Triple Tales

I walked home humiliated, frightened and desperately disappointed because I knew I lacked the courage to ever capitalise on Carole's promised sexual hospitality. My mind was so engrossed with these thoughts that it was not until I was standing outside our flat that I realised I could not go in. And it was bloody cold.

I looked up at the windows of our second floor flat to see that the bedroom curtains were drawn but the light had been left on. After some time spent wandering up and down trying to decide what to do, my fingers were so numb that I dropped the cigarette that I was trying to smoke. It was this that decided me because I realised that I needed a far thicker coat to survive the hours until Beef decided to leave. The next moment, I was fumbling my key into the lock. My intention was simply to grab some extra clothing but once inside, as everything seemed quiet, I could not resist the temptation to pour a large glass of whiskey, purely for inner warmth. It was only fair that I should have got out of there as quickly as I could but it is amazing how weak willed I had become thinking of the bitter wind outside. So I sank into a chair and sat sipping at my glass, allowing the central heating to gradually thaw me.

After about ten minutes, the bedroom door opened and Amanda ran out naked to grab two cans of beer from the fridge. It was not until she was returning to the bedroom that she saw me sitting there and stopped. "Wilf was at home when I got there - I think his trip must have been cancelled," I told her quickly before she could speak.

"Shit - I was banking on having all night." Amanda stood there with a mixture of annoyance and indecision her face but still looking undeniably extremely erotic. After a moment she muttered, "Hang on" and disappeared into the bedroom carrying the cans. There was a quick muttered conversation that I could not catch and then my wife poked her head round the door to say, "Beef says he usually charges an extra twenty if husbands want to watch but he'll let you come in for half price."

It was preposterous. What husband in his right mind would pay ten pounds to watch his wife being fucked by another man? But then the alternatives were hardly attractive. I could go outside and freeze to death in the street or I could remain seated where I was and just listen. But I was sexually supercharged from the events of the day and it was this factor that influenced my decision - I got out my wallet and walked into the bedroom with the correct denomination bank note clutched in my hand. They were sitting side by side on the pillows, naked and drinking their beer. Amanda looked up at me, smiled and said happily, "You haven't missed much love - we've only had a quickie so far."

Family Ties

To set the scene, I can say that I live in a mining village with Connie my wife of ten years and our two sons aged seven and five. Elsewhere in the village, my mum and Jim my father still live in the cottage where my younger brother James and I were brought up. Avoiding the pit, I work as a draughtsman and the wages enable us to live in a reasonable semi-detached house. James has done better in life than me, mainly because an influx of cash from somewhere enabled him to go to university. He now lives in a luxurious new detached house some ten miles away with his glamorous wife Elsa.

Just after Saturday lunch, Connie glanced at her watch then jumped up saying, "The boys will be safe playing next door for the afternoon so I'm popping into town love, I should be back in a couple of hours."

I was not bothered because this was a chance to watch a game of football on the box without fear of the usual interruptions. Twenty minutes later I was sitting in front of the set waiting for the match to start with a can of lager to hand and the newspaper on my lap. So I was not exactly pleased when my mother knocked on the door and walked in but I forced a welcoming smile onto my face and switched the television off. "You by yourself?" she asked.

I reported that Connie had popped out for a couple of hours and asked if it was her she had come to see. "No - it's you I want a word with - I'm glad that you are alone because it is rather delicate."

"Come and sit down, I'm all ears," I invited. Despite the disappointment at missing the match I was intrigued, mainly because I had never seen my mother with such a tense look on her face.

"How do you feel about your dad? Be honest - don't just say what you think I want to hear."

"I do love him but at times I not sure that I like him very much," I told her honestly.

"What exactly don't you like - I thought that he has always been very fair with you?"

