A Short Story - Footballer Vanessa

I met her as I walked pushing the pram with my second child, a baby, down the canal path. She'd dropped a book. I stopped to pick it up.

She was dressed smart in a trouser suit. Her smile was sharp, her face round. Her dark hair had a side parting, and at first look I thought she was a young man.

"I'm sorry." Were the first words she uttered to me.

"No problem!" I replied. Her hands were plain, white cuffs sat smartly below the ends of her jacket sleeves. The pin stripes were bright pink set against the dark navy cloth. Her brogues were black and immaculately polished.

Her blue eyes watched me, and I'd never felt like this before. I'd never fancied girls, I liked boys, but I had a curiosity. I had crushes, KD Lang was my secret crush and I liked Sandy Toksvig too. I never intended to experiment with the same sex, I thought my husband was my forever person.

This woman started talking to me, she asked if I was the childs nanny. She was bluffing of course, prying to find out more about me. She was interested in the baby in the pram, but her real regard was for me.

She asked me if I'd like to meet for a drink and we exchanged numbers. I don't know she'd asked me, a married mother of two. I wore wedding and engagement rings, she chanced her arm and came up trumps.

Two days later, I was drinking white wine with her in a bar in Soho. Her in a shirt and chinos and me in my favourite dress. We talked and chatted, it was like she'd known me forever, and for me, she was interested and gave me attention.

I never wanted to leave my husband, I had never contemplated it, but three months later, she was picking me and my suitcases up in her smart Volvo and driving me to her new home.

She consoled me, I'd left my husband and kids. But, I knew this was the right thing to do, for me. The first time in my life, I'd made a decision that was purely selfish to move in with my life companion, my soulmate.

We'd soon purchased a house together, she helped me do a marketing degree. My kids visited in the holidays and every third weekend. My husband had his parents support him and the kids, my friends had mostly deserted me, but I was making new ones.

My husband filed for divorce and I gave him everything to start my new life. It was perfect, sex was good when it happened. I enjoyed it, but it wasn't regular, not like it was with my husband, plentiful and frequent.

As time went on. We took each other for granted, we were busy with our jobs. We read instead of talked. We hired a cleaner.

The cleaner was young, she busied herself in the rooms where we were not. She was shy. She lived with her boyfriend. I didn't really take much notice of her.

I learned she was a footballer, she wanted to be an influencer, she showed me her instagram. And I helped her, I advised her.

She wore shorts when she cleaned. Her legs were muscly and shiny. She bent over in front of me, deliberately I think. But her arse was tight and firm. We had a chat in the hallway, by the stairs, its where we kissed. Out of nowhere, her top was off. We were on the stairs and my hands in her pants.

Natalie was different, she was young and keen, she seemed interested in me. Oh, how she kissed me. A new infatuation had begun.

I sat my companion down, I told her we need to talk. She was devastated by my news. She told me my behaviour was unforgivable, I'd betrayed her. She moved out, and asked me to buy her out of the house.

Was I sad she'd gone. I don't honestly know. Everything was humdrum, it was average. I could tell, though, Natalie wasn't average. Nothing would be average.

I was now in love, she was in love with me. I asked her to move in. It was like living with a messy girl. She'd gone from cleaning to creating the mess.

She became confident, she was a girl, different to my crushes, different to my ex, she was exciting, spontaneous and fun.

Natalie, the footballer is mine.