Friends With Benefits 71

It's probably not infidelity that does for a relationship, I thought to myself as Bill, my husband, humped away on top of me. I idly toyed with other words that might have a greater influence. To amuse myself I tried to come up with a different word for each stroke. To make the game harder I decided they all had to be 'In' words, matching his moves.

Inexpert

Inability

Inept

Inconsiderate

Incompetent

I ran out of 'in' words and switched to 'out' words, allowing myself phrases as well. My game, my rules.

Out of touch

Out of time

He stiffened and pulled his gurning cum face just as I came up with Out of ideas. I pushed up against him, trying to get some form of stimulation, and failing in the attempt.

He rolled off, pulling on his pyjama trousers and giving me a peck on the lips.

"Night, Babybird" he whispered then his light was off and he was heading for sleep. I gathered up my nighty and headed to the bathroom to wipe away his load.

It wasn't that I didn't love him, I did, still do, with every fibre of my being. He's kind, affectionate, strong, handsome, witty, intelligent and loads of other really good traits, he's just shit in bed. And I hate being called 'Babybird'. I've got a name, quite a nice name I think. Helen. What's wrong with that? It can be shortened, although Bill probably wouldn't like having a wife named 'Hell'.

To be fair, I only assume he's shit in bed, I have nothing really to compare him to, a drunken fumble at a party once when I was nineteen that ended with me getting a handful of goo and my tits fondled through my shirt was my only encounter before the wedding night. Maybe this is what sex is all about?

I shook my head, not out of frustration, more from resignation I suppose. With a sigh I reflected I could always sort myself out in the shower in the morning and headed back to bed.

Work the next day was its usual combination of tedium and mind-numbing monotony, I work in the admin section of a large insurance company, it's not badly paid and some of the girls I work with I've known since school, but the work itself is so unutterably boring that I have to use my time between tasks to carry out projects of my own in order to avoid the total loss of my will to live.

My current mission to maintain my sanity was the fifteen-year sixth form college anniversary, I was abusing my work time tracking down a hundred and thirty-two former eighteen-year-olds.

There were a few forces, a cop, and my high school ex-boyfriend was now in sub--Saharan Africa doing worthy things with vaccinations and prayer, apart from that we were all mainly now in lower middle management roles or at home with between one and four children.

The reunion was planned for a couple of weeks hence and despite my early thirties cynicism I was finding myself getting more excited as the days counted down. It was like being eighteen again and looking forward to the school prom.

Bill was less excited, he had been to school in a different town and would only know a couple of people there, plus he'd be designated driver for the evening so couldn't even escape the misery through alcohol and ... well alcohol mostly. I promised him sex when we got home, but it's not really high on his list of priorities so it was more of a token than a forthcoming night of passion and debauchery.

The day arrived, the hotel we'd selected had it's ballroom decorated in our generic 'Fifteen years' theme and Bill was relatively happy as he'd bonded with a group of equally bored husbands and boyfriends over Golf and Football as I caught up with the crowd I'd spent my formative years hanging around.

One of our number worked for a drinks wholesaler so the supply of booze was top quality and plentiful and pretty soon we were laughing uproariously at the slightest excuse. Memories like the time Charlotte Drummond's top had ripped open exposing her boobs to half the year group, which was agreed to be lucky it was her as there weren't many in the year group that hadn't already seen her boobs.

That led on to several other recollections of more intimate exploits, Suzy Campbell (who was now Suzy Hartnett) reminded us how Jenny Masterly had been snogging Barry Peters in the car on her driveway, her top was off and she was just digging his willy out of his trousers when her mum tapped on the windscreen. "She didn't miss a beat, she just said 'Don't forget I'll need the car in the morning, can you put the seats back when you're finished.' I'd have died; poor Barry couldn't look her in the eye again."

As the premixed fruity alcopops disappeared the reminiscences became more candid, Suzy was the gossip meister, slipping back into her teenage role. She told us how Claire Peters (Barry's sister and now Claire Lloyd) went on holiday with another family, she trapped off with their nineteen-year-old son and snuck into his room in the middle of the night.

"She wanked him off over her tits then he fingered her until he made her cum, he had to cover her face with a pillow she was making so much noise and he didn't want his parents or hers waking up."

