Dream Cottage Ch 01

"The question you've got to ask yourself is. Do you really want Edward; or are you prepared to start over again? But make sure you're not making your choice out of spite or revenge. Because the second time around, things will be harder with two young children, and the chances of finding a good man won't get any easier."

"But even if I wanted to keep my marriage together, and I give him another chance; what's to say I can ever trust him again?"

"It comes with time. I know what he's done must hurt, but believe me; it isn't the end of the world, nor the end of your marriage. Unless you want it to be?"

"That's easy for you to say mum, but you were lucky when you picked dad."

There was a cold silence for a good couple of minutes while I thought. And then I decided to put my daughter's happiness before my own pride. I didn't tell her the whole truth, but what I did tell her was true, and it hurt to admit to my daughter that the father she loved and admired had once been a philanderer. I told her how I'd found out about my Jim's other women, and how I'd taken advice from two different sources. And in truth, even now, I'm not totally sure either of the things I was advised to do would have worked in isolation. But as my daughter had already got her own family of two wonderful little children, she'd already exhausted one of the pieces of advice I'd been given.

So I began to tell her about the second piece of advice, one given to me by a professional source. And although I can't say for sure if this would have worked in isolation from the advice of starting my own family and giving my husband a feeling of purpose and duty. I am sure; it was this professional advice that tipped the scales. The advice was simply to read and learn from a little Japanese sexual techniques book. And in my own mind, the most powerful of the techniques it described was the art of controlling your pussy muscles with a little Jade Egg.

Once I'd explained to my daughter about my husband's infidelity, I then began to tell her about how I'd set about attempting to combat it, not with conflict, but by making his sex life with me, superior to the sex he was getting elsewhere. I got out my little box of tricks, and showed her how I could still lift a full basket of weights using the muscles in my pussy, and then I explained exactly how that helped with giving sexual gratification to your partner. I didn't tell her the whole story, that is to say; about my own infidelity. Or that the man she called her father wasn't. Or how I'd achieved my own family of two wonderful children, when my own husband was infertile. But here it is for you to read, and I hope you won't judge my conduct too harshly.

I guess my story started that day back in 1973; we were driving across the deserted moors; that is me and my new husband on our honeymoon, "Oh Jim, wouldn't it be just perfect to live in that little cottage up there?"

"Be a bit bloody isolated."

"Oh yes. But just think of the views. And nobody else around to disturb you, and come to that, no worries about you disturbing any neighbours."

"You're not serious. Are you?"

"Yes. Why? Wouldn't you like to live in a place like that?"

"I'm easy, but if that's what you want, if we can't buy that one, I'm sure we could find another one that is just as secluded."

"Do you mean it?"

"Why not, I mean it isn't as if money is a problem. But you do realise, it would only be a second home. I can't work this far away from London."

So over the next six months, we talked our way through the idea of a place in the country, and within a year of me first mentioning the idea, we'd bought a country cottage. Not the one I'd seen, but one equally as far off the beaten track, and still in Yorkshire. (That's a county in the north of England, for any none UK readers)

My Jim had taken over his dads garment firm, and with his modern ideas about fashion, he'd designed and started producing clothes that were selling like hot cakes. So as he'd said, money wasn't a problem, and as I didn't need to work, it gave me lots of time to spend in our country hideaway. It was idyllic, and by the time we'd owned it a year, I'd got the most wonderful country garden with flowers, shrubs, a vegetable plot and even fruit trees. It was like heaven on a summer's day, to just lie back in the hammock, which was tied between two trees in the orchard, and watch the clouds drifting over my head.

I guess all things have their drawbacks, but mine was of my own making. I mean I knew Jim had said he'd have to work in London. So when I went up to our cottage, I was mainly on my own. Which is nice in a way, but nights can get very lonely. So the weekends when Jim came up from London were the times I longed for. And he did make it most weekends.

