Finding Love

I once heard someone say, “We marry the person who is most available when we are most vulnerable.”

I suppose that describes me when, at the age of thirty two I seemed well set in my career as a consulting engineer, was fed up with one night stands, and felt it was time to settle down and have a family.

The family aspect had increasingly absorbed my thinking since both my parents had been killed in a car crash when I was twenty two; both my paternal and maternal grandparents were dead, and my sister, some uncles, aunts and cousins, all live far away.

Looking back I suppose I had an idealised view of marriage and family – the sort of image one gets from Christmas advertising on television – the children opening presents on Christmas Day and smiles all round. Then there are walks along the beach, hiking in the hills, the companionship and intimacy, not to say the availability of regular sexual intercourse. These were the things I thought I wanted; it was just a question of with whom?

The answer came in the shape of Judith. We met at a dinner party at the house of mutual friends; a husband and wife who had long been plotting to get me married. To this day I am not sure whether they had set the situation up deliberately, but if they did, at first glance you might say it was an unlikely piece of matchmaking.

For a start Judith was only eighteen; fourteen years younger than me. In addition she was very attractive in the fantasy manner many men have about their ideal woman. Tall, slender, with long shapely legs and clearly full breasted – “clearly” because her dress was cut to expose her bosom almost to the nipples. Her long slender neck was surmounted by a face of classical beauty – the sort of face that you see on the statues of Greek goddesses.

I was instantly smitten and couldn’t keep my eyes off her the entire evening. She spoke quietly, and to make the situation more enticing, she had an air of remoteness, of unattainability.

My goddess had me spending most of the evening trying to hide a throbbing erection.

Before the evening was over I gathered up my courage and asked her to have dinner with me one night. To my amazement she agreed without demur. The arrangement was made; I took her home, and went to bed that night to masturbate, with my fantasy woman hovering over me.

And so the courtship began. It was indeed a really old fashioned courtship with flowers and gifts, all received by Judith with calm, not to say cool, thanks. It was her apparent inaccessibility that proved a challenge to me. I felt as if I were trying to storm an impregnable tower. That in the end proved to be an incorrect assumption in the sense that, when having asked her to marry me and received the answer, “Yes,” Judith proved to be very pregnable in that she must have got pregnant the first time we copulated or soon after.

Judith came with a bonus in the form of her mother and father. On meeting them I was made very welcome and as time passed there grew up a bond of affection between us. I came to feel that I belonged.

On first meeting Ken and Hannah I was struck by their age difference. Ken, as I learned, was in his mid fifties and Hannah was thirty seven. It seemed that age disparity ran in the family when it came to marriage.

Ken was “Something in the city”; precisely what he was in the city I have never been clear about, but something to do with investments. Like Judith he had a slight air of remoteness about him; not unfriendly, but not inviting personal questions.

Physically Judith resembled her father more than her mother. Ken was tall and handsome in that greying at the temples manner. Hannah, on the other hand, was shorter than Judith, and where Judith was fair complexioned with the light brown hair that must have once been Ken’s colouring, Hannah was dark complexioned, with almost black hair and with what used to be called an “hour glass figure.”

I am no expert of women’s bra sizes, so let it be sufficient to say that Hannah was well and firmly endowed. She had a narrow waist that flowed down to swelling hips and strong but shapely legs of the sort one could imagine winding round you at the moment of orgasm.

Facially Judith to some extent resembled Hannah in that Hannah had that same classical cast of features, but where Judith had light blue eyes, Hannah’s were a darker blue, in fact they were quite startling.

I remember there was once a song called, “The Sailor with the Navy Blue Eyes.” I had always thought this to be a piece of fanciful imagery on the composer’s part, until I saw Hannah. She had the deepest blue eyes I had ever seen, and when she focused them on you, you felt as if they penetrated your very soul.

Another difference between Judith and her mother was Hannah’s vivacity. She was clearly an intelligent woman, well educated and with multiple interests. I frequently found myself engaged in animated conversation with Hannah on the most rarefied subjects, and enjoying myself hugely.

