Queen Of All She Surveys

This story was inspired by two things. I had a bit of an emergency and had to call for a taxi to rescue me. The taxi driver turned out to have almost exactly the same physical disabilities as me, albeit for different reasons. As I was getting out of his car, he said,

"Of course, there is a huge difference between you and me, pal. Your wife stayed. Mine didn't -- she didn't sign up to be a carer. She wanted a man who was fit and well."

It made me very sad. He was correct, though; I am very lucky to have my wonderful and loyal wife still beside me after thirty years. She would say she's the lucky one because I'm still here and there were a couple of times in the past few years when that seemed like it might not happen. So, she is happy to have what's left of me, though she does wonder why I love a good BTB!

The other thing that inspired this story was a letter to an Agony Aunt I recently read about a man who felt that his support of his grieving brother-in-law had been abused. He had started to feel like a third wheel when his wife and brother-in-law were together.

I wrote it for my own pleasure, but I hope that you enjoy it. If you don't, please don't send me more death threats. It is only a story and though it is flattering that anything I write may evoke strong feelings, it isn't real. I don't think I deserve to die if you don't like my treatment of a particular character. Please don't waste your time because God has had plenty of chances to take me lately and he obviously doesn't want me just yet.

This will be my last story for a little while as I am waiting for three different surgeries, but I will continue to read more on here and hopefully, one day soon inspiration will strike again.

I sat looking at my luggage and the plastic bags sitting beside them. It was hard to see what was left of my life in a sad little pile. It wasn't meant to be like this. It was all going to be so different. I didn't want any of this. Well, you don't always get what you want, do you? That was the problem until very recently. I always got what I wanted on the whole.

I was the baby of the family. My sister Kate was six years older than me. My mum and dad had been trying to have me, their much-wanted second child, for years. You might have thought that my sister would have resented me or been jealous. No, that wasn't the case. I was 'her baby', not her baby sister, her baby lovingly provided by my parents for her to love. A real-life dolly that resembled the one she'd got the previous Christmas. I could even wear the same clothes.

I was universally adored, well, at home anyway. At school, I encountered the odd sour teacher immune to my charms. Fair enough, it was their loss. A few of the girls were nasty at Uni because of the way their boyfriend's eyes lingered, or their hands strayed occasionally. That wasn't my fault, was it? It wasn't like I encouraged them.

Anyway, I'd met Glen by then. My big, strong, handsome husband. He was my prince. He adored me. He couldn't do enough for me. It was not a one-sided relationship entirely. I loved him, too, of course. I was very much into the treat them mean, keep them keen, school of thinking, but I was careful never to go too far, just enough to keep him in line. Not enough to annoy him enough to leave me. Glen was gorgeous then. The girls were queuing up for him, but he was too busy looking in my direction to notice. He was so handsome and seemingly unaware of it.

We married soon after university, he started to work in the insurance business, and I became an administrator at the local college. He was successful, and we were comfortable, if not rich. He could have done more but insisted on a good work-life balance. His father was a workaholic and died when Glen was twelve before he felt he had even got to know him. Glen didn't want to make the same mistake and be working all the hours of the day. He worked hard but wanted to spend lots of time with me and our daughters when they came along. He was and is a real family man, a wonderful father to Alison and Emma.

I struggled at times with motherhood. It didn't come naturally to me. I adored my girls, don't get me wrong, but I struggled when they became more independent. Glen found fatherhood easy, though. He never neglected me either with date nights or holidays, and we had a fantastic sex life until he got ill. Even then, he was still good on occasions, as one part of him thought he was still a teenager.

Glen had developed rheumatoid arthritis. He'd retired and Glen was frustrated by his condition at first. He was very down and he went through a mourning stage, but being Glen, he eventually got through it. He said he was being selfish and self-indulgent and he needed to get a grip and get on with life. That was Glen. He wasn't selfish at all, unlike me. He did reasonably well, considering his mobility was limited and his pain. He couldn't stand or walk for long. He had a cane, a walker, a wheelchair and a mobility scooter. He used a combination of all of them depending on how his condition was that day.

