Damn House

"Don't be so bloody stupid Dick," she shouted at the top of her voice. "If you think I'm going to let this house slip away from us, then you've got another thought coming."

"And if you think I'm going to let you go off with other men, then so have you!"

With that retort from me, she glowered at me, and turning on her heels, walked out of the room in anger.

"We'll see," she shot back at me. "We'll see who saves our house!"

------------

I was furious!

Well wouldn't you be?

My beautiful wife was proposing that she offered her good looks and fantastic body to another man in exchange for his money. It didn't matter that she wasn't going to sleep with him, that she wasn't even going to offer him any sexual favours at all.

I hated the idea ---- I detested it!

"Get used to it," she announced to me the following morning. "I'm doing it whether you like it or not. No way am I losing this house just to satisfy your damn male ego."

Well that was it really as far as she was concerned. I couldn't actually lock her up and throw the key away. So despite my continuing protestations, my threats and my pleadings, Becky confirmed her intentions to go through with her plan whether I accepted it or not. It was just a matter of time.

I felt so hopeless, so incapable, so humiliated. Becky was going to do something that I desperately didn't want her to do, but my opinions simply didn't count any more. I couldn't walk out of the house on her ---- We were broke! I couldn't even afford a hotel room for the night, never mind find myself a flat or anything.

I warned her that if she went on with her plan that our marriage was seriously at risk.

"Isn't it anyway Dick?" She replied to me sadly. "Are you sure our marriage would survive our house being repossessed. Where would we live? Where would we go?"

Alas, I had no answer.

"Just accept it please Dick," Becky went on, pleading with me, this time. "You know you can trust me darling, and I promise I won't do anything out of order ----- Please Dick, please."

I still had no satisfactory answer, other than to say we would still had one another, and that nothing mattered as long as we were together.

"Love doesn't put food on the table or a roof over our heads Dick," she reasoned. "When I worked at the bank, then I used to go out to lunch and sometimes dinner with male clients. You didn't complain then, so why is it such a big issue now?"

"That was different Becky," I claimed in anguish. "It was business and they weren't paying you for the pleasure."

"Depends on how you look at it," my wife went on, obviously having thought out her argument in advance. "I was getting paid to entertain them to get their business ---- Is that so different?

My company employed me and a couple of other attractive you female executives to do exactly that and I wore high heels and shortish skirts and left the odd button on my blouse undone deliberately---- Isn't that just the same?"

"Of course it's not the same," I cried out, but couldn't come up with any clear reasoning why it was in the heat of the moment. I'd simply never thought about what she had been doing.

"Do you think my clients didn't try to look down my blouse Dick? Do you think I never bent forward when discussing business with them to give them a better view? Do you really think they didn't enjoy looking at my bare legs? Do you think that I wasn't aware of what effect I was having on them, and that I didn't flaunt it to get what I wanted?

"But you didn't have sex with them Becky," I responded somewhat lamely. "You didn't go back to their bedrooms with them."

"And I won't do so either with the new clients Dick. It'll be just dinner, let them admire me and maybe a flash of cleavage or something. And that's it; no more than your pals get when I'm down the pub with you."

Oh God she was right as well ---- How many times had I smiled knowingly, after seeing one or other of my mates down the pub, contort themselves in order to steal a better view down her top or up her short skirt.

"No touching then?" ------ Oh Christ, I was losing this argument, and she was twisting me round her little finger.

"Isn't that what I've been saying all the time Dick," she simpered. "Please don't worry honey, it'll all be alright."

"I'm still not happy about it Becky." God ---- Even I thought I sounded pathetic.

My wife came into my arms and moulded her soft curvy body against me, assuring me that everything would be Ok, and that nothing between us would be affected. She kept on till I kissed her to shut her up, but by then I guess I'd already more or less lost the argument.

----------------

Then it happened.

I came home from work at my normal time one evening, and there was her note.

Darling Dick,

I'm going out tonight as arranged, and I promise to be home before midnight. Your dinner is in the microwave, and you just have to turn it on. Ten minutes on full power.

Please don't worry.

I love you.

I love only you.

I'll make it up to you when I get back.

