September Exclusive - "The Boss" - Part 2 of 4

TWO

“Oh, honey.”

I hiss at my wife. “Shut the door.”

She does as she’s told, and she looks me up and down.  I do the same thing to her, I always do – to admire her, to take her in. She’s wearing blue jeans and a red sweater that doesn’t let me admire her cleavage, but hey, you can’t hide the shape or size of her great tits.  

My wife makes a face. “Honey, what happened?”

I look down at my feet and whisper, feeling a mix of rage and humiliation. “What do you think?”

“Food poisoning?” She puts a cool hand to my warm forehead. “Hmm, you’re a little warm.” She looks behind her at the closed door. “You think coffee’s what you need right now?”

I blink in confusion and then shake my head impatiently. “No, I just wanted Donna…I didn’t want her to see me like this.”

Crystal taps her chin thoughtfully. “Well, I sure hope it wasn’t the breakfast muffin…”

I look over at the crumbs on my desk, and for a shameful split-second, I’m sure this is all a ruse, that Crystal has poisoned me. Which is an unkind, unnecessary thought. One, because she’s clearly nuts about me. Two, our prenup is watertight. If I die, if I end up at the bottom of a lake, she gets nothing. 

“Well,” says Crystal, hands on her hips. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

I nod. “I’ll go to the restroom.” I look at the canvas bag she’s brought with her. “Don’t suppose you happen to have a change of clothes for me in there?” I laugh. It’s a joke, of course. She’s a lot of things, my wife, but she’s not psychic. It’s probably a dress she’s taking back to the store. As far as I can tell, her day is spent thinking up new recipes for dinner, and shopping. 

Crystal smiles and nods. “I reckon I do!” She pats the bag and says, “I’ve been searching for something for you to wear when you’re not at work, give you a break from those business clothes, and I think I’ve found just the thing. But first, let’s get you all clean. You must just feel just awful.” She makes a sad, sympathetic face and part of me just wants to say, Sure, go for it, I’ll lie on my back, stick my legs in the air, and you can wipe my ass. But I’m not about to ask my wife to do it. There’s nothing in the prenup about that.

I watch in surprise and then horror as Crystal goes to the door. “Hey!” I scurry back behind my desk. “What are you doing?”

Crystal just flutters a wave at me. “Wait there a second, honey.” I’m left alone for a few seconds, wondering where the hell my wife is going. 

She reappears with a white packet of something in her hands. She grins. “I knew Donna would have some.” She closes the door and walks over to me. “See?” She pulls a disposable cloth from the packet. “See? Wet Wipes.”

I peer at the label. “Baby wipes, you mean.”

My wife shrugs. “Same difference. Okay, mister, drop those icky pants.”

I shake my head and reach for the wipes. “I can do it.”

Crystal looks at me, and it’s a funny look. “Come on, stinker,” she says, “before you get a rash.”

I can feel the blush warm my face. I’m not a stinker, of course. I just had an accident, I just had a-

I look down. What’s happening? My pants and underwear are around my ankles and Crystal is wiping me clean. First, my crotch, my penis limp and apologetic. It wants no part of this activity. 

“What a mess,” says Crystal gently, and her expression isn’t disgusted or horrified. She just looks like she has a job to do. 

I’m the one looking horrified. I whisper, “Babe, I’m so sorry.”

“Accidents happen,” she replies briskly, and I nod in agreement. Everybody has an accident sometimes. She takes the dirty wipes and drops them into the wastebasket. She wrinkles her nose and says softly, “What a little stinker.”

I’m not a stinker. Except I am. Because I made a mess. I had an accident. And everyone has an accident sometimes, right? 

I look down. Somehow, I’m clean. I feel the air on my ass, I twist around and I can see Crystal has cleaned me up, back and front, and now she’s finishing off with my legs. 

I’m missing time. I’m drifting in and out. Because I’m a stinker. Because I don’t know any better. I feel a glimmer of reassurance. It’s okay. Accidents happen. 

Dear God. Never mind the food poisoning; did my brain just blow a fuse?

And I remember one, tiny clause in the prenup, almost hidden in the mass of bad news for a murderous wife. It was Crystal’s idea; if I’m ‘mentally incapacitated’, she gets control of the estate. 

In bed one night (and I know, bad time to make any decision) she said, “Honey, what if we’re in our seventies and you have a stroke? You really want to leave your decisions to a bunch of sharks?” And yeah, I had a mental picture of me, a drooling wreck, and the Board of Directors gunning for control of my company. No thanks. 

Does my current condition count?

“Nearly there,” says Crystal, and her voice is as tender and soothing as the wipes. “No more lil stinker.”

I blink again and I’m all clean, Crystal is putting another wad of wipes into the trashcan. 

She taps my left foot. “Socks.”

I lift up my foot and she pulls off my dirty shoes and socks, one by one. As if she’s getting ready to change an incompetent toddler. I look around, reassure myself that the blinds are drawn. But what about Donna? I can see her barging in here without asking, armed with my coffee? She sees me naked like this, she’ll drop the cup and run a mile. She’ll probably sue for damages. 

And then I remember the canvas bag. 

“Is that why you’re here, babe?”

She looks up at me, and then she gives my bare feet a little at and stands back up, and I’m reminded, like I am on most days, that my wife has a few inches on me. “What’s that, honey?”

“You never come to my work.” I point at the bag. “Did you come to show me my new clothes?”

She smiles. “I guess so!” She motions for me to hold up my arms, and then she pulls off my shirt, as if I couldn’t manage it myself. And maybe that’s fair enough. I do feel more than a little helpless right now. But accidents happen. It’s okay to be taken care off from time to time. Especially when you’re a lil stinker. I blink. I’m not a stinker. Crystal cleaned me, she wiped me all over. 

My wife giggles. “Look at you, all nakie.” She smiles. “My sweet boy. All clean now, thank goodness.”

Despite my nakedness, despite how strange and embarrassing all this is, I manage to smile back. “Thanks to you.” I even laugh. “Wasn’t about to ask Donna to do all that.”

Crystal surprises me with a shrug. “She’s probably used to it, all those grandkids. She was showing me photos on her phone, three of them are still in diapers.”

I frown. “Right, but…” Well, it’s hardly the same.

Crystal uses a wipe to clean her hands, between her fingers, under her nails, and then she goes and fetches her bag. She briskly unzips the bag and reaches inside. She looks up at me and smiles. “Ready to try on your new outfit, honey?”

And I am. Until I see it. 

Until I see what my wife has brought me to wear.