My Hot Wife - The Transition

"The fucking psycho bitches are gone. Some dude just collected them from the street in front of the house, I think in her Beemer. You keep that fucking bitch away from me, or I'll call the cops. I'm gonna get a restraining order!"

I did my best to apologize to Bev, and begged her to not escalate - I explained that KK was still convinced that we were hooking up, and that we'd been together earlier that day. My explanation didn't seem to matter, as Bev's threats continued, talk of having KK arrested, a police complaint, the restraining order all continued to surface.

The saving grace was that I hadn't left the house to intervene - my misplaced car keys had saved me from what would've probably led to a bigger disaster. I was beside myself with terror - "some dude," "some red-headed bitch," "they're drunk," and so on, none of it was rational, none of it was good.

I spent hours pacing, texting, calling, but got no response. I figured the "red head bitch" Bev referenced was Becky, KK's best friend - combined with the descriptor 'amazon' (a reference to Becky's height) that had to be her accomplice. I texted Becky as well, but got no reply.

I went out onto the deck to have some tequila and a smoke to try and take the edge off while I thought about a plan of action. I heard a dog bark, breaking the night silence, then I heard what I thought was the doorbell, and a loud knock at the front entry. I extinguished the remains of the reefer I was trying to enjoy, knocking over the shot glass of tequila in the process as I rushed inside.

When I reached the front door, I couldn't see anyone on the other side. I undid the dead-bolt and latch, opened the door, and there was my wife, dead-drunk - she was slumped against the entryway, a minimally responsive train-wreck. There was nobody else around, no car, no nothing, just my sloppy-drunk, nearly passed out wife.

I got KK into the foyer, by fireman-carry, and managed to get the door closed behind me. I didn't have a clear idea of the time, other than it was after 3:00am, so probably none of the neighbors were witness to the scene.

Carrying KK down the hall, I placed her in our bed as gently as I could. She was barely conscious, muttering, spitting, her make-up a mess, her hair tangled and matted on one side, runners in her stockings, the knees torn open, with a little fine gravel mashed into the abraded skin on one kneecap. KK's dress was half unzipped, her bustier missing, leaving her boobs bare and partly exposed. She smelled of cigarette smoke and liquor.

Stepping back from the bed, I evaluated what to do next. Save for her disheveled appearance, the the abrasion on KK's knee, she didn't appear to be injured or hurt. I took her pulse as a precaution, and it was OK, not thready or week - it seemed she had really tied one on, whatever else she'd been up to.

I decided to clean her up a little, particular the abraded knee, so I left her there on the bed to go get a wash cloth, some Neosporin, water, and some Advil. Returning to the bedroom, I managed to get the Advil and water into her, before she passed out, basically limp, breathing, but dead to the world drunk.

I pulled off her heels, then reached under the hem of her dress expecting to find the waist band of pantyhose, intending to pull them off. Instead, I found she was wearing stay-up, thigh-high stockings. I stripped those off first, then knelt to wipe the gravel off her knee abrasion. I cleaned up the minor wound, and massaged a little Neosporin into it. Next, I unzipped the leather dress, and got her free from it.

KK was naked, out cold, limp. I couldn't resist, deciding to examine her, ostensibly looking for injury, but partially indulging my prurient interest to look for signs of sexual activity. I was simultaneously delighted, and disappointed, in that it was obvious that KK had been fucked. Her rectum was slightly in a state of prolapse, pink-red, irritated, a rivulet of creamy brown-white leaking from deep inside her. KK's pussy had clearly been abused, the skin of her labia irritated, she was open, almost gaping - it was painfully obvious she'd been fucked, and by the looks of things, fucked well.

The incongruent surge I felt combined lust, repulsion, and anger - my cock was hard, while I fought waves of nausea over what I was seeing. I was left with few choices, with overwhelming surges, waves of nausea, and decided to retreat to my study hoping it would pass, hoping the awful feelings I was immersed in would fade.

As I made my way to the study, I was overcome with a wave of nausea. I had to make a stop in the guest bath, barely making it to throw up into the toilet. I sunk to my knees, the room seemingly swimming around me. I vomited again, my skin clammy, but despite the sick feeling, I was hard again.

Once the nausea passed, I rinsed my mouth out in the kitchen sink, gulped down a couple of glasses of water, then decided to rest on the den sofa. I suppose at some point exhaustion got the better of me, and I fell asleep. I awoke late Saturday morning to KK bumping around the kitchen, fumbling about noisily trying to make coffee. I got off the sofa and went into the kitchen. KK had on a short silk kimono, and her hair was tied back, wet, as if she'd just come out of the shower.

I asked her if I could help with the coffee, her response was an affirmative nod. I took over, and got the brew started. I elected to stay silent until the pot was ready, pouring KK a mug full of coffee, asking her if she needed something to eat. Her reply was, "Maybe some toast..."

While KK sat at the table in the breakfast nook, I made her a couple of slices of toast, and topped her coffee mug off. I mustered the courage to say, "Babe, we have to talk. This is crazy... I can't keep doing it..."

After a lengthy pause, KK said, "I know. I can't either. I'm sorry about last night. I think I'm in trouble. I don't know."

We chatted for a few minutes about tactical matters; where her car was, her missing phone and purse, and related things - finally agreeing that while I showered and cleaned up, she'd call Becky to figure out next steps on the car and her belongings.

