Whatever It Takes Ch. 01

My wife and I have been together for ten years and I should state from the outset that my wife and I enjoy what I can only describe as an open relationship, but not in the sense that most people would understand the term. Where our story is perhaps unusual is our prolonged and somewhat complicated courtship; and how that courtship eventually had such a significant influence on our life style.

We first met when I was 22 and she a year younger at 21. Sarah had moved into the local area with her mother. Although I had had several serious girlfriends, she was the first woman I had ever simply looked at and felt an overwhelming attraction. For me it was the proverbial love at first sight and unusually for me, it wasn't long before I managed to pluck up the courage to ask her out. As I half expected, she turned me down but she was very sweet about it. In fact, in the following weeks I asked her many times but she always managed to knock me back without being unpleasant or destroying my confidence. I suppose in retrospect, from her perspective this was not a very good strategy, because I just kept going back for more.

I figured that I would eventually wear her resolve down and she would agree to go out for a meal, which was all I wanted, just a chance to get to know each other. If after that she didn't want to know then I would back off. In total, I probably asked her out well over a dozen times, certainly frequently enough to allow it to become something of a running joke. About once a week, I contrived to ask her out in a different way, usually with some kind of attempted humour. Despite the regular rejections my enthusiasm remained high, as I never saw her out with anyone other than a few girl friends; there was never any sign or hint of a boyfriend. My approaches seemed to be reasonably well received by her and, equally encouragingly, I had the knack of making her laugh. After three months and following a particularly inspired and innovative invitation to dinner she finally relented.

At around seven pm, I nervously rang the doorbell of her house and was let in by her mother. Emma was a very pleasant and rather attractive lady in her mid forties, who was very chatty and quickly put me at ease. She told me Sarah was just finishing her make-up and would be down in a moment. After just a few minutes of chit chat, I heard someone descending the stairs and turned my head expectantly towards the sound of the footsteps. Up to that point, I had only seen Sarah in jeans and baggy tops that gave only vague hints about her figure. It was only when she entered the room that I realised what all those casual clothes had kept concealed. She was stunning; everything about her was stunning. I know it's a cliché, but I thought she had the face of an angel and the figure of a model. She was dressed in a black, figure hugging satin pencil skirt with a white lace top with a modest neckline, revealing just a hint of cleavage. A thin black belt, cinched in the blouse at her waist, accentuating her feminine curves. For a moment, I just stared, unable to think of anything to say. Mercifully, Emma broke the silence.

"You look lovely darling. Don't you think so Mark?"

I stammered in agreement, wishing I could think of something funny to say; something witty, but nothing came and my mind remained stubbornly blank. Taking pity on me Sarah smiled and simply said,

"Come on you, don't we have a date?"

I glanced at her mother and noted a brief look of surprise cross her face, followed almost immediately by a satisfied smile, but at the time I thought more nothing of it. I promised Emma that I would have Sarah home before 11 O'clock. We drove the short distance to a local restaurant and chose a table in a dimly lit and secluded corner. The evening went as well as I could have hoped. She laughed at my jokes and in return, I was as attentive as any man could be. I felt like pinching myself, hardly believing my good fortune. As the evening progressed, we spoke in an increasingly intimate manner although she steadfastly refused to get physically closer to me even when I shifted my weight and subtly tried to lean in towards her. I was content but could not stop myself from taking the odd surreptitious glance at the rounded swell of her breasts whenever she looked away. I thought I was being discrete, but occasionally when I looked up, she was looking me directly in the face, a hint of a smile playing about her lips. I could feel my face flush with embarrassment but try as I might I could not stop myself. I wished the night would never end but of course it did and all too soon. I suddenly realised that, apart from the staff, we were alone in the restaurant. Impatient waiters started preparing to close the restaurant, placing chairs on tables, clanging plates and glasses so loudly I thought they would break. We heeded the somewhat pointed and heavy-handed hints so I paid the bill and got up from the table thanking the waitress for a lovely meal. I opened the door to the restaurant and stood dutifully to one side allowing Sarah to leave before me. As she went through the doorway, I was surprised but pleased to feel her hand shyly seeking mine and we walked the short distance to my car hand in hand. I parked in the street outside her house and saw her to her door. I anticipated an awkward moment when it came to finally saying good night, but before I had a chance to do anything, she flashed me a dazzling smile, thanked me for a lovely evening and was gone, the front door of her house closing softly behind her. I was left on the doorstep, disappointed and a little confused. The scent of her perfume still filled my nostrils, almost overwhelming my senses and I knew that I was smitten. However, judging by her reaction, I had no reason to believe that she felt the same.

