I Have a Friend

Woman convinced of husband's unfaithfulness plots the ultimate 
revenge.

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                      I Have a Friend

                   (by Tim and Sandi L)

"There's something wrong, isn't there?" said Becky. She set her 
coffee cup back on the saucer and reached across the kitchen table 
to touch Laura's hand. "Are you and Steve having a problem?" she 
asked.

Laura nodded, and the tears that she'd successfully held in check 
until now burst out in a torrent. Becky handed her a napkin, and 
Laura wiped her eyes. "He's having an affair," she said.

"Oh, Laura!" said Becky. "Are you sure?"

"He hasn't been very subtle," said Laura. "We haven't made love in 
weeks. He comes home hours late, saying he had to work overtime, 
but when I call his office, I just get his answering machine. And 
he's evasive when I ask about his day. And I've found things."

"Like what?" said Becky.

"Like in the laundry, I've found dried semen in his shorts, a scrap 
of paper with a phone number he claims he doesn't recognize. Things 
like that."

"Hmmm." Becky got up, walked behind Laura's chair, and began 
rubbing her shoulders. "Has he said anything directly?"

"No, he just implies things," she said. "I'm sure, though."

Becky smiled. "If Jim ever did anything like that, I'd be tempted 
to cut his cock off," she said.

Laura looked startled.

"You've been thinking about that, haven't you, Laura?" said Becky. 
"Laura, I can see it in your eyes."

Laura managed a weak smile despite the tears. "Just an idle 
thought," she said. "I could never do it, you know, but it helps to 
think about it."

"It's the perfect revenge, " said Becky, now grinning broadly. "If 
it could be arranged and you didn't have to do anything, could you 
go for it?"

Laura looked taken aback. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"If you want, I have a friend who'd love to arrange it," said 
Becky. "An old college roommate. We used to talk for hours about 
how it could be done."

"And then I go to jail or he kills me, right?" said Laura, clearly 
unconvinced.

"No, no, no. Then he begs for your forgiveness. Believe me, Laura, 
we've thought this through. He'll never know you had anything to do 
with it. He won't even want you to know how it happened." Becky was 
talking with considerable animation at this point.

"How does that happen?" Laura asked.

"You don't want to know. If you don't know anything about it, 
nobody will blame you. Just trust me. If you want, it'll happen. 
How do you feel about it?" said Becky.

Laura was silent for a minute. She stared out the window. She 
looked at Becky. She covered her eyes with her hands.

"Laura, you don't want sex with him again after what he's done to 
you, do you? And you don't want him out with whoever-she-is 
enjoying himself, do you?" said Becky.

At last, sounding tentative, Laura answered. "Okay," she said. "I 
think you've convinced me."

"It will probably take her three weeks to set things up. If you 
change your mind in the next three weeks, call me. Okay? Once it 
happens, I'll have to deny we ever talked about it, you understand. 
Okay?" said Becky.

Laura's voice was firm this time. "I understand," she said.

                          * * * * *

Three weeks later, Steve was nursing his third margarita at a 
little round marble-topped table in the bar at the Executive Plaza 
hotel. He hadn't really wanted the drink, but he didn't want to go 
home, either, and you couldn't just sit there for hours without 
getting a drink. Besides, the cocktail waitress was wearing a skirt 
that came within half an inch of revealing the color of her 
panties. She knows what sells drinks, Steve thought.

He was musing about this when he felt the light pressure of a 
feminine hand on his shoulder. A matching voice said, "Is this seat 
taken?"

Steve looked up. There stood a stunningly beautiful woman, medium 
height, maybe 35, with full, wavy auburn hair that hung down three 
inches past her shoulders. She was dressed in a modest beige 
business suit with knee-length skirt, short matching jacket, not 
buttoned, and a frilly white blouse. She had class. Steve's first 
impression was that she was a businesswoman, maybe a corporate 
executive. Hard to tell, though, he thought. She could just as 
easily sell Avon. In any event, she was smiling warmly.

Steve made a gesture toward the chair, but he was puzzled. The 
Friday happy hour was over. Most people were having dinner, not 
cocktails, and the bar was nearly empty. There were five nearby 
tables where she could have sat by herself. Why had she chosen to 
join him?

She sat down. "You look like you need cheering up," she said, 
answering his unspoken question. "I'm Barbara. My husband is here 
for a gun club convention, and I'm just along for the ride. Wife 
troubles?"

