April Fool's Joke Backfires

This story set a personal record for "mosts." Most readers, most downloads, most comments, nearly 100 within three days of posting. Add in lowest scores, and the result is a clunker.

While I have other stories pending, personal vanity dictates I revise the original version. A heartfelt thanks to readers who offered suggestions.

All the usual warnings apply. Any mention of a person, place, event or thing is coincidental and is not as an accurate portrayal. No one under 18 engages in sex.

Many negative and traumatic events in my youth caused me to hate pranks and especially detest April Fool's jokes. I stated my distaste so often that my kids rolled their eyes as they grew older. When my wife of 20 years played an April Fool's joke on me, I never considered that possibility.

My name is Declan Callahan. I'm one of six siblings, four of them men - including one set of twins - and two of them women. I'm also the youngest male. Even when I turned 18, my parents were only 50. Growing up, my older siblings sometimes played pranks on each other. But they always exempted me once they understand what I experienced at school.

To understand why I hate pranks so much, I need to cite several examples of practical jokes played on me during my elementary and high school years. As a newcomer to John Jacobs Elementary the year I started first grade, I found it difficult to fit in. Hair colored like a carrot, ears that stuck out and my short height that meant many of the girls were taller than me, made me an easy target.

My father, a housing contractor, moved to Centerville because two large computer chip companies were building new plants. Demand for new housing ran strong. In response, the county changed the zoning on large tracts of marginal farmland. Dad and others cashed in. Between the time we moved to the area and the time my second set of twins went to college; the population grew by a factor of ten.

Steve Ryder, the tallest and biggest in my class of 23 students. welcomed me on the first day. I soon discovered his smile concealed the actions of a bully. He started calling me "elephant ears," and "carrot top" and told me I ran like a girl. My one older sister went to the same school. She and I were of the same height at the time and looked alike in our faces and hair color.

He and his buddies liked to corner me in front of the girls and pull my pants down. I got my head shoved in the toilet so many times I lost count. Complaints to the school administrators went unheeded unless a physical injury resulted from the prank, which never happened. "Boys will be boys," the school principal told my mother one day.

As newcomers and outsiders in the community, dad didn't want to make waves. Steve's father ran the largest existing factory in the area. Steve emulated his father in that they presented a pleasant face, but everyone lived in fear because of their power.

Dad told my three older brothers not to attack Steve because that would make him go after me harder. He knew how to egg his buddies on, so they got the blame. One of my classmates, Greg Adamson, tried to get retribution by playing a prank on one of Steve's buddies. In response, they filled his locker full of pig shit.

I tried to get back at him once after he kept leaving items like frogs, snakes and women's underwear in my high school locker. I left a frog in his. In return, he put pot and illegal pain pills in my locker. Possession of pot resulted in an automatic jail sentence in our state, even for juveniles. I sneaked it out of the locker and buried it in a foundation form. Crews poured concrete into the form the next day.

The worst trick wasn't on me directly. On April 1 of my seventh-grade year, Steve and his friends placed paper sacks of dog and cow manure on the porches of four duplexes my father's company was constructing. Like most kids that age, they cared only for their trick and didn't pay attention to the weather forecast.

High winds came up soon after they left their packages and blew the burning manure through the open windows and doors. All four duplexes and three nearby houses burned to the foundations. Despite insurance paying most of the rebuilding costs, the fire nearly caused my father's company to go bankrupt.

Times were changing and physical pranks and jokes were getting people in trouble as I entered high school. Steven and his buddies merely adapted to the new rules. They continued to target me because of my red hair and ears. Anything I planned to submit, I always double checked because they liked to swap out senior English short stories with an XXX rated story, for example.

Steve's constant attacks left me uber-sensitive to pranks and especially April Fool's jokes. I continually made my sentiments well known. I repeatedly made the statement in March and anyone who heard it rolled their eyes. If my employees played April Fool's pranks on each other, they did it away from work.

I'd been the brunt of so many of Steven's efforts that my parents agreed I need to go out of state for college. We lived near the state border, so the college I attended wasn't over three hours' drive away. Once away from my tormentor's influence, I shone.

