The Confession

'I already feel bad enough about this,' she said.

'Well, don't,' said John. 'I respect your decision. And I think your husband is a very, very lucky man.'

'Thank you, but I'm going to give him hell when I get home.'

'I bet he'd rather have hell from you than heaven from any other woman.'

That had moved Becky. Hell, it moved her still, making her eyes glisten as she sat in the airport coffee tent. She thanked John again, asked him to say goodbye to Cathy for her and left the inn, getting into her car and driving it out of the old stableyard and onto the road for the long journey home.

But as Becky thought about that decision, she realised that her regrets were not about the sex she didn't have with John. They were about the intimacy she might have shared with Cathy. Once, during a lengthy solo ladywank, Becky had fantasized about how things might have gone had she said yes that night. Her imagination dutifully played a sex scene with John, providing enough detail for Becky to reach orgasm.

But as Becky lay recovering alone in the marital bed, her imagination continued on, like a filmmaker getting excited about her subject. The movie in her head had Becky waking up on Sunday morning, to see Cathy in the same bed being fucked by John. Becky took Cathy's hand as she was being fucked, while in the real world Becky's hand went back down to between her legs. This time, the orgasm was mind-blowing, intense, and Becky ended up masturbating herself sore. As she did, the movie played on.

After some double fucking, John got dressed and went to work downstairs, leaving the two women alone in the bedroom. They touched each other's naked bodies, while telling their stories in the most intimate detail. Cathy asked Becky how John's cock compared to Bryan's and Becky told her, leaving nothing out. And Becky asked Cathy about her non-monogamous relationship and Cathy told her about her sexual adventures. By the end of her ladywank, Becky's thigh muscles ached and her clit was so tender, she could barely walk afterwards.

Yeah... it would have been nice.

Becky checked her phone. It was time to join the throng of waiting people. The sliding doors were opening regularly now, spewing out travellers with luggage trolleys and tans. Becky found a spot to the side, some distance away from the louder people. There were cries of joy and hugs, lots of little reunions. Becky folded her arms and tapped her foot as she waited.

'Daddy!' cried a little girl, running to the side where Becky waited. The girl was connected to a couple standing close by and the man walked forwards to catch the child in his arms. Becky wondered why the child's mother stayed where she was, then realised that she wasn't the child's mother. No, that must be the tired-looking woman pushing the airport trolley piled with bags, a boy of about ten walking next to her. He glared at his father's girlfriend with undisguised hostility and said to his mother in a voice loud enough for Becky to overhear: 'What's she doing here?'

Becky tried to keep her eyes on the sliding doors and away from the scene playing out a few metres away to the side. It was less a reunion and more like an exchange of prisoners from a Cold War spy movie. It sounded ghastly, especially when the boy started crying. Becky lifted her gaze to the ceiling and sent up a silent prayer of thanks.

'Save some for yourself,' said the inner voice. 'Even the best advice is worthless unless it is listened to.'

Becky let out a deep sigh of happiness and returned her attention to the great sliding doors. They opened again... and there they were! Mum and Dad, finally coming through. Both her parents had dark tanned skin, which contrasted sharply with their silvery hair. Other than that, Becky's father looked pretty much the same as when he'd left--the same neutral frown on his face, pushing the baggage trolley with stoic seriousness.

But Becky's mother looked transformed. She wore a brightly coloured Hawaiian top that should have looked kitsch but didn't. It looked joyful, exuberant, and Becky's mother looked ten years younger. When she saw her daughter, she smiled and waved in a way that reminded Becky of Tara.

Her father pushed the trolley past the end of the barrier and Becky embraced them both.

'How was the trip?' she said.

'Fantastic!' crowed her mother. 'Oh, Becky, you can't believe what--'

'Um, can we talk in the car?' interrupted her father.

'Of course, dear,' said his wife and she turned to Becky. 'Your father doesn't quite have my enthusiasm for adventure.'

'I had a good enough time!' said the old man defensively. 'But I'm also looking forward to getting back home.'

'All right, just give me a second.'

Becky's mother took her daughter's hands and looked her in the eye.

'How are you doing, Becky?' she asked.

'I'm doing great, Mum.'

'You are, aren't you? You're looking radiant.'

'Am I?'

'Yes. Did something happen while we were away?'

Becky laughed and kissed her mother's hands. She looked at the older woman and said:

'Life happened, Mum.'

She let go of her mother's hands and put her arm around her father's shoulders.

'Come on, let's get you home,' said Becky.

Her father gave a grateful nod. Soon, the three of them were making their way across the arrivals hall, the old man pushing the trolley and the old woman chatting away as her grown-up daughter walked beside her, pulling her mother's roller-case along the shiny floor.

*****

Afterword from the author:

This is the eighth story featuring Becky and Bryan Sandford. For those who are interested, here is a list of all the stories in story chronology (although not the order I wrote them):

1. When Becky Met Bryan

2. The Driving Issue

3. The Bedside Lamp

4. The Domestic Equality War (2 chapters)

5. February Sucks in Britain

6. To Love, Honour... and Obey

7. The Confession

8. Audrey