The Girlfriend

The Girlfriend

One

Ray was older than me. Twenty-one years older to be exact. My parents hadn't been so happy about that, but then again I think they were pleased I'd found someone.

I wasn't ugly or anything. I was shy. Socially awkward you might say. I'd never been comfortable at parties and avoided clubs as though they were a plague of biblical proportions. I couldn't dance and it was embarrassing to try. Whatever it was that people heard when they talked about moving with the beat escaped me completely. I couldn't even tap my foot in time to music.

The outcome of this affliction was that I'd reached my mid-twenties completely devoid of boyfriends. The boys just didn't notice me. I'd been a virgin until Ray. Right up until after we'd married I was still untouched. It'd been so romantic that he'd waited. It made me feel special.

It wasn't that I hadn't craved sex. I'd been fairly normal in that respect. At least at first. It was just that I hadn't been able to turn my fantasies and masturbation into reality by actually making love with a real, warm-blooded person. Then as I left my teens it'd become the norm for me as my expectations of being like my sister faded. A pattern I just settled back into.

Sadly, now that I could have sex, real sex, I found that reality didn't match the reaches of my earlier imagination. Sex had turned out to be a big disappointment and masturbation was no longer the poor relation. Rather it had become the preferred option.

I had a sister. I both loved and envied her. A little older and much like me in looks. But somehow on her, the same features seemed sexier. Where I was homely and cute, she was outgoing and sexy. I would turn my eyes down from a man where she would hold his gaze and beam from ear to ear.

We looked alike but Mindy was the opposite to me in every way it mattered. Even her dress sense was something I didn't have. She chose loud colours and revealing dresses. I preferred a pair of slacks and a cardigan. The idea of having my boobs on display or my legs exposed above the knee horrified me. I was my Nan forty years early.

When I met Ray, I was on course to end up in a cottage full of cats by my forties. I still had no idea what he saw in me. I'd told myself it was my cuteness but perhaps in truth, that it was my timidness. That inability to argue or stand up for myself.

In our teens, Mindy had been the outgoing, flirty one. A predator. A wildcat chasing boys like prey while I'd hid in the shadows. Unnoticed and unwanted.

Only Ray had taken an interest in me. A chance meeting in a busy coffee shop. There'd been only a few spare seats and I'd reluctantly accepted him sitting at my table. Somehow he'd fought through my shyness and struck up a conversation.

I think because he was older he'd seemed safe. A friend rather than someone intent on wanting to do naughty things. Even when we dated I'd treated it as friendship for a long time. He didn't try it on and I never considered he was my opportunity to discover sex. Not until he asked me to marry him.

So why did I marry him? That was a good question. Again, he was safe. And above all else, he wanted me.

Even after three years, I'm not sure we had what you could call love. I tried not to analyse it for fear of the truth. It was better to live the illusion than face up to reality. On the rare occasions I did let it enter my head, I couldn't escape the realisation that it was more like a brother and sister relationship. Or more accurately a father-daughter one. Perhaps that's why I didn't enjoy the physical side.

He called me Mouse. My real name was Mandy but he never used it.

Mum had said more than once that he was belittling me. I took it as a term of endearment. A sweet pet name for someone he had affection for and who needed his protection. Either way, I supposed it was fitting. I was a mouse. Quiet and unassuming. My husband made all the decisions and I followed meekly.

Ray was a wealthy man when I met him. At least to me, he was. We certainly had a good life materially. A lovely big period home and no financial concerns. There was always money in the bank for anything we wanted. Not that I came from a deprived background or anything, but it was still a far throw from the working-class area I'd grown up in just a few miles away. Dad drove a bus. With overtime, he made a reasonable wage. Nothing great but enough to keep us fed and a roof over our heads growing up.

In marriage, I found myself free of having to manage money, save, or even question purchases. I had no idea about our finances. Only that money was there when I needed it.

As a couple, me and Ray weren't the most touchy-feely but we didn't argue. I didn't argue. I let Ray look after things. He was the clever one. I was just grateful that he'd seen something no one else had and that he wanted me.

The only thing that really frustrated me was how much he worked. I was a stop at home. Not so bad in the summer when I could tend to the garden, or get out to the park, but winters were boring and we were not so far away from another. Several months filled with daytime TV, scouring Netflix, and shopping trips while I waited for my husband to come home. Like today.

