Betrayal - Gerri's Story

I must thank all the commentators on my first story, Betrayal. I must confess that I was overwhelmed by the number of readers who took the time to comment and, particularly to those who provided helpful feedback. My apologies to the two people who suggested that I shouldn't have been born, you needed to mention that to my parents at the time.

As in the first Betrayal story, you shouldn't find anything particularly original here, I am cutting my teeth, learning my trade, so please don't tell me it's not original, I know.

It is self-edited using Google Review so if you don't like the grammar, please take it up with them. Please excuse any typos that have sneaked through. Remember that I am writing in British English and the conventions are not exactly the same as in American English. I welcome constructive feedback which helps me to improve my stories but if it's the sort of story you don't like, don't bother to read it and, please, don't bother to comment or to rate it.

If I could respond to the main criticisms of Betrayal:

a) The story was unfinished: It was, at least that story was. Apologies if that frustrated FTDS readers. There are stories about this marriage yet to be told.

b) There wasn't enough conversation: The story happened in the head of the protagonist.

c) We didn't get to know the protagonist: I would respectfully suggest that you did.

d) We didn't get to know Gerri: Agreed, but what I hope you do know is the protagonist's Gerri.

So, as requested, here is Gerri's Story.

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Betrayal - Gerri's Story

You know the way you think it will never happen to you.

Alexander (never Al or Alex or Xander, Alexander always insisted on his full name) and I met at College.

There was a loose group of us working together. We were studying a range of different Social Science courses and they often overlapped. I remember meeting Alexander several times in various groups. He struck me as a serious, reliable student who was focussed and who worked hard. I thought I'd like to get to know him better.

I knew that he would be working in the library on a Monday afternoon, even then he was a creature of habit, so I made sure that I was there. We had the same essay to finish (one about the significance of the Artisans' Dwellings Act (1875) in improving living conditions for the working classes, if I remember correctly), due by the end of the week. I asked him how his was going; we chatted quietly and he asked me if I would like a coffee. This was just the sort of thing that I had hoped for in order to get to know him better, so I jumped at the chance. We headed over to the student coffee shop, essays in hand. This was in the days when coffee was just coffee, white or black. We both drank it white, with sugar. We discussed the material for the essay for a bit. I then asked him about his other interests and reflected back that I shared them to a greater or lesser extent (even if I didn't).

Over that first coffee we got onto music, as one always did. He was very much into post-punk bands, Bauhaus, Joy Division and suchlike. I knew enough about them to be able to chat and, as I had liked being with him, I made sure that I researched it later so I could wax lyrical about, for example, Rough Trade and Kraftwerk. He'd seen Kraftwerk live on their recent UK tour and he talked happily about them while I listened. Our tastes really did overlap a bit, we both liked Visage.

My own taste was much gentler than his. Nice looking guys with hair, mullets and curtains, and I gently introduced Alexander to the New Romantics. Duran Duran were my real favourites, I swooned over Simon le Bon and their poster took pride of place on my wall. I loved A Flock of Seagulls and the then new A-ha. Mmm, Morten Harket. At that stage in our growing friendship he had almost soppy moments and he would listen to my music in my cosy little room; I hoped it was because he wanted to spend time with me. I knew things might be getting serious when I saw how his musical tastes were converging towards mine as he fell for me. We listened but we never paid more than a nod in the direction of the style and fashion.

Curiously, neither of us said much about our home lives, there was so much else to talk about. I was reluctant to go into any detail about mine for fear of putting Alexander off. I wanted to leave my childhood behind, wanting to make a different start to my adult life. My volatile parents screamed and had rows. Cups would vanish overnight and one morning the living room mirror was gone. I also heard my mother screaming behind the bedroom door. It was different sort of screaming. I wanted a quieter life, a peaceful marriage, and I reckoned that Alexander would provide me with that.

We continued meeting for coffee and to discuss our work; we grew more comfortable with one another.