By the time I returned to the kitchen, KK had managed to speak with Becky - her car was safe, parked at Becky's, along with her purse, and phone. She'd arranged to have me drop her off around noon to retrieve it, and our plan was to return home for a more lengthy discussion.

Once we got past all that, KK and I spent the entire remainder of the weekend, into Monday morning, in deep discussion about the events of the last several weeks.

One outcome was an agreement to arrange for joint relationship counseling, to commence as soon as we could identify a mutually agreeable therapist.

Another outcome was to put a hiatus on drinking, at least for a while - booze wasn't helping either of us at that point, and it was clearly causing KK problems, along with posing big risks due to alcohol-clouded behavior.

The most immediate action from our discussion fell mostly to me. After a fairly heated conversation with KK, she demanded that I take a sort of public action with respect to Bev - "breaking up" with her while KK witnessed the moment. Her initial demand was that it would be in-person; my argument against it prevailed. An in-person situation would almost guarantee an emotionally out-of-control outcome, so we reached a compromise - it would be over the phone, with Bev on my phone in speaker mode, aware that KK was listening.

It was truly awful. The sole positives were placating KK, and that it wasn't in-person - my sense that it would've devolved into violence was pretty accurate. The intensity of anger and emotion on the call is too much to describe.

After it was 'over' KK demanded that I destroy the phone, and get a new number. I conceded to her demand, letting KK smash the phone to bits. We went to the Verizon store that Monday morning and I cancelled the old number, got a new one, and a replacement phone. It took almost a month of inconvenience to deal with the aftermath, restoring my personal and business contacts. I lived in fear that Bev would surface, either at home, at my office, or somewhere in public to confront me for cutting off all contact - fortunately I was spared that humiliation.

About two weeks later, KK and I started joint counseling - talk therapy. After the third session, the therapist recommended that we both engage in individual counseling in addition to the joint session.

After the sixth session, and discussion with our individual therapists, the recommendation was that despite the discomfort and pain, KK and I should divulge 'everything' to one another, in detail - including affairs, any infidelity, any thought or desire of infidelity, basically "coming clean" - the notional value included trying to rebuild trust, forgive each other, reduce or eliminate suspicion, and learn how to be open and transparent with each other about our sexual and intimate needs.

What followed was an extraordinarily rough year. The "coming clean" was Mount Everest difficult. The process we used was an amalgam of recommendations from the three therapists involved. That amalgam was to use a dedicated 'date night' every week - an intimate dinner, maybe a movie or other outing, followed by confession, taking turns while in bed together, touching, making out, essentially setting the stage as if the confession was some form of romantic pillow-talk or fantasy role-play. The idea was that it might take the sting out of things, and provide a foundation to turn something otherwise difficult and painful into something useful.

It took a while, and lots of effort on both my, and KK's part to accomplish this. Eventually, we got through it - our mutual confessions and disclosures were both profoundly painful, as well as oddly erotic. I experienced numerous spontaneous, hands-free ejaculations during KK's confessions, sometimes so intense that I felt like I was going into blackout mode.

Working 'backward' in time, KK's starting points for confession included her perspective of the car-fuck/afternoon-delight guy from Oliver's. In that case, it was an act of revenge, pure retribution for KK's perception that I was still fucking Bev.

Her overnight encounter was opportunistic, a one-night fling with a colleague rumored by her co-workers to be a horse-hung stud - more revenge sex, intended to gouge me for the Bev infidelity.

The hotel debauchery was intended to attract my attention - it sort of backfired so far as KK was concerned, she expected to engage in a revenge threesome with two guys she contacted on AFF - it ended up being a six-man, out of control drunken gang-bang that spiraled out of KK's control.

In the finale, KK was convinced I was home late after caving into an encounter with Bev - her anger led her to another revenge-driven fuck, with Becky as her 'wingman.' They got busy drinking, ended up drunk and threatening Bev, while a friend of Becky's drove them around, ultimately banging KK before depositing her on our front porch, drunk and fucked.

Sparing the narrative, I learned that KK had never been happily monogamous. Even though it was clear that she loved me, as her primary partner, KK needed the freedom to enjoy the attention of other men. Her personality traits included novelty-seeking behaviors, attention-seeking, a nearly compulsive need to feel attraction from, and to other men, and other lesser factors.

One thing we both sorted out was the result of misdiagnosed and improperly treated mental health issues with KK. She has an unusual form of bipolar disorder - it manifests as mostly a manic phase thing, without the classic highly depressive component. Before the 'transition phase' triggered by my disastrous affair, KK had, as part of recovery from her last infidelity undertaken treatment. The psychiatrist / therapist team that she worked with misdiagnosed her as suffering from depression - Zoloft was prescribed for treatment. As it turns out, Zoloft can exacerbate hyper-sexual behavior in individuals with bipolar disorder. For KK, that was the case - the Zoloft superficially appeared to treat and manage her depression, but in fact it masked things, then caused her to withdraw emotionally from me, while 'enhancing' her manic phase, with increasing bouts of hyper-sexual behavior.

In the 'now' context, eliminating the Zoloft in a controlled manner, my learning to accept and support KK's needs, even if they included sex with other men, and rebuilding trust led us into the lifestyle we've come to enjoy.

For many, all this may be inconceivable - for some of us, it seems natural and normal. Accepting, and experiencing one's partner engaged in uninhibited sex with someone else is indeed on one extreme of the distribution - no denying that. In our case, it has resolved dozens of issues we routinely faced, and is a mostly positive aspect of our relationship.