Emma

As mentioned elsewhere, I have related several stories confided to me for general interest, building up a small archive of such tales. In all the others, I have projected myself into the mind of the teller, and have written the histories, as if they were my story. However, in this case, I found that approach impossible to follow, so instead have resorted to reporting the interview more or less as it occurred. To recap -- I had advertised for husbands who had unfaithful wives and this was one of the subjects who replied.

When Mark Pemberton knocked on my door at exactly the appointed time, I knew absolutely nothing about him because he had been unusually reticent on the telephone. All the others who answered my advert had started blurting out their stories over the phone but Mark had said little apart from, "I saw your advert -- can I see you?" It was fairly certain that he would be telling me about infidelity but not guaranteed.

He was about 5' 11" but looked taller due to a slim frame. I guessed that he was one of those unfortunates would lose his thin fair hair in early middle age. He wore spectacles but had a rather youthful countenance. I was actually surprised to find that he was aged 28 because he looked much younger - but that was probably due to the rather unworldly cast to his rather pleasant face.

Engaging in the usual pleasantries about the weather and any trouble he might have had finding me, I got him comfortably seated. Near to him I had placed an ashtray and a glass of water, (he had refused anything else). To my right hand was a tape recorder and I held a notebook casually on my knee. I leaned back, indicating by body language that the floor was his but he just fidgeted and gazed unhappily at his feet. At this point, the stories of the others had come flooding out but with Mark, I realised, the details would have to be eased out of him. From experience I knew that it was locked up tight inside him so decided, by gentle questioning, to ascertain just background details and avoid the reason for his visit until he was in a more relaxed frame of mind.

I was able to establish that his wife Emma was the same age as him, that they had been married for eight years and that they had a five year old son. Unusually, they were childhood sweethearts, had been going together since they were fifteen and neither had been out with anyone else before then. Almost unbelievably it seemed that they were both virgins at their wedding, aged twenty, after five years courtship. I ascertained that he worked in the offices of a large insurance company and that until their child was born, his wife had been a hairdresser. His salary was enough to keep the family but not in plenty.

Mark was still very tense so I asked if he had brought any photographs of his wife -- I had requested these over the phone when making the appointment. For the first time his face showed a hint of a smile as he produced them.

There were a lot of photographs spanning the more than twelve years of their relationship. An early one from when she was sixteen showed a bright faced wholesome girl -- the look that most girls are eager to lose. Emma obviously did not want to lose it because, over the succeeding years, although her face matured, the look remained. I could tell that her bone structure was good but it was as if she contrived to remain ordinary. Her hair was natural slightly waved honey blonde without any trace of artifice and although pleasantly feminine was most definitely not stylish. All of her clothes could be described as maintaining modesty, again feminine but avoiding any hint of sexuality. She wore nothing in any way figure hugging, the skirts too long and blouses invariably fastened right up to the neck. After all that, the low heeled shoes and minimum make-up were par for the course.

The very last picture was completely different. In it she was wearing a black, strapless ball gown that was slashed right up to the hip. It clung to delightfully full breasts as if painted on and with a great deal of flesh left on show. Her hair was piled up on her head looking very classy and the ensemble was completed by very high heeled stiletto shoes. In all the other snaps she was a pleasant looking self effacing girl, in this one, a beautiful vibrant sexy woman. I was amazed at how good both her body and legs turned out to be. And then there were her eyes.

In my youth I convinced myself that by simply looking into a girls eyes, I could tell if she had ever been screwed. I was not able to prove this scientifically but was never wrong in my expectations. I went with a few girls that I had marked down as virgins and got nowhere but with almost every girl I believed had previously opened her legs to someone; I managed to get my end away. One girl in particular came nearest to proving my case. I first went out with her when she was sixteen and had that virginal look. She told me, 'I could never do anything like that', but two years later when her eyes had a different look, she was almost as eager to hump as me. I tell this only because, in the picture wearing the black ball gown, Emma's eyes were most certainly different.