So move on three and a half years from the date we'd moved in. I guess the one thing that wasn't right with my little world, was that my Jim had now been in London for six weeks solid. The new line of clothes he'd designed were proving difficult to manufacture. Something to do with the material he'd chosen. So as Jim prides himself on the quality of his garments, and the delivery times he'd committed to, he was working every hour god sends, to make sure the order was right, and got out on time. But it'd been so long since we spent any quality time together; I'd made plans to go down to London that weekend just to be with him. But as I'd thought it would be a nice surprise for him, I hadn't phoned to let him know.

So Friday morning arrived, and I'd got on the train, arriving in London at around ten in the morning. I'd caught a taxi to our London home, and let myself in. I knew Jim wouldn't be there, but I wanted to prepare a surprise meal for him for when he arrived home. This had taken some planning, as I wouldn't have any idea what time he'd be working to, and I wanted the meal to be ready in as little time as possible after he'd walked in the door. So clutching my bags of ingredients, I made my way to the kitchen.

I'm not sure exactly when it hit me that something wasn't right. I guess I must have caught the aroma of an unfamiliar perfume as I'd first stepped into the hall. But it wasn't until I saw the breakfast washing-up littered on the kitchen work surface; that alarm bells began to ring in my head. I mean, yes Jim would leave the things to be washed-up and tidied away by our cleaning woman. But why would there be two cups, and two glasses. And it wasn't like Jim to have muesli; especially as the other plate looked like it had been used for a full fried breakfast (that was Jim's usual morning meal). I put my bags down on the floor, and went into the lounge. Shoes! Ladies shoes! And they weren't mine. I looked around the room, and all of our wedding photos were missing, in fact, there wasn't one photo of me in the room.

I almost ran up the stairs, and the clothes around the bedroom floor were the clincher. Knickers, bra, blouse and skirt; and none of them mine. Then I heard a key in the front door. The blood rose to my face, and I was about to explode. But as I got to the top of the stairs, I could see it wasn't Jim, or his fancy woman. Well not unless he'd started to have an affair with our cleaning lady Mrs Lang. Not that there is any reason why I should write her off so flippantly. But she is around fifty, and I somehow couldn't imagine her getting into the frilly little knickers I'd found on my bedroom floor.

As she heard me, she looked up, and the embarrassment showed in the colouring up of her face. I went down to where she was waiting for me.

"So how long has this been going on?"

"Please Mrs Theabold, your husband told me if I ever breathed a word, I'd not only lose my job, but he'd also sack my Freddy."

"Freddy, who is he, and what's he got to do with anything?"

"He's my son, and your husband gave him a job in his factory. I really didn't like what was going on, but I couldn't tell you."

"But I haven't seen you since the last time I was down in London over three months ago."

"I know. But he's been bringing different girls back here for over six months now."

"Different girls! The cheating bastard!"

"Well yes, I know it's not nice. But according to my Walter (her husband), he says it's not as serious as if he'd been just bringing back one woman."

"And how does he make that out?"

"Well he says it's just a kind of comforter. But if it was one woman, it would mean she was a rival to you. But these are just like some men go out at night and find a street girl to relieve themselves with. I mean I'm not saying its right, but from what I can gather, these are girls from the works."

"So does he bring a girl back every night?"

"No, it's maybe two or three times a week. Sometimes, like a few weeks ago, he went over two weeks, without bringing back one girl."

I guessed that was the time he'd had the problem with the sewing-up of the garments. A problem he'd told me was still going on. I felt so let down, and I just wanted to cry. I walked past Mrs Lang, and went into the lounge where I slumped down in a chair.

She came and stood in the doorway. And then looking at me in a very sympathetic way, said, "You just sit there luv, I'll make us both a nice cup of tea."

Well by the time she'd returned with the tray with two cups, and a plate of biscuits, I was sitting with my head in my hands, sobbing.

She said, "That's it luv, you have a good cry, get it out of your system. Here, have a sip of this."

We sat there for what must have been a good hour, and as she offered her words of wisdom, she gradually turned my head around. I'd started off feeling so let down, thinking I could never trust my Jim again.

