Jean’s Wounded Warrior Ch. 02

Derek had promised Jean that he wouldn't cum in her pussy. I staggered into the kitchen and checked the calendar. We had kept track of Jean's periods and marked her days of maximum fertility since we started trying to get her pregnant. Unless something had changed, this was day 12 of her cycle. She was close to her peak fertility. I screamed curses at the sky.

After eating some peanut butter and jelly for dinner, I moved a chair to the edge of the deck where our car's headlights would wake me. I fell into a deep sleep. It was well after 10 AM the following day when I woke up. Jean still hadn't arrived home. I staggered inside, overwhelmed with despair, and noticed the light blinking on the answering machine. I rewound the tape and listened to the message Jean had left late last night.

"Steve, I'm staying at Fort Drum until Derek is safe. He is in a crisis, and I'm afraid he'll hurt himself. I'm calling from a phone booth. We're going to get a motel room. I'll let you know when I have a number you can call. Please don't worry about me. I'll be home as soon as it's safe to leave Derek. I love you more than you'll ever know."

I listened to the tape message again but was left just as confused as the first time I heard it. Jean had used the word crisis, but Derek wasn't one of her elderly end-of-life patients at the hospital. Hell, he wasn't even her patient, or was he? Jean had been with her brother at the Army hospital for two months. Had she decided to treat some of the other wounded warriors? It certainly sounded like the kind of thing my caring wife might do.

I was in limbo, waiting for a call from my wife. The problem was that I had no idea where she was staying, and she hadn't left a number where she could be reached. I tried calling the base, but I didn't know Derek's last name. The soldier who answered refused to acknowledge that there was even a soldier at Fort Drum named Derek. All I could do was play the tape message repeatedly, hoping for a clue until the tape broke.

After nearly a week of agony, my wife returned home late at night. I rushed to the garage when I heard the garage door bang open. Jean was sitting with her hands on the wheel and her eyes staring straight ahead. She looked in terrible shape. I have no idea how she managed to make it back home.

"Jean, are you OK?"

"Mmm..."

I picked my wife up and carried her into the house.

"Would you like something to eat or drink?"

Jean moaned and buried her face against my chest.

I laid her down on our bed and went to fill a bath. I came back and undressed Jean. Her clothes were dirty and grass-stained. She was not wearing underwear, and her body smelled of sweat and cum. I lowered her into the warm bath and washed her tenderly with a sponge. Jean's body was covered with bite marks and hickeys. When I washed her pussy, she gripped my arm and winced. I dried my wife and put her to bed in one of my tee shirts. She slept nearly 18 hours. After a light breakfast and several cups of coffee, Jean began to talk.

"I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you deeply. My only excuse is that Derek was in a crisis, and I was terrified he would harm himself. I'm used to working with older, end-of-life patients and found myself out of my depth. I thought if I could distract him, I could get him through his crisis. Dancing took his mind off his problems, but things got out of control. I should have been more cautious. I knew he'd become infatuated with me during therapy at the Army hospital, but I thought I could control him. I blocked his advances at first, but he kept pushing. From what he said, I became afraid that if I rejected him, he would kill himself.

"Once I gave in to him, I couldn't resist his demands without upsetting him. He became more despondent the closer we got to Fort Drum. We spent nearly five days in a seedy motel near the base. The first day, Derek took my clothes and locked them in the car. He hid the keys and wouldn't let me out of the room. He only left to buy whiskey and fast food. The first time he went out, he purchased some nylon rope to tie me to the bed when he wanted to sleep.

"Every time I tried to talk about his life choices, he screamed at me that I didn't love him. All we did was Dexedrine, whiskey, and screw. Mostly, we screwed. The man is insatiable. Oh God, I can't believe how many times we fucked like rutting animals. It had nothing to do with love.

"Two nights ago, he was drunk and forgot to tie me up. I snuck out of the room naked. Some soldiers were drinking in the parking lot, and they propositioned me. When I refused their offer, they chased me into the motel office. The manager ran off the soldiers with a shotgun. I've never been so frightened in my life. I had difficulty convincing the manager that I wasn't a whore. I thought he believed me when I turned down his offer of a hundred dollars to ride his cock. I guess he wasn't wholly convinced because he made me suck his cock before letting me use the phone.

"I called the base, and they sent a team of military police. I didn't say anything about being held captive. Poor Derek was arrested and hauled off in chains. I contacted the base yesterday, saying I was his therapist at the Army hospital. They let me have a short visit with him. Derek said his commanding officer had agreed to drop the charges for being AWOL in exchange for signing up for another tour in Vietnam. He seemed content with his decision to reenlist. Somehow, Derek had made it through his crisis unharmed. He cried as he apologized for his behavior. I kissed him on the cheek and drove home.

"I'm sorry I put you through this mess. I love you deeply, but I can't expect you to forgive me. If you want to throw me out, I'll understand."

Jean's eyes had been watering while she was talking, but now that she had finished her narrative, she began weeping. I stared at her, sobbing for at least a minute before pulling her into my arms.

I said, "You lied to me about being on birth control. I don't understand why you had sex with Derek when you knew you were at the height of your fertility. How will we explain a black baby if you're pregnant with his child?"

Jean began sobbing harder. When she recovered enough to talk, she said, "I don't care what the doctor said about being able to try to get pregnant again. I know something inside me is broken. I don't think I'll ever be able to have children. Steve, how can I be a wife to you if I can't have a baby."

I realized her miscarriage had wounded Jean as deeply as Derek had been by his injury in Viet Nam. Perhaps, it hadn't simply been a case of Jean helping Derek recover. Maybe they had been helping each other.

My head was in turmoil for weeks. On the one hand, my friends told me I should dump the cheating slut. I would never be sure I could trust her again. What if she was pregnant? I had no intention of raising another man's child. On the other hand, I doubted that I would ever meet a woman as wonderful as Jean. She was hard-working, intelligent, athletic, gorgeous, and fabulous in bed. We had known each other for three years and had been married for two. When I met her, Jean was a good Christian girl and made me wait nearly six months before we had sex. Making love with Jean the first time made the long wait worth it. I wasn't prepared to throw away all the effort we had put into our relationship.

I knew we weren't in a healthy place in our marriage, but I wasn't sure how to move forward. First, I needed to know what had motivated my wife's behavior. I thought I knew Jean, but I wasn't sure I had ever known her.

My behavior was equally disturbing. Maybe I didn't even know myself. What kind of sick pervert gets off on watching a stranger fuck their wife?

#

Author's Note: I intentionally left the events of this chapter unresolved. If you want a resolution to the issues raised in this story, you'll have to read several more chapters to understand Jean's background. None of us makes it through life unscathed.