"It's the way he once treated you that bothers me," I told her. When I was ten, a gang of us used to creep up on cars in a local lover's lane. On one occasion we watched a rocking car with steamed up windows for well over an hour and when the couple eventually emerged from the back seat, I was shocked to see that the male was my father. Then some years later as a teenager, I had taken a girl to the privacy of a motel car park and just happened to be in the right place to see my dad emerge from a cabin with his arm round a neighbour's wife.

"You mean his other women?"

I nodded mutely - I had not realised that she knew.

"Come on Gary - what did you see that has been upsetting you all these years?"

In a rush I blurted out the two incidents mentioned above and then added, "I know that dad is kind and sometimes very funny but I always thought that if he could betray you with other women like that he must be a bastard underneath."

Mother laughed. "You're being a bit silly - they didn't bother me and there were more than just a few. I actually welcomed them because they got your dad out of my hair so that he only pestered me when I wanted to be pestered." She paused and then suggested, "Make us a cup of tea love and we will have the little talk that I think we should have had a long time ago."

When we were sitting comfortably clutching our mugs she began, "Jim is very physical - he's the kind of man who would have liked to spend all of his life in bed, if you know what I mean. I loved the way he was until you came along but then for some reason I lost a lot of my sex drive and that's when your dad started playing around. Most men are not like him, they may talk about sex a lot but it is actually not at the top of their list of priorities - football, beer, fishing and whippets fill their minds far more of the time. In contrast and contrary to opinion, women are aware of sex far more, not least because they can never go anywhere without some male looking at them in a sexual way."

She stopped to light a cigarette and went on, "Most women lead pretty boring lives, at home looking after children and even if they do have a part time job it is usually pretty tedious. So they end up going to bed hoping for a bit of hanky panky to brighten up their day but the husbands are either too drunk or talk about their pet hobby for ten minutes then roll over and go to sleep. Now men like women to take the initiative in bed occasionally but if their wives keep pestering for sex, they start getting suspicious. I know of at least two innocent women who ended up divorced because their husbands got paranoid about them screwing other men. On the other hand I know loads of still happily married women in this village who found someone discrete to give them what their husbands were failing to provide. That is where your dad came in. Since his accident in the pit when he turned to plumbing, plastering and general odd jobs he has kept a lot of marriages on track - on quite a lot of his call-outs, the work was only pretence to get him to visit."

"I've done him an injustice," I said, feeling ashamed that I had condemned my father without really knowing the facts.

"Do you want to make it up to him?"

When I nodded she said, "Your dad is in a bit of a bad way. Over the last five years he has aged badly, his limp is far worse and he had to give up his handyman work in case he lost his disability allowance. That means that he can't get women any more. On top of that, since my hysterectomy two years ago there has been nothing at all from me in that direction. Can you imagine what it must be for a man such as your father condemned to living like a monk? He's started having really black depressions and I can see him shrivelling before my eyes. I love him and I can't bear to see him like this so I have decided that the only answer is to find a woman for him."

"You mean a prostitute?"

"No definitely not. After what he has done Jim would find having to pay for it even more humiliating than doing without. No what we need is an ordinary woman who would be willing to be nice to him occasionally - a bit of cheering up when he needs it. What do you think this woman should be like?"

The question was too vague for a realistic answer but, just to show willing I provided, "Reasonably attractive and probably quite a bit younger than him."

"That's good - and married. If she was single it could possibly get a bit out of hand."

It was my turn so I added "Discrete."

"It would also be best if she knew who he was - better still if she already liked him."

"Whoever it is, she will need to have a very generous nature."

"That is exactly what we want," my mother said excitedly, "Who do you know like that?"

I pretended to think and then shook my head. "Sorry mum, my mind's a blank. You know a load more women than I do, can you come up with anybody."

"There are one or two who might do at a pinch," she said, " - but the only one who really fits the bill is Connie."

For a moment I was stunned by the suggestion but then I realised that it had to be a joke and this started me chuckling. "Yes, she is about perfect," I agreed. "Just what the doctor ordered."