The following day I called her on her mobile telephone as early as I dared. I apologised for not thanking her for a lovely evening but assured her that I had enjoyed her company. I clumsily tried to steer the conversation in such a way that I could ask her if she wanted to see me again. I failed miserably, so in the end I decided to ask her a straight question. I summoned up my courage, almost afraid of the answer I may receive.

"Sarah," I started nervously, "I would really love to see you again, but if last night was a one off, please tell me and I promise I won't bother you again."

There was a short silence, but long enough for me to become aware that I was holding my breath, in anxious anticipation.

"Of course I would like to see you again," she whispered, "I had a great time, and besides, my mum thinks you are lovely. I think I should keep a close eye on you both," she finished with an endearing, girlish giggle.

I had heard all I needed to hear. I was already late for work, so I finished by telling her that I would call her again that evening. I could not have been happier. After all this time, she liked me, and that was all that mattered. As promised, after I got home from work, I called her again and we chatted for hours talking about anything and everything. The only area she was reluctant to discuss was her previous relationships. I was not so naive to believe I was her first boyfriend, nevertheless, I was puzzled about the abruptness of her attitude whenever the subject was mentioned.

I pushed it to the back of my mind and continued to court the girl of my dreams. We spoke every night for the next week until our next dinner date. For a second time we stood outside her front door, after another lovely evening out, but this time I was alert and ready to prevent her making a quick escape. Instead of allowing her to duck through her door, I took her hands in mine and went to kiss her on the lips. She turned her head away and I had to content myself with a quick peck on the cheek. After a slight resistance, she allowed me to embrace her and slowly she seemed to relax. She turned her face to mine and we enjoyed our first proper kiss. I decided to take the initiative and allowed my hands to slide down her back towards the delicious swell of her bottom. Any hopes of physical intimacy were immediately dashed, when she twisted away, bidding me a curt goodnight, this time the door was shut very firmly in my face. Again, she was gone and for the second time I was left confused. Perhaps I had misjudged the extent of our admittedly brief relationship, but even as the thought came into my mind I knew deep down I had not done anything unusual or unreasonable.

I stewed over the events most of the night unable to sleep. Instead of phoning her the next day, I decided to see if she would call me. From our conversations, I was certain she liked me and indeed I flattered myself to think it was more than just liking; she had even said as much, but her actions were completely inconsistent with her words. Throughout the day I kept checking my mobile telephone to see if I had any missed calls or texts and to make sure that I had a good signal. I had heard no telltale text alerts and no ringtone, but I checked anyway. As the hours passed, I became increasingly concerned that I had really offended her. It was gone nine o'clock in the evening when the long awaited text arrived. It simply said;

'Whats up? where ru? S xx'

My resolve disappeared and I relented, selecting the return call option within seconds of reading her text. Once again, I was a little nervous.

"Hi," I said, "are you okay?"

"I'm okay, I thought there was something wrong, you usually call me." She sounded as if she had no idea why I had not called.

"Well we didn't exactly part on the best of terms last night did we." I said rather harshly. It wasn't a question, simply a statement. After the turmoil I had experienced all day, I was annoyed that she appeared to be in denial. I thought we needed to discuss the subject, not pretend it didn't happen.

"Please, can we just forget it; I don't want to talk about it." She was almost pleading with me. I decided not to push it. Okay, I thought, perhaps I had lost some perspective; it was hardly a big deal and after all, it was in truth only a second real date. Maybe the fault was mine and the long conversations we had enjoyed, often late at night, had led me to wrongly believe that our relationship had developed further than it actually had. I still had an uncomfortable feeling that I was trying to convince myself, so perhaps she wasn't the only one in denial.