One of the things about having no money concerns was that I could spend it without thinking. Just little things. A new vase or a coat. Whatever took my fancy. Ray didn't care. So long as I let him play golf without a fuss, and made dinner, he didn't mind what I spent or what I bought. He just complimented me on my choices and told me how nice I made the house look. To me, that was an achievement.

To be fair, I wasn't that extravagant. I didn't splash out on clothes. Nothing on makeup. It was mostly things for the home and tat from charity shops. One of which I was standing in now.

As I rifled through some old books in the British Heart Foundation shop I wondered if I could entice my husband from his work for lunch. His office wasn't so far from the centre of town that I couldn't walk there in ten minutes. It was worth a try.

I found a romance novel I hadn't read. Fifty pence for charity. I paid the old lady minding the shop and slipped it into my bag. It'd be something to pass the evenings when Ray was buried in his paperwork.

Outside was reasonably warm but that sense of summer ending and the onset of more mixed weather was there. It was just hiding out of reach. Betrayed by a noticeable chill in the shadows and the morning dew glistening on lawns. Soon the trees would turn brown and soggy leaves would make the paths slippery in the rain.

Spiders webs were always the first thing to catch my attention in September. A proliferation of concentric circles dampened by vapour-heavy, morning air. They sparkled like jewels in the low sun. It reminded me of childhood walks to school after the long summer breaks. Magical after the sun and warmth of July and August and a sign that we were on the slope to Halloween and Christmas.

I started picking my way through the busy crowds, keeping my head down. I hated making eye contact with strangers and just wanted to go unnoticed.

Ten minutes walk and I was at the grand building. I'd been there loads of times. Especially when we'd been courting. Then, Ray had almost always made time for a morning coffee or lunch in one of the many restaurants and pizzerias around the towns. Now it was hit and miss. But I remained forever hopeful.

George was security this morning. He was most times I dropped in on Ray at work. A portly middle-aged man who was excellent at watching the CCTV or checking visitors into the building. Having to deal with a disturbance would be a different matter. The exertion would likely give him a heart attack.

"Morning, Mrs Armitage..

Go on up."

"Thank you."

Even with someone I kinda knew it was hard to look him in the eye. I was conscious that I always kept my head down and avoided conversation. I could do it if I had to. I just preferred not to. I always felt unworthy. That I wasn't interesting enough to talk to or that I was being assessed in some way.

I took the lift. One of those old things that hardly existed any more. It had a cantilever door that clattered as you closed it and rose through a cage. It was about as Victorian as the rest of the building. A dark foreboding place that even in the daytime needed to be lit by vast chandeliers.

Next, I had to negotiate Ray's Secretary.

Ophelia was everything I wasn't. Confident. Blonde. She dressed to impress as they say. She oozed sex appeal. I hated her at a cellular level. I especially hated that she worked so closely with Ray.

"You can go in." She smiled with rosey red lipstick coating her lips.

And most of all, I hated that whenever I visited his workplace, I had to await her permission to see my own husband. It felt as though she was judging my worthiness as I waited, feigning interest in the paintings on the wall to avoid her talking to me.

"Thank you."

Such a pretentious name as well. It belonged in a Shakespearean play or a nineteen fifties historical movie. Who called their child Ophelia in the modern age?

"Mouse. What are you doing here?"

Ray looked important behind his big desk. A monstrous dark oak thing just like everything else here, a relic of a bygone age. It all had an air of empire about it.

Not that he was government, and neither was the company. They operated as a contractor. A middleman for allocating government contracts to the private sector. However, everything about the place had the veneer of the Civil Service about it. It reminded me of episodes of Yes Minister or House of Cards. The original. Not the glossy American remake.

"I was at the park with Mindy, then I went for a wander around the shops. I thought while I was nearby we could get some lunch if you weren't busy." I said hopefully.

Ray came around from the desk all smiles as he put his hands to my elbows. Then he pulled a face and I knew what was coming.

"I'm sorry. You should have just rung."

He was all apologetic. Fake, but I refused to see it.

"I've got a meeting with...

Well, I shouldn't divulge really. But it means I can't get away. I'm so sorry."

