I Never Heard The Comma

Phil had been stroking my hair throughout. When I said that, he reached over with his other hand and caressed my shoulder. Then, like you would soothe a crying child, he very softly ran his hand down my arm to find my clenched fist. He wrapped his fingers around it. "I think that you've got the hardest words out. I know you've admitted it to yourself, but you've never said it out loud before, have you?"

His words were soft and comforting.

"I know what you're thinking, but we didn't start off on the right track -- and, as you said earlier, we would have probably been at each other's throats. There's no point playing games of 'What if', it'll just get us nowhere. We are who we are because of what we've done, not what we've thought. And I love you for who you are."

I unwrapped my fist, and laced my fingers through his, gripping them hard. Tears of gratitude flowed as I again reached up and kissed him with as much tenderness as I could muster. "Thank you," I added meekly.

I settled my head back down, still keeping Phil's fingers locked firmly with mine.

"You can guess much of the rest. I'm not sure who pursued whom the most, but Allan and I got married about 18 months later. When she realised I was serious, Dani had a 'kiss and make up' session, and she told me that I had done wonders, as Allan appeared to have changed at work. I accepted her apology. As I had no relatives she agreed to give me away at the ceremony, and also to be my chief bridesmaid.

"Allan wanted to leave the corporate world and go into general law in a provincial firm. He had an opportunity to join a thriving practice here in Sevenoaks, and as I was getting a bit stale at the school, I resigned and became the dutiful housewife while waiting for a local opportunity to open up. I sold my place but Allan was still renting and so had nothing to contribute. Even so, because London was so expensive compared to the 'provinces', I was able to buy a little house on a new development outright.

"Life was idyllic. We settled into provincial town life. Allan was enjoying the variety of work, and doing well. One of the partners persuaded him to put his professed love of drama to practical use and join the Amateur Dramatics group in one of the local villages. He tried to persuade me to join as well, but I had had enough of seeing my beloved English and Drama crucified in school plays to even consider it.

"I went once to support him when he had the lead role, but they were all so excruciatingly bad that I had to leave at the interval because I was having real difficulty suppressing my hysterical laughter. I asked the Front of House staff to let Allan know that I was suffering from a pain in my side, and I didn't want to interrupt their wonderful performance by being taken ill in the second half."

Phil sniggered --he hates Am Dram almost as much as I do. I let go off his hand, and let my fingers return to one of their favourite occupations: fondling his cock and balls.

"One of his little swimmers must have been faster out of the blocks than an Olympic sprinter, because I soon got pregnant. It wasn't an easy pregnancy and Allan couldn't seem to cope with my changing shape. My boobs got bigger, which he liked, but he just couldn't handle my swelling tummy. He tried to hide his growing disgust behind the usual excuses of 'not wanting to harm the baby', and 'you need your rest' but he really wasn't a very good actor! Our love life virtually stopped and never really restarted.

"After David's birth, I had all the baby-raising responsibilities to myself. It was the early days of a father being actively involved in changing nappies, but as I was breast feeding, he had no reason to get up during the night. More importantly, it didn't fit his image of himself as a highly successful junior partner in a law firm, aiming for a full partnership. It was just too 'domestic'. And he made it clear that he didn't want a second child. The arrogance that Dani had recognised from the outset and which had been suppressed during our courtship was back with a vengeance.

"I just threw myself into raising David, making sure that Allan's 'home' was up to his expectations and spending his money. Did I feel guilty? Not in the least. He was paying me to be his house-keeper. We only had sex when he came back from some business dinner where he had been flattered beyond any degree of reasonableness. And then it was just a 'wham-bam, not even thank-you ma'am' 2 minute fuck. He would have his climax, roll over and go to sleep, leaving me there unsatisfied and unmoved.

"When David reached school age, a teaching post came up here in Pikewell and I applied. Allan wasn't keen: all of the other partners had 'stay-at-home' wives who did 'good things', but I was bored, and just ignored him. As long as the home was kept up and I was around for the rare occasions when he needed me to be, I didn't care what he thought: I needed a life of my own.