But her matter of fact way of looking at sex and marriage gradually got me to accept that while what Jim was doing wasn't ideal, it was by no means the end of our marriage. She even got me to accept the idea that maybe; it was my fault to some extent. As she put it, Men don't really have brains when it comes to sex. She said if they haven't had sex in the last hour, then any female is likely to arouse their interest. And as I was living at the other end of the country, and leaving Jim alone without sex for over a week, then she said it wasn't surprising he'd felt the need to stray. Her advice was for me to move down to London, or start a family.

She said, "Ok, giving him a son or daughter to drool over won't stop him playing around down here while you're up there looking after the family, but it will give him roots. And even if he does play around, he'll be less likely to form any permanent attachments."

And then she said something that at first I didn't catch the meaning of, "And anyway luv, this has now given you an excuse to get one of those country lads up there to plough your furrow."

"Plough my furrow? We've got a fair size garden, but not big enough to." Then the penny dropped, and as I realised she was hinting I should do like Jim and start playing around. I found it very offensive. "There is nobody up there; or for that matter anywhere else that I'd even look at. And I don't like your suggesting that kind of thing."

"Come on now, there's no point in trying to convince me. You can't tell me the men up there are any different to the ones down here. And even if country lads are slow witted, I'm sure at least some of them will have worked out that you spend a lot of time on your own."

"The men up there aren't slow witted. And the fact that I'm up there on my own so much, just makes them more protective of me. I assure you, nobody has ever made an improper suggestion."

"In that case, it must be your own fault. You've certainly got the body and looks. I can only assume you're dressing down, and consciously or not, you must be snubbing all advances. But what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. So if he's not going short down here, you'd be silly to sit up there like a vestal virgin."

I gave her a black look as I said, "When I took my marriage vows, I meant every word of my promise."

She shrugged her shoulders, "You're living in a dream world my dear. Do you think for one second anyone takes that church mumbo-jumbo seriously? Love honour and obey. Love, yes maybe for the first few years. Honour, what in god's name does that mean? Obey! Are you kidding? There's no way I'd take orders from my old-man."

"But it was a solemn vow taken in church in front of a vicar."

"Shall I tell you about vicars and oaths? I know my wedding was a few years ago, and I know I'd had way too much to drink. And by the end of the reception I was putting it about a bit. Not serious stuff, just snogging with anything in trousers. Well at one point the vicar, the very same man who, a few hours earlier had been coaching me with the words; keeping yourself for him, and forsaking all others. This same man had backed me into the unlit cloakroom, and not content with just kissing, and a feel of my tits, I had to physically fight with him to keep his hand out of my knickers! And I'm sure if I'd let him have his way, he wouldn't have stopped there. Vows! Vicars! Church! It's all bullshit. And that's being polite about it."

It all sounded more than a little cynical, but she did speak with a confidence, that came from experience. So gradually, I made my mind up to make my way back home, without confronting Jim. And I planned to start talking to him about the idea of children.

The next day, while I was sitting having breakfast, the phone rang, and it was Jim. He apologised for not being able to make it back home for the sixth weekend in a row, but promised that come hell or high water, he'd be up to see me next weekend. He ended as always by sending me his undying love. And for my part, I did the same to him. But I must admit, as I put the phone down, I said under my breath, "You cheating bastard!"

Then I started to re-run all the things Mrs Lang had told me, and gradually I mellowed back into a state of submission. I decided, as I couldn't face living in London, and I knew Jim couldn't live up hear and work down there, I would have to put my hopes into the idea of family ties binding us together.

Sunday was always my church day and it was as I selected what to wear, that Mrs Lang's words came back to me. I realised at least part of her observations were true. I hadn't before consciously been aware, that I dressed differently to go to church alone, than when going with Jim. In fact, as I thought about the way I dress, I realised, that when ever Jim is away, I dress down; almost to the point of looking dowdy. I can only assume some subconscious safety mechanism must have kicked into action, to ward off unwanted advances. Not that I dressed like a tart when I went out with Jim, but I usually kept up with the fashion; even if it required short skirts, or those see-through blouses. (Though in this, I'm not referring to what I wear when going to church.)

I thought to myself, why should I hide my charms; just because Jim isn't here? I mean, it's not as though I'd take-up any advances, even if my looks encouraged any. So I put back the dress I had taken out of the wardrobe, and found a pretty skirt and blouse. The skirt wasn't over short, and the blouse wasn't see-through.