One evening I added a couple of candles and that, plus his enthusiasm for cider and a cold rainy night meant we got closer. I remember after that first time together Alexander asking me if I had a spare toothbrush. I realised that we had taken a big risk in our tipsy enthusiasm but, fortunately, I wasn't pregnant. We decided then and there that we weren't going to see anyone else and I asked him to buy the condoms.

That sex with Alexander was by no means my first time. I'd been an enthusiastic learner before College and I thought I knew what I was doing. I certainly knew more about it than he did, though I made sure that he never found out quite how much more. He was what I would describe as an inexperienced non-virgin. I spent time educating him about women's bodies, specifically mine. He was eager to understand, almost as if he had a checklist, but he did learn that it actually isn't quite that simple. It's not "painting by numbers".

As we settled into our relationship, I began to understand that Alexander really wasn't emotional. I don't know, even today, if he even tried to be. That, though, was just what I needed after life at my home. I wanted security, stability, predictability and Alexander provided these in spades. It had its pros and cons. There were lots of thoughtful, romantic touches but they always appeared to be carefully planned, spontaneity wasn't his strong point, not that I was complaining.

I wonder, though, did I ever feel loved rather than just cared for?

During College breaks we each went back to our homes. This reminded me what I liked about Alexander, the reliability, the predictability. My parents were a lot calmer than they had been in my teenage years but there was still a palpable tension some days - and still some night-time screaming. My parents never thought that being "quiet" for the children was necessary, or even a good idea.

I used the time at home to catch up with school friends. Jenny and I compared notes about our courses and College food. We also discussed our sex lives in some detail. Whilst I was loyal to Alexander when I was at College, Jenny had taken the opportunity to try everything she could: seizing large and small, black and white, rich and poor, in both hands - and in everywhere available. I kept my vagina to myself but didn't see any problem with anything else during those weeks. John, I recall, was particularly keen to make up for lost time apart but I didn't let him get any further than a bit of mutual masturbation for old times sake. Nevertheless, when I listened to music with John my mind would go back to Alexander and to my determination to be faithful to him. He and I talked on the phone almost every day so I glossed over the details and let him assume that I was missing him.

Years later St Etienne's "Over the Border" became our song. It recaptured our life together at College. I should listen to it again.

Over the next couple of years, until we finished at College, Alexander and I grew closer. We shared a room and we had more sex. We agreed to commit ourselves to one another and made our tacit engagement real when we left. Alexander, being him, did phone to ask my father's permission which, he assured me, was given readily. Our wedding was low key at my local Registry Office, followed by a meal with both families. My parents couldn't afford anything grand.

When married we had steady, if low-key sex, and I never felt physically deprived. Alexander responded well to teaching, and positively to my wish to christen every room in the new home. This included the loft, which was floored, and the garden shed - but not the cupboard under the stairs as it was just too small and the gas meter kept sticking into his backside and breaking his rhythm. Happy, stable days.

We had found work in the same town and we were buying a little house within walking distance of both our jobs. We enjoyed furnishing our home. I remember assessing the height of sofa arms in different shops, and even testing the occasional one. I needed to know that they were the right height to bend over for sex in the living room. I do remember beginning to feel less positive about the lack of spontaneity in our sex life. We were systematic but not passionate. Alexander seemed to need affirmation more than I did. It began to feel as if he was working through the "Joy of Sex" by numbers, almost down to doing them in order. I found his copy with the page corners folded down, for positions we hadn't tried, and folded back up (I could see the creases) of the ones done. They were also ticked off in the index!

Neither of us was a noisy orgasmer; I could still remember lying awake as a child, wondering what was happening to my mother.

Life moved on. My job, I had found one further away from home, and the need to pay the mortgage meant that bedroom activity fell off a little as I was tireder and we were more pressured. In those early years I didn't feel that I was getting any emotional support and I wasn't sure if Alexander even noticed. This, I reasoned, was what I opted for when I chose him. Life was ticking over nicely so I accepted it. Above all else, I wanted a stable home for my children, when they came, and he provided that.

