I had a little demon in me that constantly tempts me, whispering in my ear, "Go on, enjoy yourself Sal, no one will know."
The demon always calls me Sal, and I hate it because my name is Sally.
I also had an angel, an annoying little cherub that constantly counters the demon's temptations, telling me, "Even if others don't know, you'll know, and your conscience will punish you with the torments of Hades, Sally."
The one thing I liked about the angel was that it used my proper name.
I'd always felt that the demon was much more fun than the rather tedious and moralistic angel, although I must admit the demon has got me into some tight corners on occasion, and then did nothing to help me extract myself from them. But neither did the angel who usually said something like, "Be sure your sins will find you out."
Most of the demon's temptations involved sex, and that is, I hope, understandable given my circumstances.
The circumstances I refer to involved my husband Ken. He was my tutor at university. Flattered – not to say overwhelmed - by his good looks and charm when I was studying I was soon spending nights with him in his flat and bed.
His attractions were further enhanced when I learned that he was not dependent on his salary, but had what he called, "Private means" – money apparently left to him by his grandparents - much to his parent's annoyance.
He was not the marrying type, and although I had him all to myself at the time, I had a strong suspicion it would not last, and he'd go on to the next girl and then the next. After all, there were plenty of attractive and randy girls around the university, and for as long as the university officials didn't learn of his activities with his female students, he had a wide choice.
It was the little demon that popped the idea into my head and the angel that warned me it would end up badly. For once the angel proved to be right.
I told Ken I was pregnant. He cursed the condom manufacturers for selling faulty products, but he realised I'd got him cornered. I'd only have to let it be known around campus who was the daddy of the coming bundle of joy, and he'd be in trouble. The upshot was, he married me.
I waited until around the time when the fruits of our union should have been making its presence visible, and told him as ingenuously as I could manage that it had been a false alarm.
To give him credit, he didn't rant and rave. He took it very quietly; in fact he took it so quietly that had I been more perceptive I might have become suspicious.
The reason for his calm reception of my announcement soon emerged. It was as if I'd given him carte blanche to resume his old games with the girls. Again, to give him credit, he didn't bring them home. He was obviously going to their place for his salacious pleasure.
As his extra-marital affairs increased, so my share of his body went into decline. For a somewhat libidinous young woman this proved a burden very hard to bear. It became worse when, I suppose as a sort of punishment for my deception, he started to boast to me about his latest conquests. The first time he did that was after he came back from a week long academic conference and told me he had managed to seduce a rather attractive female professor.
The angel had proved to be correct; it ended up badly.
Well, not exactly ended. From my point of view it was nice to have access to money. I'd never had much before I got married, and now having it, it was rather like a drug I didn't feel I could cope without.
I'm only guessing, but I think Ken hung on in the marriage partly because he didn't want to marry anyone else, and I was a good excuse for his bits on the side. I thought I could almost hear him saying; "My darling, however much I love you and want to be with you always there's Sally standing between us. If I left her she couldn't go on living," or crap similar to that.
Another reason for his not ending it between us was probably my non-sexual use value. Soon after we got married we moved out of his flat and into a very pleasant and extremely expensive house close to the university. I kept the place well and served as the gracious and, I must boast and say, attractive hostess for the dinners he held for his colleagues.
Regarding those dinners, it's amazing what a horny a lot those male academics are. When they managed to corner me they were always talking about, "Modern open marriages," and "Meaningful relationships." That's how I was assured I was attractive; they could barely keep their hands off me. To be fair I must add that some of the female academics tried to persuade me that "the real thing" was woman with woman.
So each of us had our selfish reasons for maintaining the marriage and presenting ourselves as a devoted couple.
Of course my demon kept suggesting that I took on one – or even more – of the academics who so urgently required entry into my vagina, and naturally the angel warned me once again it would end badly if I did.
Being somewhat more sophisticated about the ways of the world by then, I saw the angel's point of view. While it was okay for Ken to play the field, I was fairly sure that if I had an affair and he found out, he would forgo those domestic advantages he had with me, and divorce would follow. I wasn't absolutely certain about this, but I wasn't at that stage prepared to risk losing the financial advantages staying married to Ken gave me.
As far as sexual gratification was concerned I relied on my good friend the vibrator. Angel had something to say about this as well. It told me I would go blind and I'd be infertile. I took little notice of this since angel often used blackmailing threats like that, and in any case fertility didn't come into it.
