This story, based on personal experience, is approaching its conclusion. Thanks to the readers who have kept me company. Comments have been, and are, most welcome.
Don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong - Ella Fitzgerald.
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NOW
THE place Gaynor selected for our late lunch was only a few minutes' drive away, a quaint country inn with thatched-roof, low beams, leaded windows and highly-polished hardwood flooring. Prints of hunting scenes, highlighting red coats and dappled dogs, adorned the walls and the stoutly-padded seats made wooden chairs surprisingly comfortable.
A few customers still lingered over their meals or drinks and some of them turned their heads as Gaynor, her tote bag bouncing at her right hip, sashayed towards a corner table. She wore black leggings and a knee-length smock-style dress, the floral pattern consisting mainly of red and purple petunia. It was sleeveless and the low-cut square neckline offered a seductive view of her cleavage.
We ordered drinks, skipped starters and, after eating a little of her chicken salad, Gaynor started moving the food around the plate with her fork.
"Something wrong with your meal?"
"Uh, uh," she said and looked up at me. "No, it's fine. Guess I'm not really that hungry after all. It's happened quite a lot recently. I often feel hungry but after a few bites I'm full." She gave me a brilliant white smile. "Maybe it's something to do with getting older, eh? I remember a lot of the old folk in hospital only pecked at their food, especially the ladies. Just like little birds, they were, peck, peck, peck."
"Maybe that was because it was hospital food."
Gaynor shook her head, still smiling, golden hoops swinging at her cheeks. "No, the food was good. I should know, I ate enough of it over the years." She placed the fork on the side of her plate and picked up her glass of white wine. "How's your steak pie?"
I nodded while I finished chewing. "It's okay, thanks. Yes, it's a nice meal, almost as nice as the company."
Gaynor snorted. "Flatterer!"
I shrugged. "If a man can't pay a lady a compliment . . ."
"Richard, feel free to pay me all the compliments you like." She sipped some wine as I continued to eat. "Fact is, that's more or less what I've been thinking about. In a strange way, I feel that you paid me a huge one about an hour ago."
"I did?"
" Mmm, yes." Another sip of wine deposited red lipstick stains on the rim of her glass. "You must have felt that I really wanted you inside me again, Richard. Yes?" She stared at me but didn't wait for an answer. "You must have, I know you did. Anyway, you showed great restraint. You didn't take advantage of my weakness."
"Your weakness? Good God, Gaynor, I don't have a clue how I managed to resist you." I put down my cutlery and leaned forward. "But, and this is the truth, I don't ever want you to think that I asked to meet you for one reason only. Oh, don't get me wrong, I've thought about the old days, how good we were together in bed, of course I have. But there's more to this than . . . well, you know. . ."
"Hmm, that's what I'm saying. You treated me - no, you treated us, what we mean to each other - with respect. It wasn't just," and she, too, leaned forward, lowering her husky tone to almost a whisper, "well, hello there, let's have a fuck for old times sake."
I smiled broadly. "Exactly, Gaynor. We mean more than that, although . . ." and I shrugged, raised my hands palms upwards and opened my eyes wide. "Who knows?"
"Cheeky, cheeky, Richard. You're a very naughty boy," she waved a reproving, metronome finger at me.
"Well, I've got to be honest, Gaynor. If the same opportunity came up again, I'm not sure what would happen. I'm not giving any guarantees about my behaviour if there's another time."
"Good." She reached across the table and we linked hands among the glasses and plates of half-eaten food. "I'd like to be a more successful temptress next time, honey."
We sat like that for some time, eyes looking into eyes, fingers squeezing, silly grins finally fading away as we released our grips and raised glasses to tender lips.
"There is one thing, of course," said Gaynor. "And a very important thing it is."
I raised my eyebrows. "And what's that?"
Again she leaned forward, pressing against the table and exposing more of the soft swell of her glorious breasts. She virtually whispered: "You're a married man. There's Veronica to think about. It would be adultery, you know." She sat back.
I downed the remnants of my wine, thinking, and then took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm very aware of everything. But, you don't know the full story and, really, this isn't the place to talk about it."
Gaynor nodded, her gaze fixed firmly on my face. "I could guess some things from what you've already hinted. But, you're right, this isn't the place." She swigged the last of her wine and lifted her bag off the floor onto her lap. "But I want to hear all about it, Richard. Look, there's a little park with a lovely duck pond just around the corner from here. We can walk there and you can tell me about Veronica and you. Okay?"
I nodded agreement, Gaynor dumped a bread roll into her bag ("For the ducks") and I paid for our meals and drinks. Hand in hand, we strolled to the park where we settled on a bench near the pond and watched the wildlife at play.