To put it bluntly if she had been available and Judith not on the scene I might have let myself fall for Hannah.

At the mention of “marriage” Hannah went in to top gear. As I was to discover, Hannah was not the interfering type, but the wedding of Judith and I was like putting Hannah into overdrive. All was arranged by her, and Ken did all the paying.

At one point prior to the day of the wedding Hannah took me aside and said, “I’m glad Judith is marrying a mature man, I think it makes for a more stable relationship. And by the way, I want to be a grandmother before I’m forty.”

Under the influence of those penetrating eyes I felt impelled to tell her the truth. “You’re going to be a grandmother sooner than you think,” I said.

There was a pause as she continued to look at me, then she chuckled and said, “A bit careless were you? I thought Judith was looking a bit chubbier than usual.” That was her only comment.

The wedding and honeymoon over, Judith and I settled down to married life. I copulated enthusiastically and frequently with her, but there was something about Judith during our love making that was not easy to interpret.

Even now I find it difficult to describe how it was, but it was as if she was enjoying what we did, but somehow did not connect with me. It was as if she was in the bed alone masturbating and I was some sort of dildo or vibrator.

For some time the delights of exploring her body prevented my recognising this seeming distance from me, and she did little for me in response to my stimulation of her. She orgasmed easily, but again, it was something that seemed to happen apart from me.

As the time for the birth drew near Judith asked me not to have sex with her, and I accepted that it would be too uncomfortable or even dangerous for her.

We had a daughter whom we called Bernadette; a beautiful child who oddly seemed to resemble her grandmother in complexion and hair colouring. One aspect troubled me a little. I had read that breast feeding a child was the best thing for its early development, but Judith resolutely refused to do this, claiming it would spoil her breasts.

Once Judith had recovered from the birth I approached her for a continuation of our sex life, but for some time she kept putting me off. When she finally relented she was if possible, even more distant.

I had led a fairly promiscuous sex life before meeting Judith, but when we married I took the vows seriously. I would remain faithful to her and so the infrequency of our love making and the rather detached manner in which Judith engaged in sex with me, began to give rise to frustration. I confess that I did begin to think of seeking my satisfaction elsewhere, but thinking was as far as it went.

I kept telling myself that things would eventually improve; thus does hope spring eternal, but unfortunately this particular spring seemed to have lost its resilience.

It was when Bernadette was about a year old that Judith spoke to me about returning to work. She had worked in a junior clerical position in a solicitor’s office and had continued there for the first few months of our marriage.

“I met Mr. Gardener the other day,” she said. Gardener had been her employer. “He asked me if I’d like to come back and work part time – perhaps four hours a day.”

“What about Bernadette?” I asked.

“I think I can persuade mother to look after her while we’re out at work. I do feel a bit stifled and restricted. It’s all right for you, you get out and about meeting people, but I’m stuck in here day after day; I need to get out for a while.”

I was not too happy about the idea, but could sympathise with Judith in the need to get some of the socialising that goes on in the workplace. I had no qualms about Hannah looking after Bernadette because she was very much the loving and doting grandmother. So it was arranged that she would come to our house for the time Judith was at work to care for Bernadette.

All went well for a while but then the four hours started to become five hours, then six hours, a day. Then one evening I came home from work to find Hannah still there and no Judith.

“Where’s Judith?” I asked.

“She telephoned to say that she’d been asked to work extra time again, but I didn’t expect it to be this long.”

“Ken’s not going to be too happy,” I responded.

She looked at me for a moment, and then with a wry smile said, “I don’t suppose he’ll mind.”

Hannah had prepared the evening meal. We waited some time for Judith to appear until tired or waiting we sat down to eat. Judith arrived just as we finished.

Hannah made some remark about the food being spoiled and went to serve Judith’s meal, but Judith said, “Don’t worry about me, mother, I’ve already eaten, and I’ve brought home some paperwork to finish, so if you don’t mind, would you put Bernadette to bed.”

I think Hannah and I were a trifle taken aback by this turn of events, but neither of us made any protest and Hannah and I duly attended to Bernadette.