While I laughed as much as the rest of them part of me was strangely jealous, as well as wondering what motivated them to (1) be so wanton in their youth and (2) why tell everyone about it?

I'd had a very strait-laced time before marriage, my boyfriend in the sixth form, Stephen Kirkpatrick (never Steve, always Stephen with a P H) and first year at uni had been ultra-religious and on reflection extremely controlling, which my parents thought was just fine. It kept their precious daughter out of any shenanigans but meant my time late teens were mortifyingly dull. That probably had something to do with my job choice.

The one light in the dull uniformity of life back then had been Stephens only friend, Dave Rixton, 'Rigger' to everyone except Stephen who would always call him 'David'.

Rigger had joined the college in the first year sixth form well over a year behind everyone else, he'd spent the last six months of his GCSE years in a hospital bed suffering from a streptococcal infection in his knee, then when he'd just about recovered from that was diagnosed with Leukaemia. That was another eighteen months treatment before he could go back into education, turning up a swollen, hairless, pink, six-foot recluse. Stephen decided it was God's work to help David make friends, which for the first six months or so meant running his life for him.

As the treatment wound down and Rigger (as I always made certain to call him, in fact I may have started it) started to grow hair and lose the chemo induced fat he grew into a strong, confident (and dare I say it) really hot young man, to the extent that I always expected him to tell Stephen to take a hike and go off to make some new friends.

I was always pleased he didn't as his influence stopped some of the worst of Stephen's controlling behaviour, like when I wore a short new summer frock I really liked, it was cut slightly low over the bust, whilst not allowing my 36C boobs to come out and say hello it at least implied I had them. The dress was yellow edged in a deep green that picked out my brown eyes and hair nicely. Stephen told me I looked ridiculous but Rigger told him he was an idiot and I looked fantastic. Even now the memory gave me a smile.

I asked Suzy if there was any dirt on Rigger, but it seemed his association with Stephen had rendered him unattractive. I was slightly disappointed he hadn't been able to make it but there had been an email to our 'rsvp@reunion15.org' account offering his apologies, covid had struck and he was out of circulation for a couple of weeks.

I drowned my sorrows in another Gin and Passionfruit then dragged my husband out into the dance floor, he really is a great mover. Enthusiastic as well as skilful, several of the other girls looked envious as their own partners either lurked in the shadows or swayed as if in the breeze. I sidled in and gave Bill a passionate kiss, a kiss that he broke off with an exclamation.

"Helen, that's hardly appropriate for the circumstances." Oh yeah. His repressed prudish streak a mile wide. I forgot. There's not much point in asking when the circumstances are correct as from previous experience, they never were so I went back to our take on a salsa, wiggled my hips, shimmied my shoulders and shook my booty.

The night closed and Bill drove us home, I checked the circumstances at home but apparently I was drunk and it would not have been right to take advantage of me in that state. I went to sleep with a grump on and determined to 'relax' in a long bath the next morning, however the hangover (ok maybe I was drunk, I can still have sex can't I?) meant bath time self-pleasure was a non-starter.

I had lunch planned on the Monday following with my fellow organisers, Suzy and Kat, to discuss how it went and whether we wanted to do it all again in five years' time. Kat was running late so I took the opportunity to ask Suzy something that has been niggling away since Saturday night.

"Suze, how come you knew about everyone's exploits, and why was I the only one that wasn't promiscuous?"

She gave me a long, long, look before shaking her head. "No one was promiscuous, we were just normal healthy late teenaged girls exploring our sexuality, we were working out what we want, what we like and how to get it. Sure, we all made some mistakes, but that's what being eighteen's about. As for telling everyone, we were excited and we shared it with our friends. There was an element of peer pressure, sure, and some of what we claimed was probably embellished but generally it was about making our mark with our friends."

I tried to speak but was cut off. "And the reason you weren't part of it was that dickhead of a boyfriend of yours. Stephen with a P H. He was so bad for you, but you couldn't see it. You should have been laughing and experimenting with the rest of us and instead it was all lectures about missionary work in Africa and exhibitions in church halls. Your life now would be so much more fulfilled if you'd spent some time with your top off in the back of a Fiesta.

