Measuring Up

"I know," she snuffled into my chest. "I'll wait," she said, unhappily. "For as long as it takes. Just remember what I told you. There was never any contest. You won just by being you." We stood for a minute, just clutching on to what we once had.

"I'd better go and get ready then." She pulled away reluctantly and tried to smile. "I can't meet the happy bride looking like this."

We didn't speak much after that. She left about eight thirty and I made a couple of phone calls and packed my bag. One call was to the office. I told my manager that a family crisis needed my attention and asked for a week's leave at short notice. He approved the leave and told me that we would sort out later whether to class it as compassionate leave or not.

The other call was to my cousin, Ray. He had a static caravan on a site about ninety minutes away. He sometimes rented it out but, being so early in the season, it was available. I offered to pay the going rate but he told me to forget it.

I arrived at about eleven and collected the keys from reception. I took my bag out of the boot and looked around. The beds were made and there was water and electricity but no food. I needed to shop. My walking boots and rucksack were still in the car so I fetched them and changed, ready for a walk into town about three miles away.

As I plodded along, I tried to distract myself from the events of the last few hours. It was still too raw. I believed everything that Liv had said but the images still haunted me. She hadn't cheated on me. When she took that job she didn't know that I even existed. I berated myself for dwelling on it and tried again to live in the moment. I was out walking in the spring countryside, feeling the breeze, listening to the birds. The events in a squalid bedroom movie-set thousands of miles and seven years away shouldn't be allowed to intrude. I admit, I was only partially successful.

At the store, I filled my pack with tinned vegetables, bread, butter, milk and meat. It was certainly heavier on the walk back but I started to feel better. Back at the caravan, I remembered to send Liv a text. "Safe, well, warm and provisioned." I paused for a moment, then added, "Love you. XXX." I hit send.

I knew what I had to do next so, to avoid doing it, I made a bacon sandwich for lunch. I realised that I was starving as I'd had nothing to substantial to eat since lunchtime the previous day. I sat on the step of the caravan door eating my sandwich, savouring my tea and watching the sheep in the field opposite. It seemed odd, I mused. They were a prey species but they appeared to be at ease. No obvious existential angst. No feelings of inadequacy, just contentment that nothing was trying to kill them at that moment. I envied them their serenity.

I finished my sandwich and drank the last of my tea. It was time. I picked up the phone and made the call. "Hi mum."

"Where are you, son?" she asked quietly.

"Safe and well," I reassured her. "I assume that you've spoken to Liv."

"She rang me an hour ago," mum told me. "She said you needed some time apart to deal with some things." Mum paused, obviously both concerned and curious. "She wouldn't tell me why though. Just that if you chose to share, it was up to you."

I debated. "I need some time alone, mum. Then I think I might need to talk to you. Have you spoken to dad?"

"No. This is between the three of us until you tell me otherwise. If it affects him, I'll tell him; if not, then there's no need to concern him." Dad had suffered from a stress related heart condition. He'd taken a demotion to a less stressful job last year and seemed to have found a new lease of life. We weren't about to fuck that up over my issues.

"I think I'm okay mum. I'll call you tomorrow. Love you, bye."

As I washed up, I considered. I could sit indoors and brood or I could walk outdoors and brood. The weather was brisk but dry so outdoor brooding seemed to be indicated, and off I went; I find that being out in nature helps me think more clearly and the circular path I took allowed me time to muse. It was just starting to get dark when I returned to my bolt-hole. As I hung up my coat and unfastened my boots, I wondered how Liv was doing. I missed her but I couldn't imagine being there with her; seeing her; wanting her in my bed; making love to her; not yet. And there it was: another image. Him pounding into her from behind while she tried to swallow her 'boyfriend's' dick. She could swallow mine; but not his.

Shaking the melancholy off, I switched on the TV to watch the news. It was so fucking depressing that I only managed five minutes before searching the channels for something less soul destroying. I watched half an hour of an amiable comedy and decided that it was time to eat. Tinned potatoes, tinned carrots and a grilled pork chop. Filling but not inspiring. I washed up again, read for an hour and had an early night. I put my phone on to charge and before I settled down to sleep, texted Liv. "Still warm, still safe, still love you. Goodnight. XXX."

