was like Don. He was a fine man. His impotence, however, remained unchanged.

Then one afternoon I was staggered by a suggestion Trish made.

"He likes you," Trish said. "He thinks you look good in a bikini. You make him happy. Lois I want to go home for a couple of weeks. Dad's heart is acting up. While I'm gone you come over to our place a lot and cook for Art. Get in the pool in your bikini a lot. Then Lois, my friend, I want you to fuck my husband and show him his dick still works."

"You can't be serious," I gasped. "Fuck your husband? That's the dumbest thing I ever heard. I won't do that!"

"Lois he needs to fuck and he'll never fuck a whore. I NEED you. I really do," she said her eyes filled with tears.

"I can't do it," I said. "I won't do it."

"Lois if you said it once you said it a hundred times. You owe me a debt. This is the way you can pay that debt. I'm desperate. I need your help. You gotta do this for me."

Remembering what she had done for me, I had no choice. Trish went home to see her folks and I began cooking for Art several nights a week. We had our time in the pool, me in my smallest bikini. I could tell he liked the way I looked. Sometimes we'd get close together in the water but nothing serious happened.

Things went on like that for almost two weeks and I began to look forward to our evenings together. I enjoyed being with him, having a drink, and talking to him. He obviously enjoyed being with me. I could see no sign of the depression that he had been feeling. And I began to feel a strong attraction for him. He smiled so nicely at me every time he met me at the door. I felt warm inside when I saw him.

Finally one night as he pulled me up out of the pool I fell into his arms and pressed my wet body against his and he kissed me. It was a lover's kiss and it wasn't planned. It just seemed a natural thing for us to do. It felt wonderful!

As he pulled me close I felt a rock hard erection press against my body through his bathing trunks. I reached down and caressed it gently. There was no question! Art Johnson was capable of having a fully functional erection. And I was ready to fuck him!

He grasped my shoulders and stepped back from me. Looking into my eyes he spoke lovingly.

"You're a very attractive woman Lois and a good woman. I like you very much. But you're so vulnerable alone after losing your husband. I can't take advantage of that vulnerability no matter how much I might want to. You'd better go upstairs and get dressed. And we'd better not do this again. Something we would both regret might happen."

I ran up the stairs to get dressed thinking that I had been looking all over this damn town and on those stupid cruise ships for a man I could love and be happy with and now I'd found him. Married to my best friend! Shit! I was falling in love with this wonderful man! What the hell do I say to his wife?

The next day I called her at her Mom's place, having no idea what I was gonna say. I told her we took a midnight swim.

"When he helped me out of the water I just fell into his arms and kissed him and felt a huge erection pressing against me. I reached down and felt it and it was real Trish. He can get it up."

"Did you fuck him?" Trish asked eagerly.

"He wouldn't fuck me. He said I was an attractive woman but I was too vulnerable after losing my husband for him to take advantage of me even though he wanted to."

There was a long pause at the other end of the line. Then I heard a loud and frustrated voice.

"Shit! I'm married to a fucking saint! Just a whore married to a saint! What the hell do I do now?"

Then she hung up without saying another word.

I stood there with a buzzing phone in my hand asking myself the same damn question. I even said it out loud!

"I'm falling in love with a man who can't fuck his wife and won't fuck me. What the hell do I do now?"

Dear Reader: Some of you may remember a writer named Daniel Q Steele who painted himself into a corner with his word processer. I may have done the same thing. He stopped writing that story before he discovered the ending. He couldn't find one. Am I gonna have to do that too? Please make suggestions for the next chapter in the comments section.

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