One Step Behind

There was genuine sadness in his voice before he pulled himself together and continued.

"Anyway, that's more than enough about my chaotic life. Tell me about you and the gorgeous Caroline!"

So, I did. I told him how we had met and got together, how the kids were, how our careers had gone. There was nothing very impressive in our life stories, but it seemed to hit a chord within Marcus because he listened intently and became dreamy-eyed a few times, especially when I told him how happy Caroline and I had been for so long.

For the first time in my life, it felt as if I was one step ahead of my oldest friend.

We talked and reminisced for a good hour, sinking another couple of pints each as we did so. The years simply fell away; we got on as we used to and before I knew it, it was time for me to catch my train from Paddington Station back home.

"So where are you moving to next?" I asked. "After the Air BnB?"

"I've put a deposit on an apartment in Richmond," he replied. "I move in at the end of the month."

"This month?"

"In about four weeks. The Air BnB runs out in a couple of days, so I'll need to find another place."

"Come and have dinner with us tomorrow," I grinned, the beer making me bolder and less thoughtful than I should have been.

Marcus looked pleased, but unsure about it.

"Shouldn't you check with Caroline first," he cautioned. "With two teenagers in the house she won't want anyone else getting under her feet."

"She'll be fine," I reassured him as we finally parted. "She'd love to see you again."

Chapter Twelve

"How could you do it without even talking to me?" my wife demanded, clenched fists on her hips. "You didn't even tell me you were meeting him!"

I was in the wrong and knew it but wasn't going to admit that... yet.

"I thought you might like to talk about old times too," I protested. "You haven't seen him for so long and..."

"Have you forgotten what happened the last time I saw him?" Caroline asked coldly.

"What?"

"He dumped me? Remember now?"

Oh shit! In the excitement of seeing my oldest friend again, I really had forgotten that he and my wife had a history together, and one that had not ended well.

How this could have slipped my mind I cannot explain; it was how she and I had got together after all.

"You get it now?" she demanded.

"I get it," I agreed sheepishly. "But it's too late to back out now and..."

Caroline sighed.

"Okay, I'll get dinner for us. But I can't see us all being close friends again, not after what happened, can you?"

I shook my head.

***

In the end, we were both wrong, but it took a few hours to realise that.

Clearly anxious about seeing her first lover again, let alone the boy who had unceremoniously dumped her, Caroline had resorted to what for her counted as armour; the dress she believed she looked best in without looking too sexy. When she emerged from the bedroom in her knee length, figure hugging black dress, medium height heels and with pearls around her neck, she looked attractive but definitely unapproachable.

There was no way Marcus could interpret her choice of clothing as an attempt to impress him or show him what he had rejected. Though my wife seldom dressed sexily those days, even I could see this was a deliberate choice.

Marcus arrived at seven-thirty as planned, bearing champagne, chocolates, flowers and dressed in tight jeans and a polo shirt that showed off his trained body so well that even I felt a slight sexual attraction to him.

I could see that Caroline was taken aback by his appearance and grudgingly impressed. I smiled inwardly. This was a good start, but how would she handle his conversation? If he carried on as openly and unrepentantly sexually as he had with me in the pub, my lovely wife's prudish side would be put on red alert straight away.

To my relief, Marcus did nothing of the sort. After greeting Caroline with a kiss that was warm, friendly but made no reference to their former intimacy, he remained a respectful distance from both of us all evening. The conversation was bright and amusing, full of anecdotes about his life abroad, avoiding the worst sexual references and asking many genuine questions about her and our life over the decades since we had last been together.

Caroline has always been an excellent cook; the food she served that night was simple but exceptional in flavour. I could see that Marcus was impressed.

I was pleased and amused to observe that he treated Caroline (correctly) as the more intellectually competent of the two of us and listened to all she said with genuine attention. This of course thawed her attitude considerably; I could see her visibly relaxing as the evening flowed on and the second bottle of wine was finished.