It was a real eye opener, I mean for me to see the different reaction it generated within the male church goes. And I guess I could almost describe their reaction the same way; it opened their eyes. Nothing untoward happened, but not only could I feel the eyes boring into my flesh, but it was amazing how many more men were waiting outside the church at the end of the service. Normally at least half the men are in the village pub within a minute of the end of service, leaving mostly the womenfolk to stand around catching up on the latest gossip. Bearing in mind, this is only a little village church, so there would only be a dozen men in there in total.

But today, as I walked out of the church, I was met by three of the local farmers asking about how my little vegetable garden had faired this year. Yes over the three years of living up here, I'd met each of these men on different occasions, local county fares and such; but never before on a Sunday after church, as these three were among the men who'd usually be straight down to the pub. There was nothing said by any of them that was out of place, but one of them did make me an offer of a free trailer-load of manure. Not what you'd class as being chatted-up. But overall today, there was definitely more interest in me than normal.

Then as the three farmers went on their way, the landlord of the village pub came and made inquiries about the purchasing of any surplus from either my vegetable plot or my fruit bushes. I thought its strange how they're all so interested in my garden produce all of a sudden. But in truth I knew it was probably just the only feeble excuse they could find to talk with me. I did negotiate the sale of raspberries and gooseberries, as I'd bottled and made as much and more jam than I could use, and the remainder would only have gone to waste. I arranged to deliver it to his pub the next day, thus thwarting his idea of him coming up to my cottage to collect it. Not that I didn't trust him to come up to the cottage whilst I was on my own. But I do know how village tongues can wag even when there is no real foundation for the rumours they are spreading.

A couple of men who I recognise from seeing them handle their dogs at the sheep-dog trials, sidled their way across, and their excuse was to offer me the chance of buying one of a litter of new dogs. And I have to admit I was sorely tempted, but I didn't want to just go ahead and make that kind of decision without talking to Jim first, so I declined their offer. Then as they left and I was about to make my way to my car, the vicar made a bee-line for me. Which was rather apt, as he keeps bees, and came over to discus an idea I'd had some weeks ago, about me having a go at doing the same.

So all in all, when I sat down in front of the fire that evening, I reflected on the different attitude I'd experienced, just by a change of clothes, a bit of make-up, and a different hair style. It made it clear to me, that if I should want to adopt Mrs Lang's philosophy, it wouldn't be difficult to get started.

On the Monday I got together the fruit, and off I went to deliver it to the village pub, thinking I'd also take the opportunity to collect a few groceries at the same time. But again, like yesterday, I decided to dress smart and put a bit of make-up on.

The woman in the village post office noticed straight away, "Off somewhere nice are we?"

It took me by surprise, and for a moment I wondered what she meant, "Sorry?"

"I was just wondering, are you off somewhere? You're all dressed up."

"Oh no. I wouldn't call this dressed up. I just didn't feel like wearing my old gardening clothes."

"And I don't blame you lass."

Then she gave me a sly wink, "I'd heard your old man hadn't been home these last six weeks or more. While the cats away the mice will play. Eh."

"Where had you heard? And I'll have you know, there'll be no playing away. Cat or no cat."

"Don't take offence lass. It was just old Roy at the railway office; he said your husband hadn't made it back home in a while. I wasn't meaning anything by my remarks."

I turned around, and marched out without even paying for the book of stamps she'd just handed to me.

Next I visited the local butcher, and he was nice as pie, in fact, I've never seen him so friendly and chatty. And all the time he was talking to me, young Garry, his assistant, a man who is about my age, was standing at the sausage making machine. Now I'm sure I must have seen him or someone else operating one of those machines before. But this time, I don't know whether it was my mood, his looks, or the way he was operating the machine. But what I do know is, as those sausage skins filled in his hand, and slid through his fingers, it set such a turmoil going in my tummy. I kept trying not to look, but every time I glanced out of the corner of my eye, he'd be staring at me. When I left there I was in such a state, and yet in truth, nothing had happened to cause such a condition.