Many of my stories are based on actual experiences, some keeping very close to the facts, and some have a lot of artistic license. This story is true and is as accurate as I can remember it. As with a couple of my other stories, this is from my time living in Christchurch in the early eighty's.
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I had only been married a few months, my wife and I were renting a small bungalow in a very average part of town, and we were saving hard for our own home. Living next door was a guy (Wayne) around my age; he lived with his elderly mother. He popped his head over the fence a few times and, in our conversations, found that we both played Squash and had worked for Air New Zealand.
Wayne was not really my type. He was a mummy's boy and worked in an office. I would guess he was 5'6", had a fair complexion, and was slightly overweight with a moustache (I've never been that keen on moustaches). Whereas I was 6'1" and, in those days, very fit. I was self-employed doing physical work, everything from concreting to putting a new roof on a house and minor alterations. But whenever Wayne came over, I gave him the time off day and was happy to take him on at a game of Squash now and again. Probably because I always won!
He talked a lot about his girlfriend, but it wasn't until a few months later that he brought her over to meet my wife and me. Her name was Diane, she was an attractive eighteen-year-old, but strait-laced and stuck up. My wife and I quickly noted that she ruled the roost, was moody, and had firm opinions that were usually quite the opposite of Wayne's.
About a year after we first met, Wayne told me that he and Diane intended to get married. I tried diplomatically asking him if he knew what he was doing. We had seen enough of them over the year to see that she put him down constantly, and they always seemed to be at odds with one another.
Also, he complained a lot about never getting sex, and what he did get didn't seem to rock the boat. In fact, on more than one occasion, he told me that he reckoned she hated sex. But he was under the illusion that once he was married, the sex would improve out of sight and happen several times a week.
I tried to give him some marriage advice, pointing out that if sex was not good before a wedding, there was unlikely to be very much improvement afterwards. A bit more questioning and I sussed out that the main reason for them getting married was that he had been offered a job promotion.
The position was for managing his firm's office at the airport in Rarotonga. At his first interview, it was mentioned that the job would likely be offered to a married man, as there was a lot of socialising where a partner would be a real asset.
One thing that amazed me was Diane seemed to be pushing Wayne into the marriage. I mean, the way she acted and spoke about him behind his back had me thinking that she really thought he was a bit of a twit. Yet she seemed to have changed her tune now that a good job and travel were on the table.
Nothing I said made any difference, and surprisingly we were duly invited to the wedding, and it was a flash affair. Her parents seemed to have money, and Wayne's mum had been saving for years for this happy day. Their honeymoon was over in New Orleans, where Wayne was conveniently being sent to attend a conference. And once the conference was over, they would spend two weeks in the Caribbean.
I saw them once when they got home from the honeymoon, just before they shipped out to Rarotonga for two years. He said it was a fantastic honeymoon but, under his breath, muttered that they only had sex a couple of times on the honeymoon. I shouldn't have been surprised, but only twice did it seem a little rough on a two-week honeymoon. However, I bit my tongue and didn't tell him, "I told you so."
A couple of years later, we had a call from Wayne one evening to say they were back from Rarotonga and asked if we would like to come to their place for dinner. I wasn't that keen as we had never been that close, and I expected not much had changed with their relationship. I was pretty sure it would be an evening of their snapping and sniping at each other, just as it had been when we last had dinner with them.
But my wife said we had to go as we had been to their wedding -- I think she just wanted to find out how things were with them, as neither of us ever thought it was a marriage that would last.
Dinner was just as I expected. We heard all about their time in Rarotonga, how much they had earned, how lucky they were, etc. But Diane hadn't changed; she still bossed Wayne around and put him down. I have to say my opinion of her went down even more; she was a bitch. Even my wife, who was pretty tolerant, admitted that Diane made things rather difficult and that it had been an uncomfortable night. We saw them only infrequently after this.
About a year later, Wayne called me to say they had bought their own home, and I could come around and give them a quote for a double garage. So I turned up on a Saturday morning and saw what they wanted, quoted, and they gave me the go-ahead. It took a few weeks to tidy up some current work and get the appropriate permits, which meant I was ready to start in March.
When I did get started on their garage, it was late summer and pretty hot, so most days, I was working in just a pair of shorts and was as brown as a berry. Diane was between jobs and not starting work again for another month, so she was around the house most days I was there.
I started the garage on a Monday; Diane invited me in for morning tea and then again to have lunch with her. It was the first hint that she was not all I had thought, as when I went to put my shirt on, she stopped me, "Leave that off, it's hot inside, and you look good like that."
I always put my shirt on to go inside anyone's house, so I felt uncomfortable but did as she said. I also noticed she had spent some time dressing herself up and showed some cleavage.
Most days, my work took me to houses where only the wife was home. It was the norm to make the morning tea for the builder, and sometimes this would involve going indoors, but usually, it was brought out to you. Much rarer to be made lunch, but it did happen. I had even had the odd wife get dressed up and act very flirty. But I seldom made any moves, as I had heard builders getting blackmailed and not getting paid for their work. So Diane spoiling me wasn't an entirely new situation for me. But I did have problems associating this new behaviour with Diane and was even more determined to keep my distance. For the next couple of days, Diane became more forward each day, dropping plenty of sexual innuendos while I was around her.