By the time a third bottle had been opened and coffee served, we were all slightly tipsy. Questioned by Caroline, Marcus' stories had ventured towards his previous marriages and the reasons for their failure. I could see she was shocked by his revelations about the swinging lifestyle, but after another glass of wine, she was listening more intently, asking more and more detailed questions while Marcus and I unwisely sipped brandies.

It was well past midnight when Marcus' taxi whisked him away to his flat. He and I hugged our goodbyes in the doorway, promising to get together again soon. I noticed Caroline's goodnight kiss was a great deal more enthusiastic on his leaving than it had been when he arrived, moving enthusiastically into his embrace and accepting a kiss on the cheek, placed just a short distance from her lips.

The door closed, both of us let out sighs of relief, but for different reasons. Both a little unsteady on our feet, we chatted while we cleared the table and cleaned up in the kitchen.

"Was it as bad as you had feared?" I asked, knowing the answer. "It didn't look as if you were suffering too badly."

"No," my wife smiled, embarrassed. "You were right; it was good to see an old face again."

"And lay a few ghosts too? Is he forgiven for dumping you?"

She blushed.

"Of course. Actually I think I had a lucky escape."

"You didn't fancy a few years swinging in the desert?" I asked cheekily. "It might have been fun. You haven't had that many cocks in your life. A few more might loosen you up a bit!"

"Paul!"

Caroline looked genuinely shocked at my words. But when we went to bed shortly afterwards, I was both surprised and delighted to find that more than a little of the old Caroline's enthusiasm in bed had definitely returned.

Chapter Thirteen

Marcus moved into his new home soon after and became a regular visitor to our house. Their unfortunate history now apparently consigned to the past, Caroline had become much more at ease with her former lover. With all three now kids at school, she had more time on her hands, and willingly took on the responsibility of showing our friend the highlights and lowlights of our local area.

Their weekly or more frequent daytime trips out became part of her routine.

To help ease him into local society, we introduced him to a carefully selected group of our friends and were pleased to see both how easily they took to him. Caroline and I joked about the considerable impact he clearly had on all the women in our group, but particularly on those who were newly single who seemed to dote on his every word.

It was also amusing for me to see how their open adoration brought out expressions of unexpected jealousy in my wife. Of course she denied it when I teased her about it but having known her for so long, her denials fell on deaf ears.

Her jealousy became even more obvious when rumours began circulating that Marcus had bedded both our recently divorced female friends in quick succession. It became worse still when she learned from those friends that not only were the rumours true, but that his performance in bed had been nothing short of exceptional.

It took a couple of months before I noticed more changes in Caroline's behaviour. At first, they were subtle; taking a little more time over her make-up, choosing skimpier, sexier lingerie and newer, closer fitting dresses instead of the jeans and shapeless shirts she routinely used to wear, but these little changes compounded until over time there was no question that my wife was dressing a great deal more sexily.

She started going to the gym more too, running again and taking classes. Soon, although she still carried extra weight, she carried it much better, holding herself straighter, her buttocks and breasts much more accentuated and on display.

Even I, her harassed, over-worked husband couldn't fail to notice this, especially as to my delight, with this came more interest in bedroom activities too. There was no mistaking the fact that sex was becoming more frequent and perhaps even a little more adventurous. We weren't back to Caroline's early, demanding days by any means, but our sex life could once again be counted in terms of copulations per week instead of our previous, unenviable record of times per month or at its worst, per year.

I was even allowed oral access to her vulva again after several years of absence. To my satisfaction, this resulted in the first real, uncontrollable orgasms I had given her for a very long time.

Caroline of course denied any changes had taken place at all and became angry and embarrassed if I even alluded to them. I decided simply to keep my mouth closed, to watch with interest and enjoy the improvement in our sex lives that was unquestionably taking place.

For this reason it was even more obvious to me when, apparently overnight, it all suddenly stopped.

