A Midnight Meeting

I felt horny and frustrated, although feeling that way didn't seem to be anything unusual just lately. That was basically because I'd lost my job a few months ago and my wife, Ellie, apparently felt that sex with man who is out of work was beneath her. Okay, so it was my own fault that I'd become unemployed, but there are times when bosses treat their workers with just too little respect, and mine had. Sarcastic remarks over my wanting a couple of hours off to see an emergency dentist in order to get a missing filling replaced had been the last straw, and I must admit that I did enjoy seeing him sitting on the floor looking bewildered, with blood dripping from his nose and my clenched fist held in front of him as a warning of more to follow.

Ellie appeared to think that I ought to have let him carry on calling me a wimp for not wanting to put up with raging toothache, but perhaps she hadn't realised that this was just the latest in a long line of managerial put-downs I'd taken from him. But whatever she thought, she used it as a reason to call a sex strike until I was back in employment. Not that she'd explicitly said so, but every time I made advances, she pushed me away, claiming to be too tired after working at her part time bar job three evenings a week. Strange that, because previously she'd regularly been as randy as a rabbit before when she came home. I could tell things had changed when she began wearing a nightie all of a sudden, and in midsummer too. I refused to play her game, I still slept nude, when I could sleep at all that is. You tend to punish yourself enough for being out work, without having your wife promptly jumping on the bandwagon as well.

This particular night I lay beside her, listening to her breathing and wishing we could make love the same uninhibited way that we always had over the preceding eight years of marriage. She wasn't asleep, or I didn't think she was, but she presented me with the cold wall of her back and began breathing deeply in a pretty good imitation of slumber. I knew I was wasting my time, but I still loved her and needed the feeling of closeness with her, and so I rolled on my side and spooned against her back, hoping that she either was asleep, or was too close to it to object. Soon, lulled by the sensation of intimacy her nearness produced, I was dozing off and, right on the edge of sleep I moved closer, doing what I had naturally done countless times before, wrapping an arm around her and cupping her breast. I didn't even realise I'd done it until she spoke, her voice harsh and cold. Obviously I'd been right when I thought her awake.

'Take your hand off me, I can do without that.'

'Well I can't.' I told her, starting back into wakefulness. 'I need a little love from my wife occasionally.'

'You should have thought of that before you threw your job away.'

'For God's sake, leave it alone won't you.'

'I'll leave it alone when you leave me alone. You can't expect me to be the only worker in this family and then do without sleep just to satisfy your needs. You might have the energy, I don't.'

'But you weren't working this evening.' I complained.

'And you're not working any evening, or any other time for that matter.'

I won't go into the details of the row that followed as it was pretty much just more of the same. She claiming to be the hard done by breadwinner whilst I was the layabout husband, and me trying desperately to get her to see my side before finally I giving up and verbally lashing out just as spitefully as she did. The final straw came when she told me she needed to sleep and would I fuck off into another room and have a wank or something. I was out of bed in a flash, thoroughly pissed off and needing to go somewhere and cool down before things got completely out of control. I hauled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, rammed my feet into a pair of shoes and headed off out, grabbing my old leather jacket from behind the door on my way out. The church clock struck midnight just as I pulled the gate shut behind me.

I ought to explain that we live in a tiny village built at the convergence of two roads leading to the local market town, and so the houses are mostly built in a kind of an arrow head shape along the two roads, facing inwards to the village green and its medieval duckpond in between. The lay of the land is such that one road, the one opposite mine, comes down a gradual slope towards the junction and that there is a steep drop from it down to the edge of the green. Below that drop and opposite my house but about sixty or seventy yards across the pond is a bench, and that is where I tend to head for whenever I need to be on my own to think things over, although not usually in the early hours.

It's funny how the dark and the peaceful stillness of night can calm things down almost immediately, and by the time I'd walked around the apex of the green and was headed for my thinking seat I'd already stopped muttering and sulking.