She replied almost instantly, as if her phone was already in her hand. "Still miss you, still want you, still love you. God Bless. XXXX."

Perhaps it was emotional exhaustion, perhaps the exercise, but I slept for twelve hours straight that night. The following morning I sent the two women in my life the same message. "Awake. Going to eat, going to walk, going to think. Love you. XXX."

Liv replied first. "Look after that body, it's mine! Think hard and remember what I told you! Love you. XXXX."

Mum was next. "Take care of yourself, but if you break that girl's heart you will have me to answer to. X." It sounded as though mum had spent the afternoon brooding too.

The rest of that day and Thursday and Friday followed a similar routine. I woke, texted mum and Liv, ate and walked. Each evening I would text them and we'd chat for a couple of minutes, studiously avoiding the elephant in the room. On Thursday, I ate out at lunchtime and on Friday evening I had a pint and a bar meal in a country pub ten minutes walk from the caravan. I was still affected by what I'd seen but at least I was functioning again.

On my return from the pub on Friday, I rang Liv. She seemed relieved that we were still speaking and possibly noticed that my tone seemed to be lighter. Still, she never pushed me to go home. She had promised to give me space, and she was as good as her word.

My conversation with my mother was less wary. "Mum. Will dad be about tomorrow?"

"No; he's planning on golfing with his mates from work. They're booked for a nine thirty start. Why do you ask?"

"I need your advice and this isn't a chat I want to have over the phone. To be perfectly honest, I'd rather not have it at all."

"Well now I am intrigued," she admitted. "Will you want lunch?"

"Probably," I suggested. "This could take a while."

I agreed to be there before ten and we wished each other good night. I sent Liv a final goodnight text and had another early night.

I was up early again that Saturday morning. I showered, shaved and then stripped the bed before frying bacon and eggs for breakfast. The site had a laundry service, so I dropped the linens off as I handed over the key and set off to my parents' house.

Mum opened the door and gave my appearance a thorough appraisal before she stepped back to let me in. She gave a small nod of satisfaction. I was was clean shaven and freshly showered. My clothes were clean if not particularly smart. I had slept well for a few nights and my regular walks had given me a slight outdoor tan even in the late spring. In short, at least I didn't look like a walking sack of shit.

"You look better than I'd hoped," she observed as she led me through to the living room. "I've got the cups ready. You sit and collect your thoughts while I make the tea. Then we'll talk."

Collect my thoughts; that would be a trick, like herding cats: my thoughts were all over the place. She bustled back in with two cups and then disappeared only to return with a tin of biscuits. "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten," she explained at my look.

"Thanks mum, but I'm good," I replied.

"Really?" she challenged. "That's why you and your wife have been apart this week?" She glared at me. "Have you cheated on her, Scott? If you have I'll..." She paused, unable to speak as she reached for a tissue from the box on the table.

"No mum. No-one's cheated. But..." Now it was my turn to struggle with words. "I saw something, mum. From Liv's past and I don't know if I can get over it."

"This something; is this why Liv won't tell me? She's ashamed?"

"Well yes, but not entirely. She regrets what happened, but she won't discuss it with you because it's personal to me." I knew that would sound ridiculous, even as I said it.

"I don't understand, son," my mum admitted. She's done something but it's you that has the problem? How? Help me understand."

I took a deep breath. "Since I hit puberty I've been sensitive about my..." I nodded downwards and took a sip of tea to hide my awkwardness.

Mum frowned. Then the penny dropped. "Your penis?" she said. "All this is about the size of your cock?"

"Mum," I groaned.

"Then tell me, with proper, grown-up words, why the size of your penis means my son and daughter-in-law are sleeping in different places."

I drank, put my cup down and told her. I described going for drinks after work; how Jerry seemed to recognise Liv; how her words in the pub triggered his memory; my reaction to the video that he showed me and my talk with Liv the next morning.

Mum let me talk without interruption. She passed me a fresh tissue; I hadn't even realised that I was crying. She stared at me thoughtfully. "Are you disgusted with Liv?" she asked gently. "Are you judging her for what she did?"

"No. I can't pretend I'm happy that my wife's an ex porn-star, but in her situation, women have had to make worse choices." I sniffled as I thought of my poor, darling Liv; Eighteen and abandoned by her supposedly Christian parents in a foreign country.