Steve was startled. Was it that obvious? He did need somebody to 
talk to, though. Maybe she could help him understand what was going 
on with Laura. And anyway, he'd probably never see her again, so 
why not, he reasoned. "Hi. I'm Steve, and, yeah, wife troubles," he 
said.

"I'm a good listener," she said. "Want to talk about it?"

"She's been cold as ice lately," he said. "I get home late from 
work and just want some affection and it's like my touch makes her 
skin crawl or something. She even dresses and undresses in the 
bathroom so I won't see her. If I try to hug her, she pushes me 
away. Nothing I do pleases her. I brought her flowers a week ago 
and she threw them in the trash. I don't get it. Lately I've been 
coming here after work. I tell her I'm working late, but the truth 
is, I can't face going home."

"Hmmm," she replied. "Is she ever in the mood for love?"

"No, especially the past three weeks," he said.

"What kind of approach do you use? You're not giving her the, 'Hey, 
Baby, let's fuck' approach are you?" She was grinning mischievously.

"No. In fact, I haven't even been looking for sex--I'd be happy 
with a little warmth, acknowledgment that I'm human."

"You haven't been seeing anyone else?" she asked. "Be honest. A 
wife can tell."

"No," he replied. It was more of an admission than a boast, but he 
hadn't.

Barbara reached across the table and took hold of Steve's hand. 
"Know what I think?" she said. "I think you need a good old-
fashioned blow job."

Steve stared, incredulous. Did he hear right? Was she offering, or 
just making an observation? Or was she teasing, toying with him, 
making fun of him? He couldn't think of anything to say. He just 
kept looking at her.

She laughed, seeming to take delight in having caught him off-
guard. "Yes, I'm serious," she said, again answering the question 
he didn't ask. "Our room is right around the corner, and my husband 
won't be back for a couple of hours. Why not let me take care of 
you?"

She stood, still holding Steve's hand. "What the hell," Steve said, 
half to himself and half to nobody in particular. He got up and 
followed her.

When they reached the lobby, she motioned for him to stop. "I'll be 
with you in just a sec," she said, and she went to the check-in 
counter. Steve saw her talk to the man behind the counter, then 
open her purse and hand the man what looked like currency. He 
smiled and nodded as he put the money in his pocket and nodded, 
then looked at his watch. She closed her purse, said something else 
to the man, then came back to Steve. "I asked him to give us a call 
if my husband gets back early," she explained. "If he catches us, 
he'll kill us both." She looked serious.

Steve was having second thoughts. This was not the kind of thing he 
did. He'd never been unfaithful to Laura. And the idea of a jealous 
husband made him uneasy. Besides, something here just didn't seem 
right. She said she was just tagging along with her husband, but 
she was way overdressed for that. Why the business suit? Laura 
would have worn jeans and a sweatshirt. But Barbara took his hand 
again and he followed.

When they got to the room, Barbara went immediately to the sliding 
glass patio door that led to the pool area, checked the lock, then 
closed the curtain. She returned, slipped off her jacket, and hung 
it in the closet. Then she unzipped her skirt and let it fall to 
the floor, kicked off her shoes and slid her half slip down over 
her hips, letting it fall, too. "This isn't a girlie show," she 
deadpanned, reaching over to pick up the garments. "Are you going 
to get ready or not?"

Steve kicked off his shoes, unfastened his belt slowly, timidly, 
then, just as slowly, unzipped and dropped his pants.

Barbara was unbuttoning her blouse. "My tongue doesn't go through 
shorts," she said with a matter-of-fact tone. Steve slowly pulled 
his shorts down and sat down on the side of the bed to pull them 
off over his feet. She grinned when she saw his erection. "Oh, this 
is going to be fun," she said. She pulled her panty hose down to 
her knees and sat on the bed beside him to take them off, one leg 
at a time. "Make yourself comfy," she suggested, gesturing for him 
to lie down.

Steve lay down, and Barbara crawled on top, her head over his 
penis, her knees straddling his chest. Her panties were inches from 
Steve's nose, and he thought about pulling them off, but she hadn't 
offered that, and Steve didn't want to ruin a good thing. Then he 
felt her wrapping something tightly around the base of his penis.

"What are you doing?" he asked. His apprehension was evident in his 
voice.

"Relax, Sweetie," she said. "It's a rubber band. I intend to make 
you come until you beg for mercy. I don't want you going limp on 
me. It'll keep you hard." Steve relaxed, and in a moment, he felt 
the warmth of her tongue on his glans, then her teeth biting down 
gently behind it, trapping it, against the pressure of her tongue. 
This was ecstasy.