That turned out to be just as well, for when I got there I found that somebody had beaten me to it. It was so unexpected to find someone there at that time of night that I hadn't even contemplated the possibility and their presence didn't initially register. It wasn't until I was a couple of yards or so away that I looked to see where to sit, and then stopped dead when I saw this person already sitting right in the middle of the bench.

It was the woman from the couple who had moved into one of the much bigger and more modern village houses on the higher road only a couple of months earlier. I didn't know them, but they seemed a nice enough couple, she smiled and he nodded whenever they passed people in the street. He was a little bit older than she was, maybe in his mid fifties, a bit of a bank manager type of person, red faced and pompous, his complexion speaking of a life dedicated to the brandy bottle, but having said that, I always found him to be pleasant enough. She herself was, I guess, around early fortyish, about ten or a dozen years older then I was, slim and elegant with blonde hair and blue eyes, although her brown eyebrows revealed that the blonde probably wasn't altogether natural. It must be said that she wasn't particularly elegant this time though. She was dressed in just a dark jacket thrown over a knee length white silk nightie and slippers. She'd obviously come out on the spur of the moment just as I had.

I'd spoken to her briefly perhaps two or three times since they'd moved in, and I'd found her to be very pleasant, with a ready smile and easy manner. There was nothing snobbish about her, although to afford the house they had bought they certainly weren't short of money. But that didn't help the fact that she was in what I had come to regard as my seat by the pond. When I saw her and came to a surprised and slightly surly dead halt she was already looking at me in some alarm. But I suppose I couldn't blame her for that in the dead of night and on her own, and I guess I must have looked still ready to do battle with somebody. I felt I just had to try and reassure her, although I didn't really choose quite the right words and they came out a bit more gruffly than I intended.

'Oh, hi! Don't worry; I'm not the local rapist on the prowl.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' She answered carefully, looking at me a little sideways. 'But you'd hardly say you were, would you?'

'No, I suppose not. Sorry, that didn't come out too well, did it?'

'Not if you were trying to set my mind at rest, no.' She smiled thinly, looking maybe just a little less apprehensive. 'You're the man from across the green, aren't you?'

'Yes.' I confirmed. 'The fourth cottage along after the post office.'

'Well I don't suppose any self-respecting rapist give me his address, or would be looking for victims at this time of night for that matter, so I guess I'm pretty safe.' She didn't sound as though she altogether believed it, though she was starting to relax a little.

'Truth to be told.' I began again. 'I've just had a row with my wife and so I've come out of the way for a bit. I tend to come here to cool down.'

'And I've come out to get a little relief from my husband's drunken snoring, so I suppose we've got something in common. But if I've stolen your usual seat you're more than welcome to join me.' She indicated the bench beside her, the explanation seeming to reassure her. 'I could use a little company, I'm not used to being out on my own at night.'

'Thanks, I will.' I sat down next to her. 'Nice to meet you, I'm Matt.' I thought I ought to introduce myself.

'Francesca.' She looked across and smiled, more openly this time. 'But just Fran to any midnight wanderers I happen to meet.'

We sat silently for a minute or two, neither of us having anything much to say, but then she spoke again.

'We've moved from the city not long ago you know, and it's strange but being out at night never bothered me there, but here, where I know statistically I'm much safer, I don't like to be out alone.' She shrugged. 'It's the unfamiliar sounds that do it, owls and such like.'

'I guess it's what you grow up used to.'

'I suppose so.' She nodded and we lapsed into silence again.

'I thought I'd sleep well enough tonight.' She began again. 'I was working in the garden all day and I felt bone tired when I went to bed. Strange how someone snoring in your ear can make you feel wide awake again, isn't it?'

I chuckled noncommittally.

'We keep saying we're gong to get someone to help out a few hours a week, but we've not done anything about it yet, so I have to keep ruining my manicure, and that won't do will it? I mean, I've got appearances to keep up.'

It took me a moment or two to realise that she was joking about the manicure, making gentle fun of herself and her status in the village, and I suppose I assumed that the someone to help out bit was part of the joke too or I might have applied for the job on the spot.

'You'll have to ask him for some gardening gloves for your birthday.' I told her with a smile, trying to be equally light-hearted.