It was there, in peace and quiet amid a background of birdsong and ducks quacking and foliage rustling in a warm breeze, that I unburdened myself. Gaynor listened, squeezed my hand at times, sighed at others and prompted me with occasional questions.
Finally, when there was absolutely no more for me to reveal, Gaynor put her palms on either side of my face, drew me towards her and kissed me quickly but firmly on the lips. Her chocolate-drop eyes gazed into mine, the tips of our noses almost touching. "Thanks for telling me all that," she said softly, again kissed my lips, and then added: "It's quite an unusual marriage you've got there, Richard. Sex or no sex, a strong bond has kept you two together."
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THEN
I WAS concerned and wondered when things would change. When will they get back to normal?
In my armchair, a glass of beer in hand and the television flickering in the corner of the lounge, I was deep in thought and only vaguely aware, like background music, that Veronica was upstairs settling the twins down for the night. Ah, the twins! In just over a week, it would be their first birthdays - a staggering thought. And that only served to highlight my continuing concerns and worries. Rubbing a forefinger over my chin bristles, I mused: Just when will Veronica be ready to make love again?
I took a hearty slug of beer and, once more, pondered on this strange, ongoing situation. I tried to make sense of the puzzle, reflecting on what had happened over the past year. Or not happened . . .
For six months after the birth of the twins, I had been caring, supportive and patient. I knew that Veronica had her hands full with the babies and needed all her rest and strength to cope with the demand on her time and energies. If it meant she was too exhausted for love-making, so be it. I accepted that. I could wait.
I nodded to myself: yes, those had been my initial thoughts.
Of course, I'd helped where and when I could but it was a two-way street. I, too, needed my strength to combat the stress and challenges of the business world. I frequently worked a six-day week and long hours at that. But, being in my early thirties, I was fit and blessed with a strong mind and physical stamina. No problems there. And Veronica also understood the work situation and supported me wholeheartedly.
So, I thought, everything has turned out pretty good. Everything, that is, except for this lack of sex - in fact, this total absence of sex. What's happened? How did we got to this point? We used to have a great sex life and Veronica was often the instigator, eager to experiment with new positions and other stuff, including light bondage. But now? Well, I'm still virile and hungry but Veronica is . . . I don't know, I'm not sure what she is.
I leaned back in my chair, stared at the ceiling and recalled the various occasions over the months when I'd I tested the waters, cuddling up in bed and letting my hands wander. Without fail, I'd been rebuffed. If I touched her bra-covered breasts, she'd quickly say: "No, Richard, sorry, I'm a bit tender there." I understood that, she was feeding two hungry mouths. But when my fingers strayed down her tummy towards her pubis she'd give me a quick peck on the lips, turn her back on me and say: "G'night, the girls will want feeding soon. I need some sleep." Or something like that.
Even when we cuddled and spooned in bed, my erection pressing against her, Veronica hadn't been the least bit responsive. It was as if my cock didn't exist, as if she couldn't feel it's heat and thickness against her buttocks or thighs. Certainly she made a good job of ignoring it and ignoring me and my urges.
So, I mused, here I sit, the weeks having turned into months, still no action and I'm so, so bloody frustrated I could scream.
I swigged at my beer again. It's little wonder that I've sometimes been tetchy and spoken sharply at her when she keeps coming up with all these fucking excuses. I shook my head at my choice of phrase and smiled ironically: that should be excuses not to fuck, of course. Anyway, when I snap she becomes tearful and claims she's frazzled. "Give me time, please." I can hear her pleading now.
Whatever, I've given her time and I'm still giving her time. A lot of it. I wonder, yet again, whether it's all due to a post-natal reaction. But for this long? Is a year without sex normal? How would I know? The trouble is, men don't talk about such things, it's not a topic for discussion at work or over a drink. In fact, we married men never speak about our home sex life. It's the ultimate no-no. Privacy rules!
I finished my beer and all seemed quiet upstairs. I switched off the television and the lounge lights, took my dirty glass into the kitchen and made my way upstairs to the bathroom. I cleaned my teeth and then peed. I looked down at my urinating cock and decided that I would see if Veronica was interested in making love tonight. I took a deep breath as I zipped up my pants. Yes, tonight's the night, I've waited long enough. With this increased determination buzzing in my brain, I swilled my hands and face and walked first to the girls' room. I popped my head around their door and stood a moment watching them sleep. Two little angels bathed in a soft pink nightlight.
In our bedroom, Veronica sat against propped up pillows and leafed through a magazine. She wore a satin nightdress, a pale shade of purple with white lace trimmings. She looked enticing. "Did you look in on the girls?" she asked.