"Your wife is a very attractive woman," I told him.

"Yes she is," he agreed, but I felt that his words held elements of both pride and regret.

"You must be very proud of her."

"I used to be," he said but then added, "I suppose that I still am in a way."

So he was proud her as a nonentity but not so much now that she was a woman any man must desire. I had prodded a bit but his change of opinion had to do with the yet to be divulged infidelity, so I backed off until he was ready to tell me. "Have you had a happy marriage?" I asked, changing tack.

"It was very good at the start but after Jason was born it got a bit boring when we could no longer go places and the last six months has been..."

He started to choke up so I quickly changed the subject. "Can I ask about your sex lives?"

That was good, pleasant -- you know 'nice'."

These were not the words that I would use to describe sex so I dug a little. "Lots of foreplay, variations, different positions?"

"I know what you mean but no. We kissed a lot and I fondled her breasts, she played with me and I sometimes put my fingers inside her vagina but that's all. We always did it the same way too with me on top."

"And you are happy with that?"

"I was," he said. "I always thought that was what sex was. But then a friend at work lent me a porno magazine. I could not believe what I was seeing and it exited me. I started buying my own from a sex shop and we used to swap. Soon after that I started getting videos that I watched on Friday night while my wife was visiting her mother. My friend went on holiday and brought me three back from Amsterdam which were the best that I had seen so from then I watched those over and over again but still kept buying the magazines."

"Didn't you want to do that kind of stuff yourself?" I asked.

"Yes I did and that is what caused the trouble. I wanted to do it with Emma -- the thought of another woman never occurred to me. The trouble was that I had no idea how to broach the subject; several times I started but then chickened out. I was getting more and more frustrated so in the end I decided that the best thing was to take her by surprise to just do it. One night I got near to the top of the bed and just stuck my penis in her mouth."

Mark had to take a big swallow before continuing. "She took it out again and said 'What the hell are you doing?' I explained that a lot of people did that as part of sex, I said that it was pretty normal. So she did suck it for a couple of minutes without any enthusiasm but then she stopped and asked, 'What happens if you ejaculate?" I said that she was meant to swallow it but at that she pushed me away, called me a pervert and said that it was disgusting. She said that if I wanted that kind of thing I would have to go to a prostitute. Foolishly I asked what would she do if I did go to a prostitute and she just said, "Divorce you."

"Did you talk about it afterwards?" I asked casually, not wanting to interrupt the flow.

"No, in fact we hardly talked at all for two weeks and only made friends in bed the night before I was going away on a course for five days. I returned home hoping that everything would be back to normal but instead all hell broke out because Emma had found my porno collection." She ordered me to take the whole lot out of the house and get rid of it - though I did manage to hide the videos in the car and later bury them in the garden. Actually it might have been a lot worse. She shouted a lot and said that now she knew where I had got my filthy ideas but in a funny kind of way, I felt that she was not quite as annoyed as she pretended. She seemed to change after that though."

"In what way?"

"She made no further reference to the porn and that was unlike her but mainly the change was in the way that she dressed. For the first time she started wearing tight sweaters, shorter skirts and high heeled shoes. Then she bought a gown for the ball. I thought she looked almost naked in it and objected. She said that if I enjoyed looking at other women's bodies then I could not object if she let men look at hers. This was the only reference back to the videos but it established the fact that I now had no right to object. I don't dance and usually don't object to other men dancing with Emma but this time it was different. At the ball, men were queuing up to put down their names for a dance and I didn't like the look in their eyes."

At this point I felt that Mark had reached the stage where he would feel able to tell me the reason that he had come to see me but first I wanted to set the scene. Calling for a short break I gave him a special drink of my own devising. It was both delicious and refreshing but contained one or two additives, one a powerful relaxant and another a derivative of the date rape drug Roxinal. The main lights gradually dimmed to be replaced by blue tinged background lighting and at the same time soothing music started to play at a low volume. I also activated the microphone in the headrest of his chair which was connected to secret recording equipment. The tape recorder that I had on show was seldom if ever used but its presence switched off dispelled any fear that their words were not strictly private. I must stress that despite these were precautions, no one was ever privy to these recordings beside me.

