National Hero

I grew up home schooled in a rural area so I didn't have much contact with other people, especially those my age. I always considered myself reasonably attractive, although I didn't have many others to compare myself to. I left home as soon as I turned eighteen and moved to a big city.

The shock was almost too much for me. At least I had a skill where I could make money. I could do virtually anything with cloth -- knit, crochet, weave, dye, size, repair, darn, make and cut patterns, sew -- you name it and I could do it. After an interview/skills-demonstration I got a job the first place that I applied that dealt with high end fashion. My employer was both a retailer and manufacturer called Nine Stitches In Time (known best in the trade as simply NSIT). Fortunately I found a friend/roommate named Sue early on who was kick-ass and honest. She clued me into (among many other things) what a reasonable wage was, and after my employer tried to lowball me I insisted on the reasonable wage and got it.

While there were many things about the big city that intrigued and thrilled me, one thing that I wasn't real keen on was what my friend Sue called guys "hitting on" me. They pretended like they thought that I was very attractive, but I think that they were just blowing smoke. While I didn't have much experience with guys (and was still a virgin) I knew enough to know what they were after, and that I was interested only in a relationship.

One of the major customers for the facility I worked for (while we did manufacturing, etc., it was part of a building that included a storefront and showroom) was a guy named Bill Tilden. He was a widower with twin 8 year old daughters. He was very nice to me, polite, friendly, charming, and didn't ogle me. He also wasn't bad looking. With his status as a major customer in retrospect I think that Bill manipulated the owner of NSIT into me doing special projects for him. Our close working relationship turned into a romance, and although I wasn't really sure that I "loved" him, something I didn't know much about at the time, shortly after my nineteenth birthday I lost my virginity to him, and a month later we married.

I was miffed when I found out only after I married Bill that he had had a vasectomy. Strangely, however, after an initial feeling of being duped I got over it, especially since I did have two daughters to dote on.

I didn't really know what married life was supposed to be like in a big city, but I guess that mine was fairly normal for at least the first two years. One thing that was excellent was that I really got along well with Bill's daughters, Brenda and Bernice (who we called Bernie). I had them call me Amy rather than "Mom" -- I just wasn't comfortable with that term. I was more like their big sister than mother, although they did take discipline from me, in fact with less complaint than from Bill. I was primarily responsible for raising Brenda and Bernie and got involved in all of their activities, although I continued to work part time, mostly from home, just to stay fulfilled.

I was naïve about sex when I got married, but Bill was a patient -- if not particularly romantic -- teacher, and I was open to suggestion. By our three year anniversary I was very familiar with oral, anal, and all types of positions, doggy, the concubine position, and face-to-face my favorites. I would like to have fucked more than we did, but it was enough to keep me satisfied.

Shortly after our three year anniversary, Bill started filming some of our sex sessions. I asked him why. He said when he travelled he liked to view them on his computer to keep himself happy. I never questioned that until about a year later when I had coffee with Joyce, one of the mothers of a girl on the twins' soccer team.

After exchanging the normal pleasantries Joyce hit me with a doozy. "Amy; I'm not sure how to tell you this so I'm just going to blurt it out. Last night I looked over my husband's shoulder, without his knowledge, while he was watching porn, and I think that the woman was you?"

"What!" I exclaimed, too loud for the coffee shop, so I lowered my voice and barely above a whisper asked Joyce "Why did you think that it was me?"

"She had the same beautiful face" -- I never thought of myself as beautiful but wasn't about to correct her -- "and sculptured body, and the same length brunette hair. Have you ever been filmed having sex?"

I got a lump in my throat. "Bill sometimes filmed us. Was the guy Bill?"

"Firstly, I haven't met Bill,, so I don't know what he looks like -- but also the man's face was either not in the frame, or blurred or pixelated," she continued.

"Did the guy have any distinguishing features?" I continued.

"He had a tattoo on his left upper arm -- it looked like an eagle," she responded.

I gulped even harder, since Bill has a tattoo of a hawk on his left arm. "What did the room look like?" I anxiously asked.

