The Pragmatist

We sat down on our couch and she held my hand. "I started doing other work; I didn't want to concern you so I didn't tell you about the studio going under."

"What other work are you doing?"

"It's at Justina's house, and it pays at least as much so there's no reason to worry about it."

"Well whether or not I should worry comes later – I want to know what type of work?"

"Well it does include giving private dance lessons."

This was typical Arukas. Never lying, re-directing questions that she didn't want to give answers to, acting like everything was under control.

"Arukas," I continued with a bit of exasperation in my voice, "I am going to keep asking questions until I get the whole story. Why don't you just tell me everything?"

"Hey, we're making ends meet. The house expenses are being taken care of, you're eating well, you're improving your skills at community college – and by the way I just heard from someone today about a firm that is looking for an experienced stockbroker. It's called..."

I raised my voice – which I almost never do – and squeezed her hands tightly. "Right now I don't care about any of that stuff. I can see that you aren't going to volunteer information so we'll do it the hard way."

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Exactly how much money are you making?"

"It varies from week to week."

"How much did you make last week?"

She visibly sighed before she responded "I netted $2450."

My eyes got wide. "How much did you gross?"

"$3,250."

"Exactly what did you do to earn that money?"

"Well, like I said I gave private dance lessons."

"How much of that gross did you make specifically from dance lessons?"

"$250."

"How did you earn the other $3,000 that you grossed?"

"Since my dance lessons and escort services to charity balls wasn't providing the income that I needed, I moved on to something that I was really good at and was valued by society – or at least segments of it."

"And exactly what is that thing that you're really good at and is valued by certain segments of society."

Looking me straight in the eye, unflinching, and unemotional, she replied "Sex."

I was dumbfounded. Rage was not building in me, although I was sure that it would come later. For now I needed to keep my cool to get all of the information that I could.

"How many men did you have sex with to get that $3,000?"

"Three."

"Over what period of time?"

"Ninety minutes each."

"So you charge $1,000 for ninety minutes?"

"Usually."

I couldn't believe that I was keeping my cool – by now I was beyond numb, however – so I continued as calmly as humanly possible. "What sex acts did you perform?"

"Straight conventional sex, with condoms."

"Did you suck any cocks or testicles?"

"Yes."

"Did anyone come in your mouth?"

"No, only in condoms in my pussy."

"Did you do anal?"

"No."

"Where did you do this?"

"At Justina's house."

"Why there?"

"It's safe because the guy knows that both Justina and her husband Bill are there. In fact Bill, as you know, works from home, and he always greets them if it's their first time, and you know how big and intimidating Bill is."

"Where does the difference between your gross and net go?"

"It goes to Justina and Bill for letting me use their house and providing background checks on the customers, and making sure – even though they must use condoms – that they have STD-free tests. Also the condoms, brown contacts, wig, and mask cost money."

I couldn't believe that she used the word "customers," so I didn't immediately focus on the "contacts, wig, and mask."

"Where do you find the 'customers?'"

"On a specialty site on the Internet which only pre-screened people can use, but Justina does additional screening."

"Are there regulars?"

"Yes."

"How many?"

"Six that I have had sex with more than twice."

"Do they know your name?"

"They know me only as Bridget, and I wear a specialty mask that is skin tight that covers around my eyes and nose while not interfering with use of my mouth, and I wear brown contact lenses and an intertwined blond wig."

I did suddenly remember that – for the first time since I knew her – about the time that I got laid off Arukas cut her hair shorter. Now that made sense, it was to more easily use a wig.

"Do you know your customers' names?"

"Only the first names that they give me and their screen names, although Bill has a list of license plates of cars if they park nearby so we could find them if necessary. Also the web site will provide names if there are any problems, and we can report any bad experiences to the website so that the individuals involved can't access it again."

"Have there been any bad experiences?"

"Only one."

"How did that come out?"

"I kneed him in the balls and pressed the panic button Bill installed for me, and before he recovered Bill was on him with a blackjack and hit him good once."

"So Bill saw you naked?"

"Yes."