"It's just that I saw her, mum. I saw her come as a man twice my size had sex with her. Even the other guy was way bigger than me and she took them both. They made her orgasm, mum. She wasn't acting."

Mum nodded slowly as she organised her thoughts. "So you know that Liv has had other lovers, but that's okay?"

"Well yes. We were both twenty one when we met. She knew that I'd had girlfriends at Uni and it never even occurred to me that a girl as gorgeous as Liv hadn't had her choice of men."

She pursed her lips at that and carried on. "And these other porn videos with girls as well as men. Are you okay with them?"

"Yes. No. I mean, I'm not okay with them but, even if I'd known when we were first dating, I wouldn't have dumped her because of them."

"So you're angry because she's had sex with men bigger than you?"

I tried to explain. "But she enjoyed it, mum."

"And she didn't enjoy it with any of her other lovers or co-stars?" she queried. "Even though, to your mind, they would all be bigger than you."

"Well, yes; she probably did, but I didn't see them."

"Then your issue is that you saw a woman orgasm because a large object, that evolution gave its shape specifically to cause genital stimulation, slid in and out of her vagina and her body responded. And from that you infer that the same woman cannot, therefore, be truly sexually satisfied by a penis that is significantly smaller. Is that it?" God! But this woman should have been a Barrister, not a legal secretary in a small town solicitors' practice.

"Yes," I sighed. "I suppose it is."

"Your dad isn't huge, you know," she said conversationally. "I had way bigger than him before we met."

"Jesus mum! Seriously? I came to you for advice about one sexual trauma and you think giving me another one is helpful?"

"Oh, grow up Scott," she snapped back. "Your dad was every bit the shagger as a student that you were and he certainly wasn't my first, of fifth for that matter," she sighed. "I suppose that we were just as bad. Every generation seems to think that they invented sex."

I looked her in a new light then. Not as just my mum, but a woman in her own right with all that entailed.

"That's right," she confirmed. "Dad and I weren't born married, with the sole purpose in life of giving birth to you. We had hopes, dreams, experiences and heartbreaks. You know, the way real people do."

She looked wistful as she remembered. "And some of the sex was fun. And some of the guys, one in particular, were bigger, a lot bigger than some others. It was daunting," she admitted. "But I did it. I took him all, and you know what?" I assumed the question was rhetorical and stayed silent. She answered anyway. "It was okay." She looked steadily at me. "Not great; not life changing; not even in the top ten of orgasms before or since. Just okay."

"Why are you sharing this? Here? Now?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm. If she noticed, she ignored it.

"I'm making the point that if I had the choice of sex with him, that big-dicked boy from college, with no repercussions or consequences, or with your dad; I'd pick my husband. Of all my lovers." She grinned as I winced at her choice of words. "Of all of my lovers, your dad was the one who took pleasure in pleasuring me. The same way that you make love to your wife."

She saw my expression. "She's my daughter-in-law; she loves my son; we talk."

"So the orgasm meant nothing?" I asked.

"Is it cheating if you get hard watching a sex scene on TV?" She retorted. "No! It's a normal male response to visual stimulation. Liv's body made a normal female response to being penetrated. If she hadn't then her vagina wouldn't have lubricated and she'd have suffered even more. The orgasm was just the result of prolonged stimulation."

The conversation was uncomfortable but I sort of saw mum's point. She took my hand. "Has Liv ever complained about being unsatisfied in bed?"

"No but, because of my, uh, insecurity, I try to bring her off with foreplay, with my hands or my tongue before I; you know..."

"Actually fuck her?" my mother finished for me.

I nodded miserably, wishing this conversation could be over.

"And is your wife the kind of quiet mousey woman who would cheerfully marry a man who was shit in bed, just to have a husband?"

"Well, no. But..."

"And does she have a collection of sex toys the size of thermos flasks?"

"No mum," I sighed.

And does she remember the huge penises fondly?" she carried on remorselessly.

"No mum," I conceded.

"And is her vivid recollection of being impaled by these mega-dicks one of pain and humiliation?"

I admitted that it was.