I added six inches in height and 60 pounds of mostly muscle. Because of my small size in high school, I joined the wrestling team and continued wrestling in college. I never won a championship, but I always added team points. In college, I met Liesel Jorgensen, and we fell in love. She took accounting. I considered business as a major, but went in another direction.

No one else in my family worked in the medical field. From my various injuries in sports and from injuries related to pranks over the years, I gained a strong admiration for physical therapists and took that major with a business minor.

I came from a family with many twins, including my mother. Several of my dad's cousins were twins. It wasn't a tremendous surprise when Liesel discovered she would have twin girls. Fourteen months after our marriage, we welcomed a set of fraternal twin girls.

We held off on having more children. Liesel came from a large family, too. We both wanted a boy. Three years later, another set of twins came long, this time fraternal boys.

Marin has red hair, and Meara does not. Same with the boys. Grant has red hair and Greg's is black. The four children never suffered the level of teasing and bullying I did because they were larger in stature, and the school district changed its policies. As the area grew, Steven's father lost his influence, and bullying became a sensitive topic in schools.

According to my mother's research, if a couple has a set of fraternal twins like we did, the chance of having another set of fraternal twins multiplied by four, making it 1 in 12. Nearly all my parents' siblings' families contained at least one set of twins.

Once the ultrasound revealed Liesel was having twins again, we found a house that a contractor hadn't finished because he ran into asbestos in the insulation and the HVAC ducts. Using services provided by many of my cousins and friends, we finished the project in three months. Somewhere over the years, various owners converted the 1892 Queen Anne style three-story house into a boarding facility with 16 small rooms on the two upper floors and an addition.

During my sixth year out of college, a local gym went up for sale. My father helped me finance the purchase. A good gym and physical therapy practice feed each other. Liesel expanded her accounting business and employed eight other people. We always tried to make time for each other, but with a set of 19-year-old and 16-year-old twins, that didn't happen as often as we wanted.

The cataclysmic event happened the year Liesel, and I turned 43. Over the past year, Liesel's parents died. In the fall, another gym went up for sale. We decided together to purchase it, but two weeks before the close on October 31, the couple who owned the gym died in a vehicle accident.

The three children couldn't decide how to proceed, understandable considering the season. Faced with a building foreclosure and unable to determine the income and expenses, they agreed to sell it to me "as is" with an adjustable price depending on what I found. We agreed the sale would close on the last Friday in March to allow us enough time to go through the existing records.

Add into the package the absence of our twin girls, who often helped their mother. They excelled at sorting through disjointed records. She told me some farmers put their receipts in shoeboxes throughout the year and delivered them to her in late March.

To help, I took Friday, March 29 and the following Monday off and go through the new gym's records. Before I started, Liesel told me that at least three containers of a plastic file box size or larger of records were missing. My wife's natural sense of order made searching simple in one way, but harder in another. If a person misfiled one sheet or folder, a search easily overlooked the missing document.

Making matters worse, an unusual heat wave moved into our area starting on Thursday. Instead of daytime temperatures in the high 60s and low 70s, daytime readings that exceeded 90 began on Thursday and lasted nearly a week. Everyone's HVAC system was having problems keeping up. Ours barely made the temperature drop below 75 in the day and 65 at night. Any calls to an HVAC company resulted in appointments two or more weeks away.

Despite stopping for a shower twice a day, I'm grimy with paper dust and dirt. We live in a windy, sandy area. No matter what we did, grime oozed into the house. Sweat coated my body. I spent much of the time alternating between only wearing shorts and shorts and a top, depending on my task.

The former gym owners didn't use Liesl's system or services. Their books barely existed. No one was shocked when they sold out at age 52 because they couldn't identify their costs and income. I spent all day Friday and Saturday and part of Sunday going through paperwork stored at their gym, sorting it out and putting it in boxes for the accounting staff.

On Sunday afternoon, I searched through records at my two locations. Still missing.