"Well it was a nicely decorated bedroom; the walls were blue, the headboard was white and upholstered, the sheets were blue, and it looked like a king-sized bed," she replied.

I got a sick feeling, and lay my head atop my arms on the table and groaned. Joyce was concerned and came and stood next to me and gripped me by the shoulders. "Are you all right Amy?" she asked a good half-dozen times.

Finally I lifted my head off my arms, with a few tears in my eyes. "I...had...no...idea," I stammered.

After a few comforting words Joyce continued; "When my husband saw me looking over his shoulder he was nervous, mumbled something like 'Sorry...I found this surfing...I didn't realize...' and other bullshit before I said 'No explanation necessary. Just give me the website and name of this video.' He stammered them out; I wrote them down and then left the room. He turned off the computer and asked if something was wrong and I told him 'I just like how the room was decorated,' obvious bullshit but he didn't want to continue the conversation for many reasons."

"Do you have the information?" I sniffled.

"Yes; here it is," Joyce said, handing me a small piece of yellow paper folded over twice.

I opened the folds of the paper and looked at the information. The website included "amateur's best" as part of the address and the video was in part titled "laying pipe in hot young wife." I groaned.

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news," Joyce consoled me while holding one of my hands in hers.

"Thank you so much for doing this, Joyce. It is very likely me with Bill on the video; there's going to be a confrontation tonight, you can be sure of that. Did your husband recognize me?"

"No -- he's never met you; plus I don't really think that he was looking at your face," she chuckled, obviously trying to lighten up the situation, "but there seemed to be a bulge at his crotch," she chuckled again.

We concluded our talk with some more general chit-chat, and then I thanked her again as we hugged goodbye.

As soon as I got home, and before the kids returned from school, I checked the website. It definitely was me getting my pussy reamed in the doggy position probably taken a couple of months earlier. I didn't bother checking the comments section, mostly because I had never been on a like website before and didn't even know that there was a comments section. The pit in my stomach got bigger!

My mind was in turmoil for the rest of the day. Brenda even laughed "Earth to Amy, come in please," when I obviously was tuned out and didn't register, let alone answer, a question that she had about a homework problem.

Dinner that night included an overcooked roast since I wasn't my normal self when preparing our meal and didn't monitor it properly, although the kids didn't seem to mind. We had almost normal dinner time banter, however Bill could tell that something was wrong since my responses to his questions were terse, but my responses to the girls' had their normal verbosity.

After the dinner dishes were cleaned up -- one of the girls' chores -- Bill quietly asked "Is something bothering you?"

"You bet your sweet ass there is, you bastard," was my quick retort with fire in my eyes. The riposte set him on his heels, especially since I never, ever swear. "After the girls go to bed we're having a pow-wow in the laundry room in the basement," I snarled. The laundry room is the portion of the house furthest from the girls' rooms and almost soundproof if the door is closed.

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

About 10:10, once the door to the laundry room was closed tight, I really lit into Bill. I screamed at him with language that he had never heard pass my lips before, and he was initially taken aback. However, when I asked how he could violate my trust so badly he had a calm explanation, once the shock left his face.

"Amy; I know that you're upset; but please listen to my explanation without going off on me; please, I beg you."

"Go ahead," I snarled, crossing my arms on my chest.

"You are the sexiest woman I've ever seen in my life. You have no idea how desirable you are. I'm so proud that you're my wife that I want to share your magnificence with others. It gives me such a thrill, especially the comments," he lamely replied.

Before I focused on the "comments" language I had an epiphany. In everything that Bill had ever done -- including when we went to business events, or parties -- he was always super proud to have me on his arm. It was almost like a was a prize possession -- like a Lamborghini -- more than a partner. I then focused on his "comments" remark.

"What comments?" I asked.

"You haven't seen the comments?" he inquired. When I shook my head "No" he said "Stay here; I'll be right back with my laptop."

