A serialisation of my first erotic Novel – please do leave comments at the end
We drove home in silence. My euphoria was evidenced by the bulge in my trousers, but I couldn’t help fearing Mary might regret what she had done. Watching my wife with another man, even though he hadn’t fucked her, was the biggest turn-on of my life. I was unsure of how I would feel if she didn’t want to continue.
We arrived home. “We need to talk,” she said as she exited the car and strode towards the house.
She disappeared through the front door, leaving me to put the car away. I went cold. I assumed she was embarrassed by what she’d done and wanted to stop. Damn. I had to talk her into changing her mind. But how? I pondered this as I strode into the kitchen.
I’d misread her comment. There was my once sweet, inhibited wife on the floor, doggy style, her skirt pulled up over her waist, her legs spread as far as she could, giving an uninterrupted view of her oh, so wet, cunt.
“Fuck me right now, if you don’t I’m going out and offering myself to the first man I meet.”
Before she had finished the sentence, I had my trousers and boxers off and entered her. The ensuing sex was rough, wanton and satisfying. As we lay thereafter, I said,
“If you had found a stranger to shag, I wouldn’t have minded. As long as I could watch.”
“That’s what we need to discuss,” she said. “I can’t stop what I’ve started. I feel so alive. I need more. Please, please can we carry on? I need it. I love you so, so, much, but this is not about love, is it? It’s about sex, sheer, unadulterated sex. I feel so whorish. Yes, if you hadn’t fucked me, I would have let anyone I could find fuck me. I need more of this. You want to, don’t you?”
“Darling, do you need to ask? You know how much I love you. These two sessions with Sam have opened up a new world for us. I’ll support you in anything you want to do. I need this and want it as much as you do.”
My husband, Daniel Alan Cartwright. My knight in shining armour. My rock in times of trouble. My clown when I’m miserable. My mechanic when the car breaks down. My…
Enough! You get the idea. I like him! Bit of an understatement that. I adore him. I have for the last quarter of a century.
I’m not a football fan, but one saying I’ve heard used about soccer is that it’s a game of two halves. That sums up our marriage. Slight inequality, regarding the relative lengths of the halves, mind you. The first having lasted twenty-three years (plus two for extra time if you count our engagement). The second so far having lasted, what? Seven days? But the pep talk at half time must have been world-class, because the standard of play, since the resumption, has been mind boggling.
I’m stopping the analogy now and coming to the point.
Which I’ve now forgotten. Oh, yes. I remember. I was waxing lyrical about my husband.
When I first met him at the badminton club, I can’t say it was love at first sight because given my puritanical upbringing I’m not sure I understood the meaning of the word.
I knew what lust was. My Mother made sure of that. The beast that consumes those with impure thoughts. Perish the idea her daughter should succumb to impure thoughts. (Hey, Mum, look here, now. Hardly a thought going through my head at the moment that isn’t impure. Progress indeed!). What I experienced when I first saw Dan wasn’t lust because it wasn’t impure. It’s unfortunate I didn’t listen more to my body back then than to my Mum. Life could have been so much more fun.
I was nineteen when I met Dan; he was twenty-six. I suppose none of us knows what attracts us to certain people, and repels us from others, but he was the first to come up to welcome this shrinking violet when I entered the hall where they played, and I was grateful for that.
He didn’t ‘sweep me off my feet,’ he made me welcome. He helped me sort out the gear I needed, and played a few practice games with me, (which I lost conclusively, but he didn’t make it feel like that). In the following couple of weeks we met in passing rather than spending lots of time in each other’s company, but I realised I was looking forward to seeing him as much as playing badminton, for which I seemed to have an aptitude.
On the third or fourth month, the club had a friendly mixed doubles competition where they drew the pairs out of a hat for fairness. Fate had a hand in that night’s draw, as we ended up partnering each other.
We got through to the semi-finals, but lost to the pair that won the competition. We, or more especially me, were thrilled at getting as far as we did, and Dan asked me for a celebratory drink afterwards.
Alarm bells! Man. Asking a younger girl out. For a drink. Mother’s warnings flashed their neon lights in my eyes. I hesitated, but Dan persisted, and as other players were going to the pub as well I thought I should be safe so agreed.
Alcohol was another of Mother’s DO NOT GO THERE FOR FEAR OF YOUR LIFE – or more accurately – CHASTITY. I wasn’t yet able to kick over that hurdle, so I only drank cola and was astonished that Dan wasn’t force-feeding me double vodkas and orange as Mother had assured me any man would, so they could get in my knickers.
To cut a long story short, to save you, dear reader, from total boredom, that began our ‘courtship,’ (God, how I hate that expression, that’s what Mother insisted on calling it, so out of date) with poor Dan having to go through the Spanish Inquisition as to his ‘intentions’ while I suffered metaphorical thumb screws and ducking stool whenever I got home, to make sure he hadn’t ‘taken advantage’ of me.
Eventually our wedding day arrived and with Mother’s advice ringing in my ears, ‘close your eyes dear, try to think of pleasant things, it won’t take long,’ we set off on our honeymoon.
I was naïve. I did not understand what to expect, other than what the dire predictions of my Mother had led me to imagine.
Dan was brilliant, he was so kind and gentle, but to say I enjoyed that first night’s sex is a terrible overstatement; it just wasn’t as traumatic as Mother had sworn it would be. But the ingrained hostility to sex continued.
Now, looking back, I’m astounded Dan put up with it.
He’s a good-looking man, five feet ten tall with dark wavy brown hair and brown eyes. Distinguished. Doesn’t look his age. He has a high-powered job, being a technical director of a medium-sized engineering company. But he had a wife that didn’t wholeheartedly enjoy sex. Humph. You can tell I’m writing this. ‘Didn’t wholeheartedly?’ Who am I kidding? Forget the wholeheartedly, just say ‘didn’t enjoy sex.’
I couldn’t get my Mother’s indoctrination out of my head. Time, I suppose, lessened my animosity to it, while changing attitudes, such as the radio programme I so clearly remembered, helped. When cock approached vagina, though, I was still ingrained with an ‘it’s not for fun’ mentality.
Whenever we ‘made love’ – no fucking in those bygone days – he tried to tempt me to go further. To try a different position or dress up; you know, way out, kinky stuff! No way. Fun? In the bedroom? Not for this woman.
But there he was, still faithful, still supportive, still loving. For twenty-three years. My god. What a saint. Lesser men would have sought sustenance elsewhere. But, hey, look at what they would have missed.
Chapter 4 is here