Not the exercise, not the wearing of shorter, closer fitting clothes; they didn't stop. In fact if anything they became even more obvious, but the free and frequent access to my wife's slimmer, sexier body that I had been enjoying so much, came to an abrupt end.

Had the changed happened slowly, gradually over time I might simply have thought it was a natural consequence of our changing lives, but it didn't. One evening we were fucking like rabbits while the kids slept, the next her soft, formerly rounded body was off limits.

It took a full week for me to realise something had changed, but there was no doubt about it. Soon almost all other forms of intimacy had been cut back too; no sex, oral or otherwise, no more kissing on the lips, no more long, lingering cuddles when she returned home from her greatly extended sessions at the gym.

By the time a second sexless week had passed, my disappointment had changed to annoyance. As far as I knew, I had done nothing to deserve what increasingly felt like a punishment. I hadn't said or done anything to upset Caroline; I hadn't flirted with any of our friends or left my wife feeling undervalued or neglected in any way.

By the time the third barren week was ending, my emotions had changed from annoyance to outright injustice. If she did not want sex, why had she led me on so comprehensively at first? Why had she tormented me by reminding me how hot and adventurous our sex life used to be, simply to refuse any sexual contact straight afterwards?

The cruelty was intolerable and, I had to say, quite out of character with the warm, caring nature of the woman I loved so much and with whom I had created three wonderful children.

Something must have happened for this sudden change to have taken place and I became determined to discover what that something was.

I did not have long to wait.

Chapter Fourteen

The revelation came on a Tuesday morning barely two, sex-free weeks later. I had left home for work at my usual seven o'clock leaving Caroline sipping tea in bed. The plan was for me to travel to Scotland that afternoon and stay in a hotel overnight before a business meeting the following morning and a long journey home.

Caroline was working only a half day, after which she was to take Marcus to meet two of our male friends who were into cycling in a big way and who, given his obvious interest in exercise, she and I thought he would get on well with.

It was only as I was packing my briefcase in my office mid-afternoon that I realised I had left an important file on the desk in our home study. Without this file, both the meeting and my journey would be useless. I had to have it.

This was not the first time this sort of thing had happened; it was one of the perils of my doing so much work at home as well as in the office. Under normal circumstances I would have phoned Caroline and she would have met me along my route to the motorway to hand over the documents.

That day however, I knew she would be out and unable to help. I would have to go all the way home to retrieve the file before embarking on my long journey North. That would add best part of an hour to what was already a long drive, but it seemed unavoidable. So, angry with myself for my carelessness, I left the office with a scowl and set off towards my home.

At this point the heavens opened and it began to rain hard. I groaned; as if getting wet wasn't bad enough, this weather would add another hour to what was already beginning to feel a long and miserable journey.

The first thing that I noticed as I turned into our road was that both Caroline and Marcus' cars were in the driveway.

My initial thought was that the bad weather must have made the idea of cycling very unattractive. Clearly their get-together with our friends had been postponed.

My second thought was that I could have called my wife after all and saved myself an annoying detour. Why hadn't that idea even crossed my mind?

My third thought was that with both cars in place, the driveway was now full, as was the street so I would have to find somewhere to park nearby.

Increasingly annoyed, I parked in a road two streets away from our house then, with my jacket collar pulled up around my face, half-ran the hundred or so yards to our house.

As I ran towards the front door, intent on flinging it open and getting out of the rain, I couldn't help noticing that the guest bedroom windows and curtains were closed.

Years ago when Caroline's grandmother had been ill, we had converted the house's integral garage into to a bedroom with en suite bathroom for when she came out of hospital. The old lady had sadly not needed it, but it had been convenient to have a good sized, ground floor suite available for the kids to have sleepovers without disturbing Caroline and me in our bedroom upstairs.

The closed curtains were odd; I was sure they had both been open when I had left for work. The window might conceivably have been closed against the rain and the cold, but to have the curtains closed at two o'clock in the afternoon suggested another reason entirely.

I brought myself to a halt underneath the house's awning and paused, at first puzzled, then suspicious.