Come Thursday, I had been working only a short time when Diane wandered out to talk with me.
"Morning, Dave, you're looking very hot this morning," she said.
"No! Not too hot yet, thank goodness," said I, knowing exactly what she ment.
"I'll bring you out a cuppa at about 10:00. You'll have to have it out here on your own as I have a guy coming around to measure up for curtains." She said before wandering back inside.
I noted she had spent extra time getting herself smartened up that morning. She wore a short dress, which made me realise that I had not seen her in a dress often over the years. Slacks mostly or even a trouser suit when she went to work, and I noted that she actually had bloody nice legs.
As promised, she brought out my cuppa at about 10:00, and soon after, a car parked on the road outside, and a guy I'm sure I had seen before wandered in. Diane met him at the door, and they disappeared inside. I thought nothing much of it, and after I'd drunk my cuppa, I continued working.
I was doing some of the frameworks that morning, and when I got up on the ladder to nail the top plate down, I had a clear view of the two of them through the big lounge window. They were sitting at the dining table; Diane had her back to me, slightly side-on, and the curtain guy was facing her, a little to her left, so I had a clear view of most of him.
I initially thought she had also made him a cuppa, and they were sitting at the table discussing fabrics, etc. Now I was at least 30 feet away and looking through a window on an angle, so it wasn't like I had a perfectly clear view. And he would not have had a clear view of me, as probably only my head was showing over the garage's wall. But it looked like he was stroking her knees, and as she leaned back, I watched him move his hands much higher. But I knew Diane and so convinced myself he must have some fabric in her lap that he was showing her. But it looked suspiciously like he was feeling her up. And when she reached down, grabbed his wrist and arched her back, I was sure of it. Then, to my amazement, he stood, lifted her into his arms, and carried her out of my sight.
I had a bit of a double-take at what I thought I had just seen, and yes, I was sure I wasn't dreaming it. Was Diane in trouble in there? Should I go and intervene? No, she didn't struggle and didn't seem to be concerned by his actions. In fact, the last view I had of them was her throwing her arms around his neck.
While I tried to make some sense of all this, they appeared briefly in her bedroom; he dropped her on the bed, came over to the window and closed the curtains. I knew what was happening, but I couldn't bring myself to believe it. It did not make sense, even after all the flirting she'd been doing with me. That Diane, the woman I knew as a frigid bitch who didn't like sex and was always ridiculing men, would be behind those curtains fucking some guy was frankly beyond my comprehension.
The guy left at about 12:30, by which stage I had almost convinced myself they were only discussing curtains. At about 1:00, Diane brought me lunch and acted pretty normal. Indeed, she was not acting like a woman that had been playing around. But I did note she had showered and changed into something much more casual now.
Friday was back to me being asked inside for my cuppa, but the flirting had all but disappeared. So I started to tell myself it was just my dirty mind fantasising about the whole episode. But I couldn't entirely deny what I had seen.
That weekend I met up with a good mate of mine, 'Ivan'. He's a dirty bastard who has gotten me into trouble several times. As this story is as much about him as anyone, I had better describe him. I'd known Ivan for about six years at this time. He's 5'9 ", not fat, but not thin, either. No one would describe him as fantastic looking, but he's easy on the eyes and has brown hair with a lot of grey running through it (I think he started going grey at around 19). We hit it off pretty well, and we had a lot of common interests (motorbikes & women mostly). But concerning women, we were exact opposites. We both played hard, had an eye for the ladies and chased anything wearing a skirt. But we were polar opposites in our approaches to the opposite sex.
My mother brought me up, my father having left when I was three, and she had drummed into me that you always respected women and treated them like ladies. Whereas Ivan would walk into a party and, within half an hour, would be talking dirty to some woman. Then shortly after that was likely to be in a spare room banging them up the arse (his favourite).
I got to make out with many more women using my approach, but it often took days, whereas Ivan was often wham bam and thank you and on his way before he even knew the lady's name.
Sometimes Ivan and I met up at the pub on a Friday night after work. And on more than one occasion, a lady went ballistic about having her arse grabbed. At least twice that I remember, I got blamed and had my face slapped. It was bloody Ivan; he would reach past me, tweak their bum, then act the innocent. He, of course, thought this was hilarious, and if, after all my protestations of innocence, they figured it was him, he could invariably talk his way out of it. And on more than one occasion, he had them out in his car later in the night, shagging the arse of them.
Ivan was married but always seemed to have a bit on the side and often tried to rope me into his sexual endeavours. Threesomes, tying women up, and anal were his passion. Many guys I've known that act like Ivan are all bullshit, but I have been in enough situations with Ivan to know that when he tells you he had some untouchable babe "up the arse", I always knew it to be true.
Anyway, I told Ivan what I had seen and how I was struggling to believe it from what I knew of Diane.
He immediately responded, "I know the one; she's a Sub. I knew it."
"What do you mean she's a Sub?" I responded.
"That's the bird in the trouser suit at your birthday party six months ago. I was waiting for the toilet in your hallway, and Diane was also waiting, and I started giving her a hard time about wearing a trouser suit to a party, and she gave me some response about not giving lecherous bastards like me a look up her skirt. I fired straight back that she must have a pretty ugly beaver if she was scared of someone seeing it."
