It's Not What You Think

One thing of significance took place about a month after I started rehab. We were gonna have a speaker at rehab -- a member of the Black Knights, the Army's parachute team. Okay, I figured, go and hear another jock. Out walked Sgt. Dana Bowman. A normal man, with two arms and two legs, and a chest full of medals. He told a story about a jumper who'd collided in mid-air with another jumper. One man died when his chute opened and he was dropped into a tree. The other man had both legs amputated in mid-air, landed face down in a parking lot, but survived. Then he pulled up the pants legs to show two prosthetics. He was the man who survived. The audience gasped. I listened to the rest of the story with great attention. I had already spent more time getting over my injury than he had before he reenlisted and was jumping out of airplanes again.

[[True. You can look him up -- it's an inspiring story. www.danabowman.com]]

Thereafter, after making some progress with the prosthetics, I brought them home. The next morning I strapped them on my legs and tried to walk over to the rehab center. It was all of two blocks away. I fell thirty times just getting to the front door of the building. Thankfully, Cyn was not there, or she'd have turned my ass red. I had to give up, fall thirty more times getting back to the apartment and getting in my wheelchair and appearing at rehab late for my appointment. My therapist knew what had happened by the scratches and scrapes on my hands. He just laughed it off, and said I'd get it.

Meanwhile, Cynthia started her job in 'Situation Evaluation -- Overseas Division' for Carbunkle Oil. I had no idea what she was supposed to be doing, except she couldn't talk about it. She made occasional trips to Houston, to meet with the 'higher ups' she said, but those were just day trips.

I bought a van, specially modified so I could drive with no legs. It would handle my wheelchair or, of course, I could just walk in and drive. The Lions Club and Rotary Club of Waxahachie decided I would benefit from having a service dog. That's when I met Bear, the nicest black and white and cream colored Swiss Mountain Dog there ever was -- actually he was part Greater Swiss Mountain Dog and part momma's-boyfriend-the-traveling-salesdog.

Bear was fully trained as a service dog, although I didn't need one really. But they wanted to do it, so Bear moved in. He could answer the door, pick up the phone when it rang, turn off the light, and he barked at intruders and would bark at any danger in the house (like a fire, for example) -- I'd train him to do more useful things for me. Like I said, I didn't really need a service dog and felt badly 'cause somebody who needed one could have had Bear. The guy who had trained Bear said that he couldn't be certified as a service dog, since he was too large. Bear was 125 lbs. and still growing. Every once in a while, I'd get into my wheelchair and let him pull me around in the park. I'd grab his harness and just turn him lose to run. I felt like Ben Hur as he pulled me around the park at breakneck speeds. Usually I had a contingent of kids running along side.

In my sixth month in big D, Cyn, I and Bear decided to move into a house halfway to little W (Waxahachie). With Dana Bowman as my example, I got myself up and walking in my fake legs. With Cynthia as my coach, I got myself set up as a computer networking consultant. I could work from home most days and visit clients when needed.

I asked Cynthia to marry me in October, about a month later. She looked at me like she was deciding, and having a difficult decision.

"I don't know. Are you asking me forever or just..." she started.

I grabbed her wrist and pulled her sharply toward me. She lost her balance and I quickly manhandled her across my lap. I flipped her skirt up and started paddling her ass with my hand. The red thong that she wore didn't interfere at all. I spanked her as fast as I could manage, raising a nice rosy color in no time flat.

She was screaming -- partly out of surprise and partly as a contribution to our little game. Bear was concerned, since we'd never done that in his presence before. "Yes! Yes! I'll marry you, you brute. But you have to promise to do this at least weekly," she cried.

With that, I swung her around and kissed her soundly. Bear was relieved, I'm sure. We decided to get hitched on Valentine's Day. Mom just smiled when we told her on her next visit.

As I said, most days I worked at home. Cynthia would go to the office in Dallas every morning -- she'd leave about seven in the morning and get home about six at night. Once in a while she'd have to go to Houston, usually for the day but occasionally it would be for two or three days.

One Friday in December, Cyn approached me as we were getting to bed.

"I know that Friday or Saturday is usually spankies day," she started. 'Spankies' was what we called it when I spanked her 'til her ass was so red and bruised that she couldn't sit. "Please let's not do it this week. I have to go to Houston all week starting on Sunday night, and I don't want to be uncomfortable sitting in meetings."

