This story is true. It takes time to develop, and involves sexual problems along the way. Minor changes to facts to prevent identification.
I wasn't looking for an affair. As far as I was concerned, marriage was for life. Only, my marriage was dying. We had a young son, so that was a complication, but a good one to have, as far as I was concerned. He had been the cause of a change in her. She didn't want children but had relented in a fit of sentimental madness, then regretted it. We had been happy, almost two peas in a pod until junior arrived. Then our loving marriage was history. He bonded with me, and she resented it, but did nothing to turn the tide. Then she switched off. That was the tell-tale sign. Later, she told me under pressure that she had switched her affections to her male assistant in the office. He was younger, and he wasn't me - and he didn't want children.
It wasn't that I was an ogre, only that I took my responsibilities seriously. She had always looked up to me, relied on me. All that changed when she made the big mistake of 'giving' me a baby she never wanted to have. She knew I longed for a family. She didn't. Once she realised her mistake, she looked for a way out and found a lover and left. But that's a private story I won't be telling.
Before she left, I was in that in-between world, no longer consummating a marriage, nor getting any relief. She was, of course. The double bed had been swapped for two single beds from the guests' bed room. She was losing weight and looking all the better for it, but no longer ever shed a shirt in front of me, let alone the rest of her clothes. Bedtime was a torture of unrequited lust for me, and she knew it. It was a perfect punishment in her eyes for my cursed fertility.
~*~*~
I had started a job on the same day as Shelley, a slim, dark-haired lady in her mid-twenties, a similar age to me. We worked in separate divisions. I got qualified and moved up the ranks. Shelley did not. Eventually I moved across to manage an audit team of six where she worked. I had no reason to fancy her at first. Her features were somewhat plain, made worse by her choice of severe glasses, the type worn by dragon librarians to intimidate children. Her body was slim, but not overtly desirable despite her prominent bust. The overall effect wasn't helped by her poor choices in clothing.
She wore tight skirts to below the knees with high waists. It demonstrated her flat stomach. Her equally tight blouses looked fit to burst their buttons over well-shaped boobs. Yet the whole effect just seemed inappropriate office wear. It was maybe her generally sullen face that overall made her unattractive.
She resented me at first for becoming her boss. She claimed that, like most men, I was judging her for being female. She had been passed over for the job I got. My superior qualifications earned me the position, if not my skills, but certainly not my gender. But she never acknowledged that I was more deserving of promotion than her. I've never been a chauvinist and I found it difficult to defend my position in an age when gender issues had started to become a cause celebre.
The desks in the office were arranged in blocks of two. We shared the middle block, facing each other. On occasions when the other four in the team were out, we talked. The source of her antipathy towards men soon became clear: her husband was a chauvinistic pig. I could corroborate that from the few occasions when I met him, along with his blatant selfishness and over-sized ego. I could see nothing in him to compare me with. She was very unhappy in her marriage. Like my wife, she had withdrawn her 'favours' although perhaps with more cause than my wife. She wanted out of her marriage, whereas I wanted to rescue mine.
Our partners left each of us at about the same time, mine voluntarily, hers under protest. I think she held the lease on their flat. It gave us something in the beginning to talk about discreetly in the office when we were alone. I revealed little about my marriage, but a kind of bond of mutual understanding slowly developed; and from that finally grew mutual respect.
Out of hours socialising was rare. But when she told me that she and her hubby played badminton, I suggested a foursome. We booked a court at a local sports centre. My wife and I arrived on court at the appointed time, and waited for them to arrive. We had paid a babysitter for a rare evening out. When Shelley made her entrance to the sports hall, her appearance stunned me. She wore a clinging tee shirt and impossibly tight, short, shorts. Those shorts might have been sprayed on for all the lack of impression they made on the underlying flesh of her slim hips and pert bottom. Her hitherto unrevealed curves were now perfectly displayed. Her body suddenly started to make sense. Those hotpants, for that was what in reality they were, also revealed that she had a remarkably toned but desirable figure.
Shelley was an average badminton player, but Charlie was a winner-at-all-costs type of guy; obnoxious is the word I would use. He bullied her during the play, and contested every point that we won. I could see why Shelley was unhappy. He totally destroyed any pleasure we other three might have gleaned from that match. So I let him beat us, all the quicker to escape that toxic atmosphere. When we shook hands over the net he leered at me. Shelley gave me an intense, knowing look, which I thought meant
'I told you so'
. I thought nothing of it at the time.
The next day in the office, we were alone. The others were working away from the building for the afternoon and would not return. Call it serendipity, or did Shelley organise it behind my back?
We worked diligently on our respective paperwork until late afternoon. Our office overlooked an inaccessible quadrangle, with offices on all four sides. As the daylight dimmed, our work rate slowed, and our conversation increased. It was nondescript comments at first. As dusk turned to darkness outside, we didn't bother to switch on the lights, we just stopped working altogether and just talked.
I discovered that she was a fan of obscure American Sixties rock Bands. She waxed lyrically about Quicksilver Messenger Service and Big Brother and the Holding Company. I was beginning to see her in a new light. Her personality was starting to emerge, to stack up alongside her intriguingly contradictory body.
Then she turned the topic to our badminton match. We both agreed that it had been a good idea to let Charlie win. Then Shelley switched the focus.
"I watched you when we came onto the court. Your eyes were like saucers."
"Well, it was quite a revelation. What did you expect? Wearing shorts like those. I can't believe you would risk that in public."
"What did your wife say afterwards?"
