Perversions and Transgressions Ch. 04byOver Stimulated©
After I had watched my classmate Randall fuck my girlfriend Denise while she was passed out, I thought it would be a long time until I was able to setup the scenario again. But another opportunity would occur only a few weeks later. This time I would have to sink a bit lower than I had before. Perhaps I wouldn't have taken advantage of the depressing situation that was to come if I hadn't still been riding the high from the success of my previous experience. I'd been able to successfully manipulate Randall into fucking Denise. I had drugged her. I had planted the suggestion into his head. Then I had watched and masturbated as I watched him take her. It had been my most explosive experience at the time. I had seen Denise taken twice before, but neither had been the result of my own successful planning. The third time I had manipulated everything.
I often played out the memories of that experience in my head. I had to force myself to focus on my studies, but my mind often slipped back to that night. Because of this my arousal was the greatest it had ever been and I practically attacked Denise every day. As an accommodating lover she accepted most of my advances with just a mention of my increased lust and rougher handling of her. She didn't complain because she enjoyed it herself. She took me inside of her and came all the harder for my own urgent thrusting, our violent sex resulting in scratches and bite marks that we laughed about later as we found clothing that would cover them.
I was still immersed in this almost constant state of arousal when Denise received a call from her sister informing her that her parents had been in a car accident. Her father was dead and her mother was in the hospital dying. We notified our professors that we'd be gone for family business and left later that day. Her family didn't live far away, only a four hour drive, so I drove us.
About halfway into the drive Denise had calmed down enough that I was no longer consoling her, so my mind began to wander, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had packed the sleeping pills I had used to drug her. I had packed them without thinking like it was as normal to pack as my toothbrush, something I carried with me and expected to use. My right hand was lying in her lap, holding both of her hands, and I squeezed her hands tightly, flinching at my own coldness.
The pills had become a regular part of my life like my daily hygiene products. Such a development should have been a shock, that pills used to drug the woman who loved and trusted me had become an essential part of my life, but I only wondered that not only wasn't it a shock, I wasn't ashamed of myself. It was yet another reminder that I had moved past emotions such as shame and disgust about myself and my actions.
I pushed such thoughts from my head and held her hand tightly. I would be there for her during this tragedy in her life. I would show to myself that I could be a caring and strong partner. I couldn't undo the wrongs I had done in the past, but I could regain a portion of my humanity by putting aside my own perversion and caring for the woman I love, the woman who needed me.
Those were my thoughts at the time, but my good intentions would unravel as my perversity found another opportunity.
When we arrived in her home town I drove directly to the hospital. There we met her older sister Rebecca and her husband Jordan waiting for us in the intensive care waiting room.
The two sisters hugged tightly, causing them both to cry. Awkwardly, Jordan and I shook hands, expressing greetings and sorrow, and I asked him for the latest news. Their mother had been stabilized but had suffered enough brain damage that only the lower functions still survived and she was being kept alive on machines. Her living will stated that she wasn't to be kept alive in such a state so they were about to take her off of the machines. They were just waiting for us to arrive.
We went to the room to watch them remove her from the machines. I held Denise as she pressed her face to my shoulder, alternately watching and then turning away to wipe away tears. It was the saddest and most oppressive scene I had experienced to that point in my life. I tried to put myself in her place, imagine the thoughts and feelings, but was unable. I couldn't imagine it. My own parents had died when I was very young, young enough that my memories of them are more so sensations than images. I was raised by a series of relatives that all seemed to be angry that I had been thrust upon them. To say I was not close to my family was an understatement. To say I had no family was more accurate.
But one does not need to be able to empathize with another human being or have to understand their pain to care for them and try to help them. So I did what I could, which at such moments isn't much. I would learn this later as a doctor, watching many people die and knowing there was no way to soothe those left behind. Grief is very personal.
Other relatives eventually filtered into the room, aunts and uncles and cousins, family that still lived in the area and had come to pay final respects. It was too many people for me to remember and there was only a minimum of conversation with condolences and updates on the mother's condition. She did not die after being removed from the machines.
