Happy Landings

"That was a hell of a way to start the day!" Duncan said as we reached the motorway entrance and a quick glance told me that he had a huge, contented grin on his face. Trying to concentrate on my driving, I just grinned and nodded my assent, but then he went on; "It was a truly amazing, fuck, wasn't it?" I agreed because it happened to be perfectly true, but then the conversation changed direction completely.

"It was great for me," he'd said, "because I was imagining you being pounded by another bloke...."

'Shit... that again!' I'd thought, but I didn't say anything.

"...And you were so far gone that I don't think you'd have cared who it was... as long as you got a good hard cock inside you."

"I don't...." I began, but that was as far as I got.

"Come on, Julie... admit it. It was pure sex and you were happy with it. It didn't have anything to do with me being your husband... you just needed a really good fuck. At that moment, it could have been almost anyone!"

I hadn't known what to say. There was some truth in what he'd said and I couldn't have completely denied that. In fact, there had been a couple of recent occasions when he'd asked me to fantasise about it that I'd been able to conjure up a picture of his friend, Pete – there were even some times, when he was away, that I'd had Pete in mind when I was satisfying myself. During that morning's session Duncan had made me so aroused that, if Pete had walked into the bedroom at the right moment, I don't think I'd have been able to deny him.

I guess Duncan saw something in my face; maybe it was just hesitation, or maybe it was a feeling of guilt that my thoughts did, occasionally, drift in that direction. Whatever it was, he was quick to press home his advantage.

"Look, Julie... I'm being honest about it," he told me. "I love you to pieces... and I want us to be together for the rest of our lives... but it isn't going to work when there's something missing that I definitely need... and I think you do as well."

"Can't we talk about this another time?" I'd asked, probably sounding more aggressive than I'd meant to because I was approaching the turn off onto the road to the airport.

"We've talked about it enough!" he answered, his tone of voice responding to mine. "It's not as though I'm asking for something weird or unusual. You've seen all those Internet sites... it's something that thousands of people do... and as long as they both agree, they have a great time...."

"They're all American sites!" I snapped

"Not all of them," he replied, although he seemed a little bit less sure of himself but, before I could take that any further he went on, regaining confidence, "Some of them... quite a few... are British... but so what? It just shows that Americans are more open about things like this. Maybe they just know how to enjoy life more than we do."

"Another example of American culture?" I almost barked my reply, feeling that a wonderful start to the day had been ruined "...Like McDonald's or...."

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" he almost shouted. It was a low blow because he'd spent most of his childhood living in America and only settled in England when his father died and his mother had returned to her home here. "What does it matter? Just because you've had an uptight British upbringing you think anything out of the ordinary is a perversion. Simple fact... we've got to change... you've got to change... because we're going to drift apart."

"Bloody hell!" I answered, "You mean it's that important to you? You're sick! All I want is a normal, happy married life... a decent home... maybe a couple of kids... a loving husband. But you can't be happy unless you can turn your wife into some kind of bike for all your friends to take a turn at riding! Don't you understand? I can't do that! I don't want to do that!"

And so the argument continued, with him desperately trying to persuade me that what he wanted was perfectly natural and life-enhancing. It was, I suppose, the worst argument we'd ever had, with him hinting, quite strongly, that our future together might very well depend on me agreeing to join him in the kind of lifestyle he longed for. When we got to the airport, he grabbed his small overnight bag and turned to me, saying:

"Think very carefully about it, Julie. I can't go on being denied what it takes to me happy... especially knowing that it will add so much to your happiness, too. I'll be in America for the next three days, and I've been offered a better paid job flying out of Los Angeles. If I take it, I'll be moving there... and I want you with me. You've got to think seriously about our future, Julie. I love you more than you'll ever know... but some things are so important that they can't just be ignored. I need an answer from you before I come home because I have big decisions to make. You can call me any night after 7pm west coast time."

And then he was gone. I hadn't even remembered to wish him 'happy landings' the way I always did when he left.

I don't even remember the journey home. I know that I cried and sobbed almost the whole way until I'd finally pulled into our driveway, stumbled into the house, and thrown myself down on the settee to cry myself to sleep. The rest of that day had simply passed in a blur. I remember that I switched the TV on to try to distract myself, but I've no idea what was on.

Over the following days, I couldn't think of anything else. I knew, in my heart, that I didn't want to share my body with anyone but Duncan, but I was beginning to realise that I could very well lose him if I didn't.

We'd arranged a few days together when he returned. I was to fly to our holiday destination, arriving in the afternoon and booking into the hotel and he would join me there when he landed on the last flight of the evening. It was a quiet place that we were going to, somewhere that we could spend 'quality time' together and I'd really been looking forward to it. I felt that a phone call was too impersonal and that I should wait until we were alone together to talk it all through – without the anger – calmly and rationally. I did, though, send an email to confirm that I'd be at the airport waiting for him when he arrived.