Kisses,

Becky.

I can't begin to describe how I felt when I read that note, knowing that my wife Becky, my lovely, beautiful Becky, was off that very night on a date with another man.

Crucifixion could have been kinder!

I sat there on my own for hour after hour, not drinking, not eating, just waiting for her to come home. For my wife to come back to me!

Time dragged, and each minute seemed like an hour. Eleven O'clock seemed like the last week in December, and still I was sat there waiting.

A car outside maybe?

A key in the door.

All these sounds were multiplied by thousands as I had sat there for so long waiting for them.

The sound of her high heels clicking carefully down the hallway, expecting that maybe I would be long time in bed asleep.

No way.

I sensed her more than saw her as she crept into the lounge, totally unaware that I was sat there in the dark. I hadn't moved for several hours!

"Good fuck was he?" I astonished her with, and I'm sure that she jumped out of her skin in surprise.

"What are you doing up Dick?" She demanded.

"What have you been up to?" I replied.

'Nothing," she retorted shortly. "I've had a very pleasant evening with a charming man, and I'm sorry if that upsets you, but I've done nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh good," I carried on to her. "I've had a fucking wonderful evening as well."

Waste of time!

Well no, that wasn't it. We were both on different wavelengths somehow, both following different goals.

Didn't help at all.

"I'm going to bed," Becky informed me. "I've done nothing tonight that I shouldn't have, but I'm feeling as horny as hell. Please come to bed with me."

With that she turned and left the room and I heard her steps as she went up the stairs to our bedroom.

"Fuck her," I thought, and settled down to spend the night stretched out on the sofa.

Didn't sleep well ------ For all sorts of reasons, I didn't sleep well.

----------

The next couple of days were difficult --- well of course they bloody well were.

We hardly talked, and the atmosphere was stifling.

She wanted to tell me what had happened that evening with her 'date', her first night working as an escort girl. But I refused to listen, and every time she broached the subject I simply stood up and walked out of the room.

I suppose I was hoping that she would apologise ---- beg my forgiveness or something and promise faithfully never to do it again.

But she didn't!

Three nights later when I came home Becky was upstairs in our bedroom, and when I looked in she was sat there in her bra and panties applying her make up. My heart gave a jolt as I registered quite how beautiful she was, but my eyes misted up us it registered that it was not me that she was getting ready for, but some other, unknown John.

A little later Becky came walking down the stairs in high heel sandals and a tiny little black micro dress that left little to the imagination. What really pissed me off was that I'd never seen the damn dress before.

It was new ---- And she'd bought it to go out with some other guy.

"Oh haven't you seen this dress before," Becky excused herself. "Of course not, I only bought it the other day. I'm going out for dinner at the George Hotel tonight so I had to have something appropriate."

I stood there in silence not bothering to mention that the only time we'd ever been able to afford to eat at the George was our anniversary a couple of years previously. Maybe that didn't matter to her too much any more.

------------

I put up with this humiliation for another week or so, so shocked by Becky's behaviour that I felt incapable to react, as I knew I should.

I couldn't understand it. I couldn't understand why I didn't explode.

I couldn't physically restrain her of course, but I didn't have the resolve to walk out on her, and couldn't afford to anyway.

Trouble was that the sex between us multiplied incredibly, to the point where I was finding it hard to keep up.

That was good ----- but for all the wrong reasons.

After her fourth date, and at least one more new outfit that I hadn't seen before, I decided that our life together stank, and the way we were going it would soon be unimportant whether we kept the damn house or not.

I was beginning to hate that damn house!

I had two choices.

Have a bust up with Becky and probably end my marriage, or put up with what she was doing and accept it.

The first option seemed to be forever, and the second for some limited if unknown time. I worked out that if I just stuck with it, then eventually the economy would pick up and she'd get another proper job, or at worst we'd catch up with the mortgage arrears and she'd no longer have a reason or excuse to carry on with her dates.

I chose the second option ----- Rightly or wrongly I decided to go along with her, not being able to imagine life without her.

You have to understand, that it was for us, and not that damn house.