Once Ken learned of my alleged false pregnancy he made sure he couldn't impregnate any other female, and had a vasectomy, so even if he did copulate with me – which he didn't – he couldn't have fertilised me.
That of course kept me virtuous because if I'd had an affair and slipped up, Ken would know he couldn't be the father.
One feature of the house had me beaten. It had a huge garden and Ken refused to do anything with it. I tried my best, but it was too much for me, so I started to complain. I asked Ken to employ a gardener and he agreed.
"There are plenty of hard-up students at the university always looking to make a few dollars, so I'll get one of those."
Not exactly the professional gardener I'd hoped for, but rather than complain further I let it go at that.
Students come and go of course, and the first two we had lasted a bit less than a year each. Their knowledge of gardening was minimal and by the end of their time the garden looked very little different from when they started – a mess, with me still struggling to do something with it.
The third student was a rather different proposition. Ken told me that he was studying at the Agricultural College and was doing a couple of single subjects at the university as part of his main course.
To begin with he looked different from the other two. He appeared to be healthy and strong, and I must say he was very good looking. He also had a pleasant manner which also made a change, because the first two were inclined to be surly, especially when I tried to explain to them what I wanted them to do.
His name was James ("Just call me Jim"), and I said, "Sally, just call me Sally." It took very little explanation to get him to understand what I wanted. He even added some good suggestions of his own.
After a while I learned that his parents ran a large plant nursery in one of the provincial towns and he had hopes of taking over one day, hence the course he was taking.
Initially impressed with him, over the next few weeks I became increasingly disappointed. Certainly he appeared to work hard but nothing seemed to result. Then suddenly it all emerged; flower beds, a vegetable garden and places marked out where shrubs and trees were to be planted.
When I expressed my surprise he explained that it took time to prepare the ground properly, and as he only worked for us four hours a week it had taken much longer for the preparation than if he'd worked at it full time.
It was now my choice to decide exactly what to plant. I'm a garden lover, but not a very capable gardener, so I resorted to Jim constantly for his suggestions. He suggested that I order the plants I wanted from his parents and he would be able to get them at a discount. The result was that plants and seeds began to arrive by van.
For people like Ken who wanted everything completed yesterday if not sooner, a garden can be frustrating. With plants you can't put your foot on an accelerator and make them go faster; they have their own time clock. But eventually the results of Jim's labour began to emerge.
He had arranged things so that in our South Australian climate there was nearly always something blooming throughout the year, and the vegetables started to make an appearance in our kitchen.
The shrubs came along fairly quickly, but the trees that looked like sticks when first planted were much slower to advertise their potential.
There was something else growing as well. I liked Jim and once he had prepared the garden beds I started to occasionally work with him. I also invited him into the house for a drink or a snack, and all the signs were that he liked me.
A messy weed strewn garden is just a messy weed strewn garden and manages quite well on its own. A garden put into order and kept in order requires ongoing work to keep it that way. So it came about that I asked Ken if we couldn't employ Jim more often.
Now one thing I can say for Ken, he wasn't mean with money, at least where I was concerned. He probably thought it kept me quiet about his inamoratas, and to tell the truth, he was right.
He muttered something about, "It's your garden so do what you like," and that was the end of the matter as far as he was concerned. So I offered Jim an extra four hours a week if he could manage it along with his studies.
He seemed to have taken a personal interest in the garden and he readily agreed to the extra hours. This led to my having more frequent contact with him.
In hind sight it is possible to mark certain turning points in a relationship that show it is either growing or declining. Such a turning point in my relationship with Jim came about one warm summer day. It was almost a cliché situation that gave rise to the change.
I was not expecting Jim that day, so deciding a sun tan was in order I put on a bikini and stretched out on a sun lounger on the lawn. Half an hour later Jim came on the scene. He spotted me and started to say, "I just thought I'd drop by to...."
He stood staring at me as if he'd suddenly been struck dumb. The poor boy was only wearing shorts and T-shirt and what he was feeling was made obvious by the growing lump in the region of his groin.
My demon had been saying for some time, "That boy fancies you Sal," and the angel had been saying, "Yield not to temptation Sally."
Now the demon's words were proved correct, or were certainly correct at that moment.
"Now's your chance Sal," the demon gloated, while the angel cried out, "Surrender not to the desires of the flesh Sally, and besides your not on the pill and he may not have a condom with him."
Trying to overcome the awkwardness of the situation and my own rising response to that display of fine manhood I asked, "What...what are you doing here Jim?"