When Mark had almost emptied his glass and contentedly settled back in his chair, I said softly, "You came here to tell me something about your wife?" His words came out steadily and unemotionally and the section that follows is a direct transcription of his words:-

***

I got home just before eight o'clock as usual. The last hour at work at work I had enjoyed a few hands of cards with some of the guys who were also in no hurry to dash off home. If I could get home for six I would do because then I could spend a quality hour playing with my son but between seven eight I reckon is the worst part of his day, eating supper, getting bathed and then to bed. Being around at that time is all hassle so I give it a miss by hanging on at work and then catching up with by playing with him at the weekends. This way, I get home nicely in time to read Jason a short story in bed before he goes to sleep then back downstairs for my evening meal.

This night I had finished eating and was sitting reading the newspaper holding it up in front of me. Again this was habit, for I had found that I could finish the paper while enjoying a protracted cup of coffee until the more interesting, after watershed, television programs started at 9p.m. Scanning over the television programs for the evening listed in the paper, I mentioned that a good film was on at 11p.m. but it would not finish until one thirty in the morning.

From beyond the newspaper, Emma said, "I'll give that a miss because I'm rather tired. I've had a rather hectic day."

"I will probably stay up and watch it by myself," I told her. "I remember enjoying it a lot when we watched it before."

"Do you want to hear what I have been doing?" she asked.

"I'm all ears," I said. I knew from her tone that my wife wanted to chat whether I had said yes or no. I didn't lower the paper having developed the knack of listening to her with half an ear and then making appropriate noises while continuing to read.

"Put the paper down then. I think that you should listen to what I have got to say," she ordered. This occasionally happened when she wished to observe my facial reaction to some salacious gossip about a neighbour or friend.

Removing the look of impatience from my face, I carefully folded the newspaper and propped it up on the table in such a way that than an unread article was presented obliquely to my eyes. "You have my undivided attention," I told her.

"Do you remember Ken Eddison, little Simon's dad?"

I glanced at my article and managed to read the first paragraph while pretending to think. I could not remember the father but the child, as occasional best friend of my son, came easier to mind. "Didn't he come to the house to collect Simon after the party last year?" This was pure logical guesswork.

"Yes he did. Do you remember what he looks like?"

Again going into thinking mode gained me another paragraph but then I realised that I did remember the man. "Fairly tall, heavily built, black hair and a very pale face. Didn't you tell me that his wife ran off with a double glazing salesman about three or four years ago?" It was that item of gossip which had caused me to take note of his appearance."

"I'm glad you remember him because I saw him today."

"Where?" I asked dutifully, my eyes straying back to the newspaper.

In a conversational voice, Emma said, "After I dropped Jason off at school I drove round to his house. He seemed surprised to see me -- I honestly don't think he really expected me to turn up. When he didn't speak, I took hold of his hand and led him upstairs. In the bedroom I bent down and took off my knickers. Ken was standing behind me and although we were not touching, I could feel him trembling. Then I just lay down on the bed and let him fuck me."

I looked at her quickly then and gave a short laugh. My immediate impression was that she had worked the trick of slipping something outrageous into the conversation to catch me out as not really listening. One look at her face told me that this was no joke but before I could speak, she continued in the same level tone.

"It was very quick, in fact he hardly managed to get inside me. Then, I undressed and got properly into bed and we screwed until it was time to pick our kids up from school. By the third or fourth time he had got far better control."

Thoughts were cascading through my head but not one could find its way to my mouth so it was Emma who broke the silence that had developed between us. "Anyway -- That's the reason that I am so tired. I thought that you ought to know."