Pikewell was where his Am Dram group, the 'Pikewell Players' was based; it was also the place where all those people who think they have made it live. That made my job 'acceptable'. As soon as I got the job, he put our house on the market, and found one in the 'nearly, but not-really-the-exclusive' part of the village. Moving suited me too, so I went along with it. He was far too important to bother about trivial things like applying for a mortgage -- he just told me to get on with it, and he would sign whatever was needed when I put it in front of him. After all, the other senior partners never bothered with that sort of trivia, so why should he?

"He completely forgot that the previous house was in my name only, and so I just repeated that with the new one. I could afford the small mortgage from my own salary, and didn't need his input at all. He never noticed until too late.

"To make up for my non-existent home life, I threw myself into school activities. I started an English club at school -- covering everything that the national curriculum didn't give us time to cover: plays and books by authors that were not required exam reading; poetry; creative writing and of course grammar.

"Back then, we had to make up examples of bad grammar to show how important it can be.

I paused and looked up at Phil. "If you tell me you didn't visit any porn sites when you were out on the Far East, I won't believe you. Or maybe it was so in your face on the streets that you didn't need your computer, it was there on a platter!" I smirked.

He just grinned. "No Comment," he replied, tweaking my nipple and causing me to yelp. "Go on, I can't wait to hear where this is headed."

I settled back with Phil's arm around me, and my head back on his chest.

"So anyway, back to the grammar: now, instead of making it up, you just go to a site like Literotica. With a few very notable exceptions, any story will provide examples of bad grammar; some of them are truly awful. I've even started to use some of them at the Club."

Phil spluttered. "Jeez, if that is your source, I hope you change the context a bit!"

"Of course, I do, you idiot," I replied, "but with my senior lot, I bet they've done everything all already, and could even add a few details as well!

"You know, it's really quite funny," I went on, digressing somewhat. "Alright, I cringe at some of the things that are written, but if the story is good, it doesn't really matter. Good grammar doesn't make a bad story good, it just makes a good story better. But you should read some of the comments that people post!

"Talk about a Stasi style grammar police!! These are non-professional authors posting a story for others to enjoy, and these opinionated little Gaulieters just lump on them! What makes it so funny is that most of the criticisms have even worse grammar and spelling than the original! Pillocks..."

"So, back to the story -- the English Club was up and running, I ran the school play, and with all of the marking and lesson preparation, my non-relationship with Allan didn't really matter.

"During the holiday periods, I was generally acting as David's taxi service, or watching him at his various sports clubs, practising or playing in matches. I would potter around the garden and generally find different things to do.

"Life carried on its usual plodding way. David finished his GCSE's and had moved into the 6^th form. Never good to start with, his relationship with his father deteriorated even more when David made it clear that the last thing he was going to do at University was Law - he was more interested in the Sciences, and a practical application of it - possibly Chemical Engineering.

"From that time on, the father -- son relationship ceased to exist. At meal times, both pretty much ignored to other. Allan made the odd attempt, but every time, David just fell back on the standard teenage vocabulary: a grunt for all occasions!

"I think it was David's total unconcern that drove Allan to show us both that he amounted to something. He had always craved a senior partnership, but now he went all out for it. He was smarming up to the senior partners at every opportunity, pushing for his acceptance.

"The 'Pikewell Players' became an important part of his self-promotion. Simon, who ran the Players, was the principal partner at the firm, and two of the other senior partners were also members. Allan saw it as a prime way to promote his cause.

"If they weren't rehearsing, he told me that they were making, repairing or refurbishing the props and scenery for the next production. I know I should have been suspicious, but we really only saw each other at supper, and then we only talked generalities.

"Sure, we still shared a bed, but there was no contact in it. I slept on the left -- Allan slept on the right. Plato could almost have used us for his role models!

"Something happened. The Players were into dress rehearsals for yet another tedious offering, and Allan had come home late as usual, but in one of his bouncy moods. He slipped into bed and there was an edge to his smell that I couldn't place. I asked him about it."

"'Oh it's just the residue of the greasepaint from the rehearsal -- you know how Simon wants us to plaster it on!' he laughed, as he reached to turn off the light.