The hospital staff then moved her out of intensive care and to a normal room where she could die and not take up space for those whose lives were to be saved. Thus began a weeklong vigil. There's nothing like waiting for someone to die. Death does not come easy. I've seen it many times now and it is never like in the movies. The body is designed to keep itself alive, it will shut down everything nonessential to supply energy to the essentials for maintaining life. It's a brutal process. The body breaks itself down, shutting down anything it doesn't need, and destroys itself in an effort to thrive. Death is almost always slow and if not painful to the person dying than at least painful to those watching it.
I have no need to describe that week in detail. It's obvious that it was a drain on Denise. She slept very little, staying at the hospital as much as she could. I drove her around, brought her food, and tried my best to respond to her needs. I let her do what she needed to do and tried to support her. We stayed at her parents' house with Jordan and Rebecca. We all felt uncomfortable there without her parents and stayed out as much as possible.
I spent a lot of time with Jordan. The two sisters would sit in their mother's room, waiting, and he and I would wander at times, talking about things not having to do with death. I had never talked to him much and at that time found him to be pleasant enough company. He was intelligent and funny and seemed to want to alleviate the mood as much as I did when we were alone.
About five days into the vigil he surprised me with a discussion more private than we'd had previously. By that time we'd talked enough to be very comfortable around each other and in fact established a friendship not based purely on circumstances but from a commonality in interests, humor, and intellect. On that particular day we were driving to a local deli to buy lunch for the relatives that were currently sitting in the hospital room. I was driving and noticed that Jordan was shaking his leg and tapping on the dashboard.
"How are you doing?" I asked him.
"Fine as can be," he replied, staring out the side window.
"I don't mean that," I said. "You seem particularly agitated today."
"Oh, sorry," he said, stopped his leg from shaking, and folded his arms across his chest.
I smiled and brushed it off. "It's fine. You weren't bothering me. I was just wondering what's going on."
"Maybe all this sitting around and waiting," he replied. "I'm not good at doing nothing. I need to be doing something."
"We are doing something," I said. "We're getting lunch. The most exciting thing we'll do all day." I laughed to myself.
He smiled at me and sighed deeply. "I don't know. I'm just being a selfish ass of a husband."
"No. I don't think so. You're here with your wife when she needs you. She appreciates it and appreciates you."
"I'm not talking about that." He shifted in his seat like he was struggling with some thought, trying to decide what to say and what not to say.
"Then what are you talking about," I said, "If there's something you want to get off your chest then tell me. I'm probably the least judgmental person you're ever going to meet." I tried to subdue my laugh, knowing that between the two of us I'd be the one that could be the most easily judged for my actions.
"What makes you think there's something I want to get off my chest?" he asked, looking directly at me, but not accusatory, just questioning.
"Your body language," I replied. "You're fidgeting and when I ask you about it you stop and wrap up like you're trying to hold onto something."
"Are you studying to be a doctor or a psychologist?" he joked.
"I'm not meaning to psychoanalyze you. I'm just asking. If you don't want to talk then don't. Whatever works for you." I gave him a reassuring smile.
There was silence for a few seconds before he finally spoke.
"Well," he started and then stopped, thinking it over. "Honestly, I'm just fucking horny," he sputtered and then broke into nervous laughter.
I laughed with him and then said, "Well, I can understand that."
"But it's just fucking selfish," he said, sounding a bit angry with himself now. "Look," he said and turned in his seat so his body faced me, "I know this is a tough situation and I truly feel bad for Rebecca and I want to help her. I want to be here for her. But I also really want sex."
"That's understandable," I said. "And I don't think you need to look at that as being selfish. Being horny doesn't make you a bad husband, or a bad person for that matter."
"Is it bad when after a few days of this, of all of this morbid death bed crying, that when I hold my wife I sometimes I have to pull back a bit because I don't want her to feel my hard-on?"
