Size Definitely Matters Ch. 01

It had been nearly six months since the split and I was starting to recover my sanity. I was fifty two and single again, but for the first time in a while I was starting to see a future -- a way forward, maybe even a new relationship. Still, the memory of that final night with her remained vivid and painful.

With both our kids through university and living miles away, our relationship had changed fast. Being together so much with none of the usual distractions had revealed how little we really had in common and we had grown apart. Jen had compensated by throwing herself into her own pursuits -- her job, her friends, her entire social life. Meanwhile I had become more withdrawn -- not unhappy exactly, but I missed having the kids around. I worked from home as a freelance architect and the house seemed suddenly too big, too empty. Over the months leading up to that night I'd also had virtually no work on and we were feeling the pinch financially.

I'd had my suspicions about Jen for a while -- the late finishes at work, the growing number of 'girls nights out', the immediate dash for the shower whenever she got home. And our sex life had all but ended. She never actually feigned a headache but would happily engineer an argument if I showed any interest. On the increasingly rare occasions when she was drunk enough to respond, she would invariably end up coming as one of us used a dildo on her -- a somewhat oversized, nasty looking thing we'd bought for fun years back and which had suddenly come out of hiding again.

As I say, I had reasons to be suspicious... But in the final few weeks I began to really check up on her -- I noted that her cell-phone call/text history was constantly deleted and that she'd opened a new email account. She'd also started generally dressing better and wearing more make-up, and there was always new underwear tucked away at the back of her drawer -- thongs and frilly things that weren't her usual style.

Then, on that Friday night I found myself getting, bitter and angry. She hadn't even told me she'd be late, her phone was off and none of her immediate friends seemed to know where she was. One of them -- Celia -- had been particularly evasive.

"Hi Bill... what can I do for you at this hour?"

"Sorry Celia -- lost track... is it late then?"

"Not really -- just gone eleven... I just decided Frank's out for a late one and I was off to bed. No problem though -- what can I do for you?"

"It's nothing really... I was wondering if you'd seen Jenny tonight... can't seem to get hold of her..."

There was a pause and I heard her sigh quietly.

"Sorry Bill... haven't seen her in a couple of weeks. She texted me a while back -- said she'd been... well, working a lot I guess, y'know... yeah... pretty busy it seems. Just like Frank -- the guy's never home!"

Celia was a couple of years older than any of Jenny's friends and pretty much the only one I could stand. She was honest, direct, unpretentious. And of all of them, despite the others' expensive attempts to hang on to their looks and figures, she was the only one that always struck me as genuinely, naturally attractive. She was tall and narrow-waisted with a classic hour-glass figure that she knew how to accentuate with simple, fitted clothes and tailored suits. She had poise. I knew that right this second, in an empty house with no one to impress, she would be looking elegant, feminine, gorgeous.

I could never quite understand the way Frank played around when he had her at home. But he had a real reputation with 'the guys' for being a bit of a stud -- a big guy with a big dick who liked to share his good fortune with the ladies. Jenny had told me that Celia knew all about his infidelities but had decided to tolerate it -- at the time Frank was already bringing home well over a hundred and fifty grand a year.

"Yeah... well thanks anyway Celia. Looks like we both had a crap Friday night!"

"Got that right... Give my... my love to Jenny... when you see her. Yeah, tell her Celia says to take care and sends her love OK? You take care too, Bill."

I frowned at the phone as I hung up. Celia knew more than she was saying.

Another three hours went by and I drank way too much scotch. I ended up rooting through Jen's drawers looking for evidence, flicking through her notebooks, checking receipts. Then, in the spare room she now used for dressing, I turned out the waste paper bin under a desk to find the screwed up wrapping from a pair of stockings -- black, sheer, expensive. She hadn't worn stockings since our honeymoon and swore she hated them. Fucking bitch...

By the time I heard the front door click quietly shut and the sound of her coming up the stairs, I was feeling just a little bit crazy. I met her on the landing, flicking on the lights and blocking her path to the bathroom. She was flustered, squinting in the sudden glare, her dark, shoulder-length hair a mess, her make-up smeared, her clothes rumpled. Even as a smoker and drinker I could smell the booze and tobacco on her. Standing there with her heels dangling from her hand, drunk, off guard and exposed, she looked all of her 45 years. As I glanced down at her black-stockinged feet she tried to move past me but I grabbed her forearm, turning her and forcing her to look into my face.

"What the fuck, Jen? It's after three in the fucking morning!"

She'd given me that patronising smile -- the 'oh here he goes again' smile she used when about to lie through her teeth and end up proving that this is all, as usual, my fault anyway.

"Jesus Bill, don't start! Just had a few drinks with the girls -- it is Friday night y'know? Remember Friday nights at the end of a shit week do you Bill? Oh no... I guess you don't..."

"What girls?"

"The girls! -- Jesus Bill, what is this?"

"Just wondering what girls you mean, Jen... cos it wasn't Sally, or Pam or Andrea was it? Or Celia or Jude? Cos you see, none of them have seen you in ages have they? So I was just wondering... what girls?"

She sighed theatrically. "Girls from work... you don't know them, they're... new. New girls OK?"

"Ah, of course... new girls. I bet the people your firm laid off in the summer are going to be pissed off about that. So what are their names, these new girls?"