"Have you had sex with Bill?"

"No; absolutely not! Since our first week of intimacy at June's parents' beach house besides you I only have had sex with anonymous strangers who pay for it, no one else."

That last answer was the only one that she reacted strongly to.

"How long have you been doing this?"

"Since a month after you got laid off – about seventeen months."

"How much money have you netted?"

"Approximately $100,000."

I put my head in my hands. She put her hand on my knee. After a minute or so I looked her in the eye again.

"How do you justify abandoning your wedding vows?"

"I didn't," she huffed.

"How do you rationalize that?" I asked.

"I agreed to love, honor and cherish you. There can be no doubt in your mind that I have unequivocally done that; you're lying to yourself if you say otherwise. Our wedding vows did NOT include 'forsaking all others.' Do you remember that?"

Of course I didn't remember that – however, suddenly what my mother had said to me at the reception popped into my brain.

"You think that fucking other guys for money 'honors' me?"

"Everything that I do honors you. I treat you as well as any husband has ever been treated, by changing professions I was able to make sure that we kept this house that we both love – you even more than me – and we can keep our happy loving marriage stable and strong."

"How can you say that you love me?"

"Well – and please correct me if any of these are wrong – we have the ultimate in ludus love. We have a great playful, interesting relationship, more so than any other couple we know. We also have the ultimate in pragma, and companionate love. We compromise, do things for the other's benefit including some only for the other's benefit, spend all of our free time together, cuddle, share things, are best friends. We also have passionate love, and you have toned-down eros love. We have more high quality love making than anyone else we know or even than anyone can expect to have, and every fortnight we screw like jungle cats on speed. Plus our capacity for love, our philautia, has only increased since we have been married. We are as close to having 'true love' as is possible."

Most of what she said – in fact all of it – was correct. However, I still couldn't wrap my brain around her being a call girl.

"You haven't shared what you were doing behind my back; you haven't asked for my input, let alone permission," I snarled.

"I was moving from something that I earned money with that society did not value enough for us to live the life that we wanted to, to something that I was really good at that was valued. Since it had no adverse effect on you I didn't need your input or permission."

"How can you say that it had no adverse effect on me..." I started to bluster.

"STOP" she screened – showing by far the most emotion during our discussion; actually interrogation. "Can you honestly tell me that before you got the letter from the bankruptcy court that your relationship with me wasn't perfect? You're lying if you say it wasn't!"

There was a small tear in one of her eyes, and a frown on her face. After a long pause I replied "No, I can't say that it wasn't perfect, because it was perfect. However, now that I know what do you plan to do?"

"I'm willing in this regard – just like every other – to discuss it to either compromise or until one of us agrees to capitulate. This issue is no different than any other."

I was shaking my head – in fact my entire body was trembling. "No different than any other?" blitzed through my brain.

Arukas grabbed my hands again. "To give us time to resolve things, after tomorrow I'll go on hiatus, sabbatical, whatever you want to call it. One thing that I will NOT let you do, however, is throw away our perfect relationship for some impractical reason."

I shook my head – her take was that she was 100% practical and I was impractical in my reaction. Maybe my reaction was actually "impractical," but it sure was heart felt, and I sure felt justified.

Then Arukas popped up from the couch, dragged me up, and said "let's go change and go out to dinner. This coming weekend we will have a full and complete discussion."

I went along with her. I was too emotionally drained and numb to do anything else. We quickly showered together – no sex – got dressed, and she drove us to our favorite casual restaurant. We saw another couple that we knew there, and we joined them for dinner – which was a big help because I don't know how Arukas and I could have carried on a conversation for the entire dinner that didn't make me sick.

That night Arukas slept naked on my shoulder – again no sex, but I couldn't help but think a totally inappropriate, disturbing, and bizarre thought as I gazed upon her consummate body; "$1,000 for ninety minutes with her is the bargain of the century."

******************

I somehow got through the next few days until the weekend. I didn't see how I could put up with this situation, and I couldn't see how I could separate from Arukas – she was my world.