'What were you arguing about, if it's not too private?' She asked suddenly, changing the subject.

I paused, unsure how, or even if, I should answer. But then what the hell. 'I'm out of work right now, and it's put a strain on our, err... personal relationship.'

'Ah.' She nodded her understanding. 'Conjugal rights and so on.'

'Something like that.' I didn't want to be too explicit with a comparative stranger.

'My problem is that John drinks, and when he's had too much he snores like a road drill. He swears he doesn't, but he does, and so several times a week I have to take sleeping pills. Trouble is I've run out at the moment.' She giggled girlishly and then added. 'And he's not so hot on the old conjugals when he's had a few either. But then he's not a young man anymore.' Obviously she was prepared to be more open about such things than I was.

I wondered what Ellie would think if she looked across the green from our front window and spotted me talking to a woman in her nightie, especially if she knew what we were talking about. I knew it was an innocent meeting, but I wasn't sure she would see it quite that way. I was just pleased that it was night and that we were sitting too far away to be recognised.

'Been married long?' I asked, speaking mainly to fill the silence.

'Over twenty years.' She answered. 'Mostly good, but it can sometimes be a bit difficult.'

'I know the feeling.' I raised my eyebrows ruefully, but I don't think she saw it in the dark.

'He's very set in his ways, that's the problem.' She told me. 'I mean, he's a successful man and all that, but he's lost his sprit of adventure lately and everything is routine. Every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday evening he has to go to the golf club and come back worse for wear. I can't remember when he last took me with him, and the last time we... well, you know. That was more than two years ago.'

That brought my three month celibacy into perspective. I don't think she would normally have been so candid, but I guess the darkness and its weird sense of anonymity gave her the confidence to unburden herself. In a way it was a confidence I must have shared, for I found myself being equally frank.

'I get the feeling my other half is trying to punish me for losing my job.' I told her. 'And I resent that. As if having to go without sex will make me get another one any quicker.'

'I'm sorry to hear that, but then women are strange creatures.' She smiled at me in the darkness. 'Especially as by making you go without she also has to do without herself.'

'I hope so.' I voiced a thought that had been nagging at me without my even realising it.

Fran turned her head to look at me and I saw her open her mouth to reply, but just at that moment a nearby vixen uttered one of its bloodcurdling screams and she jumped, looking wildly around her and grabbing at my hand in fear.

'What the hell was that?' She asked, looking shaken.

I shook my head. 'It's only a fox. She's calling for her mate.'

The vixen called again and nails dug into my hand. 'Christ.' She gasped. 'And they say the countryside is peaceful.'

'Don't worry about it; she'd be more scared of you than the other way around. It's her mating call. She's just looking for love like everyone else.'

'I wouldn't be so sure of that scared bit.' She told me, pausing before adding. 'So she's having to go without as well then?'

'I guess so.'

In the distance a dog fox barked and the vixen called in reply, her eerie sound coming from further away now.

'Well, sounds like it worked for her.' She sounded almost envious.

'Moral of the story. If you want something, it's no use keeping quiet about it.' I don't know why I said that, I guess I was thinking about my own approaches to Ellie.

Fran giggled. 'I wonder what John would do if I screeched like that in our bedroom.'

'I hate to think.' I chuckled at the image. 'But I bet it wouldn't be what you intended. I think you might have to keep the sounds a bit more human.'

'So do I.' She laughed. 'So if you hear that I've been arrested for standing in the market place and shouting out for someone to go to bed with me, you'll know it was your fault.'

'That wasn't quite what I had in mind.'

'No, I know it wasn't.' She answered more seriously.

We slipped back into silence, sitting quietly beside each other and, for me at least, thinking about life in general and the lack of a sex life in particular. Without knowing for sure, I had the distinct impression that is what Fran was mulling over too, and that was when I suddenly noticed that she was still holding my hand.

Our hands were clasped around each other and resting on the bench between us, and what had brought it to mind was the fact that the back of her hand was resting against the side of my leg. I didn't mind, it was quite nice actually, but I did begin to wonder why she hadn't moved it. I thought that perhaps she hadn't realised, and so I moved our hands away a little, only to find the back of my hand up against her silk covered thigh. I quickly pulled away again, glancing across in alarm only to catch a quick glimpse of what I took as a tiny smile of delight at my discomfiture.