We had decided not to wait too long for children, so I went off the pill and we started trying. This led to an increase in sex but even more of a decline in spontaneity. My mother, I knew, had had difficulty getting pregnant as she explained to me, graphically, before my wedding so we read leaflets, consulted charts and took temperatures almost from the start. I fell pregnant and nine months later Rachael was born. Matthew followed born two and a half years after that.

We decided that I should take the maximum available maternity leave with Rachael. Money was tight but we wanted to give her a firm foundation and that, we hoped, would provide it. I found I missed work but rationalised that it was worth it for our little girl. We found a nursery place when I had to go back to work. Again, after Matthew's birth we did the same. Having both at nursery took almost my whole pay and money was even tighter for a little while until Rachael and then Matthew went to school.

The parents were happy to help, to spend time with their grandchildren. They were all retired but didn't live nearby and they used to visit us for long weekends to let me and Alexander go away alone. We would usually pick a nice country hotel where we would be pampered and could sleep in late and reconnect physically. It was a bit of a shock when my father died suddenly of a serious haemorrhage, possibly when he was in one of his rages. Mother never said. Later that year Alexander's mother went, followed by my mother and his father, both about two years later. The children weren't old enough to be left over a weekend but we got babysitters and went out for a meal each fortnight. Alexander would arrange it. When the children were a bit older we could leave them; Mrs Sarsbury was next door in case of emergencies. It wasn't the same as the weekends we had had, but it was the best we could manage. Everything seemed to be going well for us in our low-key way.

With both children at school and two jobs to juggle I was busy taxi driving for different activities. I felt that more of this fell on my shoulders than on Alexander's. He preferred to stay in and glue his model planes together. His romantic urges, which always felt a bit mechanical, were becoming rarer. He was no longer as conscientious with giving those little tells that reassured me, the brushing past one another in the shop, the little touches as we did jobs around the house. We were still having sex but it felt more routine than it had, not unexpectedly as we were getting older I thought. Anyway, both children wanted to do lots of sport though, as they got older, they recognised that they were never going to be stars and their interest waned. However, lots of other things still seemed to require taxiing.

Work gave me a bit of a break from all the family responsibilities. I had changed my job and the people at my new one were friendly. My hours varied a bit from week to week as my team covered a ten-hour day so sometimes I started a couple of hours earlier and sometimes a couple of hours later. We knew our shifts for the month at the end of the previous month but they were generally very predictable as an early was typically followed by a late turn week on week. I was meeting a wider range of people there, mostly women, and we would chat as we worked. There were a few men but they were generally older, bored and in managerial roles. A few students were taken on as cover during the holiday season and our little group would give the males marks out of five for appearance. None of them really fitted in with our team.

We had a degree of flexibility at work. If there was an errand to be run then our friends would cover for us. The person would repay the favour later. Our manager was aware of this but, as long as the work was all done in time and no-one misused the privilege, it wasn't seen as a problem. We were a happy and established team. I did think, sometimes, that I had more I common with them than with Alexander.

There certainly weren't any Greek gods around, but I was beginning to wonder if a marble statue might be more emotionally engaged than Alexander. By now, he wasn't as romantic as I think he thought he was. I confess that I was pleasuring myself occasionally when the house was quiet. I had bought myself a little magic wand, notionally to massage my tired muscles. I don't think Alexander ever realised which muscles. We were still having sex but I think that we both felt that we were lacking the commitment that we had before. Equally, we did know our way around one another's bodies when we could be bothered.