I continued laughing at the ludicrous idea and only slowly realised that my mother was not joining in the mirth. She waited until my jocularity had petered out and then said, "So?

"You can't be serious."

"I have never been more serious in my life Gary, your wife is the logical choice?"

I had no option but to bluster. "I don't see why it has to be Connie. I mean, if we are considering family for this, why not James's wife? Elsa is younger, they haven't any kids and although I hate to say it she is a lot better looking than Connie."

"There are two very good reasons why she is out. Don't ever breathe a word of this to James but Elsa is already having an affair with a guy at her health club. Apart from that your father doesn't like her - he always refers to Elsa as ' that toffee nosed tart'.

When no other alternative sprang to mind, I was reduced to muttering, "Well I don't like it - not one little bit."

"Connie and your dad always have got on very well, when he sets her giggling the way he does, I just know that he has said something cheeky to her. They have such a natural rapport that there would not be anything awkward or nasty about it if they got together so I don't really see why you should object."

"She's my wife and he's my father."

"I can understand why it might take a bit of getting used to but your dad needs help badly, so what do you say Gary?"

"It doesn't matter a damn what I say - surely it is what Connie says that matters."

"I have already spoken to Connie and she is all for it," my mother told me smugly.

"I don't believe it."

"You've got to believe it - Connie has only gone into town now to give me a chance to speak to you on your own."

"But why?"

My mother leaned forward and said softly, "You remember those neglected wives that I mentioned; well Connie feels that she is one. All the same, she is determined not to be unfaithful if she can possibly help it but she is finding it very hard. About a fortnight ago she got very emotional and said to me, 'Mum, sometimes I get so frustrated that I feel like going and selling myself on Watmough street.' Connie is a very troubled woman."

"I didn't know," I mumbled.

"I doubt if James' marriage will last another three years, so my only concern is saving yours. If Connie ever cheated on you I know how much it would break you up so we must prevent it happening. She is a very good wife and I know she doesn't want to be unfaithful but unless we do something she won't be able to stop herself having sex with another man sooner or later. If you want to know the truth Gary, I devised this whole plan to help Connie out - your dad is really the answer not the problem."

I started to weaken. "So how often do you think it should happen?"

"Just occasionally - say once a month. That would give Jim something to look forward to and also let a bit of the steam out of your wife's boiler."

"I'm not saying yes until I have spoken to Connie but if she is as enthusiastic as you say then I agree," I conceded reluctantly.

Connie got home about fifteen minutes after my mother left. She looked at me expectantly and asked, "Has your mother been?"

"Yes, she's been," I replied, keeping my face dead-pan.

"Did you talk?"

I nodded.

"And what did you say?"

"I told her that if you want to go to bed with my father, I'm not going to stop you - but I still don't understand why the hell you would want to."

"If I don't do something soon I think I am going to burst. I told your mother how I felt and when she suggested that going with your father might help, I agreed with her."

"Going with," I mimicked, "You make it sound so innocuous when what you are talking about is letting him fuck you."

"Well it probably will be pretty innocuous," Connie defended herself. "Your mum says that although Jim might have been a bit of a lion once, nowadays he has very little energy and even less stamina. So it could all be a lot of nothing much but it just might do him good - I'm not at all sure what benefit there will be for me. I can imagine that the excitement of thinking about it might be a lot better than the actual thing."

I could see that she was very determined so the only thing I could do was try and understand her point of view. "Please explain what got you so dissatisfied in the first place," I asked.

"Gary my life consists of taking the kids to and from school, doing a bit of housework then sitting about with nothing to do except remember what life used to be like as a teenager. When you come home you don't really talk to me and two evenings you are out anyway, once to night school and once to your local history club. I could put up with all that if you made a fuss of me in bed but most nights you just roll over and go to sleep."

"Why didn't you let me know that you were not getting enough sex?"

"Apart from acting like an outright whore, I couldn't make it more obvious. I wear sexy night-clothes, lots of perfume and I flaunt myself in front of you but you look right through me. Unless it is one of the rare occasions that you happen to have the urge, I'm just wasting my time."