Suddenly, there was a loud, insistent knocking at the door, 
followed instantly by an intense, burning pain in the head of 
Steve's penis. Barbara gasped, and her whole body stiffened. She 
looked up, swallowed, looked briefly at the door and looked back at 
Steve. There was blood running from her lip. She looked terrified 
and scrambled to get up. "Damn!" she whispered hoarsely, "It's my 
husband. He'll kill us! Get the hell out of here!" She motioned to 
the sliding glass patio door. "Go!" she demanded.

Steve looked at the end of his penis in shock. His glans was gone, 
and he was bleeding profusely. "What the hell did you do?" he 
asked, half whispering, half out loud. The answer, though, was 
obvious. She had bitten the end off his penis. He sat up quickly 
and began sifting through the folds in the bedspread, hoping she 
hadn't swallowed it.

There was another knock, louder, more impatient. Barbara grabbed 
him by the upper arm. "Are you out of your mind?" she whispered. 
"Go!" Then, in a loud, hysterical voice, she screamed, "Help! Rape! 
Somebody's raping me!"

Steve stared at her briefly, and she acknowledged what he saw. 
"Yes," she whispered, "Look, I'm sorry. I was startled by the door. 
But we'll both be dead in two minutes if you don't get the hell out 
of here now!" She ripped the pillowcase off of one of the pillows 
and pushed it into his groin. "Bandage," she whispered. Then she 
screamed again. "Help! Rape!"

Someone was rattling the doorknob frantically. A shoulder began 
slamming into the door, again and again. Steve was pulling his 
pants on as quickly as he could. He grabbed his shoes but didn't 
stop to put them on. He ran to the patio door, pulled back the 
curtain, flipped the latch and slid it open. As he ran past the 
pool, he could hear Barbara's voice behind him, still screaming. 
The pillowcase bulging inside his pants was already soaking 
through, and blood began to stain his pants.

There were maybe half a dozen people by the pool. They all stared 
at him as he ran, but none seemed inclined to give chase. Steve 
burst through the door to the lobby, sprinted across the lobby and 
ran outside. Then he looked back. Nobody was following. Good. He 
paused to slip his shoes on, then ran to his car. He fumbled with 
his keys, opened the door and climbed in. He started the car, 
backed out and drove away, quickly, but trying not to attract any 
more attention than he already had.

As he drove, he went over his options in his mind. If he went to 
the hospital, he'd surely be arrested. By now, Barbara must be 
telling her husband about his injury. The police would know soon, 
and every hospital in the area would be looking for the guy with 
the end of his penis bitten off. He wondered how many cases of 
bitten penises a hospital treated a year. Probably less than one 
case in a hundred years, he thought. He'd stand out.

He stopped for a red light and looked down at his lap. He flipped 
the dome light on briefly. The blood stain was not getting bigger. 
Maybe the rubber band was acting as a tourniquet. He'd be okay for 
a while. Maybe he could drive to another city. They wouldn't be 
looking for him sixty miles away. Better yet, the state line was 
just three hours. It wouldn't be as likely that word would get 
back. Actually, her husband might come after me himself instead of 
calling the police, he thought. She said he was into guns. Jeez. 
How'd I get into this? He drove around aimlessly for an hour, then 
headed for the state line.

                         * * * * * *

Laura stood by the window in the living room, looking out at the 
street. She looked steamed.

She returned to the kitchen and lifted the lid of the frying pan. 
She jabbed a pork chop with a fork, then replaced the lid. The 
burner had been off for a few hours. The chops were ruined. Half 
their original size. Tough as shoe leather.

The phone rang, and Laura jerked it off the hook. "Where the hell 
are you this time?" she demanded. Then, "Oh. Sorry. Thought you 
were my husband.... Yes.... Where? ... What the hell's he doing 
clear over there? ... Uh huh.... Okay, but it'll take a few hours 
to get there.... Okay, thanks for calling." She hung up the phone, 
weakly. She looked stunned for a moment, recovered, then grabbed 
her purse from the closet and headed for the car.

                        * * * * * *

It was nearly dawn when Laura arrived at the emergency room. She 
found half a dozen people waiting in the lobby, despite the hour. A 
woman sat behind a window labeled "Triage." Laura approached the 
window.

"I'm Laura Brent," she said. "I got a call that my husband was in 
an accident."

The woman began looking through papers on her desk. "Just a 
moment," she said. She picked up the phone and made a quick call, 
then said, "The urologist will be out to speak with you in a 
moment."