In time, it became apparent that my suppressed instinct was correct. After four months and many more dates, we had still not progressed beyond what, could only be described, as platonic kissing and hugging. Whilst I was prepared to wait there was clearly something wrong. She never claimed to be saving herself for the right man; she simply did not seem to want intimate physical contact. In every other respect, our relationship seemed to be perfect at every level.

I had grown to love her and couldn't imagine not being with her. She said she loved me and I believed her. I had now turned 23 and yearned to express my love for Sarah in a physical way. As a fit and healthy young man, I also had needs. Sarah satisfied my emotional needs fully but when it came to physical release, I had to take care of them myself. I would not entertain the idea of being unfaithful to her so I was left with little alternative. It became a matter of routine that we would go out for the evening, I would kiss her goodnight and give her a parting hug. I would then return home to my empty bed and to my shame, to masturbate dreaming of her. It seemed something of a contradiction that whenever we went out she dressed provocatively, making the most of her lovely figure and displaying just enough leg or cleavage to attract attention but never so much that it looked slutty or tarty. I found myself enjoying the fact that other men would openly stare at her when she walked by or when she was sitting on a bar stool showing off a little leg. I was proud that we were together and I was sure that many of the men casting surreptitious glances at her were envious of me and would have gladly exchanged places with me. Little did they realise that I had seen no more of her body than they; neither would they have guessed that we had yet to share a bed or any real intimacy.

I periodically tried to introduce a physical dimension to our relationship, but it always caused tensions and was followed by a period where our conversations became strained. Eventually after 18 months it proved too much. After yet another rejection and a particularly extreme reaction from Sarah, I finally forced myself to see reality. I thought long and hard about our future...my future, and I realised I could not go on like this. I felt selfish but I knew that I wanted an adult relationship and at some point a family; with Sarah, there was simply no prospect of such a future. After agonising for three weeks, I finally decided to break up with her but found that having made the decision I simply couldn't find the right time to do so, probably because there could be no right time for such a conversation: or perhaps it was simply that I lacked the courage.

During our entire courtship we had not changed our routine. In the early evening I would call for Sarah at her house; she would invariably still be getting ready and I would end up in conversation with Emma. I had become very fond of Emma. She had the same mischievous character as Sarah and indeed had the same feminine figure with full rounded breasts and long slim legs. It was easy to see from where Sarah had got her good looks and figure. Emma always appeared elegant and invariably dressed well. I had never seen her in jeans as she clearly preferred dresses or skirts. Occasionally, when waiting for Sarah, I would find myself idly wondering if such elegance extended to her underwear, perhaps some stockings and suspenders. Either that or I would steal a surreptitious look at her shapely breasts or bottom. Over the months, our conversations had become increasingly flirtatious. At some point, it had occurred to me that although she was a very attractive and pleasant woman, in the time that I had known her there had been no talk or indication of a boyfriend. I put it down to her rather messy and unpleasant divorce, which she occasionally spoke about, although not in any detail, although she was uncharacteristically savage when describing Sarah's father, her eyes flashing in sudden and unexpected anger.

When I had decided to break up with Sarah, I realised that it would inevitably also mean ending my friendship with her mother. It bothered me more than it should have, but I was firmly resolved to make a future for myself and the kind of future I wanted could not include Sarah and by implication that meant breaking the relationship with Emma too.

I will never make a good poker player! I wear my heart on my sleeve and if I am happy or upset, nervous or confident the signs are there for everyone to see. Once I had plucked up the courage to break with Sarah I knew I owed it to her to do so to her face, where I could explain my reasons to her and at least try to ease the distress I thought our break up would cause.

