I remember the day I turned my wife into a slut for young cock.
My wife was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis in 2010 and immediately was told to lose at least 30 pounds. Since the birth of our third child in the late 1990s, she had put on about 30-35 pounds and puffed up to a heavy 180. It had affected our sexual relationship, and now the disease was a huge setback to both of us.
Stephanie took it like the warrior she is, though. Made to understand how the extra weight and some poor eating habits take an unnecessary toll on the body, she tackled the assigned 1,800 calories-a-day diet like a middle linebacker, determined to "get the best of it" before it gets the best of her.
The pounds did not come off easy, at first. She grew frustrated sometimes, and by year one, had only lost 7 pounds. But those seven were reason to celebrate, as she dropped a full dress size in the process. That re-energized her and on New Year's Eve, she had her final alcoholic beverage – as the new strong RA drugs she was to take nightly could not be taken with alcohol.
We had a fantastic NY Eve. I got her drunk for what would we both knew would be the final time in her life. That night we had crazy mad sex, making me yearn for "the early days" of our then-22-year-marriage, when we fucked like rabbits in heat at the drop of a hat. Whenever and wherever, just "say the word" and we were heavy at it.
She kept on with the diet. It became her daily regimen and we ended up with two different shopping lists and two different meals every night.
Fast forward 18 months, and my wife was at the top of her game. Although the onset of the RA was imminent, she'd lost weight – and inches – like a trooper. On July 4 2011, I raised a stein of Sam Adams to her virgin daiquiri, as we toasted the loss of her unbelievable 40th pound. She was now down to a weight I hadn't seen her at in almost 20 years, down from her former "rotund" self to a size 8 dress. She glowed spectacularly, and was deliciously proud of her achievement. She had every right to be.
And her figure, oh man – the diet of "all the right foods" and her now-regular exercise was paying off big dividends. She started at a place called Curves, where the machines do all the work for you until they gradually roll back the machination and have you do all the work. Then came Gold's Gym, which she loved for its pool. With her RA, there are a lot of things she cannot do, but in the pool, she is able to use the zero-weight-and-resistance to her advantage. Once she was there, the pounds began melting away.
But her RA will never go away, and the strong meds she takes are part of her daily routine. She takes a medication I still cannot pronounce four times a day. Then at night, she has to take her "knock-out drug," Opana. It's the heavy narcotic that wiped out any chance of her ever drinking alcohol again – the meds say right on the bottle, "Consumption with alcohol could lead to death."
She takes her Opana every night at 11 p.m., on the nose, and is out like a light by 11:15 or 11:20, it's that fast. Plus, the strength she takes is the minimum, but it was more for a body mass of 150-plus pounds, and not the 135 she was down to right now.
We explained the meds to our three kids, Kevin, Todd and Marcy, in case something ever happened and their mom was unresponsive, or if I was not around to help out. They understood, and were made to understand the difference between the meds.
This went on for a full year and she maintained the weight – gaining a couple of pounds here, and losing them back later, but staying with 135-137 as an average. Stephanie's breasts remained full from the weight she had gained. She'd been a 34B but was a 40D when she'd hit her top weight, her upper torso gaining girth and accounting for the "40" in her bra size.
Once she lost the weight, we BOTH feared her breasts would "shrivel away," but they did not – much to her – and MY – delight, as her bras are all 38Ds. "Ahhhh, the benefits of eating right and proper exercise," I smiled to myself many a time while we made love and I enjoyed her new size.
As for my family, my oldest son Kevin graduated from college the same year my daughter started. My middle boy, Todd, was "trying to find himself," as they say. His grades were not spectacular, and his "dream" of being a surgeon bit it when all he could do was get into community college here. He started working part-time for an electronics store in The Galleria and had just received a promotion to full-time, getting more hours, better pay and his own benefits. He was still living with us at the time, trying to save enough money to eventually move out and get his own place.
So ... then, "it" happened. It was the day after Thanksgiving that year is when it all started.
I had to go in to work after we returned from a large feast at a relative's house. It was about 8 p.m. and Stephanie was already tired, so she went to lie down. I asked Todd to make sure he woke her up to take her meds, if I was not back by 11 p.m. yet. He agreed, so I went to work.
At about 10:15 or so, I realized I was not quite done with work yet, and didn't know if I would be able to leave in time to make sure Steph took her drug. I called Todd on his cellphone and asked him if he was home, and if could make sure his mom took her medication.
He got all frantic on the phone, saying he was in a neighboring city at a friend's house, and was not sure if he was coming back home that night. I got extremely pissed at him, read him the riot act and hung up. I made amends with my co-workers, who were all well aware of the medical goings-on with my wife over the past three years. I grabbed my keys and said I would be back in about an hour, and bolted from work.
I arrived home at 10:45 p.m. and walked upstairs, and gently woke Steph. She was glowing even in her sleep, as tired as she was. Her face had that look of the 27-year-old woman I'd married two-plus decades earlier. She let out a soft, "Hi" while barely opening her eyes. I helped her take the Opana and knew she would be out like a light for the night in a matter of minutes. I left the drug container on her nightstand, the "Friday" slot empty from the pill she'd just taken. I decided to take a shower before heading back to work, as it had been an unusually warm 75 degrees that day here in Houston, and frankly, I deserved a hot, relaxing shower.
After I'd stepped out of the shower and began to dry off, I heard a noise in the other room. A voice. "What the hell?" I thought and hurriedly finished drying off, in case I was about to confront some intruder.
I snapped off the bathroom light and cracked the door, ready to emerge and start sneaking around just as a body came into my line of sight.
It was Todd.
I breathed a sigh of relief, glad I wasn't going to have to confront a burglar. I stood back with nothing but the bathroom door and a towel between me and my son. I was about to yell out to him when I heard another voice. A second voice. And they were both in our bedroom, just feet away from me.
"You sure she's asleep?"
"She's not asleep, I told you. She's knocked out," I heard Todd say. "See?" He grabbed the pillbox from the nightstand. "She took her medicine already, and she's knocked out. Hahahehe."
"Wow. That's wild," the second voice said. "You ever think of taking one of those? I bet they'd kick your ass!'