"Urologist?" Laura asked, but the woman seemed to take it as a 
rhetorical question and didn't reply.

Moments later, a woman entered through the double doors at the end 
of the waiting room. She looked around, then approached Laura. "You 
must be Mrs. Brent," she said, "I'm Dr. Sutton."

"What's happened to my husband?" said Laura.

"There's no nice way to put this, Mrs. Brent," said the doctor. 
"The end of his penis was bitten off. We tried to save what we 
could, but he'd left a tourniquet on for quite some time, and there 
was tissue morbidity. I'm afraid he doesn't have much of a penis 
left."

"So he won't be able to make love?" asked Laura.

The doctor looked at her as if she were retarded. "His penis is 
half an inch long. Maybe a little more erect, if he can get it 
erect. The nerve endings are gone. No, he will not be making love 
any more. If he ever ejaculates again, it'll be in a wet dream." 
The doctor paused, then went on. "We've never had a case like this 
here, but I've heard of cases where the man can't handle the 
frustration and comes back asking to be castrated."

Laura covered her smile with her hand. "Becky's friend," she said, 
not quite out loud but not silently either.

"Excuse me?" said the doctor.

"Nothing," she said. "Can I see him now?"

"Yes," said Dr. Sutton. "Follow me."

                         * * * * * *

It was already morning by the time Laura got back to town. The 
doctor had said Steve would be held for observation for a day or 
so. Laura drove to within a block of home, then stopped and drove 
to Becky's house. As she pulled into the driveway, Becky was 
looking out the window, smiling. By the time Laura got to the door, 
Becky had the door open. 
"Hi," she said. "What brings you by at this time of day?"

"It worked! Your friend did it!" said Laura.

"Friend?" Becky replied. "What friend? Did what?"

Laura looked puzzled for a moment, then smiled a little. "Steve has 
no penis," she said.

Becky grinned. "So," she said, "you have phase one of your revenge, 
eh?"

"Phase one?" Laura asked.

"Phase one. You're not going to let him off the hook yet, are you? 
You've got to rub it in, make him really feel some pain for 
cheating on you. And I know the perfect way. I have a friend who 
sets up lingerie parties--you know, like Tupperware or Home 
Interiors parties, except they do lingerie. My friend brings the 
samples, her daughter models, they take orders and you get a cut--
you just supply the cake and coffee. For this, she can even supply 
the guests if you want."

"Why would I want to do that, and what's it got to do with Steve?" 
Laura asked.

"Laura, this is your opportunity to totally humiliate him. Then 
you'll kick him in the balls--hard. And instead of blaming you, 
he'll apologize to you." said Becky.

Laura looked unconvinced. "Why would he apologize? I don't get it?"

"You don't want to know," said Becky. "If you want it, it'll 
happen. In the mean time, drive him crazy by being sexy as hell. 
And you might mention that you need a boyfriend."

                           * * * * *

At first Steve was pleasantly surprised with Laura's acceptance of 
his "accident." She never asked how his penis happened to get 
bitten, and she had been warm, even affectionate. She no longer 
retreated to the bathroom to dress and undress, and, to Steve's 
utter amazement, she'd taken to sleeping with him in the nude.

However, as this went on, night after night, Steve was getting more 
and more frustrated. He was more aroused than he could remember 
ever being, but he had no outlet, no release. He couldn't even 
masturbate as he'd done when Laura was being so cold. And it seemed 
that Laura was taking some delight in this, deliberately doing 
things to excite him, just to torment him.

The worst blow was the previous evening, when she asked if he'd 
mind if she had a boyfriend over to take care of her sexual needs, 
since he no longer could. She'd never shown any indication of 
having any such needs before the accident.

He was mulling all this over in his mind as he drove into the 
driveway, home after his first full week back at work. It looked as 
if they had company. There were several unfamiliar cars on the 
street. And there was Becky's; he recognized that one.

As he entered the kitchen from the garage, he heard the voices of 
several women in the living room. One woman's voice stood out from 
the others. "This one really drives men wild," the voice said, 
pausing as several of the women giggled. "It's thirty-five 
dollars." Curious, Steve went to see what was going on.

The voice belonged to a woman sitting at the end of the room. She 
was dressed more formally than the rest, wearing a dark red 
business suit, and she had a clipboard in her lap.

In the middle of the room stood an attractive young raven-haired 
woman wearing a sheer nightie. It took no imagination to make out 
her trim figure through the fabric, or her ample breasts--or the 
fact that she was not wearing panties underneath. But he didn't get 
to see very long. She spotted him and immediately folded her arms 
across herself in embarrassment. Eight other women, including Laura 
and Becky, were sitting on chairs in a circle around the outside of 
the room and looked to see who she was reacting to.