The smile faltered and failed. She looked down to where my hand still gripped her forearm and shook it free.

"You know what? I've had enough of this..."

She stomped into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. Within seconds the shower was hissing and I headed downstairs for the drinks cabinet. Her handbag was on the hall table -- a massive thing that seemed to hold most of her possessions. Having poured one more oversized scotch I grabbed it and emptied the contents onto a brightly lit kitchen counter.

There was the usual -- purse, keys, make-up bag, cigarettes, lighter, letters, medications, receipts for coffees and snacks, her little (and pretty much empty) notebook of 'thoughts and ideas' plus all manner of bits and pieces. I checked each item without knowing what I was looking for and finding nothing, then began to put them back. It was then that I noticed something glinting at the bottom -- a small plastic bag balled up and stuck in the corner of the bag.

Inside was a tiny ball of sheer, black nylon. I picked it up and instinctively brought it to my face, breathing in. The scent was familiar, amazing, overpowering -- the scent of Jenny's pussy at its most aroused: sharp, musky and strong. I was suddenly stiffening under my jeans, pressing the material closer to my nose. And yes, there was another scent there too...

I unravelled the damp nylon ball to reveal the tiniest of thongs, holding it up close to a bright downlighter to examine it. I was simultaneously devastated and stimulated, to find what I was looking for. The inside of the thong was coated in viscous semen, loads of it, still soaking wet. I caught sight of my own reflection in the cupboard door, my face red and angry as its pungent, bleach-like smell left no doubt whatsoever.

I replaced the bag in the hall, counted to ten to calm myself, then jogged quietly upstairs and placed the thong in the middle of our bed, arranging it so that its contents shone clearly in the overhead light. I turned off the light, went back downstairs, grabbed my drink and sat at the kitchen table just as the shower was turned off. I waited and sipped, hearing Jen's footsteps above, the slide of the bathroom lock, more steps across the landing, the soft flick of the bedroom light switch... then silence. Two, three minutes passed.

She appeared in the doorway in her robe, a towel wrapped round her head and staring intently at me. She had actually managed to make herself look angry. I shook my head and gave her a silent, humourless smile.

"How dare you... how fucking dare you! Don't you ever go through my things again you pathetic fuck!" she hissed, her face reddening with rage.

I sat back and smiled at her. "Oh dear, Jen... is that it? Your best shot? You honestly think a little righteous indignation is going to work this time do you? You better have more to offer than that you lying, deceitful little bitch..."

She came at me fast, but I was up faster and caught her with a stinging slap across her cheek. Then she grabbed at the whisky bottle on the table and this time it earned her a straight punch to her jaw. She went straight down, the bottle flying from her grip to smash on the tiles next to her. Her robe fell open revealing a tight group of love bites on her left breast and she quickly pulled it closed.

I stood over her as she began to sob and spoke without drama. "You're a cheating, lying, faithless cunt, Jen. You've taken me for a fool long enough and now it's over. You want another man? Go ahead... have him all you want... it really doesn't matter any more."

As I walked away the sobbing stopped as abruptly as it began. "Another man?" She began to laugh. "You fucking idiot! You think one man can make up for all that I've missed out on being with you? Well let me tell you, it takes more than one..."

I stopped and turned back to find her eyes filled with pure hatred, her hand rubbing her jaw. "Yes, that's right... lots of them. God you really are so naïve! In fact tonight was a first for me..." she got up slowly and straightened her robe, her shoulders back, defiant, "...I had two together, both under forty and soooo energetic... in the sort of hotel room you couldn't even afford!"

I wanted to get away -- far away and quickly before she drove me any further, but as I headed for the front door her voice just went on, still a low hiss but its tone increasingly intense.

"Actually I let one of them film us for a while -- maybe I could get you a copy hmmm? Then you'll have all the proof you need won't you? No need to go sniffing my knickers like some fucking dog!"

She opened her handbag to find a cigarette and lit it, hands trembling with rage. And then she giggled like a teenager.

"Oh yes... and you'll be able to see how amazingly well hung they both were, cos I know you'd never believe me... oh no. cos I'm such a liar aren't I? Well, you sad old man... they made yours look like the sad, pathetic little thing it is... And they couldn't get enough of me... fucked me for four hours straight... both at once most of the time... I never came so many times in one night... non-stop... thought I'd actually pass out at one point. And you... you can't even make me come with your slimy little tongue any more can you, you useless... "

I slammed the front door behind me and took a long, deep breath of cold night air. She continued to rant from inside, now shrieking at the top of her voice. The whole street must have been listening. Suddenly desperate to pee I walked round to the side of the house and unzipped, instantly letting a stream hit the wall.

I looked down at my dick, pale in the moonlight, and smiled -- the source of so much pleasure and yet so much anxiety in my life. Of the thirty or so women I had slept with, around half had -- at some point -- agreed it was on the small side. But I'd made the most of what I had -- there had been several long-term relationships where I had used it to deliver more than a fair share of good, old-fashioned vaginal orgasms. It was just a little depressing, being the guy with the disappointing dick, however understanding women tried to be.

And now Jen, his soon to be ex-wife of twenty years, had chosen to turn it on me in her big speech. Thanks for that Jen.