Well, that didn't sound like such a strange request to me, so we skipped it. When she got back on Friday next, I gave her a double dose. She couldn't even stand straight for two days. She loved it, by the way, and asked me to spank her titties as well. Which, of course, I did. She came three times during my 'abuse,' and I was very well rewarded for giving her the attention that she craved.

Don't get me wrong. I fucked her in every hole she had, too. In fact, we didn't leave the house except to take Bear to the park.

Same thing in January, about four weeks later. I didn't think anything of it, that time either.

She didn't go on any trips in February, except our honeymoon: a cruise to Grand Cayman. For one of my wedding presents, I got her (or me, [evil laugh]) a light weight flogger that would hurt a bit more than my hand; since I wouldn't have to stop because of damage to me, it would take longer to bruise her, which meant more pleasure/pain for her. I didn't want to hurt my hand, you see, because I'm such a delicate flower. (!!)

When Cyn went back to work, she said she'd have to go to Houston for a longer period this time. Apparently, in addition to the normal full week meeting, there was an off-site meeting on a cruise ship that would sail around for two days and there'd be a team-building event there. So, she'd be gone over the weekend, too.

All that struck me as very strange. We were only a long car ride from Houston -- about three hours. Why did she have to be there over the weekend? And what kind of company had off-site meetings on a cruise ship?

I'd never had any reason to doubt what she told me. At least until this b.s. story about the next meeting / cruise ship was concerned. Now, I was worried. It occurred to me that I didn't know her at all. Just that she loved sex and, seemingly, loved sex with me. Did she really love me? Was she a stable person? She liked kinky sex, so maybe she took a week off now and then from the 'vanilla' sex with me and visited a BDSM club. Who knew?

Christ! We'd just gotten married; we were about to have the one year anniversary of her coming to meet me in Germany. Now I had to deal with the 'Why is my wife telling lies?' issue.

Unfortunately -- or fortunately, depending on your point of view -- I had developed a friend who knew about electronics -- all kinds of electronics. So when Cynthia decided to tell me a lie, I decided to bug her.

She had told me on Monday. I called Jackson Rey, my friend in the electronics bug business, and offered to take him out to a lunch on Tuesday.

"Jack," I started our lunch discussion, "did I ever tell you how I met Cyn?"

"No, not the whole story. You met when you were in the service, didn't you?" he replied.

"Yep," I said. "We met when she was assigned to my unit in Abu Dhabi. I got to know her pretty well over the next year and a half. Then I got blown up in a terrorist bombing. I guess I saved her life, but she saved mine as well. When I got to Germany, she just appeared at my hospital.

"I was very depressed, and there she was. A beautiful angel and she seemed to be attracted to me. I was angry at the world, including her, and sometimes pretty mean. But she kept coming back.

"Then she got on the plane back to the States with me, and just moved into my apartment. BAM! There she was.

"You've seen her. Would you throw her out of bed?"

"Not a chance in hell, man," he said.

"Me neither. She was and still is a dynamo in bed. There's nothing she won't do. For months I kept asking myself: WHY? Why would a beautiful woman like her pick a crippled Vet with marginal business prospects like me?"

"Did you ever come up with an answer?" he asked.

I thought about an answer for a long time, during which our $12 hamburgers arrived. "Jack, let me tell you about a story I once heard," I said by way of answer.

"There was this fly-fisherman. He was a lawyer and lived the good life... perhaps he was not as ethical as he might have been, like so many lawyers. One day, he just keeled over and died of an aneurysm. When he woke up, he saw a bright light, and it coalesced into a mountain stream. 'Greetings,' said a voice that seemed to come from everywhere. 'You'll be spending the next part of eternity fly-fishing. Good luck.'

"Well, thought the lawyer, that's not so bad. A complete rod and reel appeared at his feet. He proceeded to wade out into the stream and looked around for a likely spot for his first cast. Looking around, he saw a shady pool. A backwater that looked likely. He cast.

"Just as the lure hit the water, a large bass leapt out of the water and took the bait. It was a good, long fight but eventually, he landed the fish. He hauled it out of the water, admired it, and set it free in the stream to go back to doing whatever it was that fish did.