On the evening before my departure, Pete turned up to return Duncan's car. As soon as he saw me, he knew that something was wrong and, although I wouldn't normally have been comfortable about being alone in the house with him, I allowed him to come in and talk to me. He was a good looking man; a little older than Duncan and separated from his wife while he waited for the divorce to go through, and he also had a very pleasant and sympathetic personality. It didn't take long for me to break down in tears and tell him about our problems.

He was sympathetic, at least to begin with; so much so that I was happy to let him put his arms around me and offer me some comfort. I was still sobbing – I remember seeing the wet patch my tears caused on his shirt – but then he started to tell me that what Duncan was saying was perfectly true. That 'wife sharing' was both natural and fun, and that it certainly couldn't harm a relationship as long as both partners were able to be honest with each other.

Then, as I tried to take in what he was saying, he placed a hand beneath my chin, raised my face upwards, and gave me a very gentle kiss on my lips. I can't recall being shocked – I think I'd more than half expected it – and I was in such a highly-charged emotional state that I didn't even think of pulling away from him. The second kiss lingered and, if I'm honest, it felt really good to be held close and kissed so softly in that way.

Gradually, it seemed as if my mind went from total confusion into a weirdly neutral state, before deciding that this was nice and telling my body to just enjoy. I began to respond to his kisses and I could feel myself becoming aroused. I put my arms around him and, when his hand came round to take hold of my breast, I didn't think about it at all because it seemed so perfectly natural. The thin top I was wearing (I didn't have a bra on because I'd just been 'slopping around') meant that he was able to feel my nipple which immediately hardened in response to his attentions.

I've no idea how many times we kissed, but I do know that they became increasingly frantic. I was clinging to him fiercely by the time he slid his hand up inside my top, raised it, and lowered his face to begin kissing and gently suckling on my nipples. As he was doing that, I realised that his hand had found its way to my thigh; that it was gently stroking the flesh beneath my skirt and slowly moving upwards and my breathing was almost racing out of control.

When his tongue manoeuvred its way into my mouth, it was almost as if I'd been pre-programmed to respond. Without any thought for what I was doing, I eased my right hand down to the front of his trousers and found what seemed to be a huge swelling beneath the material. Just for a second we broke from the kissing and gulped in deep lungfuls of air and then I brought my left hand from around his neck to caress his cheek and draw him to me for another kiss as his eager fingers reached the material of my panties. I guess that his dreams – and Duncan's – were on the way to being realised.

But then I caught sight of my wedding and engagement rings on my left hand and it was as if I'd suddenly been plunged into an ice-cold bath. Instantly, my hand released the erection that now seemed to be threatening to burst through his zip and pushed his hand away from my crotch.

"No... stop!" I commanded, but he still tried to carry on, still tried to kiss me again, and still tried to get his hand between my legs. Genuinely frightened, I pushed him away with all my strength and managed to break free for long enough to stand up. "I don't want to...."

"Yes you do!" he grinned, "I can feel that you do. Come on, Baby... you know you want it... and I've got a lot more to give you than Duncan has... believe me!"

"Enough!" I almost screamed at him, "Get out... now!"

I thought he was going to be nasty. Certainly the look he gave me was threatening to say the least, but then a slow smile had spread across his face. He'd stood up slowly, which made me take a nervous step backward, but he went to the door and as he opened it, he turned and said; "You just wait 'til you're in America, Babe. We'll open your eyes... and then you can bet I'll get my turn with you.

"What is it with you Americans?" I'd yelled, "Land of the free and home of the cuckolds?" but I didn't give him a chance to reply as I kicked the door shut and quickly turned the key in the lock.

"Hey! What about my lift to the airport?" I heard him yell, but I'd just yelled back, telling him to call a cab.

That night I cried myself to sleep again and I wasn't desperately happy as I headed towards our holiday spot the following day. It was horrible to realise that I was vulnerable; that in the right circumstances – no matter how difficult they might be to find – I was probably capable of being unfaithful to the man I'd married. It made me feel dirty and ashamed.

Throughout the day, I'd desperately tried to put my thoughts in order. I knew that I didn't want to have a sexual relationship – even the brief and meaningless ones that Duncan fantasised about – with anyone else; but I also knew that if I simply refused, I'd be putting our future together at risk. The best I could was offer a compromise; I'd go to America with him, but we'd have to start our family before I could think of doing anything like that. I could offer him a 'definite maybe' if that would be enough to keep us together.

So that had been the decision I'd made five years earlier. I'd accepted that, no matter how wrong it seemed, I would eventually have to let at least one other man have sex with me in order to keep our marriage alive.

Now, as I sat waiting in the rapidly warming Mondeo, I recalled how I'd sat in this airport and waited for him to arrive; desperate to see him and to talk to him; desperate to explain that I was willing to let him have his greatest desire if he was willing to be patient about it. Then, as tonight, I'd watched all the other passengers come through off the last flight until, just after the last of them had disappeared and I was becoming desperately anxious, I'd heard an announcement summoning me to the information desk.