Early Monday morning, April 1, I started working through the basement and attic of our house. Nothing. We put all pertinent records in a climate-controlled area of the basement after we file each year. At the end of three years, we move ours to the attic and the rest to a climate-controlled storage shed in a storage complex near our house.

There wasn't much chance of those documents being in the storage shed, but I didn't dare leave the area unchecked. Still nothing. In desperation, I entered Liesl's private dressing area, which is a room separate from our bedroom. I warned her that morning.

I've put away at least a six-pack of beer and inhaled at least a gallon of water each day. This Monday, I'm already into my second six-pack and nearly ready to explode in frustration.

We left the dressing room basically intact for my wife when we remodeled because it featured Queen Anne era brass fittings and wooden crown molding and fixtures. She has a large closet for hanging clothes and a large area of drawers and crosshatch shoe storage. After we carefully sanded and re-stained the wood, it is stunning.

In my search for records, I found an unfamiliar gym bag in the bottom of her hanging closet. When I opened the bag, I found lingerie that I'd never seen before. I knew the brand because I'd purchased intimates from the Italian manufacturer, but not these items. Everything was mail order and at least three times the cost of something from Victoria's Secret, as an example.

Searching further, I found all the receipts for many items on the closet shelf, including those in the bag and others I didn't find. While we use different credit cards for our purchases to help keep our records straight, we can use each other's accounts. I recognized her credit card number.

Trying to figure out why my wife purchased lingerie that I'd never seen required three more beers. The more I thought, the angrier I became. I didn't even consider this might be an April Fool's joke because of my previous statements.

I would not stop. Pulling the dressing table out, I could see seams in the sheetrock that shouldn't be there. Once I opened the hiding place and started pulling out items from inside, my temper skyrocketed.

Crammed into the four feet by four feet by three feet deep opening were over 25 items such as hand and ankle cuffs, spreader bars, dildos (including small ones used for the ass), harnesses for using the dildoes, floggers and crops, butt plugs, and dominatrix outfits. I could smell my wife and other women on some of them. I took them out, laid them on our bed and took 21 photos of the items in various groups.

After going to the basement for several boxes, I grabbed another two beers and sat on the bed, trying to understand the situation. I couldn't get my head around the concept of Liesel using such items or having them used on her. The idea of an April Fool's prank entered my mind. I quickly dismissed it. The idea of cheating on me wasn't even in the realm of possibility prior to finding the items.

I barely started filling the boxes when my phone rang. "Honey. I'm so sorry to waste all your time. Donna found the records I needed at my office. They were mixed in with my parents' things."

"That's good," I said. "I can shower and stop looking now."

"Will I see you for dinner tonight? We're far enough along I can break for a few hours, bring something home to eat, and work at home after the boys are in bed."

I barely held my tongue. "Probably not. I'll call the boys. They can go to their Aunt Cierra's house. I need to exercise."

The line went dead for over 20 seconds. "Again, Declan, I'm sorry for not telling you earlier. I can hear the frustration in your voice. Go work out and I'll see you tonight. I'll still be home around seven after I pick up the boys."

I heard little sorrow in her voice, which made me angrier. I'm sure I heard someone giggling in the background.

"Good night, Liesel. Don't work too late."

Between the heat and my frustration, I made my fatal mistake. Sometimes, when I look back, I think with better communication that night, we might still be married. But my anger and frustration caused me to make a rash move.

Not really. If she said on that phone call what she told me the next day, we might have survived. But she didn't. When I thought it through later, I realized I would have been so angry I might have taken my anger out on the wall, or worse.

I called the boys immediately. "Mom works late tonight. I need to exercise. Please go to Aunt Cierra's house until one of us gets you."

I powered off the phone next. That would prevent any GPS tracking. Knowing Liesel as I did, she would start calling me as soon as she arrived home, and I wasn't there.

Over three years ago, a woman in her mid-30s suffered major injuries in a dreadful boating accident in another state. Her rich husband in his upper 50s died, and she barely survived. Her care team referred her to our facilities because of our high success rate for sports and outdoor injuries.