"Then he began to look around for another likely spot. He cast. It wasn't his best cast, but again, just as the lure hit the water, another large fish leapt out of the water and took the bait. He thought that was a little unusual, but he fought the fish and again, it was a beauty. Catch and release, again.

"He took off the rest of the day, but the following day, he had nothing to do but fish. So he once again cast his lure into the shady spot. It was a repeat of yesterday. No sooner did his lure touch the water, but a big fish leapt out and took it. He fought it again and once again released it after the struggle.

"This is very strange, thought the former lawyer. He was always an analytical man, and it just seemed so unlikely.

"He stomped around in the stream, mudding the water, chasing likely fish away, and then just dropped his lure right in front of where he was standing. SNAP. Just as before, when the lure touched the water, a big fish took it and after a long struggle, he won again!

"Day after day, he did the same thing. And always got the exact same result.

"This is TOO MUCH, he thought to himself. How can I be the recipient of such good fortune with nothing ever going bad?

"So this time, he cast his lure out into the pasture, nearby, forty yards from the stream. Sure enough. SNAP. As soon as the lure touched the ground, a big fish jumped from the stream and took the lure in his mouth, swam through the mud to the stream and gave him a long fight. This time, he deliberately fouled his line, trying to lose the contest. He won again!

"What kind of heaven is this, he shouted aloud, where I always get what I want without any effort?

"'Who said this was heaven?' boomed the voice. 'I just said you were going to be here for eternity, fly-fishing."

"WOW!" said Jack. "What a depressing Zen story, man. But Cynthia is not your fly-fishing."

So I told him about the week in Houston every month. And the cruise ship. And the weak story that justified it. "I'm worried, Jack. For the past year, I couldn't chase the fish away. I'm worried. That's all."

"Well, what do you want from me?"

"I know you can make some fancy tracking stuff, right?"

"James, I'm surprised. I'd never do anything illegal." He spoke as if into a recorder.

"Relax, Jack," I said. "If I wanted to bust you, I'd bust you for what you did to Credit Suisse's trading account last fall ... I just want you to put together a couple of listening and GPS devices for me. One should be in a gold Cross pen, voice activated listening and GPS broadcasting by burst transmission every five minutes. Another is just a straight pin, or a safety pin. As small as you can make it. Just GPS. And the last is a spike mic, constant broadcasting, like you can pound into drywall and hear what's going on inside."

"Golly, James. Those devices would be illegal, you know." But he wrote 'Thursday, after work' on a napkin. "I could never do that. But you can buy a GPS tracking program for her phone. And some software that'll let your phone ring when she activates hers."

"Oh... too bad. Sorry to take your time, Jack. That's a good idea about the cell phone though."

*****

On Wednesday, I installed the GPS tracking software on my laptop. Just for yucks, I put it in a folder on a hidden partition of the hard drive, and passworded the whole thing. You know, just for fun. Riiiiiight. If I'm looking, I'll assume she's looking too. Then I moved my journal to the same hidden partition. Wouldn't do to have her reading this.

On Thursday, I met Jack and passed an enjoyable hour having a drink after work. Jack also passed me a small package, wrapped in tissue paper.

That night, I slipped out to the kitchen and replaced her gold Cross pen with the new improved version that Jackson had given me.

Friday morning, Cyn just about destroyed me in bed before leaving for work. She got up extra early to do one of everything -- except the spanking -- and left me a wreck. She packed a suitcase and went to get in the shower.

I picked up her birth control pills from out of the suitcase and held them in my hand -- camouflage in case I was caught. Then I quickly rifled through the suitcase. Several of her most slinky and sexy dresses were in there, a pair of her highest heeled shoes too, and it was filled with her best underwear from Victoria's Secret. I placed the safety pin GPS transmitter in one of the side pockets and waited for her to come out of the shower.

"You forgot your birth control pills," I said in an angry tone, "and as I was putting them in your suitcase, I noticed that you've also packed your sexy underwear and dresses and shoes. What damn kind of business meeting is this, anyway? I'm not a jackass, Cyn. What's going on?"