My movements muffled by the heavy rain, I padded down the grass verge alongside the driveway, circled round the side of the house where I would be out of sight of anyone in the bedroom, then stealthily approached not the front, but the back door.

I tried the handle; it was locked. As quietly as I could, I took my keys from my pocket, selected the right one with as little jangling as possible, then inserted it in the lock. It turned easily and to my relief, silently.

Gingerly, I turned the handle and pushed. The door swung silently inwards on its well-oiled hinges as I knew it would. I slipped through the doorway and into the kitchen, closed the door as quietly as I had opened it, then stood stock still with my ears open wide.

I was just about to call out to Caroline, announcing my presence when I noticed an open wine bottle on the kitchen table and heard the sound of music coming from deep inside the house. I slipped off my wet shoes and padded as silently as I could across the kitchen and into the hallway, peering into the lounge, dining room and study as I passed.

There was no-one in any of the rooms; the music was clearly coming from the converted garage.

In my stockinged feet, I padded along the short corridor to the guest suite, taking care to walk on the outside of the floorboards where I knew from sneaking around sleeping children that the creaking would be much less noticeable.

As I approached the bedroom door, the music became louder, its rhythm more pronounced and its romantic overtones more obvious. The bedroom door was open too; the door through which the music was definitely coming.

I took a tentative step forward, then another... Then I heard it and froze in my tracks.

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"

The sounds were soft but unmistakeable. I had heard them so many times over the years they could only be coming from one person and for only one reason.

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"

They were sounds I knew well and loved to hear; the sounds of a real, fertile woman well on the way to being inseminated and loving every moment of it.

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"

There was no mistaking it; my wife, my Caroline, the mother of my three children was being fucked and fucked well.

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"

They were sounds I had heard beneath me so often, and which had three times been followed by the creation of a child inside her womb.

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh!"

But this time, it wasn't me her husband whose cock was deep inside her vagina. This time another man's erect penis was plumbing the depths of her soft, warm, body. This time another man's smooth rounded head was being pressed against the smooth pink peach of her cervix.

"Uh! Uh! Uh! Uh! Oh God; that feels sooo good!"

As if I needed to know whose cock it was. There could only ever have been one other cock buried inside my wife's warm vagina; the same one that had first penetrated her all those years ago. The cock that had claimed her virginity as I had held her hand and watched was claiming her again.

"UH! UH! UH! UH!"

The sounds grew louder and more passionate and the bed started to creak.

"UH! UH! UH! UH!"

I should have called out and stopped it. I should have shouted out in anger, bursting in on them, punching the man I used to call my friend in the face before throwing him out of the house, closely followed by my deceitful, unfaithful wife.

But I did none of these things. My chest was so tight I could hardly breathe, let alone shout. My hands, though knotted into fists, remained fixed by my side. Only my legs were capable of movement, and however strong my instinct to run might have been, the only movement I could make brought me inexorably closer and closer to the open doorway and the terrible things that were taking place in the room beyond.

Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!

"UH! UH! UH! UH!"

My stomach felt sick, my chest ached through holding my breath, my heart thumped like I had never heard it before as, slowly and carefully, I peered around the door jamb and into the room that until that moment had been a haven of love and fidelity for my wife and me.

The heat and smell hit me like a blow. With its windows and curtains closed, the room was steaming and simply reeked of sex. Whatever might be taking place on the bed at that moment was most certainly not the first copulation of the afternoon.

And what exactly was taking place on that bed?

My sweet wife lay fully naked on her front, her legs splayed improbably wide, her parted feet pointing towards the door where I stood, transfixed, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene before me. The rest of Caroline's soft, familiar frame was all but obscured by the slim, athletic, male body firmly placed between her spread thighs, its tight, buttocks rising and falling with a rhythm, power and rapidity that my own hadn't achieved in many years, no doubt driving its hidden, erect cock forcefully into her vagina from behind with every downward stroke.

Creak! Creak! Creak! Creak!