tagNon-EroticTaking Things In Hand Ch. 02

Taking Things In Hand Ch. 02


Well, this is a "2" so there has to be a "1". I suppose I could do a bunch of updates to make this all standalone, fuck that. Go read the damn thing, typos and all. Got me a notice about my last story posted here that said something about "learn to spell" I got crabby but fixed some, missed some..oh well.

Getting old.


After I kicked Patti out of the house and burned up her massage table I had spent maybe 40 solid hours making, things got quiet around the house.

Hell, I expected my phone to ring, she would be all bawling and carrying on, I would give her a ration of shit, she would come home and that would be it.

No such thing, I sat there for two weeks waiting.


I lifted weights, did pushups, punished my body. Anybody who thinks 2-3 weeks of working out like a dog doesn't add size is nuts, just ask me. I first lost 10 pounds, then gained 20 back. Yep, in two weeks.

I was hurting, Patti was my life, I loved her. I just knew she would come crawling, so I waited. I would get horny and just jack off, I would get out a Playboy but that vision of her with that jerk sneaked in my mind and I hated that, even though that did it for me. Sick and confusing, and that pissed me off even more.

Got it in my head I didn't give a damn, finally.

Then one night, completely out of patience, I got dressed up. Dabbed on some musk crap that was supposed to attract women, went over to the bar where she worked.

The same damn asshole I had decked at the house was parked on the end bar stool. He took one look at me, and slid off his stool and headed off the other direction.

Well, I am kinda big, set of shoulders most real big men would die for, arms like trash cans. All that weight lifting and exercise had pumped me up, my shirts were so tight I could pop them open with just a big flex.

So I probably looked mean, I suppose I can take streaks of being mean, too.

Patti was behind the bar, wearing one of those silly looking black and white bartender outfits, you know the type, black skirt, white blouse, vest and all.

She looked at me nervous and asked what I wanted. I ordered a rum and coke, hell it was a hard bar, I didn't want to appear uncool and order a beer which was what I really wanted.

Patti finally ran out of things to pretend to do, she came over and asked me how I was doing.

We chatted a bit, she mentioned she wanted to come and get her massage table. I told her it was gone, that pissed her off big time.

Her clothes were in a big box I put out in the garage, I told her to come get them if she wanted.

Then she ignored me, after 30 minutes or so of that I gave up and left.

The jerk was sitting in his car out in the parking lot, I walked over there and told him that if I ever saw him again I would stuff him in the trunk of his fucking car and take it up to the lake and push it in.

He got the picture.

Like I said, I am big.

I went home, hell with it.

I was on my 3rd beer at home, phone rang. It was Patti. She wanted to come over and talk. 3 O'clock in the damn morning by then, I said sure.

She rolled up in short order, I could hear the bad rocker arm on her Dodge Dart a half mile away.

She sat down on the couch, just sat there. Finally I gave her a beer, waited. I was used to her, she always did put all her thoughts together before she opened her mouth.

Finally. "Are you still mad?"

Fuck. No shit.

"Yea, I am still pissed off."

"I really am sorry."

Oh, sure. The dickhead is still hanging around, no doubt they are still at it, and she is "sorry."

"Oh, bullshit."

Patti got up and came over and sat beside me, I could smell the wisp of perfume on her. Her hand settled on my leg, it hit me she was in the mood.

At this point I had been two solid weeks without sex, after close to a year of every day at least. My right hand just didn't do the job, besides, even looking at a Playboy didn't do it, that vision of her climbing up on that goddam table just kept popping in my head.

Like always her hand went right down the front of my pants and we were at it.

I must have been out of my mind.

Next morning I woke up, she was in the kitchen cooking. I must say, Patti can cook, no doubt. I had been on "men's meals" for over two weeks. You single guys know about "men's meals". Those little pasta "O" things in the sickly sweet tomato sauce with pretend cheese. Ravioli in a can, bread and butter, cheese, crackers, something fast you don't have to fuck with.

Hell, I had even bought a can of Spam, add some bread and Mayonaise and still no human being can eat that. Yep, ate it.

So I wandered out to breakfast, Eggs, Bacon, toast that wasn't half done, even spuds shredded into those fine little pieces and all golden brown and crunchy on the outside..

I was halfway finished eating when I realized I didn't even have any eggs or bacon, she must have gone to the store about 4 miles away. I had slept like a log, satiated for the first time in over two weeks.

Later we talked, she was "sorry", it just "happened". The jerk had just "happened" to be there at the bar, nothing was going on. I bit like a Bass at a gob of plastic with a spinner on it.

So we settled back in. I promised to make her another table, she promised no more messing around, I believed all of that and Patti was back home with me.

It was only about 3 months or so later I got a letter, I was drafted. Great, just what I wanted all of my life, to be a Marine and go fix the world.

We got married, at least she would get a tiny check.

Tears and goodbyes and be carefuls, and later I was on a bus, off to do my duty, like I had any damn choice in the matter.

