Part 1
This is not your typical cuckold story. You know what I mean, a sissy husband duped by his cunning wife and her alpha male lover. If that's what you are looking for, please move on, there are plenty of those around. This is a story of how a three-way relationship helped us survive the crap that life throws at you. If you want to know how that works, you are welcome to stay for the ride.
First a bit of background about me, the other man in this ménage. My name's Gary Holton, 40-year-old divorced father of two. I was a quantity surveyor for a large construction firm. My job took me away from home during the week when I visited building sites. Not a good recipe for a happy marriage, and ten years in my wife wanted a divorce. She said we'd grown apart and only had the kids in common.
For the first two years of our divorce, nothing really changed. I would come home on a Friday night and we would all have a meal together. If it was my weekend with the kids, I'd put them in our camper van next morning and we'd go somewhere overnight to give my ex, Helen a break. When it was her shift, fishing and football kept me out of her hair all weekend. Life was almost the same after divorce as before. I'd already been in the spare bedroom for eighteen months, but now Helen had a licence not to have sex with me anymore.
I finally had to accept things had changed the weekend I'd arrived home for my shift, to find the kids were on sleepovers at their friends. Helen apologised for not warning me. I said no problem. Then she said she was going out with friends on Saturday night. Again, I said no problem, but when she added 'with a special friend,' the penny dropped. She was seeing someone new and was planning to bring him back to our home. I must have looked shocked. She tried to be sympathetic.
"Gary, it's time for both of us to move on. I thought as a single man away from home, you would have taken advantage of the situation by now?"
To be honest, the divorce was not of my choosing and I'd felt numb for ages afterwards. I was not in a frame of mind for a new relationship, but Helen, despite having the kids almost 24/7, apparently was. It choked me up as I packed a few things into our camper van and headed off. Helen was worried about the way I'd taken it and made me promise to come back on Sunday afternoon so I could see the kids before I set off back to where I was working next week.
I did not know where I was going, but instinct found me on the road to a country park in Wales where we'd had great times as a family. Could I be happy there on my own? To be honest, I could not think of anywhere better to go. It was dark when I arrived late on Friday night, tired and depressed; thinking I'd made a terrible choice, but it was too late to look for somewhere else. I pulled up a decent distance from the few motor homes in the short stay section of the site. There was no food in the van. I didn't even have water to make a cup of tea. I got my five-litre plastic bottle and trudged towards the shower and washing up block, just as it started raining. I cursed my choice of venue. I could have been tucked up in a warm budget hotel with a bottle of whiskey, crying into my fish and chips.
As I plodded past the motor homes, someone called out. I ignored them, thinking they were calling someone else. Then a man and woman started calling Gary and my deafness led others to take up the call until I heard a dozen voices calling my name. My shock when I realised it was me they were calling, made them all laugh. I didn't recognise the nearest caller. He pointed left, as did the next person and so on, until I did a complete 180 back towards the couple I'd parked nearest to. I walked back, trying to put names to their faces. It must have been three years since I last saw them. They'd parked next to us on our last family holiday, the one before it all fell apart.
"I told Katie it was you Gary, but she said I must be wrong because you didn't answer."
His name finally came to me." Martin, Martin and Katie Armitage from Shropshire."
"See, I told you it was him. I recognised the van. I see you've still got that dent in the back bumper."
Martin was smiling. He was about 60, with salt and pepper hair. Well-built and tanned from his outdoor job as a self-employed builder. His wife Katie was perhaps ten years younger (I'm useless at guessing women's ages). Her blond hair was now a chestnut colour which suited her creamy complexion. She was about five foot six and curvy. Some women might have been less kind in their descriptions, but there was nothing wrong with her shape as far as I was concerned. Helen had complained more than once when I looked at Katie in her bikini. Martin had his hand on her shoulder and Katie had her arm around his waist. They looked happy to be with each other. I was suddenly envious that Helen and I would never be a couple like them as we grew older.
"Good to see you, Gary." Martin's handshake seemed untypically soft. Katie went onto tiptoes to close the gap between our faces. She wobbled a bit, and I found my hands on her hips to steady her as she kissed my cheek. "Sorry about that Gary, I've had a drink." Katie was at that delightful state of drunkenness where you can throw a woman on the bed and she will have no inhibitions. The way my body reacted to her reminded me I had been on my own for too long.
"Are Helen and the kids joining you later?" Katie asked.
I'm ashamed to say I lost it and started bawling like a child. Five minutes later, cup of tea in hand at the table of their touring van (it was more like an American RV than my VW Transporter), I'd poured out the breakdown of my marriage. They were shocked for me and I think a bit for themselves. Our kids, Tyler and Sasha, had all but adopted the couple as grandparents when we'd last seen them. Martin and Katie had been more than happy to oblige. Their sons were grown up and working on construction projects in the Middle East, so they had not been with little ones for a long time. I hadn't realised during my tale of woe Katie had taken my hand. It was very reassuring. I promised to bring Tyler and Sasha with me during the school holidays, as I was sure they would want to see them both. Now Katie took Martin's hand and I could not make out the look that passed between them.
They insisted I join them for dinner and the smell of Katie's shepherd's pie and the noise of my groaning stomach made it impossible to refuse. After dinner Martin found an old radio station on Long Wave, all crackly, just like the radio of their youth. It seemed to be all sixties music. We were three quarters through Martin's bottle of whiskey and Katie wanted to dance. She persuaded Martin up for the Twist and I watched them. They seemed to enjoy each other's company like they may not have done for a long time. Katie got me up to do some other dances. I'd only heard their names in old songs, but there were actual steps to things like the Watusi, the Mashed Potato, the Swim and the Pony. Katie knew them all, and watching her was an excuse to see her body in motion. I tried to copy her moves, and it was comical. So much so that Martin had a coughing fit that brought our evening to a premature end. The spasms racked his body. Katie and I took an arm each and sat her husband on the sofa while he breathed slowly to recover. She answered my concerned look.
"He's not been well, Gary. Martin is on medication. He shouldn't overdo it, but it's been a while since we've had such fun."
I realised Martin was seriously ill. I looked at Katie to say if there was anything I could do, but she shook her head and tended to her husband. I knew he'd be embarrassed talking about his illness, so I insisted on doing the washing up and took the bowl down to the showering and washing up block before either of them could object.
It was dark as I walked across the campsite and a proximity light came on as I reached the empty building. I took my time to give them privacy and had to move every couple of minutes to keep the light on. I was about to return when Katie loomed out of the darkness.