Arukas had the strangest agenda set up for Saturday and Sunday to discuss our issue. It included periods of intense discussion separated by workout sessions at a health club, trips to watch kid soccer or baseball games, meals during which there would be no discussion, a discussion with Justina – Bill refused to cooperate and I don't blame him – for an hour, and on Sunday night as the last agenda item "Primeval," whatever the fuck that meant.

The forty eight hours of the weekend was surreal. I have to saw that the agenda was spot on for doing what Arukas wanted – get the issue viewed as "pragmatically" as possible.

The toughest questions in my mind, aside from the ones already asked, were related to her reaction to the sex sessions.

"Do you enjoy the sex sessions that you're paid for?"

"Sometimes."

"What do you enjoy?"

"I always – as you well know – like to have my boobs fondled and my nipples sucked. I just think in my mind that you're doing it, or that I'm playing with myself. As far as penetration of my pussy with a condom covered cock, it's OK if the guy is fit and respectful, but not rewarding like either lovemaking or animal fucking with you is."

That was only the second or third time I had ever heard her use the word "fuck" since I met her.

"Do you orgasm?"

"I often orgasm if the guy knows how to eat my pussy, which only about 20% of them do. However, I've only orgasmed a handful of times from penal penetration. Well more than 90% of the time I have to fake an orgasm, and am quite good at that."

"What is a 'handful' of times?"

"Less than five."

"Do you ever fake an orgasm with me?"

"I only have once in the entire time that we've been together, that night on the catamaran in the Caribbean. Even that one turned out to be unnecessary, however, since shortly afterward I had a real one."

I actually got through the weekend until Sunday night without busting a blood vessel, throwing a fit, smashing furniture, or becoming violent in any way, although at the health club I pumped more iron than I had since my lacrosse days in college. I was able to make it primarily because I was so confused, and Arukas treated me no differently than at any other time in our marriage – it was like my finding out about her new profession and our talk had never occurred. The only difference was that she did not initiate sex, and I certainly didn't given the confused state of my mind; that is until the last item on her agenda: "Primeval!"

Sunday night about ten o'clock, when we were basically talked out, she acted differently than at any other time that I knew her. "So, Brett – what are you going to do about sex with your wife – are you going to be a dickless wimp and avoid her, or are you going to reclaim her in your mind since apparently you think that you have somehow lost her? Huh – what the fuck – answer me you spineless piece of shit," she snarled, and actually slapped me across the face.

I jumped up off the couch. "What the Hell do you think that you're doing?"

"I'm trying to determine whether my husband is a spineless asshole, or a real man, that's what. Afraid that you can't satisfy me shit-for-balls," she snarled, slapping me again. We had NEVER, EVER been physical with each other before, and she NEVER, EVER used words like that before.

"Don't hit me again," I snarled.

"I actually don't want to touch you again, you pussy, and certainly won't fuck you again as pathetic as you are," she snickered, pushing me in the chest. "See if you ever get to suck these again," she snarled, as she pulled off her shirt exposing her consummate tits, as she pushed me once again.

I don't know exactly what she was going for, but something inside of me snapped. I grabbed her and started manhandling her tits. She started pummeling me with her fists and swore a blue streak – words that I didn't even know that she knew. I overpowered her and carried her into our bedroom as she screamed at me. Ignoring her kicks and teeth, I handcuffed her hands to our sturdy metal headboard with her facing it, and on her knees. Then I literally ripped her shorts and underpants to shreds.

As she bucked and kicked like a bronco I maneuvered myself between her legs, slapped her ass hard a good half dozen times, and then shoved my surprisingly rock hard cock into her cunt. I didn't care at that point if I was dry-holing her, but as surprising as the rigidity of my cock was how soaking wet her pussy was.

Arukas screamed and swore as I pummeled her harder than at any other time in my life. As I pummeled her I reached around her and squeezed her nipples hard, for fun and traction. There were two more surprises.

The first further surprise: I blew my wad into her pulsating pussy more quickly and with more force than at any time in my life, and her orgasm when I did that was so strong that if I didn't know better I would have thought that she was convulsing.