Seeing my big strong husband almost shrink before my eyes was so hard for me. Yet not one person asked how I was coping or dealing with it. Poor Glen, he deserved so much better than me. The one thing he hated was me having to lift his chair or scooter in and out of the car. That really upset him to see me struggle with it. I suppose I didn't help because I did a lot of huffing and puffing about it. I'm the first to admit I'm not a natural nurse. I'll also admit that Glen would never have complained if the shoe was on the other foot. He would have looked after me. Even in pain, he was still solicitous of my needs. He looked after me. That's why what I did was so awful. I felt I deserved it. The truth was, I didn't deserve it, and neither did he.

My sister Kate and I had always kept in touch. Despite her best efforts, we weren't the closest of sisters. The family was so important to Glen that he ensured we met for birthdays and celebrations. He made all the effort on my behalf. In turn, Kate adored him and her son, Ryan, idolised his Uncle Glen as he always showed an interest in him. Kate always said she gained the best brother ever when I married Glen. I couldn't say the same when she married her husband, Peter. He was OK, but he was the opposite of my Glen. He was self-centred and narcissistic. I couldn't see it, but he was the male version of me. Glen found him hard work at times, but he coped and was patient when Peter boasted about all his wealth or tried to dominate the conversation. I think Peter saw this as a sign of weakness in Glen, a beta to his alpha. He once called Glen 'the plodder', and I should have defended my lovely Glen. I should have, but I didn't.

It was a shock when Kate died. She was 68; there was no warning of an aneurysm. Peter was devastated and he couldn't function initially. The alpha male had relied entirely on my sister, who had quietly worked behind the scenes, polishing his star. Without her, he was rudderless.

Glen, of course, was wonderful. He included Peter more, anxious that he wasn't on his own. He was very sensitive about people pushing him in his wheelchair. A stranger once pushed him out of the way in the supermarket. It was one of the few times I've ever seen him lose it. He was so cross. The only people he trusted to push him were me, the girls, our nephew Ryan and Peter. That was a big thing for Glen. That's how much he trusted Peter. He shouldn't have done.

How could I have listened to Peter and all his rubbish? He started working on me practically from the day after Kate's funeral.

"Could you come and help me sort out her things, Christina? I just can't face it on my own."

He needed my help and I soon realised he was letting things go in the house, too. That beautiful house. It would go to rack and ruin if I didn't step in. I sorted out a cleaning service but popped in often to check on him and do other jobs around the house. He seemed so lost and lonely and I liked being needed and helping him. That was unusual for me. I felt quite virtuous, selfless almost. I was helping my brother--in--law in his time of need. Perhaps at age 62, I was finally maturing?

Why was I so keen to help him? Yet so irritated when helping my lovely Glen, who really needed my help. I was so frustrated by the time everything took to accommodate his needs. The planning we needed to make when we were going out for the day or travelling. It made everything hard work. It was easy with Peter; I didn't pull away when he held my hand as we walked along the canal. I held it tight. It was such a long time since I had walked with a man holding my hand. I missed it. I was so selfish, you see. I loved spending time in Peter's house too. Glen and I had a lovely home, but it wasn't the big detached house with the electric gates that Kate had enjoyed. It was so spacious and after a while, I pretended that it was my house, that I was the Queen of all I surveyed. It was an easier life than I had at home.

Peter started to rely on me more and more; he used to cry as I held him. I was a comfort to him. So, if his hands strayed occasionally, it didn't mean anything. He needed comfort. Slowly he began to pick at me, fuelling my frustrations with Glen's illness.

"It's not fair on you, Chris. You are exhausted. I can see it. You shouldn't have to be a carer at your age. You deserve better. I'm sure if Glen was bothered, he could arrange some extra support. He needs to get over himself. It's not all about him, you know."

He kept telling me that I worked too hard, that it was all too much for me. I deserved to be looked after. I tried not to agree; I really did.

It was the cruise that brought it to a head. Glen and I had been on cruises in the past. We've never been on a river cruise, however. I had always fancied one and Glen said we would go when we retired. Of course, by the time that happened, he was ill. He couldn't do the river cruise as it was. It wasn't suitable due to his level of disability. You sometimes had to disembark by walking across other boats, and there were no internal lifts. It just wasn't feasible for people with his lack of mobility.