After that time everything seemed to go haywire. Judith arrived home at all hours; Hannah spent an increasing amount of time in our house to care for Bernadette; my sex life with Judith went into a marked decline with the responses on my approach, “Not tonight Michael, I’m rather tired.”

Seeing much more of Hannah than I used to I began to notice that she seemed to lack her old vivacity. It was as if she was carrying some burden around with her. I thought that the increasing amount or responsibility and time she spent caring for Bernadette was getting too much for her. I questioned her about this.

Her response was that she was delighted to care for Bernadette, but “I am worried about how Judith is relating to the child. She doesn’t seem to be at all interested in what‘s going on; it’s all work, work, work. Frankly Michael, I think you should discuss the situation with Judith, see if you can persuade her to be more of a mother and less of a workhorse.”

I agreed I would try talking with Judith, but I didn’t expect to get anywhere because I had tried approaching the subject with her before, and was told, “Oh, we’re just extra busy lately.” I also realised that I had not discovered what it was that seemed to be ailing Hannah.

My discussion with Judith was never begun, or at least, not in the form I had intended. When she came home that evening she was flushed with excitement.

“Michael, I’ve been asked by Stan” – It was ‘Stan’ now and not ‘Mr. Gardener’ – “to go with him on a business trip to (she named a city up north).”

I was staggered. “How long for?” I asked, unable for the moment to think of anything else to say.

“Probably about a week.”

“A week! What about Bernadette? You can’t just leave her for a week.”

“Don’t be silly, Michael. Mother will come and stay here with her…and you,” she added hastily. “She loves being with Bernadette and Bernadette obviously loves her, so what’s the worry?”

“Have you asked Hannah about this?”

“Not yet, but I shall, and I know she’ll agree.”

I knew she’d agree, but that didn’t mean I was happy about the situation, and I said so.

Judith got snappish and said, “Michael, I’m getting a great deal of satisfaction out of my work. I’ve been promoted, and I’m virtually Stan’s personal assistant now, so it’s useless trying to get me to give up the job.

I wanted to talk about the maternal instinct and mother and child bonding, but felt it would simply sound pathetically sentimental. I also wanted to talk about our declining sex life, but was unable to humiliate myself by what would end up sounding like begging.

In addition to this there was something I would not acknowledge to myself at the time, but now I can say that I had actually come to prefer Hannah’s company, and certainly preferred her cooking to either Judith’s or my own.

I suppose at the time I saw the warning signs of things to come, but again, I failed to acknowledge them, hoping that some miracle would turn our failing relationship around.

And so it went on. Judith went away for the week; the “working late” telephone calls became ever more frequent, and other “weeks away on business” kept cropping up. Had it not been for Hannah’s presence in our life I might well have brought our marriage to an end. The only nagging thought was, “What would become of Bernadette?” Or put more truthfully and selfishly, “Will I lose Bernadette?”

That I would lose Judith came to play a less and less important part in my thinking. I felt as if I had lost her already, and when she suggested that we sleep apart on the grounds that my restlessness kept her awake, it seemed that the final curtain had dropped on our relationship.

She was right of course; I was restless – restless in my sexual frustration and the nearness of her body.

Hannah now spent increasing amounts of time at our place, sleeping there when Judith was off on one of her weeks away. It was she who now made our place a home, with Judith looking ever more like a visitor who came and went. I continued to wonder what Ken thought about Hannah’s frequent absences, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him when we met for fear I might be poking my nose into something that did not concern me.

Yet it did continue to concern me. The loss of Hannah’s animation that I had observed some time before had continued, and if anything seemed more marked. Finally, one evening, I girded up my loins and asked her; “Hannah, something seems to be troubling you; you’re not as lively as you used to be; you seem to be carrying some heavy burden or worry. Is it the situation here?”

As on the previous occasion I had asked, she looked at me with those soul penetrating eyes, and giving a wan smile said, “No darling, it’s nothing to do with being here, in fact I like coming here. The situation with you and Judith is a worry, but it’s not that, I promise you.”

“What is it, then?” I asked.

