tagLoving WivesRevelations Ch. 04

Revelations Ch. 04


A note or two as a precursor to this chapter.

The original author Alex_Love put a copyrighted story on Literotica. Since it is copyrighted I've sent him every subsequent chapter for his perusal and approval. Some comment writers have criticized what I've written by saying I haven't been faithful to the original. Please be patient as none of you knows where this is really going.

You may or may not like what I'm writing or where you think it's going, but believe me, I'm having a hell of a good time.

As always your comments are most welcome. I've begun to incorporate a few in the story. Of course anonymous comments get no recognition, but in the future named comment writers might see their Literotica identities appear in some manner.

And now; let us get on with the tale of Victor and Vanessa.

Vanessa felt as though the whole world had closed in on her.

What was I to do? My husband, my mate for life has gone. Victor Brown, my man, my hero, the boy who'd become the man of my dreams, one time young girl's fantasy lover, father, role model, bread winner, guardian, protector, defender of the hearth, bulwark against all life's exigencies committed suicide, and I'm the one who led him to it. I killed him with my lies, my deceit, and, oh my god, my unspeakable infidelities.

I had no idea Harry had taped any of the things we'd done. At the time I thought they'd been wonderful things, good things. He was so sad. He needed someone. Everyone said so. All the men, all the women; the women who were my colleagues told me I had to do it. I had to be the one. They said I was the only one who understood poor Harry. I was the only one who could bring Harry back from the brink. They said he needed me, the company needed me. I did it, but in the doing I betrayed the one person I loved more than anyone else in the world.

Mona my best friend at work had said it best. I remember what she'd said, "Vanessa dear more than 20,000 people earn their livings through our company. Each one has a family. Think of the many husbands, wives, and innocent children who'll lose their livelihoods, their homes, their futures if someone doesn't stand up," she'd said, "Vanessa honey Harry's the corbel stone that holds everything together. Our company does medical research. Think of the doctors and nurses who right now are making new surgical discoveries, think of the new technologies, think of the pharmaceutical discoveries."

I'd argued against it, "But Mona my husband, my Victor, he would never understand. If he ever found out he'd leave me."

Lily, that's Lily Myers, she'd interrupt, I remembered so well, "Vanessa, you're the one. You know I'd do it. Everyone knows I love Harry, but I'm black. He's an older man; he comes from a different time, a different period in our country's history. He'd never accept me. Vanessa, you're the youngest, you're the strongest. Vanessa you've got to show the resolve."

That's when Allyson hit me. I still can hear her words, "Vanessa, Harry loves you. Among all us women he loves you and only you. If it were me, or Mona, or Enid he'd know, he'd suspect, but if it were you he'd know it came from your heart, you're good Vanessa, you've got a good heart, your good sweet warm caring heart is what he needs, it's what the company needs."

I did care. I cared about the lost jobs, the lost lives due to the possibility of failed or abandoned medical research. I thought of the children's lives that might be lost. I thought of the new medicines that would never be discovered. I knew he'd never accept Lily or Enid or even Mona. They were older, they were black, and they weren't Harry's type. I knew he had always cared for me.

I knew he was insanely jealous of my Victor. I can't remember how many times after his wife died Harry offered to marry me. Harry said he'd cherish me, care for me. He wanted me. He cared about me. He loved me. He wanted me to leave my Victor. Honestly, I never gave it a second's serious thought, but I remembered on more than one occasion that I'd lied to Harry. I'd told him how if it weren't for my children I would have left Victor and married him. It wasn't true; it was never true. I recall how I lied about so many things just to keep poor Harry's head above water.

I never dreamed Harry taped our meetings. I never imagined our sex play had been being recorded.

Oh now how I hated myself. Victor heard all those awful lies I told Harry. My wonderful needy husband, the man I'd cared for all those years heard me tell Harry how I loved Harry more. Victor heard me tell Harry how I thought he was a better lover, how Victor never reached me liked Harry did. Victor had watched those terrible recordings; he heard me lie about our children, how they might not even be his.