And as for promiscuous, I didn't sleep with more than half a dozen blokes before I met Nick, but you can't imagine the excitement before the first time with someone new, the thrill, the expectation. They all feel the same, but they all feel different. I mean, it's one thing slipping into another thing, but they all feel special. You missed that excitement, what with Bill being your first and only."

I considered reminding her about the sticky hand and fondled boobs aged nineteen but on reflection that only really underlined her point.

She was warming to a theme. "And don't think I didn't see Bill's reaction when you tried to kiss him, you escaped a nightmare and ended up with a dull dream." She held up a hand, "I know he's lovely, he can dance, he's funny, God knows he's good looking and he seems to treat you well, but I bet there's a spark missing. Am I right?"

I bridled, that was my husband she was talking about, but I had to confess she was right.

"There is love, on both sides, but no passion, I could see us getting old together but he seems to have started on that already." I smiled wryly into my diet coke. "Maybe I should have wanked someone off over my tits without waking up my parents. Bit late now, they live in South Wales and I doubt they'd appreciate me turning up with some random stranger, a tub of hand lotion and some tissues."

Suzy laughed, giving me a poke in the arm, "On the plus side, you've got more than most of us. I'm stuck here because it's all I'm capable of and my husband's a local self-employed gas engineer. You, you're smarter than the rest of us, Bill's going to go places, he's what, a mechanical test engineer? you got great A levels and what's your degree in?"

"Modern Languages and Journalism. I thought I'd be foreign correspondent for the BBC."

"So, why are you festering in the admin department of National Farmers Insurance?"

I shrugged, much like my marriage it was undemanding but unexciting. With no risk comes no disappointment. And no excitement I supposed.

Fortunately, Kat arrived shortly after that and the conversation went back to the party. Short version, it went well and we'd try again in five years as long as Stephen with a P H was not on the invite list. That was my criterion. Kat's was we do a deal with the hotel for rooms so she didn't have to stay sober and Suzy's was NO FUCKING COLDPLAY which I thought was harsh, I quite like 'Clocks'.

For a week or so I thought about my conversation with Suzy quite a lot, I hadn't considered the idea of excitement and anticipation before sex, to me it was just squeeze his dick to rub some KY onto it, lie back and tell him he was great.

I even updated my CV and registered with a couple of agencies for Journalism roles, but my total lack of experience meant no one was interested.

After a week or two I was able to go back to my regular plod through life without too much concern, a once weekly five-minute poking and a couple of sensual showers and I was if not happy, at least not miserable.

Nearly three months later I had an email re-directed from Kat that was re-directed from reunion15.org, it had been anonymised by the website so as the social secretary of the committee I had to send a response via their portal, which probably meant they thought we'd carry on paying after the registration ran out. They were of course wrong, we had no intention of keeping the domain running, let the class of 2006 have it.

The email said: 'Sorry I missed the reunion, I will be in town next week for a conference, would love to catch up with anyone who's around.'

Any contact details had been stripped out so I went back to them to say, 'We will be in Carlo's tea rooms on Tuesday at lunch time, Lavender Lane. Wear school colours so we recognise each other.'

Then I chased round Suzy and Kat so they could help me hide the body in case it was Stephen with a P H, and I wasn't meeting some random person off the Internet on my own.

Tuesday Lunchtime arrived, Kat had been called to a meeting in Newbury for the day so Suzy and I were waiting slightly nervously with a pot of Earl Grey for two, both of us with green tartan scarves wrapped around our shoulders. Green tartan was strictly speaking the girls skirt colours but the sweatshirts were such a vile shade of sludge that we would not be seen dead in one.

A tinkling bell announced the opening of the door, a tall figure with dark curly hair, cut short at the sides but slightly longer on top wearing black trousers and a green and black hooped rugby shirt looked around.

A scraping noise followed by a bang as I knocked my chair over in my enthusiasm to rush across the room.

"Rigger!!" I shouted and threw myself into his arms, "How are you, oh my god, it's you, Come and sit down, d'you remember Suzy Campbell, Hartnett now. What would you like? Tea, can we get another cup please?"

He laughed, gently. "Aaaand, breathe. Same old Helly Hell."