"No, that's not bad," I said. "It's natural. It's who we are. And I'm guessing she's been too upset to have any thoughts about sex."
"Of course, and I haven't approached her about it, and I'm not going to. I need to leave her alone, at least as far as that stuff goes. Let her grieve. Support her. I don't want to trouble her with my own selfish needs."
"Which makes sense and goes to show you're not being selfish, you're trying to do what you think is right for her even though you have your own desires right now as well."
"Maybe," he said. "But if I was a good husband I wouldn't be allowing myself to obsess about this and wouldn't be getting aroused when she's looking for comfort in my arms."
"You're being too hard on yourself," I said. "We can't berate ourselves for our own natural desires and wants. We can only deal with them and act appropriately with those that we love."
"We?" he asked me with a searching look.
I hesitated as I replayed what I had said in my head. Had I been replying to what he had said or to my own thoughts about the pills I had brought with me?
"Of course 'we,'" I said and tried to laugh it off.
"You feeling the same?" he asked with a friendly smirk.
"Of course. I'm not getting any either," I said, trying to say it like I would imagine a normal guy would.
"What are we to do, eh?" he said and sighed.
"Jerk off, I guess." We both laughed.
"Maybe," he said. "But that can only get you so far."
"I guess," I said, hoping the conversation was over as I was feeling uncomfortable with the topic and how I'd allowed myself to start revealing my own thoughts.
"Anyway, that's not all," he said.
"Ah," I replied, not even willing to ask what else he wanted to talk about.
"Can I tell you something?" he asked. "Something that you have to promise to never tell anyone else, especially Denise."
"Sure," I said, wishing I wasn't hitting so many red lights so I could get to the deli sooner.
"Rebecca and I have an open marriage," he said.
"Really?" I said, actually becoming interested again.
"Yup," he said and nodded. "It's something we decided on before we got married. We're not swingers. We're not doing orgies." He laughed. "We're just, both of us, we're allowed to explore with other people when we want to. As long as we're safe and open about it."
"That's pretty interesting," I said.
"You think so?" he asked.
"Yeah," I offered, not wanting to say much more, not sure what was expected of me. Should I have been surprised or disgusted or something else?
"You don't think we're immature kids who can't commit?" he said and grinned.
"Well you're not kids because you're both a few years older than me," I said and laughed. "But what you two decide works for you is none of my business and definitely not for me to judge. I'm the last to judge others." I almost bit my tongue as I felt I was saying too much again, but Jordan didn't notice.
"Then you're pretty open-minded. I think most people think it's wrong or immoral," he said.
"I doubt that. There are a lot of people that do the same. And you two obviously meet other people who feel the same," I offered.
"True," he said. "Anyway, so it's had me thinking about going out and trying to pick someone up. But I don't know anyone here and I'm not going to drive the couple of hours back home to hook up with someone there, not when she needs me here."
"Yeah. I can't help much with that. I've never been one to try to pick up strangers for sex," I said.
"Me either, really," he said. "Anyone that I've been with has been someone I've known already, a friend or colleague. We don't even look on the internet or anything like that."
"Anyway, so is it bad that I'm thinking about hitting up the bars for some action?" he asked.
"There's nothing wrong with thoughts," I said. "It's only actions that can be wrong."
Our conversation came to an end as we finally arrived at the deli.
Over the next couple of days I noticed a change in Jordan, or at least I started to notice different things about him. For one thing he seemed to be looking at other women more than he had been. He even would nudge me when a particularly attractive woman would happen by. Also, our discussions tended to be more about sex than before. He'd ask me a question of a sexual nature just so he could then answer it how he would and talk about thoughts he'd been having or describe some experience he'd had in the past. He seemed to be obsessed with sex. It was obvious it was on his mind and only increased with each passing day and his abstinence continued. As he revealed to me, he hadn't gone a week without sex in a few years and hoped he wouldn't ever again.