I may have nodded my head but I know that my vocal chords were completely paralysed. Emma studied my face and a slight look of puzzlement crossed hers. My face muscles seemed to be frozen so perhaps I was presenting an impassive reaction to her news. "Do you want to ask me anything," she said.

This time my head moved from side to side showing bemusement rather than lack of questions. My head was flooded with questions but I was unable to vocalise them.

"His cock is bigger than yours -- I guess that you want to know that," she offered with just a hint of a smile on her face. "It was stiffer as well but you would expect it to be stiff after going nearly four years without."

"Why?" I asked with a rush as the barrier broke.

"Why did I do it or why have I told you?"

"Both -- why did you do it?"

"Mainly because I felt sorry for him. I also thought that tapping into all that pent up passion might be fun - I also expected that his penis would be even bigger than it was. He gives the impression of being a big man. He takes Simon to the swimming baths at the same time as me. Usually we chat in a group of others but last time we were sitting by ourselves. I asked about his life and he told me that apart from his son the rest of his life is completely empty and has been since his wife left. A button on my blouse had come undone and while we talked he could not take his eyes off my tits. On the spur of the moment I said that he could screw me if he wanted. The poor bugger could hardly speak so I just said I would call at his house the next morning."

"Will you be seeing him again?"

Emma shook her head emphatically. "Only at the swimming baths. I enjoyed my time with him but it was a mistake. He wanted me to move in with him of course but by then I had decided that I didn't really like him. In fact by the time I came home I was beginning to understand why his wife left him."

Her answer gave me more than a small measure of relief but made me badly want an answer to the other question she had offered me. "Then why have you told me? If it was a mistake and you don't intend to do it again with him then you could have kept quiet and I would never have known."

"I don't think Ken will accept that I don't want to see him and will start ringing up and pestering. Besides that, I am sick of the secrecy. Most of the others were not mistakes and I think that you should know about them. I don't particularly want to hurt you but it is only fair to say that I have done with other men all of those things that I refused to do with you."

My feelings of relief disappeared in a flash and a hard knot of dread developed in my stomach knowing that there had been other men before that day. Despite her protestations, I felt desperately hurt at the news that other men, on a casual basis, had known Emma more intimately, than she had allowed me to be during all our years together. "How long have you been cheating me?" I asked. "Please don't say it's been happening all the time we have been together."

"Under a year. In fact less than that -- from the middle of last summer to be exact." She said this as if the relatively short duration of her betrayals made it somehow all right.

"Last summer," I repeated, trying to cast my mind back for any clue that might have told me.

"From when I bought that special dress to wear to the charity ball."

"The £200 one?" It had been the most expensive garment that she had ever purchased. Because it was for such a special occasion, I had actually doubled the amount that she was allowed to spend."

"I lied about that," Emma confessed. "I said it cost £200 reduced from £600 but it was actually £600 reduced from £1200. I could not afford it but I wanted it so badly -- you said that it was made for me when I put it on at home. So when nobody was looking I stuffed it under my coat. It's the first thing I have ever stolen so I probably did it very clumsily because I was stopped as I tried to leave the shop and taken to the manager's office. Of course I tried to bluff but he made my excuses seem very silly and then he pointed at a notice that said thieves were always prosecuted. That is when I started to cry. I felt like crying anyway but I put it on a bit hoping that it would make him take pity on me."

She paused, took one of my cigarettes and lit it carefully before continuing. "It seemed to work because he looked less stern. So I sobbed even louder and said 'My husband will kill me if he finds out. I'll do anything if you just let me go and forget about it'. 'Anything?' he said in a certain voice. I suddenly realised what he was asking but still said 'Yes' -- it seemed that putting up with a few minutes unpleasantness was better than all the hassle if I refused. He went and locked the door then came back and asked if I was sure. I was not sure but I gave an affirmative answer. Then he stood in front of me and pulled down his zip."