She paused for a long time as if trying to make up her mind whether to say anything or not, then with a sigh she said, “It’s nothing you can help with, darling, so it’s better for me to say nothing.”

“It might help if you shared it with me,” I said.

“No darling, it’s lovely of you to want to help, but its better I say nothing.”

I took that to be a nice way of saying “Mind your own business,” so that was what I did, simply adding, “Well, any time you want to talk, here I am.”

An incident took place a couple of nights later that although I didn’t realise it at the time, gave the clue to Hannah’s problems and which added to mine.

Together we had put Bernadette to bed, I reading her a story and Hannah saying a prayer with her. Bernadette was now nearly three years old, and it was clear that she virtually saw Hannah as the maternal figure in her life, and Judith as the woman who came and went.

To save time in the morning I had the habit of taking a shower and then getting into my pyjamas. I must admit that the pyjamas were only for the sake of Hannah’s sensibilities since I took them off before going to bed, preferring to sleep in the nude.

Hannah, when staying with us, followed the same pattern and put on her night dress. Should this give rise to salacious thoughts in my reader, I hasten to point out that Hannah’s night dress was a cotton neck to just below the knee affair and not designed to send the male viewer into a flame of passion.

It was warm on the evening in question, so I appeared in the lounge wearing only pyjama shorts, thinking that this after all covered the vital area.

As I recall we watched television for a while until finding it boring, we turned the infernal machine off and talked in a relaxed way about the current political situation – who would get in at the next election and who wouldn’t.

Around ten thirty we had a light supper and made ready to go to bed. We both needed to brush our teeth and Hannah went into the bathroom first. As she came out she drew close to me and said, “Michael, I know how bad things are between you and Judith, but if there’s anything I can do to help…anything, you only have to ask.”

She pulled herself close to me, putting her arms round my neck and kissed me. I smelt her female fragrance and felt the pressure of her breasts against my bare chest and her hips pressed firmly against me. Did I imagine that her tongue flicked over my lips?

She broke away from me and stood looking at me for a moment, then said, “Don’t forget, darling, anything I can do, you only have to ask.”

Hannah had from early on in my marriage always been affectionate towards me, touching a kissing, but nothing like this. I staggered to the bathroom glad to hide from her the erection she had inspired. That night before I could get to sleep I had to masturbate twice to relieve the sexual tension she had stirred up in me. As I ejaculated I called out her name.

From the very beginning I had found Hannah an extremely attractive and sensual woman, but had repressed sexual thoughts about her. Now, in my state of deprivation and deep frustration, those hidden thoughts came bubbling to the surface.

In the morning nothing was said about that moment of close physical contact, but all that day thoughts of Hannah kept flashing into my head, to the point where I wasn’t concentrating properly on my work.

That evening we went through the usual routine of eating, putting Bernadette to bed, and then showering. There was an atmosphere of constraint between us. For some time conversation was desultory and neither of us showed any signs of wanting to turn the television on, not even to cover the awkwardness that hung between us.

I felt that something was brewing; rather like a threatening thunderstorm when the air is hot and heavy and you long for it to rain to bring relief. When the storm broke at first it was mild enough, but then mounted up to a mighty down pour.

Hannah began hesitantly; “Michael, you remember asking me what’s troubling me?”

“Of course.”

“I didn’t want to say anything because it’s embarrassing and involves someone else.”

My instant and perhaps unworthy thought was that Hannah had had an affair that had gone wrong and was miserable on that account.

She went on, “I know you’ve got problems of your own, but think I would like to tell you because I believe you’ll understand how I feel and you won’t go blabbing.”

“Tell me if you want to,” I said encouragingly.

She went silent for a while, her eyes searching my face; I suppose trying to be sure that I did want to listen to her. Then she whispered, “It’s Ken and me.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t…he doesn’t want to…to make love with me…he…”

Quietly as she had said those words they were the first flash of lightening and the thunderclap. This was now followed by rain in the form of Hannah’s tears.

Cotton night dress or not, I was amazed that Ken would not want to make love with Hannah.