So ---- On entering the house that very evening, I went straight to the kitchen where the delicious aroma of roast lamb made it obvious where she was, and what she was doing. Putting my arms around her, I announced my willingness to accept what she was doing.

Wow!

She turned, flung her arms around me and smothered me in kisses, and before long we were tearing one another's clothes off in some sort of frenzy.

What an evening --- what a night.

The only disappointment was the lamb ------ Didn't eat it! ---- Forgot it ----- Burnt it ----Pity really.

Then the next day we sat down and talked the talk.

"I don't want to know about anything you've done up to now, but from now on, I want you to tell me all about it. Who you're with --- Where you go ------ What you do."

Seemed a reasonable request and she agreed.

"I'm going out tomorrow night with some guy," she told me. "Going to the theatre, and then on to some reception."

I was surprised to find out that few of her 'dates' were actually for dinner, most of them being for visits to the theatre and receptions, but many of them where some guy simply needed a partner on his arm to make an impression, and the prettier the girl the better.

Some were even gay!

Yes, I know --- surprising isn't it, but in certain circumstances some gays needed to put a front on.

Not a lot of risk there, what?

I almost began to feel more relaxed about the situation ---- Let my guard down a bit!

So there was I the next evening watching my wife, my women, the love of my life, getting ready to go out with some other bloke.

"Why do you have to put on that sexy underwear?" I asked her. I wanted to know. I needed to know.

"Just makes me feel better," she replied. "He's not going to see it, but it puts me more in the mood."

Ok --- Good answer --- But God Damn that bloody house!

-----------

Several hours later, a few Cognacs to bolster me, and I was sat there waiting for Becky to come home. Despite my resolve, it wasn't easy.

She'd told me that some of the girl's husbands got a kick out of thinking about their wives with other men. I couldn't follow that one, but I thought about it, and the more I thought, then the more I could sort of see the attraction.

It still wasn't for me, but maybe I could work on it. Maybe it would make my torment easier. It sort of gave me something to hang on to I suppose ---- What a thought!

She came home!

She looked no different, other than looking just a little tired.

"Had a good time?" I asked, my casual attitude hiding the turmoil that was boiling inside me.

"Yes ---- great time Dick," she replied breezily. "George was really nice to me and I met so many interesting people. A couple of politicians, and a newspaper guy and that newsreader that you like on Sky television."

I didn't know which one she meant, and didn't enquire, having difficulty to keep my jealousy hidden below the surface. She was already moving in circles that were unknown to me.

"So what did you do then," I asked nervously, worried about the answer; "Did you .... Well that is did he .... Well sort of ...."

"We didn't do anything honey," Becky interrupted me. "He gave me a peck on the cheek when he put me into the taxi, and that was that."

We stared at one another for a few moments, me lost for words. But I guess I was relieved.

"Take me to bed lover," she eventually suggested. "I need you honey --- I need my man."

----------

Three nights later and Becky went off another of her dates, this time with a chap called Peter, who needed some arm candy to attend the opening of a gallery of some sort in the City. She was home reasonably early, with a vaguely bored look on her face, and flung her arms around me enthusiastically.

"God what a boring old fart," Becky exclaimed when we came up for breath. "He never stopped talking all night, and all he wanted to talk about was Modern Art."

"I thought you liked modern art," I replied in surprise.

"Maybe," she retorted shortly. "But not all damn evening, and not when we were surrounded by his simpering admirers all the time."

"Admirers?"

"Yes," she continued casually. "Peter Martin ---- He always seems to have groupies round him."

"Peter Martin?" I responded in shock. "That Peter Martin ----- the Rock singer from the seventies? You've been out on a date with Peter Martin?"

"Yes of course."

Her casualness was most unsettling.

"But he's a famous womaniser, a flirt. He's had half the starlets on television."

"I doubt it," Becky told me. "Don't believe everything you read in the press Dick. He was harmless. Didn't even try to kiss me."

Well blimey!

That was something else.

I'm not sure what surprised me the most. That my wife had actually spent the evening with someone so famous, or that the stories about him were false.

Maybe not false ---- Maybe just somewhat out of date.

