In the Spring of 1963 we moved into Bridge Street in Sturminster Newton. I didn't want to leave Marnhull but Andy had his mind set on it. That was Andy all over, once he had an idea in his head he just kept chipping away until he got his way.
I suppose in many respects the move made sense. Last Winter had been horrendous. It snowed just after Christmas and the temperature didn't get above freezing until March. Everywhere there was just this brown frozen slush. This made getting to our work each day a complete nightmare.
Nevertheless, we both had been born and brought up in Marnhull. We had lived there all our lives but Andy wanted to move.
Don't get me wrong, Andy is a good man. A kind, gentle, generous man. A faithful husband. But, Jesus, if he got an idea he wouldn't let it drop. My pet name for him is Brock; because he would just badger you until you went along with it. Like the time that he wanted to buy a little caravan. He said that we could spend weekends away in it. I wasn't so sure. Drip, drip, drip, night and day on he went until we got it. We made one trip to North Devon and one trip to South Devon and then the van spent a year in a farmer's barn until we sold it.
Despite all this, I loved Andy from the first time that we met. I guess it was the fact that he could tease me and complement me in the same breath. He was 'mischief' personified. He would say the cheekiest things and the loveliest things. Like the first time that he said that with my dark hair and curves I looked like one of those Italian Actresses; then he asked me if I liked a salami. I pretended to be shocked but I always laughed at his innuendos. I thought that they were really funny. Maybe that's why I liked those 'Carry On' films.
Once we married, Andy got me a job at his place. He was a motor mechanic in Stur. I worked three days a week doing the paperwork. I considered myself a housewife really but my little bit of earnings meant that Andy didn't have to do weekend overtime, which I liked. On Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays I would travel to work with Andy. On the other days he went alone and I did the housework.
Andy insisted that I dressed 'smart like' for work. Mainly a skirt and blouse but always wearing nylons and high-heels. It pleased me that it pleased him. Eventually, I dressed 'smart like' all the time.
Not long after that he told me that he'd read that Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren (they are both Italian actresses by the way) always wore black underwear and that perhaps I should get some. That's not the sort of thing that they sell in Sturminster Newton. Anyhow, he kept on until I sent off for some from a catalogue. Bra, knickers, suspender belt and the like. I never wear corsets, my mum wore corsets. After that he badgered me into getting rid of my white things and only ever wearing black undies.
Andy always said that he was only proud of two things; his gorgeous wife and his MG T-Type.
He kept up the smutty jokes at work. When it was just him, one of the blokes and me there, I would colour up when they both laughed but secretly I quite liked it (no double entendre intended).
I could tell when Andy was talking to the other men about me. There would be some really dirty laughter. I knew that he was telling them how much his gorgeous wife enjoyed sex. I didn't mind, he was just showing off because he was getting what the others probably weren't.
Mind you, I did play a joke of my own once. The apprentice, Young Paul, had brought in his new motor scooter. Andy persuaded him to take me for a spin around the block on it. I clung onto Paul as we sped off. It was exciting but scary. When we pulled up outside the garage, Young Paul kept revving the engine, the whole machine shook under us.
Before I could get off, Andy came over to us laughing and said, "Your skirt lifted as you got on the pillion. You've had your knickers pressed against the seat all the time."
I simply replied that I couldn't have. When he asked why I answered, "It was so hot in the office they are in my handbag."
It was Andy's turn to be embarrassed when the apprentice said, "I wish I'd know. I would have really reved her up."
He did get his own back later when he told me that he'd spotted Paul sniffing the saddle.
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One day Young Paul (everyone called him Young Paul even though there wasn't an old Paul) was hanging around the office. I asked him if he was all right.
"Can I ask you a question?" he said.
"Of course, ask away" I replied, just before I noticed the bulge in his overalls.
He looked a bit sheepish but asked, "Is Andy telling the truth when he says that you really like it? If he is, do you think that I could have a go sometimes?"
I was slightly stunned but I kept calm and told him, "Well yes, he is telling the truth but only with him. That's what marriage is all about. I'm sure you will soon find a girl of your own." I wanted to let him down gently.
"Oh! Right," Paul said and then he wandered off towards the toilet.
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By the time that we moved into Bridge Street we were both thirty-four and had been married for nine years. Neither of us was too upset that we hadn't any children; it just hadn't happened.
One day Andy wandered in from the garden and said, "Old Joe, next door, was telling me that he'd been in the Merchant Navy. He reckons he's been around the world ten times over. I like him, he has a naughty sense of humour."
"Yes, I've spoken to him a few times since we moved in. He said his wife died about six years back. How old do you think he is?"
"Seventy, he said.
"He says that he really misses Joan. He told me all about her. He says that he hasn't had a decent meal since she passed.
"Perhaps you could do an extra plate for him on Sundays. It would be a kind thing to do," said Andy.
'Perhaps....' was the phrase he used when he had his mind set on something. He was probably expecting me to say no at first before he badgered me into it.
"I don't see why not," I replied.
"Right. Good." I'm not sure if he was looking forward to the battle but I'd rather spoilt it for him.
After that I would take Old Joe's Sunday Dinner in to him and then go back later in the day to collect the plate. He always complimented me on my cooking and we'd chat for a while.
I'm no Fanny Craddock but it's nice when your culinary skills are appreciated. Occasionally, he'd have a small box of chocolates waiting for me, which was nice.
After a month or so, Andy persuaded me to give Old Joe a meal in the middle of the week too. You know, cottage pie, faggots and peas and the like. Andy said that he felt sorry for the old boy.
Things sort of dropped into a pattern, on Saturday mornings Andy would chat to Old Joe, for an hour or so, over the garden fence. He liked to hear tales of life in the Merchant Navy. 'Girl in every port' sort of thing, I shouldn't wonder judging from the laughter that drifted in. I would do a couple of meals a week and Old Joe would tell me less risqué stories of his voyages when I picked up his plate.
One Saturday, Andy came in from the garden chuckling to himself.
"What have you two been laughing over," I asked, expecting to hear of a dusky maiden or two. Andy often related Old Joe's exploits to me.
"Well since you've asked, Old Joe caught sight of one of your bras on the little clothesline and he said, 'Blimey, I'd like to see that filled up'. It really made me laugh," answered Andy.
"Oh, I didn't think that you could see the little line from there. I try to keep my smalls out of sight," I said blushing slightly.
That evening, as we sat together on the sofa watching telly, Andy slipped his hand over my stocking tops and into my drawers. He often did this. He would part my pubic hair and gently put the tip of his finger in me. Then he'd just leave it there.
Occasionally, Andy would move it slightly. Then rest like that for ten minutes or so before shifting it again. I loved it. The result was by the time we ready for bed, I was so excited that I was tipped right over the edge as soon as we started fucking.
On this particular night, he had manoeuvred his finger a few more times than usual when he said, "You know, it would be quite a kind thing to do if perhaps you let Old Joe have a look at your bra with you in it."
"I'm not so sure about that. I don't know if I could do that," I said, slightly taken aback.
"Still, perhaps you could think about it," replied Andy, changing his position in my knickers.
Over the next half an hour, I thought about it a lot while he moved his fingers more than usual. The upshot was that I let myself go off far too early and we had to watch the end of the programme while Andy fucked me from behind.
Still, it took over a week and another fingering before Andy badgered me into agreeing.
It may not seem like much to you nowadays but you must remember that back then ladies tried to avoid strange men seeing their undergarments; particularly if they were wearing them.
I was nervous as I went in to retrieve Old Joe's plate after Sunday Dinner.
"Thank you, m'dear. That was lovely as usual," he said, seated in his armchair.
