The Old Pals Act

"I didn't know that the way I have behaved was in my nature either - like you say, it just seems to get triggered when he is around. We certainly don't need a replacement for him. Tear it up," she said.

I reasoned that to do so would show that we were afraid of that Svengali figures continuing control over us but to keep the card but ignore it would keep Brad firmly in his place. Reluctantly Sylvia accepted this argument so I put the card at the front of some papers that we keep on the end of the mantelpiece. After the drink, I was set to work with the vacuum cleaner while my wife stripped both beds and made them up with fresh bedclothes, (I later found that she had also partially rearranged the bedroom). She then took a long hot bath and when she was finished I followed suit. We then took pains dressing up, rang a taxi to take us to eat out and continued to drink in convivial surroundings until past the middle of the evening. The conversation was entirely reminiscences of our early and middle but not recent past. Another taxi took us home, we had a warm drink before retiring early to bed where we kissed, caressed and simply held each other for a very long time. We did not have sex.

During the following week we cleaned the house from top to bottom, removing the very aura of that man's presence. We did make love but it was 'making love' rather than having sex, slow and loving, tender and easy. Sylvia's orgasms were gentle things, she said 'flowing over her like a warm tide giving contentment and restful sleep'. It was amazing, after all that I had got her back whole and complete.

I was engulfed in happiness that I felt I did not deserve. With regard to my own latent sexual urges I felt as though Brad never had been.

On the Friday night we allowed ourselves to get more light-hearted and it turned into a wresting match, during which we rolled naked and entwined onto the floor. It was the first time since we had regained our lives that the sex element was greater than that of love. The following day Sylvia wore a brief sun dress but this was understandable as the weather was very warm. In the middle of the morning she complained that a plug was stiff, and looking up from my newspaper I saw her bending over facing away from me. I also saw that she was not wearing any knickers. No further invitation was needed and that was the start of a fun, sex filled day - a day of healthy, natural, legitimate sex. Including the final session in bed, I satisfied her three times and even when we were not actually having sex we were constantly kissing and touching.

Sunday we repeated the exercise and that too was good, if perhaps lacking something of the spontaneity. We should have reserved these protracted sex sessions for the weekends when we had both time and energy but I think that both of us were trying to prove we could have very full sex lives without the participation of Brad. The honest truth was that we couldn't. Without the presence of a third person there was a lack of momentum and I found that I needed the eroticism of watching Brad perform to get me ready for a quick return to the fray. Unwilling or unable to admit defeat, we persevered night after night, falling asleep tired and flat rather than uplifted.

Picking one of our better moments, I suggested that she should come off the pill with the explanation that if she was pregnant, Brad would be unable to make demands when he returned. Sylvia gave the idea short shrift. "We planned not to start a family for another two years and I am not prepared to let that man control my life in that way or any other," she said firmly. "If he asks to stay with us again I will simply tell him that we have other guests and that it is inconvenient."

The third week we reverted to gentle loving every other night with more success but it was not the natural coming together with which we had celebrated our freedom. I felt frustration building up and from certain unguarded expressions on my wife's face, I was pretty sure that she was the same. We got very irritable with each other and she started to complain bitterly about small tasks that I had left undone. "When are you going to do something about the fucking wardrobe - I specifically remember asking you to fix it weeks ago," she snarled, preferring to forget the circumstances under which she had made the request.

We both recognised the danger and backtracked, instead being excessively polite to each other - and in its way that was as bad. I began to suffer from an embarrassing sensitivity in my anal area. During the fourth week I twice woke after dreaming that I had been giving oral sex to a giant disembodied penis, to find that I was obsessively sucking my thumb like a child. Then another night I was disturbed by Sylvia moving against me. Investigation revealed her to be lying with arms behind her head, eyes closed but with an abandoned expression on her face. Her legs were splayed wide apart and her body was moving in the rhythms of intercourse. I was instantly aroused and hastened to finish the rogering that her phantom lover had started. As I entered her she sighed, "Brad," and in that instant my erection died. I rolled one way and she unhappily rolled the other, never perhaps having risen to full consciousness. As a form of divine retribution, my erection now returned at full force to torment me. However in the vivid images of Brad engaged in sex that flooded my mind, I was his imagined partner and not my wife.

For many days, whenever I had entered the room, my eyes had been inevitably drawn to the white card on the mantelpiece - even sitting trying to read I found myself staring at it with the novel forgotten. Deciding to remove the temptation, I moved the card to behind another item with only a corner showing but next time that I glanced that way the damn thing was back in front. That evening when we were both sitting reading I very deliberately went to get the card then returned to my seat. I knew that Sylvia was aware of my action but she kept her eyes fixed on her book.

After a minute or two, making my voice excessively casual I said, "You know, it wouldn't do any harm just to meet this chap for a drink somewhere. At least we would not need to wonder what he looks like any more."

"I suppose not," she said but her voice sounded even more disinterested than my own. Rather disappointed I looked back at the card, unsure how or even whether to pursue the subject. The next thing I knew, Sylvia had jumped up, grabbed the telephone and plonked herself down by my side. With eyes sparkling she asked, "Are you going to ring him or shall I?"