For some reason his approach had taken some of the steam out of me, but I was still angry. He excitedly returned a few minutes later with his computer already booted up and the video of me on the "amateur's best" website visible. "Here, look at the comments," he said, placing the laptop on the washing machine, clicking on a "comments" button that I hadn't noticed, and then standing back.

I really can't explain how or why I perceived the comments the way that I did. All I can say is that my panties got moist as I read one complimentary risqué or gross comment after the other, many with a theme similar to a remark in bold about halfway down "I'd give my left nut to tap that sweet pussy; shit I just spontaneously ejaculated!:" In total there were 231 comments all except for one positive. When I got through reading Bill interjected "I've never seen a comment section anywhere that had less than 1% negative comments, or over 230 total comments."

While taken aback by the response to the video -- I had always considered myself a basically normal woman in the looks department -- I still was unsure about what to make of the situation. After a long pregnant pause I turned to Bill and said "You should have gotten my permission before posting. What if people we know see it?"

"All the men will be jealous of me, and the women jealous of you for your spectacular looks and sexual abilities," he replied with a smile.

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

I guess that I had yet another epiphany that night (aside from the one about me being Bill's prize possession); or if not an epiphany then some sort of a discovery about myself, because I found that I really enjoyed being an object of desire by so many men, especially after considering myself ordinary most of my life. After that it wasn't too hard for Bill to talk me into posing for provocative still photos in all sorts of positions with various stages of dress (or completely naked), and to post them and a few more videos. In fact, I adopted the screen name of "Trinity," and even sometimes responded to especially sincere comments.

My tolerance reached its limit, however, when Bill suggested a video with another man besides himself. The first two times he suggested it I didn't think that he was serious. The third time when he brought a guy -- obviously a nice physical specimen -- over to the house (when the girls were out, of course) I went ballistic. I literally kicked the other guy out (foot on his ass while waving a knife with a ten inch blade in my hand) and then told Bill in no uncertain terms that if he even suggested it again he'd be looking for a new wife.

He sheepishly completely backed off, although from subtle comments he made I think that hope burned eternal in his bosom that I might someday change my mind, the pervert. There was no chance of that -- or so I thought because no one could have expected the real-life circumstances that eventually developed.

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

The twins were both in the spring quarter of their sophomore year at UCLA; I was twenty nine and somewhat out of sorts since the girls left, and for the first time in my life entertaining the thought of kids born of my loins, although not possible with Bill. I was even considering artificial insemination, but had not yet broached that subject with Bill, who was now forty four. Also, by that time I had only been recognized for my role as Trinity by one other person that I knew besides Joyce, and he was just as discrete as Joyce was.

I had just had a morning where I did volunteer work for a women and children's shelter, had worked out for an hour at my health club, and had just emerged from the shower and wolfed down a quick lunch before going to another volunteer activity when my doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole and saw two athletic looking professionally dressed women there that I did not recognize and a black SUV parked out in front. I was curious as I opened the door.

"Mrs. Amy Tilden?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I'm Agent Melissa Bach of the FBI," the taller of the two said, "and this is Agent Mary Jones from another government agency. Might we have an hour of your time?"

"Mary Jones" was obviously an alias, although I did look at Melissa's credentials carefully and she was who she said she was. I noticed that Bach was packing a handgun in a quick-draw position. Jones was not obviously armed.

"I was about to leave; is this important Agent Bach?"

"Extremely important, Mrs. Tilden; if there is any way you could give us an hour now we would greatly appreciate it and you would really be doing a service to your country," Bach replied.

"Service to my country?" rattled around a few times in my brain before I said "OK; please come in and have a seat while I make a phone call to cancel my appointment. Can I get you something to drink?"

"I would love some ice tea if you have it," Bach smiled.

"That sounds lovely," Jones chimed in.

As Bach and Jones made themselves comfortable in the family room I hurried to the kitchen, called the head of the charity that I was supposed to go to and made arrangements for another time, and then returned to the family room with three ice teas. After Bach and Jones thanked me and took a first sip of the cold beverage, Bach started talking.