Suzy's greeting was slightly less enthusiastic but she was still delighted to see him, and we spent an hour doing the 'what happened in the past fifteen years' dance.

The key points were, he'd spent time in the Navy, now worked as a Quality Manager for a large engineering company, never married. Lived in Staplehurst, so nearly four hours away.

I'd have spent all afternoon with him but had to get back to work and he had to get back to his conference. I stole an extra ten minutes by getting Suzy to rush back and cover for me, taking the opportunity to give him my address and phone numbers, before inviting him home for dinner.

"I'd love you to meet my husband, he's heard so much about you." Which I assured him was a good thing. Then I had a panic, "Errr is Spag bol ok? Otherwise, I need to go to Tesco."

He assured me spag bol was fine and he would look forward to meeting Bill. We set a date for seven, giving me time to get home, shower, change, warn Bill, and start cooking.

Rigger arrived at five to seven, with a very nice bottle of Malbec which Bill opened and poured three generous glasses, and that pretty much took care of the bottle.

I chased them into the living room to get to know each other while I stirred the sauce and sipped my Malbec. I reached the stage where it could go onto a low heat to tenderise and thicken so I went through to discover they'd formed an instant bromance over Tottenham Hotspur and were wittering on about Gareth Bale's transfer and how this was Spurs season.

The evening was over too quickly and there was a formal dinner on the Wednesday evening so we couldn't do it again but we made plans to meet next time he was in town, which would be at least once a quarter now as he'd been promoted to regional Quality Manager for his company, something in the rail industry. I'm not 100% sure what he does really, I just latched on to the fact that he would be around on a semi regular basis.

I was back in my office on Thursday morning when my mobile rang, it was Rigger calling to say he had to do a Quality Audit on their location in Taunton and was staying over an extra night so would Bill and I like to join him for dinner. I accepted immediately and called Bill right away.

"Sounds great. Oh, hang on. No, it's the quarterly Western Counties Fundraiser Organising group meeting. I can't get out of it. You go. I'll join you later."

Bill's on an organising committee raising funds for talented kids in outdoor activities, kayaking, cross country running, climbing, stuff like that which doesn't get the lottery funding or mainstream attention. They get together once a quarter to plan the next three months activities and drink too much red wine.

I called Rigger back, but in a bizarre coincidence his hotel was the venue Bill was at that evening and the rooms were all booked out, so he was about to cancel us and book a room in Taunton.

"Why don't you stay with us, we could go to the Rabbit for a meal and Bill can either meet us there or join us at home."

We had a ritualised 'no, it's too much trouble, no I insist, oh well if it's really no trouble' conversation that ended with me calling Bill back with the new plan. A plan he approved wholeheartedly.

I rushed home to make up the spare room, just ahead of Bill who had to be out on a swift turnaround, so he just had time to say 'Hello' and 'See you later' to Rigger who arrived as I was in the shower.

I dressed quickly and came down with wet hair to give Bill a kiss goodbye and Rigger a hug hello before showing him his room then went back to the hairdryer and straighteners.

We could walk to the Rabbit where I had their Chicken Caeser Salad and Rigger had the Pheasant Cassoulet, which is excellent but rather filling. I was on my second glass of red when Bill texted.

- Meeting dragging on. Home around 11. Getting food brought in. Will need a lift in the morning. Retaining will to live with IPA.

I groaned in annoyance. The hotel was twenty minutes in the wrong direction for work so I'd need to leave at seven thirty to be in work by nine. Rigger picked up on my annoyance, but when I explained why he came to the rescue.

"I need to go that way to get to Taunton, I'll drop him at the hotel, that way we all get to have breakfast together."

I was more than happy with that solution and bought him a third pint by way of thanks, getting a third red for me at the same time. We finished the drinks and headed back down the hill towards home.

Once we were alone I asked a question I'd been sitting on for over ten years.

"So, Dave, back in sixth form college when we all met and Stephen latched onto you, I get why you might have associated with him at first. You didn't know anyone, you were new in town and couldn't join in with most activities, but once you were off treatment and fit again, why didn't you tell him to take a hike? Loads of times you slapped him down. Surely you could have done better?"