I could go into that, I won't. Wasn't nice, don't want to. It was 2 years before I got home.

Oh, sure, a couple of leaves, lots and lots of letters, everything was fine. Her massage practice was busy, we had agreed that she would be straight with it.

Nothing I could do but have faith.

Patti met me at the airport the day I got home. I was OK, the bullet hole in my ribs had given me a free ticket. I had healed nicely with no outward effects, but I was different inside.

Patti and I made love all over the house, she was such an eager woman. That same odd fascination with my dick, too, I could almost totally relax when she started that. She would reach out and grab me, slide the foreskin back, then she would play, watching me grow bigger and bigger in her hands. The bad thoughts in my head would go away for awhile.

I asked her flat out if she had done any of that with her customers. She denied it, I let that go, believing her.

I got my job back at the mill, pissing off some guys who had moved up the ladder in the meantime. Funny but nobody really gave me any real respect, opposite in fact. Guys like me were almost like the enemy in those days. Nobody fucked with me much, I was just too big, around 245 pounds now and no fat at all. Most of the little pipsqueaks I worked with had bald heads and pot bellies by then, I was coming up on 30 myself but I had my hair.

But they let me know in little ways, just the times I guess.

One late afternoon at work I got to feeling just a little off, nothing big, my mood wasn't in those damn paper bags. I told the shift foreman, he told me to go home and try to shake it off, so I did.

I got in my Chevelle, yep, same one, went home.

Car parked in my driveway I didn't recognize. 8 O'clock in the evening. I just opened the door and walked in, there they were. Patti's blouse was open, bra pulled up, his pants were undone. No amount of talking could get her out of this one. Plus it was that same son of a bitch, I went ballistic. He tried to move left and right to get away, then trapped he tried to fight back.

Wrong move.

I bounced the asshole from one side of the room to the other while Patti was screaming. Finally I had him out on the porch, Patti was grabbing at me, yelling. I belted him, he went over the railing, that was it. I shoved her back inside the house, slammed the door, mad.

That was it, we were done, no end to this crap. Things were flying, we were both yelling, I wanted to belt her one too but didn't. Patti started packing up, crying, I went out to throw the jerk in his car.

He was still there, laying on the ground at the foot of my porch.

I reached down, felt for a pulse.

There wasn't one.

The rest was a blur. I remember the handcuffs. I remember the tears streaming down my face. I remember a weasly little lawyer telling me something about "mercy of the court." I remember the judge talking but I don't remember what he said.

Didn't care. There was no way to fix things now. Until your guts are completely empty you can't understand that feeling, no point in describing it.

They say when someone is inside they can get raped. Nobody raped me, no one even tried. I spent 10 years lifting weights, working out. I spent 10 years reading and learning. I learned how to write, how to do convincing arguments.

I learned the law. The life locked up isn't so bad. At least where I was. Everything is structured, taken care of. Life becomes a rythmm.

I described it once in one of my books, as being like "one of the Ants."

Then they told me I was free, go home. I had no home, I didn't even want to go. I was happy where I was.

Some money and some clothes, out the door, go be a productive member of society.

Yeah, sure.

I did find work in a gas station. I found an apartment. One thing then another, saved a bit, bought a house, worked hard. Jobs got better.

I mostly hated women, I would have little to do with them. Still don't much.

I got an old typewriter, wrote some stories, after maybe 50 rejections I got a check. After that I got some more, then even more.

I wrote some fiction stories, probably some of you have read them, mysteries, detectives, all types. Dabbled in some light erotic stuff. Don't ask, I won't answer. Just know I write as a woman most of the time. It's easy for me somehow. I often cry when I write, it is part of how it works for me.

Money? No end to it when a book does lots of copies and makes paperback. More books later, easy stuff to do once the door opens. Lots of folks write better than me and that door never opens, I was lucky. A publisher had me come in for a meeting, expecting a woman. Imagine the shock when I walked in the door. Middle aged lady sitting behind the desk, she looked at me and said, "Well, I'll be damned!"

Yep, bit of money, just what a lonely old man needs.

A couple of years ago I bought a computer, found the internet. A whole world, all sitting there, waiting to be picked. People everywhere to talk to.

Just a few weeks ago, my email went off. I didn't recognize the address, something about "Idahochild"...

Some of you might know her. Her name is Patti, I was married to her once. The email said she still thought about me. Over 30 years, I doubted that.

So I hunted online, I checked. Real estate, married 4 times, picked them off a piece at a time, ended up owning it all. Two kids, too. Supposed to be mine, part of my life, didn't work out that way.

I thought about that. Thought long and hard. Easy to see what she really is. She found out I was a success, have money.

Sent her an email back...She would understand.

"Beat it."


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by Anonymous

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by Anonymous07/09/17

All right

I thought 33 years is a lifetime was a better telling of this story-- with the second layer of the faithful girlfriend as well as the gold digger. Reading through your complete literotica postings. Amore...

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