Laura spoke first. "Ladies, I'd like you to meet my husband, 
Steve." She paused and addressed the woman in the nightie. "Don't 
be embarrassed. He was a man, but he doesn't have a penis anymore. 
He had it removed a couple of weeks ago. You can treat him like one 
of us girls now." Then, turning to Steve, she said, "Isn't that 
right, honey? You're not a man anymore, are you?"

Steve was dumbfounded. Laura had never been this cruel, even before 
the accident. He wanted to cover himself like the woman in the 
nightie. All eyes were on him. Most were focused on his crotch. 
Their attention was not diverted when Laura and Becky stood and 
walked to the door.

"Becky and I are going to get the goodies she made," said Laura, 
reaching for her purse. "We'll be right back." Then she looked at 
Steve. "Why not join the ladies?" she said. "You might see 
something you want to buy me." Becky opened the door, and the two 
women left.

The woman with the nightie slowly uncovered her self, pulled the 
nightie off over her head and, completely naked, handed it to the 
woman in the red suit, who held out a pink satin teddy in exchange. 
The naked woman ignored the teddy. She stood there facing Steve, 
her hands behind her back. She wasn't covering anything now, and it 
seemed to him that she was testing whether he could get an 
erection. Under these conditions, he certainly would have before 
the accident. After a moment, the young woman spoke. "I want to see 
your scar," she said. It wasn't a request. It came across as a 
demand.

It was clear that several of the other women were thinking the same 
thing. "Come on, be a sport," one of them added.

The naked woman walked slowly toward Steve, her hands still behind 
her back, her breasts swaying and jiggling provocatively with each 
step. She stood inches from Steve, then reached forward and started 
unfastening Steve's belt.

Steve was caught by surprise, and the woman had his belt unfastened 
and his pants nearly unzipped before he had the presence of mind to 
react. He grabbed her wrists and pulled them up and away from his 
crotch. Instantly, he felt gut-wrenching pain as her knee slammed 
into his groin, and he dropped slowly to his knees.

The woman dropped to her knees with him, a look of concern on her 
face. "I'm sorry," the woman said. "I've been taking a self-defense 
class, and they teach us to kick when a man grabs us. It's become 
automatic. Are you hurt bad? Let me see."

She didn't wait for his reply but started pulling his pants down. 
One by one the other women came over to help. Despite his 
embarrassment, Steve did not fend them off. The pain filled his 
whole abdomen, all the way to his kidneys.

The naked woman slowly, tenderly inspected Steve's testicles, 
rolling each back and forth between her thumb and forefinger. The 
other women held him down and began pulling his clothes off.

"They don't seem to be crushed," said the naked woman at last. 
"Does this hurt?" She grasped both his testicles in one hand and 
slowly squeezed.

"Hell, yes, it hurts," Steve yelled. He struggled to protect 
himself, but the other women were holding him firmly. He was 
entirely naked now. Two women held each of his legs, keeping them 
spread apart. Others held his arms. "Damn! Don't do that!" he said.

The naked woman paid no attention and kept increasing the pressure. 
The pain was incredible, and Steve began to feel nauseated. In a 
moment, the woman released her grip. "I think you'll be okay," she 
said.

"Would you look at that!" said one of the women, now fondling the 
half-inch stump that remained of his penis. It, too, was tender. 
The stitches were nearly ready to be removed, but it was still 
quite tender where the urethra had been split open and stitched to 
form a new head.

"Can you get an erection in what's left," one woman asked?

Without waiting for his reply, another added, "I'll bet I can get 
it hard." She stood over Steve's head, legs spread wide so that he 
couldn't help but look up her skirt, and began unbuttoning the 
front of her dress.

The woman was just pulling the dress off over her head when the 
front door opened. Laura and Becky were back. Laura held a small 
tray piled with cookies, and Laura was behind her with a cake. 
Laura looked furious.

"It's not enough you have to get your cock bit off by some whore," 
she said. "Now you have to play sex games with my friends!" She 
slammed the tray down on the chair so hard that most of the cookies 
fell off, then marched across the room to where Steve lay, with the 
women still holding him down. She stood between his legs briefly, 
looking at him. Then she stepped out with one foot and swung the 
other back.