Either way, I felt relieved to discover that rich guys really would pay to just have Becky's company with no strings involved. Maybe I was worrying too much.

I refused to acknowledge the tinge of disappointment that something hadn't happened, as I found that too complicated to understand.

The weekend was free, as no doubt rich men went back to their wives then --- who knows? The following week, there were two more dates, neither of which produced anything out of the ordinary. If Becky was telling me the truth, and I had no reason to doubt her, then this really was easy money, and we'd soon have our mortgage debt paid off, and we could get back to normality.

It was the next date that started rocking the boat, when she came home much later than usual, from some function up in the City.

"Why are you so late?" I demanded when she walked in.

"Sorry," she responded. "But John wanted me to go back to a friend's flat for drinks afterwards, and it was difficult to refuse."

"You could have rang me."

"Sorry Dick. Maybe I should have. I'll try to ring you next time."

"Next time," I retorted. "You mean you're going to be as late as this again?"

"Probably Dick," she said as she glared at me. "The agency tell me I'm one of their most popular girls, and they're getting more and more calls for me."

Popular girls ---- bloody hell, what did that mean?

Didn't sound good.

"Be careful Becky," I counselled her. "They'll be pushing you to go to bed with the clients next."

The hesitation in her reply was small, but noticeable.

"They already are Dick," she informed me quietly. "They keep asking, but I keep saying no! --------- They keep telling me I could treble my earnings, but I still keep saying no!"

It was good news to some extent, except that she sounded as if she was saying no for the wrong reason. Not because she didn't want to, but because of me.

God that was confusing, and a long silence reigned as we studied each other.

"My date tonight, David," she then hit me with. "I kissed him!"

"You mean kissed him goodnight Becky,' I croaked out at her, hoping that it was on the cheek.

"No Dick," she went on staring intently at me, waiting for my reaction. "I mean I kissed him ---- really kissed him properly. He held me in his arms and we kissed for some time."

Oh Shit!

I had a job to hold her gaze but managed, my stomach doing somersaults as I took in what she was saying.

This wasn't funny any more. Shit --- It never had been.

"We've almost paid off the backlog on the house Becky," I spluttered unhappily, trying to change the subject. "I think --- in fact I insist that you stop all this nonsense, and stop working for that bloody agency."

I knew that I should have put my foot down earlier, but now she'd gone too far.

"Don't you want to know what else I did tonight honey?" Becky said distracting me from my aim.

I can't imagine a worse question to be asked in such a situation. I didn't want to know, but knew that I had to.

I simply shrugged my shoulders in resignation.

Instead of telling me, Becky undid the buttons on her blouse, and shrugged it off her shoulders. To my horror, she had no bra on, and her lovely big tits were displayed there naked before me, her nipples as hard as rocks and the area around them showing signs of hectic attention. Not a sight that I would normally recoil from, but Becky never ever went out without her bra these days. Her boobs were too big and it was uncomfortable for her.

"Where's your bra?"

What a stupid bloody question, and one that I wished I could have held back.

"Where do you think Dick?"

It was all she had to say, and I saw my otherwise pleasant life disintegrating before my eyes.

"Nothing to say honey?" Becky asked nervously when the silence dragged out too long.

"Not much," I replied despondently.

"Sorry honey," she mumbled. "I'm really, honestly sorry."

I have to say, that no stirring of my loins at the thought of some guy playing with Beck's tits occurred.

I just felt sick!

------------------

Life just sort of drifted after that, neither of us prepared to give into the other, but equally neither having the willpower, or was it sufficient hate, to finish it.

But it couldn't go on of course, and when Becky came home at seven o'clock one morning just as I was getting ready for work I laid into her.

"Do you hate me that much to torture me this way?" I demanded, upset, but calmly, not loosing my temper.

"I don't hate you Dick. I still love as much as I ever did," Becky responded equally calmly as me.

"Funny way of showing it."

"I guess you're right ---- Sorry honey."

"Who have you been with tonight then?" I carried on for want of anything else to say.

"Peter," she replied. Peter Martin."

"You didn't say you were seeing him again," I remarked genuinely surprised.

"You didn't ask," was the only answer I got.