Her name is Esme. She is of French ancestry. She is barely five foot two and her body is a shadow of Liesl's.

As she recovered, Esme made no bones about wanting me. When I worked with her, my cock hurt within the confines of my jock strap. Her petite body with small breasts affected me in ways no other woman had done. I grew so attracted to her I finally assigned one of my other physical therapists to work with her. She grumbled. "I've done all the advanced work," I told her. "Beth can do the rest."

Once we finished her rehab, she moved to her old hometown about 50 miles away. I called her after I showered and changed clothes. She walked with a slight limp when she grew too tired. Only a few tiny scars remained after plastic surgery.

"Esme. I'll explain more when I get there. But I'm going to accept your offer for sex."

She squealed. "I'm sitting in my recliner in shorts thinking of you. Tell me what you want to do. I'll pull my shorts down. We can go to Facetime and watch each other. Better yet. I'll call you back in a few. I've got a special room set up where the quality is better."

We synched up after I went to my recliner, put an extra towel down, and pulled off my shorts and jock strap. I later learned she got her kicks by filming sex videos. She put her phone on a special stand with a large circular light and filmed commercial-grade photos and videos. She didn't need the money. She loved showing herself to others.

"The first thing I'll do is feast on those gorgeous legs. Raise your legs, honey, and stroke slowly down the insides from the ankles to your pussy.

The few times we spent by ourselves; she told me she longed for a daddy figure. "My father hated and mostly ignored us kids. My therapist said I'm searching for a father figure to stabilize my life."

"Let Daddy see that gorgeous pussy open up for him."

"Oh, yes, Daddy. Baby girl loves her daddy." I watched her open her legs as wide as she could. She used her fingers to pull her pussy open and show the pink insides and her asshole.

Seeing that taboo place caused my cock to throb. Liesel never allowed anal play, which made what I found even more disturbing.

"That's it, baby. Play with yourself. Wet a finger in your pussy and shove it in your ass."

"Yes, Daddy. I love ass play."

I drifted my hand up and down my throbbing cock. My balls were full and ready to erupt.

"Do you have any toys?" I said. "I'm close."

"Sure, Daddy. Hang on a second."

I watched her roll to her side and take two items off her nightstand: a vibrating anal plug and a large black dildo.

She spread lube on the anal plug and put it in her ass. I forced myself to stop while she did. If I hadn't, I would come. It was the biggest one made. It went right in with a pop.

"Both of them vibrate," she giggled. "I'm close too. Let's see if we can cum together."

Once I heard the remote-controlled twin vibrators start on low, I pumped as slowly as I could. The effect of watching her put me near the edge. "I'm cumming now," I roared.

The two sources of pleasure went up in speed. I watched as her back arched and she flooded the duvet before she collapsed boneless on the bed.

I spewed out so much cum, some fell on the floor. After I cleaned up, I made that 48-mile trip in 43 minutes. Our house is less than a half mile from the freeway. Her house is about that much distance off the freeway. I consistently drove with the traffic flow.

Once I stopped in front of Esme's suburban ranch, I turned the phone on, ignored all the voicemails and texts, and sent one text to Liesel.

Not coming home tonight. I'm fine. I'll explain tomorrow. I immediately powered the phone off.

Esme met me at the door and hopped into my arms. After giving me a big smoochy wet kiss, we headed for her bedroom. She gave me the tour the next morning.

She changed her clothes into an outfit I recognized from a private school in our city: a white fitted blouse and green tartan skirt. Instead of extending to the knees, the skirt ended at the bottom of her ass and the blouse revealed her pink nipples.

She wore pigtails, and she'd placed several dots on her face to imitate freckles. She wore Buster Browns and those white socks that come up near to the knees.

"You are into the teenage look, aren't you?"

"Only for play. I abhor sex with underage people."

"I think Daddy needs to punish his little girl for being so naughty as to tempt a man like me into straying."

A crafty look came into her eyes. "His little girl thinks so, too. I'm all ready for a good spanking and a nice ass fuck with a pole like yours. We'll use the code word 'red' if I want you to stop."