Of course Karen and James were Victor's babies. He must have known they were his. He had to have known! Certainly he knew Karen was his. Karen's leukemia had required bone marrow transplants. Victor had been the perfect donor. It was in his biology, it was his DNA that proved it. And not once but twice Victor had stepped up, two times he'd been required to offer up his marrow. The first event occurred when she was eleven, but when she turned twelve the cancer had come back, and he'd been forced to donate again. I remember we were all so scared. Our little girl needed her dad again. He never blinked an eye. He stepped up.

It was the second time that was when he got that awful hospital virus. That virus, MRSA or something had nearly killed him. Oh god I felt so loathsome back then. I felt so guilty. Victor was in the hospital, in critical care, Karen was in a nearby bed fighting for her life, and I was on my back in another city fucking my boss.

How had I let my friends talk me into it? I remember it was Allyson; she was the one who helped me get through that terrible time. It had been Allyson who'd found the right sedatives that helped me get through it all. I remember it was like a thin filmy sheet; it looked like a rose petal. They called them my pretty petals; they relaxed me, they made me feel so calm. I felt like I could do anything; it was as though I was in another world, a soft sweet almost hallucinogenic world all my own. All I wanted to do was make others happy. All I wanted to do was make Harry feel better. I forgot about my husband, my family, my real responsibilities. Oh yes I remember my pretty petals, my pretty sweet tasting petals, those comforting rose petals.

I thought I remembered the times I was with Harry. I thought they were happy, warm, loving times. I never bothered to look at his face. I never really heard what he said. I was so happy. I was so into making Harry and the others feel better. I wished I had seen his face back then; his ugly hateful face. I saw him on the DVD; I saw how his mouth was twisted into a hateful sneer when he said he loved me. All the while I thought I was saving him, and all the while he was laughing at me.

I remembered the mean things he'd said when I saw the video. I remembered how he called me names, how he degraded my wonderful husband, and how I'd laughed and agreed with every mean despicable thing he said. What had I been thinking? Where had my mind been? I can't even remember doing some of things on those tapes.

I didn't remember any of the other men until I saw the videos. I still can't remember. I never knew Martin Balsalm, Jack Warden, Steve Harvey, and Chad Everling were with us. I had no idea I was being passed around.

Victor saw those things; he saw them all. Oh how he must have hated me when he saw what I'd been doing. I'd tried to explain. I'd tried to tell him I had been saving thousands of jobs, protecting unborn children, but he didn't believe me. He didn't understand. After watching the awful tapes I didn't believe any of it either.

Still, thirty years? Couldn't he forgive? Why couldn't he listen? Couldn't Victor show me some mercy? I'd been at his side for everything, well almost everything.

I don't think Victor ever knew I'd abandoned his hospital bed. Mona had called me. Mona had said...oh I don't want to think about it.

When Victor found out he punished me. He took everything. He sold or destroyed everything that had been our life, and now he's taken his own life.

Oh I prayed he'd gone to the cabin. He'd gone there once before, right after he found out, but I knew, I knew he'd found a way to take his own life, and take it in a way that would be impossible for me to trace.

Of course he'd been right; he'd been right about everything. The rare books, the book I found for him in Iceland, the unbelievable rare fire engine, they were all paybacks, guilt payments. The Iceland book, the skiing, the hot tubs; they were all just mercy fucks, sloppy seconds. I felt guilty. I'm so ashamed.

My Victor was so organized, so methodical, so reliable, so thorough. He was a brilliant man. My family always had money. His family had been modestly well off, but he'd taken a small nest egg and had turned it into a king's ransom. He could do things. In the end he'd done the worst thing. Now he's gone. I'll never be able to make any of it up to him. I'll never be able to press my lips against his precious sweet pink penis. He can never forgive me now, he can't, because he's dead. Why didn't he just kill me?

It was my fault, all my fault. I killed my husband. I murdered the one man I loved more than any other man in the world, and then he'd sent those damning videos to our children. Now they've seen my perfidy too. I know now I'm just filth in their eyes. My children saw those men put their dirty dicks in the vagina from which they emerged. Oh how terrible, my Karen, my James saw how those men squirted their sticky semen all over my labia.