The second further surprise: Once I regained cognizance from my overwhelming climax, with my cock still ensconced in her pussy, it got completely hard again. That had never happened to me before. Even times when we had two fucks close together my cock had wilted, I had withdrawn, she had sucked me hard again, and then we fucked again. This time I was still a piece of iron and I started fucking her again, even with more alacrity than the first time.

By the time that I blew my wad a second time, and she had another convulsive-type climax, I was completely emotionally and physically drained. As I passed out, more than fell asleep, on top of Arukas my mind suddenly focused on the meaning of the last event on her agenda: "Primeval!"

When I woke up Monday morning somehow Arukas was out of the handcuffs and I was spooning her. My cock hurt and cum and pussy juice were caked on both of our bodies and the sheets. Arukas stirred, turned toward me, kissed me on the lips and said "No caveman ever did a better job of reclaiming his bitch than you did Primeval Brett!" Then she rolled out of bed into the shower.

I had been totally mind-fucked, even more than I had pussy-fucked Arukas. I could barely think as I was getting ready to leave for a handyman job that I had lined up that day. As I was trying to eat breakfast – without an appetite – a smiling Arukas said "I never got around to giving you the information about the brokerage that is hiring. Here's the phone number and the name of the woman in charge of hiring. Give her a call today." Then she gave me a passionate kiss goodbye.

It was only because the job that I was doing that day was on a ladder and roof that I was able to wash my mind of the Arukas distraction – it would have been dangerous to do anything except concentrate only on the job. However, once the job was completed confusion ruled my brain again.

Since the name that Arukas had given me related to a possible job was that of a woman ("Denise"), and not a man (who she might have fucked), after my shower and on my way to my community college course I called her and arranged for an interview at 6:00 p. m. the next day.

I told Arukas – who had prepared a nice dinner – that night that I had an appointment the next day. She said that she'd have my best suit cleaned and pressed on special and waiting for me at 5:00 p. m. the next day. "After your interview we'll talk some more about the future and actually make some decisions," she smiled.

When I got to the appointment I was surprised that Denise couldn't have been more than thirty years old. She was pleasant looking and all business in a typical female office suit. We talked about the stockbroker job that her employer was hiring for, but I wasn't getting good vibes – it appeared that they wanted someone more experienced than I was, and I saw a stack of resumes on her desk. Then her eyes opened wide when she got to the last page of my resume and saw the courses that I had already completed – and the two that I would complete within six weeks – at the community college.

"You've gotten As in all of the software courses that you've taken – some related to software which we've wanted to try here but have never had the guts to go with. Also, we have no one who can use our most up-to-date version of Excel, and we haven't been able to successfully implement Ninja Trader or Worden Telecharts. Do you like working with software?" Denise said then asked.

I went on a fifteen minute, uninterrupted, summary of all of the software that I had become familiar with, how I had come to like it, how I had even started some programming which I hadn't done since freshman year in college, and details about the functionality of the new version of Excel and the merits and demerits of Ninja Trader and Worden Telecharts. When I was done I said "Sorry to be so long winded – but I guess I'm becoming a nerd because I really am getting off on that stuff."

"If you will come in tomorrow morning for a test, I may have a proposition that you can't refuse," she smiled.

That night Arukas was very excited about my interview and said "Tomorrow night we'll definitely make some decisions," before serving up another great meal. We went to a movie that night and I postponed my morning handyman job for a couple of days. In the middle of the night – actually it was likely about 4 a. m. – Arukas woke me up by sucking my cock. I was too tired, and not inclined, to stop her when she rode me cowgirl to what was a truly exceptional orgasm from the physical standpoint, although my mind was too muddled for it to feel like one of our classic love making sessions.

The next morning I demonstrated my familiarity with the programs Denise and I had discussed the previous day to her, the CEO of the brokerage, and two experienced traders. I noticed that the computer I was doing the demonstration on was not optimized, so after a couple of dozen keystrokes I turned to Denise and said "I've enhanced the functionality of this computer. Let it grind away for the next ten minutes or so, and it will be five times as fast once it does."