Where do I start? It seems as though any way I tell it, I look like the baddie. I really don't like being the baddie. As far as I'm concerned, everything I have done, every decision I made, was for my husband's benefit. Perhaps I should start by giving you a little background information. This all took place some time ago. I was thirty-five at the time. I was, and still am, married to the local vicar, he is almost ten years my elder. I married him two days after my twenty-first birthday.
Coming from a strict Christian background, my family was more than a little pleased that he chose me to be his wife. It wasn't love at first sight, but over the years I have grown to love him. He is a most kind and loving man. I was never that good at school, academically that is. I was always a good pupil when it came to behaving myself. I never did get into any trouble; I just wasn't very good at learning. My job prospects were pretty poor, so when a vicar asked my family for my hand in marriage, it appeared to be a win-win situation.
I don't regret getting married, nothing of the sort. Many would say that I had landed on my feet. Being a vicar's wife has elevated my position in life somewhat. I now spend my days looking after parish business. That may sound like a tough job, but it mostly revolves around organising local women's groups, the odd fete, and keeping my husband's calendar up to date. That's about it really, Nothing remotely exciting. Actually, getting bored became a way of life. And then there is the sex. That was usually once a week, on a Sunday.
Harry was my first and only. As far as I knew, he was the world's best lover. Well, I had nothing to gauge it against. I've eaten plenty of steaks in my life, I know what I like. I know a good steak from a bad one. But as you see, with sex, I only had one choice. Perhaps I should have taken the chances I had before I married. Believe me when I say, I did get plenty of offers. Like a fool, I was saving myself for my wedding day. Anyway, that's all in the past now. It is what it is, or so I thought.
If there was one problem in our marriage, it was children. Or should I say, lack of. You see, my husband was desperate to give me a child. He really wanted a son, but as the years passed he would have been happy with anything. We were tested of course. This was a major embarrassment for Harry, so he chose a private clinic in London. They did all the necessary prodding and poking. The upshot was, I was okay. It was all down to Harry, he had a very low sperm count. Technically, he could father a child, but his chances were fairly remote.
To be absolutely honest, I didn't really mind. I had no real yearning to be a mother. Harry on the other hand, believed it was the one thing that would make us complete. So we tried, and we tried. We got all the books, researched the best time to conceive and so forth. As time marched on, the prospect of me becoming pregnant seemed less and less likely. I think he had almost reached the point where he had given up all hope.
He told me that he had gotten used to the idea of never having children. He wasn't being honest. I could tell he really wanted children. On many occasions, people would say things like, when are you going to have a kid. That always embarrassed him. He didn't want to say he had a problem in the bedroom department. He just used to tell people that he would have one when the time was right. I was really sad to see him so unhappy. Things were about to change.
Harry was away for the weekend in London, on church business. I was busying myself in the vicarage when there was a knock on the door. It was Harry's brother, James. He was just returning a tool he borrowed from Harry. James was a few years younger than Harry, closer to my age actually. He was also quite handsome and had managed to father four children, with two separate women. Three of them were boys. I guess you can see where this is going. I made him a cup of tea and explained my predicament. I told him about our secret visit to a London clinic and Harry's little problem.
I explained how much it would mean to Harry to have a child. How all my bits were working, all I needed was to find a man with all his bits working. James said he understood and suggested going to a fertility clinic and getting some donated sperm. I explained that we had talked about that, but Harry really wanted a child of his own. It was obvious that I wasn't making my intentions very clear. After all, you could see what I was after, why didn't he?