Of course, my mother hadn't finished. "As I see it, your problem is twofold." She checked to be sure that she had my attention. She had.

"First, you are convinced that your penis is too small. Not just shorter than average; too small." I nodded reluctantly. She shook her head in apparent despair. "For God's sake Scott! How did you get an engineering degree if you don't understand how averages work? In your dystopian world, fifty percent of men should be traumatised because their cocks are shorter than average. If the average cock is just over five inches, being the length of a thumbnail shorter isn't going to make a noticeable difference."

"The second issue is how you interpreted something no reasonable man should see." She patted my hand in understanding. "You saw a recording of your wife, even though you two hadn't even met then, having sex. Not just that, but with two men, and worse still, well endowed men." She saw me recoil at the memory.

"I know, son," she whispered. "It can't have been easy for you, but put it into context. She was abandoned by her parents; alone and needed money. She was acting." Mum glared at me; daring me to argue. "She tolerated the pain and indignity, even though her body's responses betrayed her. If she'd called a halt they would probably have bullied her into re-shooting the entire scene. Doing it all over again. YOU saw her responding to a well endowed lover. I would probably have sympathised with a lonely young woman tolerating the sensation akin to giving birth in reverse, just in order to earn enough money to come home."

She was right. It was double standards on my part. I didn't really like porn because of the ludicrous scenarios used to get the characters to, well, fuck. Yet, when I saw Liv having sex on camera, I just seemed to accept it was real. It wasn't rational.

"I know mum," I admitted. "I just couldn't get those images out of my head."

"Then get into her head," my mother directed. "Stop thinking about yourself and try to imagine how she felt."

She sat and watched as I visualised my wife at barely nineteen, surrounded by people inured to meaningless sex, nervously waiting for two men to take her to bed and fuck her in front a porn-movie crew. I imagined her being given directions: "Moan louder"; "Take him deeper"; "Spread your legs wider".

I looked up, tears welling. "It must have been fucking awful for her, mum," I confessed.

"I think so too," she agreed. "But right or wrong in hindsight, she did it and made her way home and met you."

She was right. The shock of seeing the video had me focus entirely on my own feelings. Had I once in the days since, considered Liv's? No. I don't think that I had.

"I think that I need to talk to Liv. I was entitled to be shocked by what I saw, but she's never cheated on me. I need to tell her I realise that."

"So why," she asked, in her 'reasonable' tone of voice. "Are you sitting on my sofa agonising that your penis isn't big enough to bruise your wife's cervix, while she's sitting at home alone, probably in tears, waiting for divorce papers?"

I had no answer.

Mum stood. "Is that video still on your phone?" She saw from my expression that it was. "I'd made some sandwiches for lunch. I'll wrap them to go and you can share with Liv." She pointed a finger at me. "And if you haven't deleted every trace of that fucking video off your fucking phone by the time I get back then you and I are going to have a big fucking problem." And, having made her point, quite unambiguously, she strode off to the kitchen.

By the time she returned, I was able to truthfully reassure her that I had, in fact, deleted every trace of that fucking video off my fucking phone and she and I were good. I kissed her; thanked her and asked her to let Liv know that I was on my way home. I also said that, just in case it mattered, I was happy for her to share as much or as little of our conversation with Liv as she thought appropriate. By now of course, I realised that she probably would have anyway.

Liv was waiting at the door as I parked the car at the kerb. I grabbed my bag with our food parcel and walked towards her. The look of fear and apprehension on her tear streaked face broke my heart. I put my bag down and stood with my arms open to her.

She flew into my embrace, sobbing with relief. We stood like that for a full five minutes. She finally composed herself and tried to apologise.

"Don't," I told her. "You've done nothing wrong. I admit that I was shaken by that video but I needed to clear my mind and then talk to my mum to put my feelings into perspective."

Liv gave an embarrassed laugh. "I can't believe you talked to your mother about... You know?"

I picked up my stuff and took her hand. "Let's go inside and I'll share some things that I really didn't want to hear." She gave me a puzzled look and followed me into our home.

We spent the next hour talking. I told her what my mother had shared and Liv's attitude surprised me. "Your mum's still an attractive woman, even now," she reminded me. "The fact that she has a history doesn't shock me at all. You never noticed because, well, she's your mum."