Steve hardly had time to scream "NO!" Laura's shoe swung forward, 
striking his testicles squarely. The pain was incredible. Steve 
struggled to pull his knees up, but the women held him firmly. Then 
she kicked a second time, and a third. Finally, the women released 
their hold, and he curled his body into a tight ball, almost a 
prenatal position, cradling his testicles with both hands. Tears 
streamed down his face as he wept. Laura stormed down the hall to 
the bedroom and slammed the door.

The women looked stunned. The one who had begun to undress was re-
buttoning the front of her dress. The naked model put her clothes 
on. One by one, the women picked up their purses and left. No one 
spoke. In a few minutes, only Becky remained. She knelt by Steve.

"The gals don't mean to be cruel," she said softly. "I know it's 
embarrassing for you, but they were just curious. It may be hard 
for you to understand. I doubt there's one woman in there who 
hasn't thought about cutting a man's penis off at one time or 
another. The idea that it really happens sometimes--well-- when you 
walked in on the lingerie party, it was just too much to resist. 
Don't judge them too harshly."

Steve looked up and she wiped the tears from the corner of his eye 
with her finger, then caressed his cheek briefly. He didn't say 
anything.

"But Laura has been absolutely sadistic," Becky continued.  "If I 
ever did anything like that to Jim, he'd cut my clitoris off for 
revenge," she said.

Steve looked startled.

"You've been thinking about that, haven't you, Steve?" said Becky. 
"Steve, I can see it in your eyes."

Steve managed a smile despite the tears and the pain, but he said 
nothing. He hadn't been thinking about it, but the way Becky 
presented the unthinkable, with such enthusiasm, was amusing. And 
the irony was not lost on him: this was Laura's best friend, 
suggesting that he get revenge in the most heinous way he could 
imagine. But, he thought, Laura had every right to be angry, he 
thought. He was, after all, being unfaithful when the accident 
occurred. And what would any woman think if she found her husband 
naked with a bunch of women, one naked, one getting undressed.

"I really can't blame her," he said. "I'm not looking to get even 
for anything. Everything she's done, I've had coming."

Becky looked frustrated. "Steve, you're being a goddamn fool. 
Hasn't Laura told you she has a boyfriend? Don't you know she's 
been deliberately doing everything she can to get you horny, 
knowing damn well you can't do anything about it? Do you have to 
wait until she brings her boyfriend home to have sex in front of 
you before you get the picture? Steve, you really owe it to 
yourself to get some revenge. She won't know you're involved unless 
you tell her. If it could be arranged and you didn't have to do 
anything, could you go for it?"

Steve just stared. What Becky was saying started to bring some 
things into focus. Some of what Laura had done began to make sense. 
As she talked, Steve's smile disappeared, and anger began to well 
up within him.

"You don't have to do a thing," Becky continued. "It will take 
about three weeks to set up. I have a friend who'll arrange 
everything."

"You mean you'd really arrange to have my wife mutilated?" Steve 
asked. "She considers you her best friend. You'd do that to her?"

Becky just looked at him, her expression revealing no emotion at 
all.

"My god, you're evil," said Steve. "The devil incarnate."

Becky grinned. She seemed to take it as a compliment. "Well, is it 
a deal?" she asked.

"Hell no!" said Steve. "What Laura has done is between her and me. 
If anything happens to her--anything--if she stubs her toe, if she 
so much as sneezes, I'll be coming after you for it. Now get the 
hell out of my house."

"You're an ass," she said, "a stupid, gullible ass." She stood up 
and walked to the door. "When you've thought it through, you'll 
feel differently." She opened the door, walked out and slammed the 
door behind her.

Steve was still naked, still on the floor. He looked at his now-
swollen testicles and winced. At least Becky had diverted his 
attention from the pain. He started to try to stand up, then caught 
sight of Laura standing silently in the hallway, just outside the 
room. Tears streamed down her face and she was biting her lower lip.

Steve struggled to his feet and, bent over a little by the pain, 
walked over to Laura. He held her head gently between his hands and 
tipped it back slightly. "You heard?" he asked.

Laura began sobbing uncontrollably. Steve slid his arms around her 
shoulders and pulled her to him. He hugged her, gently caressing 
her hair with his right hand. Slowly, she slipped her arms around 
his waist. Her tears were running down Steve's shoulder. Steve 
smiled. He kissed her hair, tenderly. For several minutes they 
stood there, locked in their embrace, both of them silent. Finally, 
Laura regained composure enough to speak. "I have a friend," she 
said. She briefly squeezed him a little harder.

Steve smiled broadly. "Yeah, you do," he said. "Me, too."