Peter knew all this and saw his opportunity. He would take me on a river cruise down the Rhein to thank me for all the support I had been to him since Kate died. I'm ashamed to say that I never thought of the support that Glen had given him too.

Although Peter and I hadn't slept together at this point, I was in no doubt that I had done things that wouldn't have passed the spouse test. Apart from holding hands, we'd kissed, hugged, and I had fondled him a few times; I was just comforting him in my own way. I hadn't crossed any major lines. Peter wanted more, but I said no until he mentioned the cruise. I had hoped Glen might agree; he'd always wanted me to be happy, and he knew he'd disappointed me over the river cruise. Peter was sure that if we presented it to him in the right way, he would understand. Peter was very convincing, and I believed him in the end.

Peter came up with the idea of not giving Glen any warning. That way, he would have time to overcome any misgivings while we were away. It would give him a chance to miss me.

"Chris, if he's any kind of husband and loves you as much as he says he does, he won't begrudge you this. You deserve it. He will be so pleased to have you back that he would forgive you for going away without him and for anything else," he smiled.

The 'anything else' was evident. We would be sharing the cabin. Peter would expect to sleep with me. My libido was somewhat stagnant at this point, but his idea of being with him that way held some appeal. You have to remember that he had been working on me for months at this point. I felt excited when he pushed my boundaries with the kisses and the fondling. It felt naughty. I felt desired. Glen still wanted me. Glen still loved me and thought I was beautiful; I knew that, but to have another man say the same thing excited me. Why wasn't Glen enough for me?

Peter said he would pay carers to check that Glen was OK and give him any help he needed. I knew in my heart that Glen would hate that. He was always such a proud man. That Saturday, Glen was out with Emma. He often spends a few hours with either of the girls on a Saturday afternoon. It was the ideal time to make my escape. I had packed my bags bit by bit in the preceding week. I left him a note and my phone, which was important as I didn't want anyone to be able to contact me. If I was having a holiday from real life, I couldn't let reality intrude, could I?

The note said,

My Darling Glen,

I'm sorry to disappear like this without any warning. I'm going away with Peter for ten days. He wants to thank me for the support I've given to him over the past few months. He says I need a break.

He's treating me to that river cruise I've always wanted to go on. You don't have to worry; I'll be safe. It's only ten days and I'll soon be back and things will be normal for us.

Peter has arranged for carers to come if you need them. He didn't want you to struggle in my absence. He didn't want you to have any difficulties at all. He's thinking of us both. You won't like that, but they are there if needed.

Please consider letting them help you so I won't have to worry. It's only for ten days. I love you and I know you love me, so I know you won't begrudge me this.

I'm sorry to do it like this. I couldn't bear to say goodbye.

See you soon

Love Christina x

I heard Peter's car arrive. I turned, and just for a brief moment, I felt the heavy burden of guilt. I wish I'd stopped then, but I carried on walking.

The ship was remarkably small, intimate, is how they described them. The cabin was luxurious. But so small that it would be hard to avoid intimacy in this space even if you wanted to. I tried to look away when Peter was changing for dinner. I'd seen him in his bathing suit over the years as he and Kate had a pool. This was different, though. Later that night, I knew I would see and touch his body differently. It's awful, but I was fascinated watching him dress as he did it easily, just like Glen had always done before he was ill. Now getting dressed was painful for Glen, and I hated seeing his painful struggle. How did I not realise I was about to cause Glen the worst pain of his life?

That night at dinner, Peter introduced me as his wife. That was a shock, but it actually helped. It made it all make-believe and somehow lessened any guilt I might be feeling. If it wasn't real, it couldn't hurt anybody, could it?

That night, I changed into my nightgown in the bathroom. I knew what was going to happen. So, I applied lots of lube to myself to be nice and wet. I had to make an effort for Peter. He deserved it as he'd been so generous. I knew that I would have to thank him properly. Why had I never made this effort for Glen?

I won't lie; being with someone else after all those years was exciting. I was shocked at how hard Peter was for me when I came out of the bathroom. The sex itself wasn't very satisfying. It was OK, but he didn't know how to please me like Glen did. It was hard, fast and remarkably athletic for his age. What amazed me was that even after he came, he was still ready for more. He stayed hard, and we did it again, impressive for a man of nearly 70. I commented on this to Peter as we lay there afterwards.

