As mentioned elsewhere, I have related several stories confided to me for general interest, building up a small archive of such tales. In all the others, I have projected myself into the mind of the teller, and have written the histories, as if they were my story. However, in this case, I found that approach impossible to follow, so instead have resorted to reporting the interview more or less as it occurred. To recap -- I had advertised for husbands who had unfaithful wives and this was one of the subjects who replied.
When Mark Pemberton knocked on my door at exactly the appointed time, I knew absolutely nothing about him because he had been unusually reticent on the telephone. All the others who answered my advert had started blurting out their stories over the phone but Mark had said little apart from, "I saw your advert -- can I see you?" It was fairly certain that he would be telling me about infidelity but not guaranteed.
He was about 5' 11" but looked taller due to a slim frame. I guessed that he was one of those unfortunates would lose his thin fair hair in early middle age. He wore spectacles but had a rather youthful countenance. I was actually surprised to find that he was aged 28 because he looked much younger - but that was probably due to the rather unworldly cast to his rather pleasant face.
Engaging in the usual pleasantries about the weather and any trouble he might have had finding me, I got him comfortably seated. Near to him I had placed an ashtray and a glass of water, (he had refused anything else). To my right hand was a tape recorder and I held a notebook casually on my knee. I leaned back, indicating by body language that the floor was his but he just fidgeted and gazed unhappily at his feet. At this point, the stories of the others had come flooding out but with Mark, I realised, the details would have to be eased out of him. From experience I knew that it was locked up tight inside him so decided, by gentle questioning, to ascertain just background details and avoid the reason for his visit until he was in a more relaxed frame of mind.
I was able to establish that his wife Emma was the same age as him, that they had been married for eight years and that they had a five year old son. Unusually, they were childhood sweethearts, had been going together since they were fifteen and neither had been out with anyone else before then. Almost unbelievably it seemed that they were both virgins at their wedding, aged twenty, after five years courtship. I ascertained that he worked in the offices of a large insurance company and that until their child was born, his wife had been a hairdresser. His salary was enough to keep the family but not in plenty.
Mark was still very tense so I asked if he had brought any photographs of his wife -- I had requested these over the phone when making the appointment. For the first time his face showed a hint of a smile as he produced them.
There were a lot of photographs spanning the more than twelve years of their relationship. An early one from when she was sixteen showed a bright faced wholesome girl -- the look that most girls are eager to lose. Emma obviously did not want to lose it because, over the succeeding years, although her face matured, the look remained. I could tell that her bone structure was good but it was as if she contrived to remain ordinary. Her hair was natural slightly waved honey blonde without any trace of artifice and although pleasantly feminine was most definitely not stylish. All of her clothes could be described as maintaining modesty, again feminine but avoiding any hint of sexuality. She wore nothing in any way figure hugging, the skirts too long and blouses invariably fastened right up to the neck. After all that, the low heeled shoes and minimum make-up were par for the course.
The very last picture was completely different. In it she was wearing a black, strapless ball gown that was slashed right up to the hip. It clung to delightfully full breasts as if painted on and with a great deal of flesh left on show. Her hair was piled up on her head looking very classy and the ensemble was completed by very high heeled stiletto shoes. In all the other snaps she was a pleasant looking self effacing girl, in this one, a beautiful vibrant sexy woman. I was amazed at how good both her body and legs turned out to be. And then there were her eyes.
In my youth I convinced myself that by simply looking into a girls eyes, I could tell if she had ever been screwed. I was not able to prove this scientifically but was never wrong in my expectations. I went with a few girls that I had marked down as virgins and got nowhere but with almost every girl I believed had previously opened her legs to someone; I managed to get my end away. One girl in particular came nearest to proving my case. I first went out with her when she was sixteen and had that virginal look. She told me, 'I could never do anything like that', but two years later when her eyes had a different look, she was almost as eager to hump as me. I tell this only because, in the picture wearing the black ball gown, Emma's eyes were most certainly different.
"Your wife is a very attractive woman," I told him.
"Yes she is," he agreed, but I felt that his words held elements of both pride and regret.
"You must be very proud of her."
"I used to be," he said but then added, "I suppose that I still am in a way."
So he was proud her as a nonentity but not so much now that she was a woman any man must desire. I had prodded a bit but his change of opinion had to do with the yet to be divulged infidelity, so I backed off until he was ready to tell me. "Have you had a happy marriage?" I asked, changing tack.
"It was very good at the start but after Jason was born it got a bit boring when we could no longer go places and the last six months has been..."
He started to choke up so I quickly changed the subject. "Can I ask about your sex lives?"
That was good, pleasant -- you know 'nice'."
These were not the words that I would use to describe sex so I dug a little. "Lots of foreplay, variations, different positions?"
"I know what you mean but no. We kissed a lot and I fondled her breasts, she played with me and I sometimes put my fingers inside her vagina but that's all. We always did it the same way too with me on top."
"And you are happy with that?"
"I was," he said. "I always thought that was what sex was. But then a friend at work lent me a porno magazine. I could not believe what I was seeing and it exited me. I started buying my own from a sex shop and we used to swap. Soon after that I started getting videos that I watched on Friday night while my wife was visiting her mother. My friend went on holiday and brought me three back from Amsterdam which were the best that I had seen so from then I watched those over and over again but still kept buying the magazines."
"Didn't you want to do that kind of stuff yourself?" I asked.