"No. It's my fault. I'm sorry. You're right. I should have rung."

That was me. Always shying away and accepting rejection.

"But I'll make it up to you this evening. Promise."

I felt the disappointment rising from the pit of my stomach and looked down. When I raised my head I'd buried myself behind a pretend smile.

"It doesn't matter. It was just on the off chance.

I'll cook dinner. Don't be late. Please."

"I won't. Promise."

I rubbed his arm affectionately, once again reaffirming my gratitude that he at least wanted me enough to have married me.

There was a knock at the door and Ophelia popped her head in. Her blonde waves hung around her face like a perfect golden halo. I felt myself cursing her before she even spoke up.

"Sorry to disturb you. I've got the Minister on the line for you, Ray."

Ray looked serious.

"Sorry darling. I have to take this."

I sighed.

"It's fine. I'll see you tonight."

I followed Ophelia out feeling like a schoolgirl dismissed from the headmaster's office. Again I looked at her. Long legs flashing through the slit in her tight skirt and a round arse that swayed hypnotically with each step.

While I spent my days alone waiting for my husband to come home, she got to spend most of her time with him. Far more than me. Bitch.

"Wasted trip. Sorry." Ophelia said as she took her seat again.

A finger transferred the waiting call without even looking. Efficiency and sexuality in one package. Nature had blessed me with neither.

I was sure I saw pity in her eyes. I hated her all the more for it.

"Doesn't matter.

I know he's a busy man."

I gave a half-hearted smile and headed back to the elevator with an image of her breasts heaving in that sheer blouse. I wished I could wear clothes like that.

I didn't know what it was but Ray seemed busier and busier these days. Even at home, he buried himself in paperwork. Perhaps I should try and convince him to take a holiday. Somewhere that wasn't hot. I couldn't contend with the idea of wearing a swimsuit and showing my bits on a beach.

So much for promises. Ray was late. Two hours late.

"So sorry darling."

He gave me a peck on the cheek before rushing to put his briefcase in the office.

"I got caught up in something."

I was disappointed but not surprised.

"Oh, Ray. I made dinner. I've been keeping it warm but it won't be as nice now."

I'd spent ages preparing a small roast with fresh vegetables and it was sitting in an oven, dry and flavourless.

"I'm so sorry."

He handed me the big bouquet of flowers he'd been hiding unsuccessfully behind his back and I took them with an accepting smile.

"Thank you. They're lovely."

They were. Fresh and brightly coloured. Large pink peonies dominated the oversized bundle. These were from a flower shop. Not some Service Station on the way home. I knew he'd sent someone out for them, probably that awful Ophelia, but it was the intent that mattered.

The scent was strong in my nostrils. Arranged, they'd fill the big vase on the hall table and last for days. But I'd wanted my husband, not flowers.

He ate his dinner while I sat at the table with him. He said it was nice but I knew it wasn't. Not now it'd sat warming.

After, was a typical evening in the lounge. Ray spoke occasionally but he spent most of his time looking through papers from work. I read my new book, just satisfied that I had a husband.

When we went to bed, I knew straight away that I was going to be expected to do my wifely duties. Most nights it was a peck on the lips and we went to sleep. Once, maybe twice a week it was different. Those were the nights I wasn't so keen on and it was immediately clear tonight was one of them.

Beside me, Ray was wriggling about. I knew he was getting excited and wouldn't sleep until I accommodated his needs. For a few minutes, I hoped against the odds that he'd settle. He didn't and I accepted I'd have to let him relieve himself.

I rolled onto my back.

"You can do it if you like." I whispered, trying to sound as enthusiastic as I could.

"It's only because you're so beautiful." He answered, putting his arm around me.

I pulled my nightie up and let him shuffle on top. He kissed my neck and his hands felt up my breasts through the flimsy material.

"Uhmm." I groaned.

It kinda felt nice. Just not exciting. And I didn't really like his hairy skin against me. But that's what sex was.

Ray put it in me and started making love. Why did they call it that? It was crude and messy. Hips rocking as that thing went in and out of me. Other people enjoyed it. They did it for hours and still wanted more. I lay there as I always did, holding on to him and making appropriate noises until he ejaculated.

"That was lovely darling." I said as he rolled away.