On very dodgy ground, I tried to quickly change tack. "You know that you can have a night out yourself - how many times have I tried to get you to go to a disco or something?"

"Gary, there is one very simple reason why I dare not go out by myself - I know that if I do I will almost certainly open my legs to some guy or other before the evening is over."

That simple statement shook me rigid because I suddenly saw the magnitude of the problem.

"All right, if it will help, I agree," I surrendered.

Connie jumped forward and kissed me. "I love you," she said. "We can talk some more later if you want but right now I have to dash next door for the boys. See if you can dig some fish fingers out of the fridge."

I didn't really want to talk about it so there was no later discussion except that I mentioned my mother having suggested that Connie might see my dad once a month. Connie said she thought once every two weeks might be better and I didn't argue. I also asked when the first time was likely to be and my wife told me that she would let me know.

Early evening, the following Wednesday I was reclining in my chair and trying to listen to the sports news over the sound of my sons playing war games on the carpet when I glanced up to see my mother hanging up her coat. At that moment, right on cue, Connie appeared looking rather dressed up. She knelt between the two boys, kissed them and said, "I am going out so as a treat for you two, Grandma has come to get your supper and put you to bed." Then standing she gave me a quick kiss and murmured, "See you tomorrow. Please don't worry and remember that I love you."

Before I could react she was gone and I was left with the sound of my mother explaining, "She's gone to say hello to your dad."

"But wasn't I meant to be told before this," I protested.

"Maybe, but we thought it was better this way - it gave you less time to brood." As she spoke, my mother bent down and extracted a bottle of whiskey from her bag. "I thought we might have a little drink together when the children are safely in bed."

"But Connie just said that she would see me tomorrow, I thought that this was only going to be for an hour or two."

"It probably will be quick, I bet they probably spend more time playing dominoes than anything else," my mother told me calmly. "Anyway, would you really want your wife walking back here alone in the dark, not to mention me going home by myself?"

The next hour was spent sorting out sleeping arrangements - I did the decent thing and surrendered our bed to my parent and brought down bedding for me to make do on the couch. More time was taken up bathing the kids and getting them to bed and then I joined my mother in front of the television set. She quickly turned the sound down and for the rest of the evening kept my mind occupied with her reminiscences of my childhood, without a single reference to either my wife or father. We drank steadily (or I did) and by the end of the evening I was absolutely blotto. I can vaguely remember her tucking me in on the couch as if I was a child again.

Connie got home next morning just as I was about to set off for work nursing a throbbing head. I looked at her enquiringly but could not ask. "Your dad is great - he really made me laugh," she said. For some strange reason that remark made everything all right."

Throughout the next fortnight I knew that this exercise was going to be repeated but it did not bother me. I think that I had half got into my head the idea that Connie was giving my dad companionship and a boost to his morale with no sex involved. When the appointed night came she helped this impression by just wandering off quite casually after tea as if it was no big deal. This time my mother brought no booze and nor did she feel the need to keep my mind occupied, so we watched TV and drank a bit of wine that I provided. Knowing that his grandma was again staying the night, my youngest son begged to sleep in her bed. As she was agreeable, I was able to kip down in his bed and during all the future similar nights I had no more recourse to the couch.

The following night in bed with Connie, she suddenly said, "You don't take after your dad at all do you?"

"Not much," I agreed. "When I was young, I convinced myself that I must be adopted because I had not got the same family resemblance as James and I never understood why he was named after my father and not me. In the end my mum showed me a picture of her father and it was easy to see that I have inherited everything from him."

"Yes James does look more like your dad than you do but I have always thought that he looks a lot more like your Uncle Arthur."

"I've never really noticed but then Dad and Uncle Art are very much alike," I responded and then after a pause I asked, "When you said that I'm not like Dad, did you mean in a specific way?"