I'd rushed there in a state of panic wondering what was wrong; wondering if there'd been an accident but, when I got there, the lady behind the desk just asked me for ID and, when I'd nervously produced my passport, she'd just handed me a large envelope with my name on it.

The letter that was in it was in my hand now, but I didn't need to read it. Over the last five years I'd read it so many times that I could recite it by heart.

There was no address on it, and not even a 'dear Julie.' It went straight to business:

"I've done my best to make you see that there is just one small thing missing from our marriage, but I'm afraid your British reserve has defeated me. We could have been so happy. You could have been so happy because you're absolutely made for the lifestyle I've dreamed of. You've got the looks, the sensuality, everything! But you don't want what I want and I've finally had to accept that and realise that I need to move on.

"You've probably guessed that I've already started seeing someone else – a very beautiful lady who's perfectly happy to indulge me in the way I want her to. Therefore, I'm going to arrange a quick, blame-free divorce so we can both get on with what we want to do.

"As you're reading this, I'm actually at our house, packing my belongings. I'll be gone first thing tomorrow. I know it probably seems a bit cowardly, but I think its best this way. I won't be in touch with you again. The name of the lawyer who's handling the divorce is at the bottom of the letter. You can contact me through him if you really need to, but I'm hoping that you won't. I'm not taking anything other than my personal stuff. The house and everything in it is yours to do as you wish. The finances are no problem as we both kept our own accounts.

"I wish you well, my darling and there'll always be a place in my heart for you."

And that had been it... the end of the marriage. I'd left the airport in a daze... totally stunned and disbelieving. Once the taxi had returned me to the hotel, I'd frantically tried to ring his mobile, but I kept hearing that the number wasn't recognised.

How much did I cry? Well, I'll leave that to your imagination. The divorce went through with astonishing rapidity – it seems that it's a lot easier in some parts of America than it is here – and I was eventually informed that it had been finalised. All the efforts I made to get in touch with Duncan were wasted. I haven't seen him since the last time I drove him to the airport.

A few weeks after the divorce, I met Pete when I was having my lunch break in a small café near the school. I asked after Duncan and he told me that he'd remarried and was doing fine.

"You could have had it all, you know," he'd said, "as a matter of fact, you still could if you'd like to have dinner with me tonight." And he'd given me what he appeared to think was a winning smile.

"No, thanks," I'd told him. "It's a bit like being offered a hankie when you're crying... nice to be offered but you just don't know where it's been." Then I'd smiled politely, left, and headed back to work.

I was now trying to work out why I'd kept that letter for five long years. Then I held my left hand up to the light from the streetlamps and saw the glimmer of the new engagement ring on my finger. It wasn't anything special to look at, but it meant so much to me.

It had taken me over three years to accept a date again. A teacher from another school – a rather shy, but very gentle widower in his early forties – had stammered his way so painfully through an offer of a night at the theatre that I would have felt terrible about refusing. I was now glad that I didn't because, once we started going out together regularly, I realised that he was actually a beautiful man.

It was almost a year before we had sex. It wasn't spectacular; the earth didn't move for either of us, but it was gentle and it was genuinely loving. It made me feel totally contented when we cuddled up together and fell asleep in the bedroom of my new apartment. The following morning, now that the ice had been broken, it was better; much better. And it has continued to grow better each and every time. For all his shyness, he is a truly caring person and, although I wasn't overcome with love instantly as I had been with Duncan, love has found the two of us and it has grown.

I wanted him to be aware of the reasons for the failure of our first marriage, so I told him about it. It was a terrifying thing to do, believe it or not, but he listened patiently and without interrupting. I even showed the letter and, after he'd asked what I now felt for Duncan, and I'd told him that he was no more than a fading memory, he'd said.

"I love you, Julie. I want you to deal with the ghosts of the past. As soon as you've done that, I'd be deeply honoured if you'd be willing to become my wife. And I promise that I will never ask you to do anything that repels you; I will never ask you to sleep with anyone and I swear on my life that I will never sleep with another woman."

They were the first tears of happiness I'd shed for a very long time.

Duncan's letter, wrinkled and stained to the point where it was virtually unreadable, was still in my hand. I looked at it, smiled with no more feeling of regret, and slowly tore it into small pieces. Just after I left the car park, there was a waste bin, and I dumped the pieces in it, then I parked up for a moment, took out my mobile phone and pressed the speed dial.

"Hello, Julie,"

"Hiya, Mike."

There was a short silence as each of us waited for what came next, and then I said: "You gave me good advice. Coming to the airport tonight did the trick... no more ghosts, Mike... no more ghosts."

"Then...?"

"Can we start making arrangements?" I said. "I want to get my hooks into you before anyone can!"

I heard his lovely, gentle laughter and felt a powerful wave of wonderful emotion wash over me. I said, "I'll have to go now. I'll see you in the morning. I'm going to sleep well tonight because I know I'm going to be your loving wife."

"Oh, yes... yes, please," he whispered.