I was prepared to accept full responsibility and that it was my selfish desire for a very particular future that had caused me to come to this decision. I arrived at her house and just like the first time more than 18 months ago, I nervously knocked at her door, my heart pounding. I had not told Sarah of my intention to call, but was half-relieved, half-disappointed, when Emma answered the door and told me that Sarah was not at home. I felt a little foolish, as it was only then that I remembered that several days before Sarah had told me she was going out that evening, but with my mind is such turmoil I completely forgotten. Emma invited me in and then reminded me that Sarah had gone out with some girl friends straight from work to the new restaurant that had just opened. She didn't expect her home for at least another three hours. Despite my sense of temporary relief, Emma sensed something was wrong and said as much;

"I can see you are upset about something Mark, won't you tell me what is wrong?" She asked, her tone betraying an anxiety that I was not expecting. I wanted desperately to talk to someone but felt that Sarah's mum was hardly an appropriate choice.

"Sorry, Emma, this is between me and Sarah," I replied defensively. "I'll leave it until tomorrow."

Perhaps it was female intuition or more than likely the truth was written all over on my face, but her next comment was right on the money.

"Oh my God you are going to break up with her aren't you?" The anxious look on her face was now replaced with a look of horror. She had turned suddenly pale and her usual poise and confidence seemed to crumble in front of me. Her breathing had become shallow and hurried. I could not look her in the face so I stared at my feet like a scolded teenager. I could find no words and my lack of response only served to confirm her fears.

"My God you are, for heaven's sake why, why?"

This was a private matter but I felt the need to justify my decision.

"Come on Emma, surely you must have some idea".

"Try me," she responded. Her tone was a mixture of aggression and concern.

It felt so wrong to be complaining to Sarah's mother but I couldn't help myself.

"She shuts me out all the time. She won't let me get close to her. You do understand that after eighteen months all we have ever done is kiss and cuddle. She is just not interested in me as a man... if you know what I mean?

I paused, waiting for a reaction. Had I said too much? I desperately wanted Emma to understand that I had been a good and loyal boyfriend to her daughter and that this was not a decision I had taken lightly. I also knew deep down any such conversation should be with Sarah.

Emma said nothing, but the look on her face was now pensive as if she was debating what to say next. She turned her back on me and walked slowly to the other side of the room. She paused there a few moments and then returned to look me directly in the face. Her gaze was unnerving. Her words, when they came, sounded cautious as if she was still uncertain about how to express her thoughts.

"Yes, I think I may know. Sarah has spoken to me ... Mark there is something you need to know, something Sarah cannot talk about." She had clearly made up her mind to reveal something deeply personal and the pained tone in her voice started alarm bells ringing in my head.

"The divorce was very hard on Sarah. I have never spoken about the reason why Sarah's dad and I divorced, but the reason we moved here was to try to make a clean break, to get away from an area that has some very bad memories for both of us." Her eyes were moist. I could see this was difficult for her and allowed her to continue in her own time. A sense of foreboding came over me and I dreaded what I may be about to hear.

"Sarah's father was not a nice man. He did things to her when she was young. Please don't ask me for details but please believe me, Sarah loves you and is doing her best to get over it, but it is really hard for her to be with a man."

Tears were now streaming freely down her cheeks, smudging her mascara and leaving a glistening trail of tears that collected on the point of her chin and dripped onto her breasts. The sudden and unexpected pain her words had caused me caught me off guard and made me realise the true extent of my feelings for Sarah. I immediately began to doubt my decision to leave. I found that I was getting angry; thinking of the pain Sarah must be feeling and more uncomfortably how my pressurising her into a physical relationship would have only contributed further to that pain.

I tried, without success, to articulate my chaotic, jumbled thoughts to the woman in front of me. She looked distraught and vulnerable. Instinctively, I opened my arms and she fell into them, both of us seeking comfort through physical contact. As we held each other, her crying had triggered tears of my own and our free flowing tears mingled on our cheeks. Sharing the pain and feeling her warm body pressed against mine seemed to help; I knew I was embracing someone who loved Sarah at least as much, and probably even more than me. We continued to hold each other tightly for what seemed an age. Eventually when the crying had subsided a little, she continued, her emotions still making it difficult for her to speak;