Sex with my wife was always a joyous experience. She was tight in the right places, fulfilling in all the best places, and always oh so willing and able. Good looking with a great head of long auburn hair, a shapely butt and lovely long legs, meant that she often received admiring glances. Her 32e chest were the two cherries on top of an already delightful five feet two cake.
Our sex life was frequent and energetic, and she had more than enough stamina for me. Sometimes too much, and if I wasn't careful, I'd find her flirting with my friends or work collegues - not that this bothered me too much. I knew our relationship was strong, that she loved me, and often commented quite negatively about some of the men I worked with.
And then, five years after we'd started dating and four years in to our marriage, Sally fell pregnant. For three months she did nothing but throw up, and spend all day either in bed or flaked out on the sofa. She lost weight, couldn't go out, and our sex life dried up completely.
The second trimester she spent either eating like a pig or crying at the slightest thing, shutting herself away in her room, or leaving for days to be with her mother. The ultrasound showing us a pair of twins was a shock.
By the time her third trimester started, she had began to bulge and fill out. At first, the loss of her hourglass figure frequently reduced her to tears. But after a while she seemed to become used to the idea, and gradually relaxed into a very large, heavy pregnancy.
Needless to say our sex life had been non existent up to this point. I had still wanted it, but she'd been too sick or depressed to want it. Now her libido had returned in force, we found it difficult to be together because of the round bump that was getting bigger and bigger by the day. The missionary position was out of the question. Sitting on top just made her exhausted, as did doggy. And spooning was, well, I just couldn't seem to manage sufficient penetration.
Sally became frustrated and took to buying a variety of toys and vibrators off the internet, non of which truely satisfied her.
It was her mother who suggested we take some time off to make a trip to the sun. "Harry, it will be good for you both. A tonic. Sally, needs looking after you know."
"Yes, mother."
Sally couldn't fly, so I booked train tickets, a good hotel on a beach near Naples, and off we set.
It was the middle of summer, and although our the cabin in our train was air conditioned, the journey was rough for Sally. Once we'd arrived at the hotel, she rested for two days before she felt like venturing out.
We spent a lot of time by the pool, relaxing, reading, and generally being quiet. Sally's white bikini barely covered her breasts, which had grown so magnificently. She wore a range of wraps and silky sarongs that emphasised her curves and bumps, and provided me with hardons galore. I was having to provide self relief for myself numerous times a day at this point. Sally, I noted, was abstaining completely.
By the end of the forth day, I'd convinced her that we should go out for a meal. I left her by the pool and wandered in to town looking for a suitable restaurant that would be near enough for her to walk, and had a range of foods that she might like. The town was littered with bars, clubs, cafes, tavernas and restaurant, and I was a good four hours before I got back to the hotel.
Sally was out laying in the sun, chatting with Edmondo, one of the tall local Italian lads who worked at the hotel doing everything from room service and carrying bags, to bar and restaurant work, and now poolside attendant. He was sat close to Sally and making her laugh.
I headed up to our room to loose my clothes and gain my trunks. Peering over the edge of the balcony I could see Sally and Edmondo by the pool. He had moved her sun lounger away from a line of shade that was advancing, and was helping her to lie back down. The babies were so heavy now that she had difficulty just sitting let alone lying down, and once she was flat found it almost impossible to get up again without help. Edmondo was evidently a gentleman.
I saw him pick up the bottle of suntan lotion and began rubbing it in to Sally's back, as she perched on the edge of the sun lounger. He seemed to spend considerably longer than he probably should have, before reaching round her neck and legs and helping her to lie back. Sitting on the edge of the lounger, he picked up a leg and, resting her heel in his crotch, began to work suntan lotion into her leg.
It was at this point that I grabbed my towel and headed swiftly for the lift. It was some time in coming, and I could feel my self getting more pissed-off by the minute. The fucking hotel manager would hear about this, and I'd make sure Mr Edmondo didn't bloody work in this bloody hotel again.
But by the time I reached Sally's sun lounger, the two of them were having a good laugh at something. I was momentarily confused, as I'd assumed that the assault on my wife's body would have caused her some discomfort. As soon as he saw me, he jumped up, said something to her, and trotted off.
"What was he after?" I snarled.
"Edmondo's been really helpful. I'm like a beached whale here, going dry in the sun. Did you find somewhere to eat, Harry? I'm starving. Is it far to walk?"
Of course it took her about two hours to get ready. The walk to the restaurant took us another half hour, and she complained that her legs were too swollen to walk this far.
"I look like a total freak," she said. "This bloody dress doesn't fit me right. I should never have brought it, Harry. Nothing fits me right."
She chuntered on about shoes and clothes all evening, complaining that the hotel had a better restaurant without such a walk.
On the way home she complained about back ache and cramp in her calves. We stopped a few times, and I tried rubbing her back and massaging her legs. She was perched on a wall, with me trying to squeeze one of her sandals back on to a foot that really was surprisingly swollen, when Edmondo appeared out of nowhere.
He said something to us in Italian, but I couldn't understand. Sally replied, and I looked up startled. I wanted to ask her when the hell she had learnt the lingo, but couldn't get in a word edgeways. And before I could say anything, Eduardo had picked her up and was carrying her up the road towards the hotel.
I stared after them for a minute, not quite believing what had just happened, before I chased after them.
"What's going on?" I asked.
"Edmondo said he'd carry me back to the hotel."
"So I see."
My amorous advances in bed that night were rejected on the ground of "not feeling sexy any more" and having backache. I didn't feel inclined to argue, and let my bottle of red wine I'd had with my meal drift me off to sleep.