"'Allan, I produce the school plays; I do the make-up for the school plays; I know what greasepaint smells like. That is not like any greasepaint that I have come across.'"

"'It wouldn't be,' Allan replied haughtily. 'Simon got some from a professional actor friend of his in the West End. He said that it has a totally different base, or something like that, and that's why it smells different -- it seems to react to a person's own sweat and smells in a way the normal stuff doesn't. We've noticed that it can smell different every time. Tonight must have been more stressful than I thought.' At that, he switched off the light and went to sleep.

"The next few nights were the same. They were going all out for this production -- something about it being a 25^th anniversary performance and so they really wanted to put on a 'good show'. Like the first performance, this was to be held outside: this time in Simon's large garden. It was Alan Ayckbourn's Bedroom Farce: I remember thinking that it wasn't a play that particularly suited an outside performance, but that wasn't for me to say.

"They rehearsed that damned play every night for six weeks and most nights Allan would get into bed with that overlay to the 'greasepaint': usually it was the same, but sometimes it was subtly different.

"An after show party had been arranged," I carried on as I stretched out, "and Allan was adamant that I accompany him: I also had to show willing and go to the performance as well. All of the other senior partners and their wives were going to be there. He told me that it was 'very important to his designs on being made a senior partner to show them how committed his family was'.

"I agreed to go to the Last Night and the party. It was in walking distance, so we didn't have to worry about drinking and driving. With David still to go to University, and no doubt requiring the services of the 'Bank of Mum and Dad', it still seemed sensible to keep on good terms with Allan, despite my misgivings.

"With my Walkman for company, a hat with a very large brim and dark glasses both of which I could hide behind, I went.

"Needless to say it was awful. Over-made up, over-acted, over-directed, over everything. Thank God there are 300 miles between Pikewell and Scarborough: news of the debacle might not reach the great man -- although I am sure he would have probably turned it into another play!

"I managed to hide under my hat, eyes generally closed, listen to some music, applaud when everyone else did and, at the final curtain, give Allan a big smile for his performance as Trevor.

"The audience all filed out, leaving the 'waifs and strays' of the performers' families behind, wondering what to do next. I started talking to another couple: she was also wearing sunglasses despite the gloom. Deciding that they were also there on sufferance, I opened the conversation:

"'Awful, wasn't it? I'm Julie, 'Trevor's' real life wife. The funniest thing about that performance is that I don't really think Allan understood the irony of his casting!'

"'Ayckbourn is really very good, isn't he,' Richard introduced himself. 'My wife Cynthia was playing Jan, and that's another casting that seems to fit rather too well to be coincidental. Do you know if Ayckbourn spent any time around Amateur Dramatics? He certainly seems to have their characteristics down to a T!'

"'This lot is so fucking pretentious! I bet they think they are going to be putting this on again at the next Scarborough festival! I'm Alison, by the way. My John is only the stage manager, thank God, but the stories he comes back with ....'"

"Alison never got any further, because a beaming Simon came up to us, gushing and preening himself.

"'Richard, wasn't Cynthia marvellous tonight -- she is so talented, we are so lucky to have her. And Julie! At last Allan has persuaded you to attend one of our little soirees! Now that you have seen that you have nothing to fear from us, I do hope we shall see a lot, lot more of you! But come on in and join us for some drinks and some anniversary cake that Tricia baked for the occasion.'

"With that he turned, and, with barely a nod in Alison's direction, strutted off towards the house.

"'Arsehole,' Alison commented loudly to Simon's retreating back.

"'Is he always so rude?' I asked.

"'Ha,' she said. 'He daren't talk to me in case I reply: he's learnt from bitter experience that I'm not afraid to tell him exactly what I think of them all and their performances. He'ld love to get rid of John, but until the Council permit someone else to handle all the lighting and the electrics, he's stuck with him -- and me! And so he ignores me, and I just smirk at him, knowing that he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"'Needless to say, I won't be joining you inside. I'm off.' She turned towards the garden gate, but suddenly turned back to me. 'A quick word of advice. Keep a close eye on your drink: they're not above spiking it.'