After being there a week, Denise's mother finally died. That day the signs were that she would pass and the four of us, along with some other close family, stayed that night and were there when she died. Amongst the sadness there was actually some relief, something that I would again see many times later.
A couple of days later there was a viewing for her mother and father with the funeral the following day. I did my best to support Denise through it all. She slept very little and the funeral itself seemed to drain her further as she took full responsibility for making all the plans and arranging everything. I worried she was pushing herself but kept it to myself, letting her do it as she needed to, letting her deal with it as she wanted. She's a strong woman and I would never treat her as anything but that.
After the burial and a brief gathering at her parents' church, the four of us went back to their parents' home where we were staying. We were uncomfortable there as we had been since we arrived and all of use changed to go out for dinner. It was a strange dinner. We went to a chain steakhouse and stayed there until well into the evening. None of us wanted to go back to the house. Both Rebecca and Denise drank heavily. I had never seen Denise drink so much but I didn't mention it. She was never one to drown her sorrows in alcohol but if that's what she wanted to do then I would choose to stay sober to drive us all back safely. Jordan also drank some once I told him I would drive.
It was actually a mostly pleasant evening as the sisters talked about memories of their parents and childhood. They laughed a lot and I was happy to hear her laugh again.
During our time there I mostly watched and listened as I do most of the time anyway. The three of them talked a lot, especially the sisters. I watched Jordan and Rebecca and as the evening went on I noticed he was putting his arm around her and touching her more. He was being more affectionate and if she didn't return it she at least didn't seem to mind. Also I noticed that he was looking at Denise more than I thought socially appropriate. I had never noticed him to have an eye for her before, perhaps I had missed it, but that night he was definitely looking at her more than with just conversational interest. She did look pretty that night despite the ordeal. Her eyes looked dark and shrunken from lack of sleep. Her face looked a bit thinner than normal. Otherwise she looked as beautiful as ever. For the first time since we had been there she had actually fixed her hair and let it down. Her shirt while not particularly revealing was cut lower than anything she had worn that week and small enough to wrap tightly around her breasts. I smiled to myself that Jordan had noticed her and was horny enough and drunk enough to allow his guard down, assuming he had always kept a guard up before.
Eventually the evening wore down and we left. On the drive home I watched Jordan in the back seat with Rebecca, putting his arm around her and trying to kiss her, but she wasn't returning his attentions. I smiled at his fumbling attempts and also felt bad for him. He didn't know anything about romantic timing. Just because she was laughing didn't mean she wanted to be intimate. She was still in that grieving place which for her excluded that type of intimacy. He got the point after a few attempts and sat back in his seat behaving himself and trying to not pout.
"Let's stop by the liquor store on the way home," he said, breaking the silence.
"Mom and dad never had liquor in the house," Rebecca said.
Silence filled the car again.
"I think it'd be ok if we break that rule tonight," Denise said.
"You sure?" I asked.
"Why not?" she said. "Besides I want to sleep tonight and that always helps."
I looked in the rearview mirror at Rebecca who nodded. "Okay," she said.
We stopped at a liquor store but the sisters didn't seem that concerned with buying anything. Jordan however bought a bottle of Crown Royal and a bottle of cola. The sisters settled on some wine coolers.
Back at the house Jordan made a drink and asked if anyone else wanted one, but everyone turned him down. The sisters each had a wine cooler. We all sat in the living room and tried to not feel awkward. There had been laughs and some measure of lightness at the restaurant but that all evaporated back at the house.
Jordan seemed agitated and even aggressive. He and Rebecca sat on the sofa. They would cuddle some but a couple of times he got more enthusiastic and she would stop him. He wasn't being antagonistic or overly exuberant, but even his smallest attentions were rebuffed.
I sat in the large chair that had been their father's and Denise sat on the floor between my legs, leaning against the chair. From there I could stroke her hair and shoulders. She had changed into a tank top and shorts for the evening and Jordan's eyes kept wandering over her, especially as his wife had shut down his advances.
"Are you getting tired?" I asked her.