A friend in need

oldart1What follows is a small break from my own confessions. It is a verbatim recollection of what happened a few weeks ago. It should be a salutary lesson to me, and to all who embark on liaisons outside the marriage bed. This is a story (but not fiction), that probably happens every day of the year, in a thousand places and to countless unhappy couples.

I’ve left out all names, for obvious reasons.

I should have known that she had something earth shattering to tell, the moment she stepped through the door.

I’ve always thought it a cliché’ when someone says that they’ve known another person forever, but I have known her forever.

Born two days apart, in the same hospital ward, we met formally at play-group when we were four and a half and from then we were almost inseparable. We stuck together all the way through school, until my parents moved me, even ending up at the same university.

She is a tall, gangly, willow-the-wisp, arty character, with a mass of red curly hair, which always looks as though she’s been dragged out of bed kicking and screaming. She is married with a couple of beautiful daughters, who look like, and behave just like their mother. She lives in a small village that has no pub, post-office or corner shop.

“I’ve been having an affair,” she began, sipping at the tall vodka and tonic she’d demanded.
“You bad girl,” I said, jokingly.
“I’m not bad. I just have needs.”
“Is it serious?”
“The sex is seriously fan-fucking-tastic. And his cock, my God, it’s a beautiful, gnarled, eleven inch leviathan; fills me up – right to the brim.”
“How long have you and he been doing the deed?”
“Every week, for just over two years; except when my period comes. We did it once during the red time – pretty bloody messy, I can tell you.”
“Are you in love with this nameless owner of the hugely gratifying cock?”
“Love…? No…… I don’t fucking know. I wasn’t after love, just hot mind blowing sex.”
“I take it from this sudden un-announced visit that the shit has really hit the fan, and hubby has found out?”
“The fucking bastard hacked into my email account. What right did he have to do that? It’s private! It’s got to be against the law or something.”
“Were the messages explicit?”
“Dirty as fuck. We didn’t hold back. He wrote down every disgustingly dirty thing he was going to me, and all the things he did do.”
“Shit!  But what made him do it?”
“He said that he’d been suspicious for some time. All he needed was proof.”
“He never struck me as the jealous type.”
“They all are, babe. They’re like little boys with their bicycles. They hate it when some other boy comes along and starts to ride it, even though they hardly ever go near it.”
“Wasn’t he? Weren’t you and he…..any more?”

“Rarely. And all he ever did was to roll me onto my back, stick his finger up my pussy a few times and then jam his cock in. Then he’d thrust ten times or so, stiffen, grunt as he came, roll onto his back and be snoring before I counted to twenty. Fuck, what about my needs? I have desires. I wanted to do things. I wanted to play bedroom games; a little bondage; anal sex.”

“And do you….with this other guy?”
“Yes, he fucked me in the ass, and I loved it. He tied me up and slapped me and made me drink his cum and it was wonderful.”
“But it’s just physical, right?”
“That’s not the point. The bastard says that I must give this man up, or he’ll divorce me and take my children away.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I can’t loose my girls, and I won’t fucking give him up.”

It’s been three weeks since she breezed through my door and dropped the bomb-shell. At the time, as I listened I felt a bit of a hypocrite, as she poured her heart out to me. As girls we’d told each other everything. Even confessed when we’d given up our virginity and given our first blow-jobs, comparing notes. We’d even indulged in a little innocent hand stimulation of each others clitorises. At University we…..oh, later about that…..

I have to confess that I almost broke down and told her about by infinitely worse indiscretions. But what would that have solved. Keeping someone else’s secret can be a burden, and she had enough on her plate.

She’s now living on her own in a studio apartment. Not slumming it, as the movies would probably have had their character do; she’s a woman with a considerable about of her own money. I know that she almost suicidally misses her girls.

He husband has started divorce proceedings using the evidence he downloaded from her e-mails. And the man with the eleven inch cock, has decided to sever all ties, to go back to his wife and hope that the whole thing blows over, and she never finds out.

As they say: “there but for the grace of God, go I.”

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