Please don't take this too seriously.
I was going to put it in humour and satire, but it seemed to fit here just as well.
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You don't expect Sunday mornings to be exciting or thought provoking, that's more suited for the afternoon, when the football's on telly, or the Grand Prix. And that's just how I like it. Settled, predictable, and sort of following a pattern, so you know where you are, and what to expect.
Just like that day last July. Sunday morning, Full Monty breakfast, newspaper, and a nice cup of tea, everything in its place, and nothing to worry about.
"Can I ask you a question?' She asked. The wife that is, Linda. Why do women always ask if they can ask you a question? Why don't they just ask the question? Or why don't they ask, if it would OK to ask, if they can ask you a question? It could go on forever, and they're illogical, and in my experience, mostly the same.
Anyway I decided to ignore her. It would only lead to a conversation, probably an argument, and all I wanted to do was read my newspaper, and find out what Arsenal's team would be for that afternoon.
"Can I ask you a question?" She repeated, in exactly the same tone, not getting annoyed at my silence, not adding anything to her first request.
That was bad.
Wouldn't you know it? She was serious, and I knew her well enough that she would go on and on till I responded.
"Yer, sure," I replied, as casually and with as little interest as I could muster. Or should it be unmuster? Anyway I hoped she'd take the hint and leave me alone. She knew Sunday mornings was my special time. I worked six days a week, and had a good salary and looked after the family, and I needed my time to wind down from the week.
"Right," Linda said. "It's quite important you know."
I didn't suppose it would be, probably wanted to know what she should wear that evening when we went out to the pub. Not that she ever took any notice of what I ever suggested. Anyway I looked up at her, and waited for her question. Sometimes you do have to pay a bit of attention to your wife, they do have some rights you know.
"I wanted to ask you, if it would be OK, that is if you wouldn't mind......."
" It'll be OK. Fine, no problem, you just go ahead," I butted in, already loosing interest. I knew she wouldn't be asking to spend money or anything like that. After all she managed all our finances.
"You don't even know what I'm going to ask," she snapped.
Oh dear I thought, now I've done it. I'll get no peace till I hear her out.
"Yes dear. What do you want," I demanded, my full attention lavished on her. My best effort at looking really interested, all over my face.
She stared at me for some time, and I remembered how pretty she was. Not beautiful or anything like that, but pretty, and a good figure, at least not bad for a woman nearing forty.
"Well?" I pushed her to start, as I was losing reading time and my tea was getting cold.
"I just wanted to know if you'd mind if I made love to someone else," she blurted out.
Just like that. No warning, she just came out with it.
I looked at her, trying to decide whether she was joking, gone mad or what. She couldn't be serious. Not my Linda.
"What did you say?" I asked, thinking perhaps I'd heard her wrong, or that she might tell me what she really wanted.
"I think.......I think you heard me the first time," she replied, snatching at her words, as if frightened to ask that question again.
Well what do you do? What do you say? My experience of these situations was pretty limited. Zero in fact. My only pal to my knowledge, who had any experience of a wife doing that sort of thing, was Mark, and I could hardly ask her to wait while I called him for advice. Besides, he'd made a right mess of it, and I didn't want to get thumped like he did by the other guy.
"You're serious?" I asked at last, unable to think of anything else to say, but all she did was to nod.
Christ almighty, she meant it.
"Anyone in particular?" I asked, trying to sound cool, but feeling a complete prick for asking such a stupid bloody question. But she just nodded again which wasn't any help at all.
"Who is it?" I demanded, trying to get angry, to be bossy, but to be honest, I'd had the wind knocked out of me, and I was floundering badly.
"Nobody you know," was her abrupt answer? I was getting nowhere, and just didn't know what to say next.
Somewhat out of character, I did start to get angry, started to lose my rag. What right did she have to do this to me? I'd always done well by her, and the sex thing had always been good. We screwed several times a week, well maybe a bit less of late, but she hadn't seemed to miss it. I was good in bed, and could keep going as long as she did. It wasn't always me that finished first. OK there were bits I didn't go in for, messing about beforehand and all that had never been my thing, and I've never been the most romantic of guys, but I always kissed her afterwards, before we both turned in for the night. I always made sure I did that.
"Who is he, the bastard? I'll knock his bloody block off," I shouted at last, my temper really beginning to boil, but I never in a million years expected the answer she gave me. It really took me by surprise, and it took several moments for it to fully sink in.