"What's going on," she said with a smile, "is that you're nuts. I took the dresses because I'm going to be there for over a week. I assume that I'll go out for dinner with the guys -- and girls, I might add -- to dinner some night. They are sexy dresses because you won't let me have any other kind in my wardrobe. Here..." she flung the door to her closet open. "... you choose what I should take. Same with my underwear. I don't have any plain-Jane granny style underwear. It's all sexy briefs and thongs and bras.

"C'mon James." She dropped her towel (from the shower, remember?) and slithered toward me. "I'm yours and I'm not going anywhere." She laid a steaming hot kiss that would have curled my toes, if I still had any. At least, it melted the plastic on my prosthetic feet.

"It's just that I don't like these week-long trips," I said. "I'm afraid of losing you to somebody. You're so important to me. I can't believe how lucky I am to have you. ... I'm sorry for thinking like that." And I was, too. She'd convinced me that I was chasing at shadows. I didn't think anybody could fake passion like she showed. OR ... I didn't think, period.

She left to get in her car for the drive to Houston. I walked to my office in the spare bedroom after giving Bear his morning ration of kibble, and turned on my laptop and desktop computers.

I felt guilty as I looked at the directory of the hidden partition on the laptop. Why was I even doing this? Almost on automatic, I opened the windows for the GPS trackers: one each for the cell phone, the pen in her purse and the safety pin in her luggage. They each showed that she was approaching the highway, as expected.

Just to keep in touch, I thought I'd listen in on the transmitter in the pen. I really thought I'd just hear the same radio station that Cyn was listening to. I didn't.

She seemed to be on the phone. I pulled out my cell and saw that her cell was inactive. The transmission was delayed because the pen-transmitter only sent every five minutes, in a heavily encoded burst transmission.

"Yeah. Just checking in..." she said into some other cell phone. "... I'm just hitting the freeway now... No, but he was a little hinky this morning. Wanted to know why I was packing all the sexy clothes and underwear. I told him that I didn't have anything else. Which is true... ... ... No, no problem... No, I won't discuss how I convinced him. You don't need to know that... No, I don't think so... All right, if you insist, but he's never out of the house. How are you going to get them placed? ... You sure? 'Cause if you fuck this up, I'll be really pissed... Right. Well, I'm going to take the 20 to the 45. Should be in Houston by lunch... Okay. See you then."

Shitfuck! Her cell phone wasn't activated, but its GPS was active, so I knew it was working. So she had another phone. A secret phone can't be a good sign. And she was talking to him. I didn't really know it was a 'him' but who else could it be? And he knew about the sexy clothes she packed. And it sounded like they were going to place a bug or bugs in my house.

I called Jackson. "Looks bad for me, friend. It looks like all the fish I've been catching ... well let's just say that I'm not in heaven any more," I said. "I'm going to need something that will find bugs in my house, now too."

"Oh, man. That's bad. I'm really sorry," he said. But he agreed to provide the device I'd need.

"What's the range on that transmitter you got for me?"

"It's about half a mile. The battery will only work for about two weeks, then we'll need to change it."

"Crud! That means I'll have to get myself to Houston. I never thought about that. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do this at all."

"Well, I can give you a little box that'll receive it, if you can place it within range. It'll store everything on a flash drive. It's about the size of a box of cigarettes," Jackson said.

"Oh, that'll be great. I'll come by and pick them up on my way to swamp city."

So, I picked up the new equipment and drove the van to Houston. Following the GPS dots, I figured that she was staying at the Houston Century -- a very upscale hotel. Not exactly the kind for a business meeting, but maybe that was just my paranoia talking. She must have clearance from her employer for a week every month, so there must be some kind of business purpose. Maybe it was Carbunkle's way of having a meeting -- they were rolling in dough, you know.

Then her cell GPS and the pen GPS moved to a small building some distance away. It was in an unnamed five story building, according to my GPS software. For the rest of my drive those two GPSes didn't move.

Bear and I got to Houston about 2 p.m, a couple of hours after Cyn should have arrived. We might have been earlier, but I needed to stop to let Bear unload the 'processed kibble' from this morning. I drove be the Century Hotel. Very fancy. Then I went to the other site. As I got closer, I picked up the transmission from the pen. Some guy was going on about the first quarter actuals in South America and the second and third quarter projections in the oil market, world wide.