***
He wrote no more about his life, he hadn't even told me, 'his wife,' or 'his children' that he'd writing this letter. I only learned about this after his death, and our solicitor gave me a copy as instructed by him.
So let me add my half penny's worth to his story if I may, not about his earlier life, I wasn't there for that.
But considering the things you read in the paper, or hear on the news about abused children, I must say I was very impressed by the way he turned out. But what I want to talk more about, is of our lives together, after that first and almost last day of our wedding, before he told me everything.
Yes, I was going to leave him, and yes, it was because, as he stated, 'I thought he was weird, or perverted, or something like that.'
No he hadn't hurt me, he just scared, and shocked me, because I didn't think he knew about such things. But once he told me about all the things that had happened to him, how could I not love him even more for his honesty.
There were those times, that I'm sure he doesn't know about because I never told him. I couldn't tell him about those times he'd 'bother me,' It wasn't his fault he couldn't help it. So I'd just let him get on with it, , besides, I too was beginning to like it. At least one of those times, I'm just as certain that it gave us our twin boys.
In all our years together, he only ever hurt me once, and that was when he was in his dream state, and that was only because he took my virginity again... ( from a different place). In fact, while, or should I say, when, he was in that dream state, he used me in such ways, ways I'd never heard about before. 'How the heck,' I use to wonder, did he know about such things. Considering that I was his first, and he was mine. I'll never know, but he was good, 'oh my goodness, he was it good.'
In the beginning I was too shy to ask him to do the kind of things I thought I'd like. I suppose it's like that with most inexperienced women, we have things we like, but wait for our lovers to do, or try something with us. This is where I had an advantage over most women. Where our love making was normal when he was awake. I would get even more aroused by fantasizing about him in his dream state, and the things he could do to me, and what I could do to him if I said that word.
When our twin boys were born, I was breast feeding them one night while my husband was asleep upstairs in bed. He came to me one night as naked as the day he was born, in one of his dream states, about a week after we got home from the hospital.
I wanted him, I needed him, but what could I do, I had both hands full feeding my boys, when I saw him approaching. He was hard, and had that look of lust in his eyes, the one he had when he was in his dream state.
I could already feel myself becoming aroused watching it bouncing up and down in front of him with each step.
What was I going to do with my babies now?, I'll admit I was worried, I knew how demanding he could be when he wanted, and needed my attention. My worry was unfounded though, he stood in front of me and used my mouth to satisfy himself without even disturbing the boys feeding.
I could have ruined the dining room chair I was sitting on, if I wasn't able to wipe it clean. It wasn't long after that I started to suggest things to him in his sleep.
Some times, 'not every day,' I'd whisper something naughty in his ear just before he went off to work. Something that if he was a "good boy," I would let him do to me that night.
It would mostly be things he'd already done to me in his dream state, the things I'd really liked. But that's not to say that I didn't come up with some things from my own world of fantasy as well.
He'd complain of course, that by promising him such things at the front door. He knew that he was going to be in for a very uncomfortable day, because he'd be in a constant state of arousal thinking about it.
You should have seen the look on his face once, when I told him to,
"Stop complaining," I said, "at least you don't spend the day getting sore and chapped because you're wet all day," I said smiling.
I only ever said that to him once, it was one of those pivotal moments in life that he never got tired of teasing me about. You know when you're out with some friends at a night club. The music's loud, you've been drinking, dancing, chatting, generally having a good time. You lean over to a friend to ask her to go to the toilet with you. She doesn't hear you, so you tell her a little louder, she still doesn't hear. So you tell her again only this time, you're practically shouting it at her.
That's always seems to be when the DJ turns the music down isn't it.
"Are you coming to the loo with me, I think I've wet myself laughing."
I can still hear the other people in the club, laughing while I'm hiding in the toilets too embarrassed to come back out.
Well it was that kind of a moment it was, also, it was the look on the old woman's face as she walked past our garden gate and heard me. I could hear him tittering to himself after I'd slammed the door shut and hid in the hallway red faced.
On to other matters, my husband was a self educated man, intellectual, practical. Often found in deep thought especially when he was working on one of his projects, usually in wood.
When we first got together and bought a house we couldn't afford much in the way of luxuries. So he had to teach himself things like decorating, plumbing electrical work, brick laying and so forth. He landscaped our garden's, built the play gym for the kids, there seemed to be nothing he couldn't turn his hand to when it was needed. When the twins got old enough, he'd take them off into his work room for the day to teach them some of the things he'd learnt.
He certainly loved his son's but when his daughter was born, I could see that special look he had for her when he held her. Not once did I ever hear him raise his voice to her. It didn't matter what she did, or what she said to him, she could do no wrong in his eyes.
I remember the first time he ever held our daughter in his arms. He looked down at her with tears in his eyes, "Abbey, my little bunny," he said in almost a whisper. I only remembered the reference to his sister, when I saw she was wrapped in a yellow blanket, with big white dots on it.
At her christening, unbeknown to him, and in respect to his beloved sister. That's the name I had our daughter christened with. I went through all the motions with him about picking out her name. Not once, god love him, did he ever chose his sister's name though. Which made things easier for me because I didn't to have to say no to it. But in my mind, there was no other name that I would have christened her with.
I spoke with the priest about it when he wasn't with me, and we conspired to lead him to believe we were going to call her by another name.
You should have seen the look on his face, and the tears in his eyes. When the priest poured the water over our daughter's head, and said, "I name this child, Abigail."
My husband died, in our bed, surrounded by his children, and his grand children, and having said all his goodbye's to them. He turned to me, held my hand, and with a twinkle in his eye and a smile on his face.
He said "You've been loved by me, even before I ever met you. You'll be loved by me long after I am gone. So don't cry my darling, you know how 'wet' you get."
Yes I cried, I cried long and hard because my life long friend and lover had been taken away from me.
But I also laughed too, I laughed just as hard at his last words to me, private in their meaning between the two of us, as our children and grand children looked on, in confusion.