"Before we begin I want to assure you that we are not investigating any wrongdoing of any type by you or anyone you know, including your husband Bill and daughters Bernice and Brenda," Bach said; I nodded my head in reply. "Now that that's out of the way we need to establish that you are the woman who identifies herself as 'Trinity' on an adult website."

I blushed. "Why...what...how..." I stammered before Jones put me out of my misery.

"We assure you, Mrs. Tilden, that we already know that you are Trinity, it's just for the sake of what we are going to be discussing with you that you confirm that fact. It will make everything easier, and -- again -- there is absolutely nothing wrong with your activities. In fact, your posting on an adult website may turn out to be one of the most important postings on a website ever, by anyone," Jones said in a calm voice and a slight smile.

I thought a second. I knew nothing that I did was illegal, or even amoral. Since they already knew what they were asking and for some reason just needed a confirmation I figured that there was no harm in being truthful -- plus I knew that it is a crime to lie to the FBI. "Yes, I am Trinity," I responded after taking a deep breath. "Why do you want to know?"

"There is someone who has done a great service to this country -- and has information that we greatly desire -- who has seen you on the adult website and would very much like to meet you. He has negotiated with high level executives of the U. S. government for us to first identify who you are in real life -- which we obviously have done -- and then approach you on his behalf," Bach said.

"Really?" I honestly inquired.

"In view of the comments on your postings you shouldn't really be surprised that there are many men who want to meet you, should you Mrs. Tilden?" Jones smiled.

"I...I...guess not," I meekly replied, blushing when I pictured Bach and Jones viewing my videos.

"Let me tell you as much as we are at liberty to relate," Bach said, "but before we do -- since this is a matter of national security -- we would like you to sign this acknowledgment," she continued, pointing to an 8 ½ by 11 inch sheet of blue paper that Jones pulled out of a small valise she was carrying and placed on the table before me. "Take all the time that you need to read it, and ask any questions," Bach concluded.

As Jones and Bach sipped their teas, I read the document. It was in simple language, large type, and only three paragraphs long. It wasn't really a confidentiality agreement (of the type that I had seen used often at NSIT), but rather merely asked me to acknowledge that what I was being told was secret and that there could be harm to U. S. government interests if I revealed it to an unauthorized person. After reading it over three times I asked Bach "Do you have a pen?"

Jones instantly produced one. I signed and dated the document, Bach signed and dated it as a witness, and Jones put it back in her valise.

Jones then proceeded to give a long drawn-out complete -- though obviously hiding any operational details -- description of a great deed accomplished by some adult male who they identified simply by the pseudonym "Justin." Jones then explained what Justin wanted, and why the government was so anxious to help him.

In actuality, despite the verbosity of Jones' explanation, the situation was simple. Some guy was a national hero for doing some unnamed great deed and he had additional information that the government had great need for. Because the government wanted to reward Justin, find out how he accomplished the great deed, and also get from him the additional information he had, they had located me on his behalf. Justin wanted several "meetings," that sounded more like dates including hopefully, on his part, intercourse, with me.

When Jones was finished I asked "What does Justin look like?"

"All we can tell you is that he is in his early thirties and that his exploits are more mental than physical, although some physical activity came into play. We cannot show you a photo since it is essential that he remain anonymous," Bach replied.

That led me to believe that Justin was definitely a geek, probably with a pimply face, sunken chest, and horned rim glasses.

"Is there anything in it for me besides the good feeling of helping my country?" I inquired.

"The U. S. government is prepared to pay all of the expenses of Brenda and Bernice for all of the rest of their educations, including any graduate work, and to give you and your husband $500,000," Jones calmly replied.

"Holy Shit!" caromed through my brain a couple of thousand times in just a few seconds.

"Two more things," Bach related; "We can assure you that Justin's activities saved the lives of your daughters and everyone else at UCLA, and you will remain anonymous to the entire world. Only you and your husband will know about this, not even your daughters, nor anyone else except those with the highest security clearances in the government; and of course Justin."