I feel so weak. I feel so helpless, so desperate. My muscles ache. I can hardly breathe. My guilt is consuming me; it's tearing me apart. I feel like I'm at the bottom of a well. That's where I deserve to be. I'm so alone. I'm so tired. I can't bear the thought of even looking at my children. I'm so ashamed. I've got to hide. I'll just stay here, here in the dark; I'll stay hidden here in this tiny dark safe place. This little box, this closet; this is my kingdom. I'll never come out. I can't come out. I'm not worthy. I'll just stay here. I'll hide. I'll hide here until I die. Victor I'm so sorry.


That's how James found her; hiding in his father's closet in his parent's master bedroom. She was covered in grime, smeared with her own feces, naked except for her bra and panties, and she'd been scratching and tearing at her flesh with her fingernails.

What a woeful depressing sight she was. It tore at James's heart. His mother, his adoring selfless mother, their bastion of goodwill, the one person everyone could rely on to be there; all his life she'd been the font of everything that was giving and good. He'd seen the video. He had to believe what he saw, and yet......

He'd called 911. They'd arrived in a timely fashion. He remembered the story of Albert De Salvo, the Boston Strangler. De Salvo had been a good man, a family man, a caring giving man, but he'd led a second life, an alternate life.

In the end the Boston authorities never had to bring De Salvo to trial. They'd shown him through questioning how he'd murdered all those poor women. In the end the good man, the decent man was incapable of facing what the monster in him had done. De Salvo had retreated so deep inside his unconscious he never came out. James looked down at his mother and prayed, "Please God don't let her end up like that; trapped inside her own muddled brain to be locked away in some loathsome institution where despicable orderlies might tear at her pussy with their big dirty dicks."

James reflected on the tragic life of the once famous actress Frances Farmer. Frances had been an odd ball; she wanted to leave Hollywood. Her mother had her placed in a mental institution where fiendish male nurses and orderlies plunged their dicks in her twat and jammed their penises in her ass for years.


James and Karen got together outside the surgical step down area at Sam Houston and agreed to get their mother admitted to New Horizons Mental Hospital and Sanitarium; it was reputed to be one of the best in the nation when it came to handling people with problems like their mother's.

After a successful screening Vanessa was admitted to New Horizons. James and Karen sat down with a group of the nation's leading medical minds to discuss their mother's problems.

Among the doctors attending their mother was world renowned Dr. Shiro Ishii; he was reputed to the best mind in the world in the field of microbiology, and other things related to microbial research. Not to be outdone was the internationally famous Dr. Carl Clauberg. Clauberg had earned his spurs in Germany in gynecological research. He was especially gifted in areas related to mental disorders and uterine studies. Then there was Dr. Holmes-Mudgett. His specialties had ranked him the very first in many areas in American medical history. Dr. Walter Freeman, the youngest of this distinguished group, was a gifted neurosurgeon. But by far the most well known and most widely acknowledged of the doctors destined to manage their mother's care was the wildly famous Dr. Josef Mengele. Mengele had always had a special gift, especially with children's disorders. At one time he was considered as something of an angel in his field. There were those who said all he need do was look at a child and he could accurately diagnose and prescribe the appropriate special treatment.

James opened the discussion with a frank acknowledgment of his mom's problem, "Doctors my mom has had what I believe they call a nervous breakdown."

Dr. Holmes-Mudgett corrected him, "The term nervous breakdown has no real medical meaning; a car can break down, but not a human being, not in that sense."

Karen asked, "Then how would you diagnose my mother's condition?"

Dr. Freeman offered, "It could be likened to neurasthenia, but more likely I'd have to call it an acute anxiety disorder, maybe a mental collapse due to excessive stress."

"How so," asked James?

Dr. Mengele proffered, "After my very brief observances I'd say she's been overwhelmed by counterproductive neural experiences. Her mind and body has responded as if one were in shock. All her physiological energy is being applied to her mental condition. She's unresponsive and apparently unaware because all her energy is focused on dealing with the numerous blows to her emotional equilibrium."

Karen asked, "She's crazy?"

Clauberg interrupted, "Not at all. There's no psychosis; she's just sick. Look, her phlaminy kunarplabitz has just into overdrive."

James scratched his head. These men didn't make any sense, "I need more explanation."