"Who said it was a 'he'?" She replied in not much more than a whisper. Simply, quietly, just like that.
We stared at one another, neither of us knowing how to continue. My relief that there wasn't another guy banging her up was balanced by my total confusion, and what it all meant. One thing was sure, Mark wouldn't be any help now, no good at all, and all I could do was to ask her what it was all about? What was going on?
"I'll tell you later, your tea's gone cold, and the newspapers on the floor," she answered, matter of factly, adding" I'll take that earlier 'OK' as a 'yes' then if you've got nothing else to say. Oh, and don't forget were going down to the pub tonight, should be quite lively." And with that she smiled, turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving me with my mouth wide open.
Somehow Arsenal's team that afternoon didn't seem quite so important after that.
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Linda walked into the kitchen, put down the things in her hands, and let out a huge sigh of relief. She'd known it wasn't going to be easy, but never imagined how hard it had actually been. She was just grateful that the first part was over, and hoped that from now on it would all go smoothly. Linda took five long breaths to steady herself, to give herself courage, to reinforce the false calmness that she had displayed in front of Terry.
She had the rest of the day to get through and she had no intention of being the one to bring up the subject again. Then she heard the front door slam, and relaxed, felt the tension draining out of her limbs as she heard his footsteps storming down the drive. That was expected; her and Jane had more or less guessed he would storm out. He'd be off down the pub and would probably come back in a few hours a bit worse for wear.
Not drunk of course. Terry never got drunk. In fact he never did anything out of character. That was the problem of course, he just never changed. He was probably the most unadventurous man in the street, maybe in the town.
She still loved him, not in the mind blowing passionate way of their early days, when she would sit there miserable, her heart empty, sending her parents mad, just waiting for him to come and pick her up. Love matures, and grows with a relationship as you grow older together.
She only wished the sexual side of their life together had done the same. At the beginning it had been OK. Quite good even, certainly better than the two other lads who had practiced inexpertly on her teenage body before Terry, something she had never or could ever let him know about.
It was all a matter of expectation, and her friends seemed to understand that. If you've only ever ridden a bike, as her friend Mary had joked a few weeks ago, then a motorbike seems fantastic, but it doesn't mean you don't eventually want to have a go in a car! Another pal joined in with a demand for a sports car, and they had all burst out laughing when Laura dreamily called for a Jaguar, a big black sexy one at that.
Linda had joined in the fun, but afterwards reflected that all she wanted was to get off the motorbike. If only Terry would become a car, any damn car.
No, Terry's sexual ambitions had not grown with their marriage, a wham bang thank you mam when they had first met, and so he remained. Foreplay a thing for sissy's, she was lucky if he so much as squeezed her tits before he got down to business. She'd made subtle suggestions, then less subtle, all to no avail. She'd even bought home a sexy video one evening, which surprised but pleased Terry, to try to let him see what actually went on between other couple's sheets. But just as she was getting turned on by the chap stroking the girl's body, he'd hit the fast forward button, zooming on to the hard stuff.
She could have happily killed him.
It was about then that the sex started drying up. Once a week or more, became once a week or less, then once a month, once every few months, and then 'when was the last time?'
Terry didn't seem to notice and she didn't really care. Not that is till Jane stopped work and started to join her little circle of friends. Their conversations had often been a bit naughty, at the time they had thought raunchy, but Jane had taken them on one step further.
She'd previously worked for a PR agency, so she was a bit more advanced than the rest of them. She bought up subjects and ideas they had kept to themselves previously, if they even understood what she was on about.
For Linda it came to a head, when one Thursday lunchtime the subject of clitorises came up. Some of the girls talked about how much their men did or didn't understand how it worked, or how they liked it to be used. Poor Linda just kept quite, growing more frustrated as the laughing and joking went on. She doubted whether Terry even knew she had one, never mind where to find it.
She made her decision! Something had to change, or something would break.
Burying her shame, steeling herself, she asked Jane around the following week and poured out her problems, bursting into tears of frustration and embarrassment before she had finished. Jane had pulled her into her arms, cuddled her to console her, promising to help her in some way.
And that was how it all started! That was how just a week or so later she found herself asking Terry if he minded if she made love to her new special friend Jane.
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