'Sorry.' I muttered.

'Don't be.'

She moved her leg just a little as she replied so that our hands were loosely trapped, each pressed gently against the others thigh. There was nothing accidental about the contact now. We were now sitting side by side, holding hands, touching each other's legs, albeit through clothing, and staring determinedly into the darkness, and I was becoming very aware of my front bedroom window less than a hundred yards in front of us. And yet I found I didn't want to break the contact and I had the feeling that Fran didn't want to either.

'What did you do when you were working?' She asked me suddenly.

'I worked for a builder's merchant, behind the trade counter.' I told her.

'Oh.' She said. 'Did you enjoy it?'

'It was okay; I just had an arsehole for a boss, that's all.' I thought about it for a moment or two. 'I used to work on a farm before that, but new technology could do my job cheaper than I could, and that was that.'

We were still holding hands and I began to get the impression that she was deliberately pressing the back of my hand harder against her thigh.

'You've not had much luck, have you?'

'Not a lot.'

If the message I thought I might be getting through her hand was actually for real, I began to wonder if my luck could be about to change. My heart rate responded to the thought and I felt something stirring a little behind my zip.

'I sometimes wish I had a job.' She said suddenly. 'It's all very well not needing to work, but it can get boring. I mean, spending all your time fundraising for Oxfam is not very exciting, is it?'

'And are you looking for excitement?' I asked, giving her the opportunity to make any unspoken meaning clearer.

'Sometimes.' The one word answer didn't exactly help one way or the other.

Another silence ensued and as we sat there I became more and more certain that Fran was holding my hand onto her thigh deliberately, a quick glance in my direction added to my certainty. I wanted to respond but I had to be sure, because getting it wrong could give me all sorts of problems, even though not a lot was going to happen straight in front of my own windows, now was it? But if I could be really sure that she was coming on to me maybe I could arrange to meet with her on another, more appropriate, occasion. I knew my thoughts were morally wrong, and I knew the idea that an older, wealthier lady might possibly fancy me was improbable, but my malnourished libido was pushing me on.

It was, I decided finally, now or never, but it needed to be a softly-softly approach just in case. I uncurled two fingers from within her grip and began to rub the backs of them very gently on her leg, listening for any reaction either way.

Nothing. I knew she must have noticed, must have felt them, and so, emboldened a little by the lack of any unfavourable reaction I pressed them on more firmly, overtly stroking her leg with the backs of my two fingers, determined to get her to respond. I needed to know, was I pushing my luck or would I have been turning down a golden opportunity.

This time I got a response, and it was better then I might have hoped for. She made a little noise in the back of her throat, closed her eyes and released my hand, leaving it free to stroke her leg however I liked. My heart beat quickened and I felt my mouth go dry. Did I have the nerve to push it further, and how far would I need to go before I felt able to make a date with her? A quick guilty look across to my darkened home and I placed my palm on the top of her leg, making it clear what I had in mind just to be sure there was no mistake. Her only reaction was a quiet murmur of encouragement.

I must admit that her leg did feel nice through the soft silk of her nightdress. It was slimmer than Ellie's, not skinny but just slimmer enough to notice, and firmer. Fran was a horse rider and it showed. For a few moments I just let my hand rest there, taking in the sensation and getting used to the idea of what I was doing. Then I began to run it up and down her thigh, just softly and slowly, enjoying the feeling of another woman's leg and the prospect of what might possibly be on offer. I heard Fran take in a deep breath and then exhale, as if she too was accustoming herself to another's touch.

I was getting more and more turned on and less and less concerned about my wife sleeping just across the green. No lights showed, no curtains were twitching, and anyway I was too far away to be recognised, and so I pushed my guilt to the back of my mind. Even so, as I stroked Fran's silk clad thigh I kept a weather eye on my front bedroom window, ready to instantly remove my hand if I needed to.