Freeman offered more detail, "You mother has most likely been inundated with a series of unexpected emotional shocks; a series of neural dishevelments, all severe, all unanticipated, and certainly all of them out of her normal sphere of emotional management."

"Will she recover," asked Karen.

Mengele answered, "Oh most assuredly. I heard your brother make a remark about the Boston Strangler. Your mother is a normal healthy human being with no hidden psychoses. She's not likely to disappear in some catatonic trance. She's not afflicted with cataplexy, cranial discumbobulation, or anything of that severity. She will recover; it's just a matter of time, and a matter of the type of help she gets."

James angrily interjected, "I don't get it."

Mudgett held up a hand, "I'm the only doctor here who's seen any of the videotape. We all need to study them; plus we'll need to interview the two of you, her husband, and as many of her friends and former business associates as possible. Her problem is the result of a variety what I would consider very troubling occurrences.

James still wasn't convinced, "This has me worried."

Ishii chimed in, "It is as though your mother were at the bottom of a very deep mine shaft, or better at the bottom of a deep well. She's suffered from terrible anxiety, depression, stress, a sense of helplessness. She's certainly suffering from exhaustion; tired all the time, probably an insomniac. Clearly she's lost weight. She's overburdened with guilt and a sense of hopelessness. She can't diagnose what's happened. She can't parse the problems. She sees them all as one monolithic black cloud. Unable to dissect and solve each problem individually, your mother has simply thrown a towel over her head and retreated into a shell. You remember when you were a child alone and scared in your bedroom how you might have covered yourself with a blanket? That's kind of what you're doing right now."

"What can you do for her," asked Karen?

Freeman explained, "First we'll get her on a healthy diet. Some modest exercise program will be helpful. She needs lots of rest and relaxation, no unnecessary stressors, as few choices as possible. Right now even thinking about what to wear is more than she can probably handle."

Clauberg added, "Yes, we'll certainly introduce a few pharmaceuticals, nothing heavy, just light drugs aimed at minimizing her levels of stress."

"We'd like to consider some therapeutic hypnosis. We'd like to see what's trapped inside that muddled mass of grey matter.," suggested Mengele.

Ishii looked at Karen and James with concern, "I'd like to admonish you; when you see her, no judgmental comments. She needs love and acceptance from the two of you. If he's still alive, find your father, his support will be absolutely vital. She could have a full recovery in a few weeks, she might never recover; it's never a cut and dried matter."

The two children listened to several more comments. After another hour of discussion and lecture they left.


Outside the hospital Karen and James talked things over.

Karen asked, "Do you think they'll be able to help her?"

James replied, "These five have incredible reputations. One can only pray."

"Is there anything more we can do?"

"There is sis. We've got to find out if dad is still alive. I have this gut feeling he's not dead. I want somebody, some expert, to examine that letter he wrote us; it just doesn't smack of a bona-fide suicide note. I want to find out who those other men are in mom's video I want to find out if any of them are still alive I want to talk to them. Mom had friends when she worked for Wolman, women friends; maybe they can offer some insight. Look Karen you watched the damn video; there are things about it that just don't ring true. Sure we both saw the sex, damn I got a hard on just looking at it, I had no idea mom was so hot, but we know our mom. Karen I think Wolman screwed our mom and dad over. Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm way off course, but I want to find out, and we've got mom and dad's money, we can do it using that and not go broke."

Karen thought,'Damn she wanted to use some of that money to buy a condominium at Key Biscayne. Mom, what a fucking selfish bitch.'


It was another beautiful balmy day on Grand Cayman. Gary, nee Victor, sat beneath his beachfront pavilion and looked out on an azure sea. He had his right hand in his bathing suit; he was jiggling his penis. Got that felt good. He a Margarita in his other hand. Later when the sun went down he'd probably shift to Jack Daniels, maybe Jim Beam. Like the guy in the old Tennessee Williams play, 'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof', he had to keep drinking till he felt or heard that familiar 'click', that wonderful hateful 'click' that told him he'd crossed from troubled sanity to mind numbing nothingness.

Oops, he shot another load, now his pants were all wet and sticky. Maybe he should jump in the water and rinse off. Was that a Great White out there circling those little boys on that raft? He better stay on shore.

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