A new man had been taken on at work. Ken. He was a widower with a sad, vulnerable look about him. He was about my age but we ladies did mother him a bit. After a few months he had fitted in and could swap banter with us all. Occasionally, by chance, he and I were in the cafeteria for lunch at the same time and it was natural just to share thoughts about our bosses and bits of our lives with one another. His wife had died several years before and he had never really got over it. He had sold their home and moved into a block of flats somewhere. His children, Hannah and Alex (co-incidentally), both lived across the country and, whilst they kept in touch, they had their own lives to lead. Ken was quite shy but easy to talk to once you got to know him. We found ourselves happening to share lunch a bit more frequently and I began to look forward to it.

We continued meeting for coffee and to discuss our work; we grew more comfortable with one another.

Thinking back, Ken was "nothing special", just someone who grew into a friend at work over a year or more. He was interested in me, he asked questions and we shared more about our lives. There wasn't a hint of anything more, of anything inappropriate, and I mentioned him to Alexander no more or less than any other fellow workers. Alexander, to give him his due, listened to me spout off about our managers as I did when he did the same about his. Neither of us particularly associated with our work colleagues out of hours. Alexander and I were quite self-contained with the children our joint focus. We never kept secrets from one another but we rarely, by then, discussed the minutiae of work days.

Those days when Ken and I both happened to be on the early turn together we got into the habit of reviewing the day over a cup of tea in the staff canteen. I did the same with women colleagues, there was nothing unusual about it.

One day Ken rang me. He had a sore ankle. He could walk OK with a stick but he couldn't drive. His home, I hadn't known before, was not that far off my own route to work. With hindsight, I do wonder how he knew that. Anyway, he asked me for a lift, I picked him up and took him to work and ran him home that first day, dropping him off outside his apartment block. He wasn't going to be able to do any more than hobble so the favour lasted all week. On the Friday he asked me in for a cup of tea and biscuits. He had Rich Tea. There were a lot of photographs of him and his wife and he reminisced about their life together. We chatted for twenty minutes or so and then I headed on home. I didn't mention it to Alexander when I made his cup of tea, he and I shared Ginger Nuts, though he knew I was giving a colleague a lift. With hindsight, that cup of tea with Ken and the everyday biscuits opened the door a crack.

A couple of weeks later, Ken said that he had had to take his car to the garage for a service. He had come in by bus, but could I possibly run him home? I, of course, agreed. I was asked in for tea and the Rich Tea biscuits again. Something felt very slightly different, there seemed to be one or two pictures of his children where there had been ones of his wife. There was also a rather attractive landscape which I hadn't noticed before. As before, we chatted for a bit and then I went home for another cup of tea with Alexander. I didn't mention it to him. Nothing after all had happened. I felt a tiny bit "naughty". I realised, when I went to the loo, that the gusset in my knickers was damper than usual.

One day Ken asked me for my opinion on some bedding he wanted to buy and he thought that a woman's eye would be good to have. He wasn't expecting to see his daughter for some time so he asked me. We visited to the local furniture store and he went home with one set in a dark purple and another in an attractive pale green with little flowers on. With hindsight, I think that he had already decided to buy my favourite set.

Things were gradually changing at home. Rachael had gone away to University a couple of years earlier and Matthew was living in the city on what he told us was a pittance. He was an intern at a bank for a year before going to study for his own degree - when he worked out where to apply. Rachael, being much nearer, came home some weekends to work somewhere quiet, though she did always bring her washing with her. Alexander and I thought back to our own College years. I know she had a boyfriend and she brought him to meet us after a while. Nice lad, quiet, he would probably suit her in the way some daughters seem to marry their fathers. Something I had actively avoided.

Ken said our gentle chats at work were helping him to get over his wife and to get on with living. I was glad that I was able to provide that support for him. Our connection was building slowly.

I suppose that I had recognised for some time, sex with Alexander was getting boring. Maybe that was as much on me as on him. It was still happening, albeit less frequently, there was little variety these days and it felt routine. I tried wearing prettier knickers, I pretended to myself that they weren't only for Ken, but Alexander didn't notice, at least, he never commented when I flashed them at him. I suppose that I was disappointed.