"'What's that about?' I asked Richard.

"'I have no idea,' he replied, 'I don't often come to these things myself, so I have no idea. Alison certainly seems to have it in for Simon, though, so maybe she's just trying to spook us. I suppose we'd better go in -- Simon's not above sending out the sheepdogs to round up his flock, and I don't feel like getting my heels nipped!'

"We went and joined the others. Mindful of Alison's advice, I poured myself a glass of wine straight from the bottle, and held it close. We hadn't been noticed yet, and I had a chance to look around at the throng. There were some individual conversations, but for the most part they were all crowded around, and fawning, over Simon, I thought that 'herd' was a more appropriate collective noun: flock identified with dumb animals, and as most of them were professionals, they could hardly be thought of as dumb. I took a sip of my drink and almost immediately snorted it back out through my nose. Perhaps Richard had been alluding to a vicar presiding over his flock of parishioners! The image was just too much to keep silent, and as I wondered who the poor 'choir boys' might be, the flock turned as one towards me, wondering if they had missed one of Simon's jokes.

"'Sorry,' I gasped as Allan marched up to me. 'I've only just got one of this evening's jokes. I was so overwhelmed by your performance, that some of the double-entendres escaped me at the time. Allan, you really were quite breath-taking up there: you've certainly made great strides since the last time I saw you on the stage -- I think all of you have. Well done!'

"Allan was immediately mollified and almost glowed. 'Why, thank you, Julie,' he gushed. 'I told you we had improved, but I have to say tonight was one of our best. You'll have to come more often now you can see how good we are. Not quite West End material yet, but nearly there! Join us, and maybe we can teach you one or two things for your school plays,' he added.

"Having snorted my drink once already that evening, doing it again so soon would not have been appropriate, but God, it took some keeping down. Alison had been spot on -- they really thought they were that good!"

Phil's chuckle had started deep in his belly and had swelled through his chest to emerge as a great guffaw into my hair as his whole body shook.

"It's a damn good job I haven't got a drink in my hand," he laughed. "You would have got very wet!" He paused and then asked somewhat nervously, "You were being ironic, I hope?"

I lifted my head and gave him the stare I reserve for a student who has just been totally stupid. I gave his balls a quick squeeze as well, just to reinforce the point.

"Sorry," he muttered, going red, "but seriously, did he not get it?"

"What do you think?" I scoffed. "He lapped it up. Anyway, I put on a bright smile, and told Allan to introduce me to everyone. Some I knew from our Saturday evening dinner parties, but there were quite a few that I didn't.

"By the time we got round to Richard and Cynthia, I had come to the conclusion that, without exception, the 'Players' were total dorks. Their partners were generally OK, but some were so sycophantic, that old Larson cartoon about Rudolph being a brown nosed reindeer came to mind.

"We started chatting, and Allan and Cynthia almost immediately starting discussing the performance -- or more exactly, the other actors' performances. Will (who had played Nick) came in for real bitchy comments. As they got more and more into their back-stabbing, my nose started to twitch: it had started picking up the 'greasepaint' smell, but this time with much stronger overtones."

"I remembered Allan's comments about the way this new greasepaint reacted to a person's emotions, and assumed that, as they were getting so excited again, the reaction was getting stronger."

I paused. "Don't look at me like that!" I snarled, staring towards Phil's feet under the duvet -- all the while going red.

He didn't even try to pretend: he just laughed and kept schtum.

"I may be good at acting, and at being ironic: I just wasn't good at seeing the blindingly bloody obvious. OK?"

Phil stroked my hair. "One of the things I love about you," he said, "is that you are so straightforward and trusting. If I didn't know better, I would call you naïve, but you aren't -- you just want to see the good in people.

"Don't ever change. Please?" he asked with love coating every syllable. "I promise you, you'll never have to worry about me. Being with you is just so relaxing. I don't have to think about every word before I open my mouth. After all those years out in the Far east when you had to be so careful that no one 'lost face', I don't think you fully understand how much that means to me."