He smiled and said, "Chris, I've been hard for you for decades."

I thought that was a sweet thing to say; he could be so lovely at times. I was beginning to believe that he cared about me.

I would love to say we had an awful time but didn't. I loved all the different tours, holding hands with Peter as we walked along the streets of Cologne and Wurzburg and admiring the architecture. I loved Mainz and its old town. Walking amongst its medieval market squares was like being on a film set. All this added to my sense of unreality as Peter and I spent more time together.

I did enjoy spending time with Peter, even if the excitement of having sex with a new man soon faded. He was insatiable. He didn't last long, but he made up for it with his enthusiasm and powers of recovery. I'd had to buy some more lube on one of the excursions.

I'd love to say I felt guilty but didn't. I felt sad that I wasn't here with Glen, but I knew that wasn't possible. He would never have coped; hopefully, he would let me make it up to him with a more suitable holiday when I returned. I sometimes felt sad, but I didn't feel too guilty. I justified my actions by saying I deserved this. Peter deserved this. I was making him happy again. I was being supportive and kind when he needed me.

As the cruise came to an end. I became pensive. It'd be nice to be in that bubble. This alternative reality. It was nice. It was time to face the music back at home. I knew that I would have many apologies to make. Particularly for leaving without a word, though I'd explained in my note, hadn't I? Peter kept reassuring me that Glen would be happy to have me back. He did have his phone, but he'd kept it switched off most of the time. He had talked to Ryan and said everyone was shocked but OK. Ryan had been to see Glen and spent some time with him. I was glad that the family were keeping him company.

I knew I'd have a lot of explaining to do when I got to my house, but I didn't expect my key not to fit in the lock. I rang the bell, but no one answered. I looked in my car and realised it was full of all my possessions. Taped to the steering wheel was an envelope--a letter from Glen. The writing was all wobbly, so I knew he'd written it himself. That must have hurt him.

Christina,

I have spent my life loving you. I have tried so hard to be a loving, attentive husband. I tried not to make the same mistakes my father made. I lived my life to make you happy and build a family. My happiness was your happiness.

Of course. I've always known that I loved you more than you loved me; I accepted that. I felt terrible guilt when I became infirm, but it wasn't about how it affected me. My guilt was over letting you down for no longer being the man I used to be. All that therapy convinced me that I was still the same man and that I was still worthwhile. The same man, just with some limitations. It was all for nothing; my belief in myself was wasted.

I had begun to actually believe that I still had enough to offer, enough left of me to be the man you still wanted and needed. To find that wasn't the case in such a cruel way was unforgivable.

I invited that sleaze into my home when he was grieving; I had tried my best to support him, as I felt so sorry for him losing his wife, his love. I couldn't bear the thought of what that must be like. Well, I know now.

I keep thinking of what I did wrong. I've concluded that my only mistake was letting that snake into our Garden of Eden.

It seems strange that I cried with him over the loss of his wife, and he will be celebrating over me losing mine. I cried for him, and he was laughing at me. I bet there was lots of laughter at my expense on your trip. I hope it was worth it.

No longer yours,

Glen.

I sat on the drive for half an hour until my tears subsided sufficiently to drive back to Peter's. I had nowhere else to go. I didn't realise until much later that Peter wasn't surprised to see me and didn't notice that he passed me a glass of wine that he had already poured for me.

"Here, drink this," he said. "Don't worry, my love; it's all for the best. You can stay here with me now. I'll look after you. You'll want for nothing, you'll see. I will make you so happy."

It looked like my break from real life would become my real life. What choice did I have? I couldn't have what I wanted, my life with Glen. My two girls wouldn't speak to me at all initially. Ryan was barely talking to Peter but had taken over Peter's business when he retired. He had no choice about speaking to his father to some degree. Ryan wouldn't look me in the eye on the odd occasion when he came to the house. He wouldn't talk about his Uncle Glen, either. That was all I wanted to talk about. How was Glen? Was he OK? Was he safe? Who was looking after him? Peter told me that the carers had never got past the front door when we were away.