He'd sleep now.

It was pleasant, I suppose. So long as he didn't try to do anything else. A nice feeling, but I just didn't get the joyful release he got from intercourse. Even after three years I'd never once had an orgasm from it. That only came at my own hand in private. An act that left me feeling as though I hadn't grown up. And slightly disgusted with myself after. As though I had cheated in some way. Alone it wasn't a problem to get that moment of bliss and I couldn't deny I liked that. But with Ray it was impossible.

I thought of my sister. Sex wasn't a problem for her. I'd been regaled with stories of her adventures in the early days. Of all the things she's done and how wonderful they'd felt. I'd been so keen and hopeful to experience the same joy. Then when I reached the age that the opportunities would finally happen, I'd found it to be nothing like that for me. I'd been left waiting years for Ray to find me.

I'd read it was more normal than perhaps I accepted. As many as one in three found they couldn't achieve an orgasm while making love to their partner. That made me feel better about it. It meant I could pretend there wasn't anything wrong with me and I was excused looking for a reason. Or a solution.

One thing I did know for certain was that some of the things he wanted to do I didn't enjoy at all. I just hadn't worked out what it was I did enjoy. Sadly that left me feeling anxious and fearful when he got adventurous and even less willing to find out. So I'd just fallen into the routine of letting him use me while I made suitable noises and tried to avoid his less pleasant urges.

I turned onto my side and went to sleep.

As always we rose early and I made Ray coffee. He drank it quickly while rifling through yet more papers to prepare for his day. Sometimes I just wanted to snatch them away and burn them. Some rebellious act to have his attention for more than a few minutes. But then that might come with more of his masculine urges.

I stayed quiet and accepted the status quo.

"I'll be late tonight, darling. I have to sweet talk some clients over dinner. You know how it is.

Don't wait up."

I felt a sadness at knowing I'd spend another evening on my own. But it was part and parcel of being married to a businessman. His work meant he had to socialise with clients regularly. Government contracts or something. I didn't understand any of it if I was honest.

I just told myself it was what paid for our big house in the suburbs and that it was necessary work. It wasn't as though it'd crept up on me. This had been his life when I'd met him. Just a little less frantic.

"Okay."

I stretched up and pecked him on the cheek as he pulled his Crombie on.

"But promise you'll be here at the weekend.

Please."

He smiled down at me.

"I have golf booked for Sunday morning with Jeff. Networking you know. But other than that I'm all yours Mouse."

I was disappointed at the golf, but relieved he'd at least be here for most of the weekend.

"Okay. But just golf."

"We can go to dinner in that nice little Italian you like on Saturday." He smiled.

"Yes. That'll be nice."

"You can wear a nice dress. Something low to get those sexy Italians hot under the collar."

I gave a halfhearted smile. That wouldn't be happening. I remembered being mortified the one time I'd done that. Things had been lively and an over-enthusiastic waiter had pulled my top out and looked down at my breasts. I'd been mortified. Ray had just found it funny.

Once Ray left I was alone in the house. A day like every other day. Nothing to do other than watch banal daytime TV.

I didn't work and we had a cleaner in three times a week. My life consisted of waiting for Ray to come home.

There was one bright spot to being alone. I was able to take care of the frustration our sex life always left me with. I checked the time. Anna would be here in a couple of hours to clean and tidy. Someone to at least talk to. She was funny and made me laugh. But first I wanted to use those hours for something else.

I did what I always did and dressed it up in my mind as taking a bath to relax.

At home, before Ray, masturbation had been fun. Sometimes it'd come with the sadness of not having a boyfriend. Other times it held the innocence of adolescence. But always enjoyable with that great feeling of release and relaxation at the end of it.

Since marriage, it still achieved that sensation of lifting a great weight from me. And obviously the delightful feeling of an actual orgasm. But now it came with something else. Guilt.

I hated that I couldn't orgasm with Ray. I'd tried in the early days but somehow he just never took me to the heights I'd imagined having a man would.

He didn't seem to notice. For him it was an act he did perhaps twice a week, followed by his declarations of love and how good it'd been. Several times I'd considered that it wasn't good enough. Any other girl would have seen it as a red flag in a relationship and walked away. But they all had options. They could find other boyfriends.