What goes around comes around (Lily’s Story) (16 page)

The rest of the day passes in a haze of love-making.  We
order food in the room and feed it to each other, sitting in bathrobes on the
bed.  He runs me a bath and insists on washing me himself all over my body,
finally caressing me intimately until I orgasm again.  I can’t believe it can
be like this.  My body feels loved and beautiful.  I want to return some of
what he has given me, so when it is his turn to bathe I can’t resist washing
him too.  I relish the chance to touch his beautiful body all over as he lies
back and closes his eyes, lost in the sensation.  As I reach to touch and
caress his cock, he opens one blue eye and raises an eyebrow.

“Why, Mrs Lambert, I do believe I’ve created a monster,” he
says with a small smile playing on his lips.  I only smile as I lean over him
to take him in my mouth.  I allow my tongue to play with his tip and run along
the underside until he groans in ecstasy.  I move to take him fully in my
mouth, unable to take his full length given his generous size, and gently suck
while one hand wraps around his base and the other tickles his balls.  I know
he’s close when I can feel his control slipping as his hips pump more rapidly.

“Fuck, Lily,” he says as he finally tips over the edge and
shoots into my throat.  It tastes warm and salty as I swallow it down.  I watch
him, delighting in the way he looks so sated, lying there in the warm bath
water, before standing and leaving him to go and get myself dressed.

********

We haven’t left the room all day, so when we finally emerge
it’s a shock to encounter other people in the lobby.  We have to give up our
feeling of intimacy and return to a state of paranoia, always wondering who
might be looking at us, ready to report our misdemeanours. 

James is quiet as we walk to the cars, before finally
turning to me: “You don’t have to go back to him”, is all he says, his eyes
intense as he looks for my response.

“Don’t I?” I wonder out loud.  He was only verbalising
thoughts that had been running through my own head all day.  “So what would I
do?  Live with you?”  I see the look of discomfort that flashes over his face,
and a little part of me dies inside.  “Thought so,” is all I say, as I move to
open my car door.

“Lily, he doesn’t deserve you,” he says forlornly.

“Maybe or maybe not, but he is my husband, and he does need
me.  I don’t think he could cope without me,” I say honestly and realise it’s
true, he can’t.  I do everything for him.  I sigh before adding, “I made my bed
so to speak eighteen years ago, and now I should be lying in it.” I know I
sound harsh, and he looks desolate for a moment which makes me soften.  “I’ve
had a wonderful day, James; it’s been like nothing I’ve ever had before.  Thank
you for showing me how it can be,” I say from the bottom of my heart.

“I need to see you again,” he says.

“I don’t know,” I hedge.  “I can’t call in sick all the
time, even given my accident-prone nature.” He at least manages to smile at
that.  “Let’s just see what happens, shall we?” I say, unwilling or unable to
break it off entirely.  He kisses me again, and we get into our respective
cars.  I let him drive off first, because I need to wait until my eyes are less
blurry from the tears that have filled them along with the feeling of hopelessness
which has washed all through my body. 
He doesn’t want me
, I think sadly
as I remember his reaction to my suggestion of coming to live with him. 
Thank
God I didn’t tell him I love him
.         

***********

It’s a shock to be back home and cooking the evening meal
after such a momentous day in my life.  Greg and Ethan are thankfully oblivious
to me and my strange mood.  Ethan has met a new girl he seems to really like
and is spending every evening he has with her, unless he is needed for work. 
He goes out half an hour after we finish dinner.  Greg is frantically preparing
for his meeting with Annie tomorrow, agonising over his selections.  I’m not
going with him; it would just be too awkward, and I don’t want to mix business
and pleasure and lose a perfectly good friend over it.  I have seen this
routine a number of times over the years now, and I know from bitter experience
that Greg’s descent into depression and despair after each knock back is longer
and harder to recover from.  I’m not sure I have the strength to pull us
through another, given my own emotionally fragile state at the moment.  Greg is
back in the shed after dinner, so once I have cleared up I get out my laptop
and write.  It’s bliss to forget my own life for a few short hours and lose
myself in the fictional lives of others.  It stops me dwelling on James and our
day together, although I am slightly sore from all our activities, so he is
never far from my mind.  I have turned my phone to silent to allow myself to
focus on the book, so it’s not until I move to take myself to bed, having
reached the halfway point in my novel, that I notice the texts waiting for me. 
I know without looking they are from James.  There are three.

Thank you for everything.  I can’t stop thinking about
you.

I am surprised to see he is becoming less cautious with his
messages, quickly pressing delete before moving on to the next.

I’m sorry.  I know I disappointed you when we spoke by
the car.  Believe me when I say I’m working on it.  I want us to be together

Again, I’m surprised by how unguarded he is becoming.  I don’t
understand what he means about working on us being together.  He knows my
predicament, so I can’t think what he’s working on.  I scroll quickly to the
last text:

I can’t forget the feel of you under my hands and around
me, the taste of you on my tongue.  Don’t cut me off Lily J x

I am shocked at the explicit nature of the text and the
instant images of us together from this afternoon that form in my mind.  The
sound of Greg coming back into the house makes me drop my phone, and I am
scrambling to retrieve it when he walks into the room. 

He senses my discomfort instantly.  “You okay?  You look
funny.”

I realise my face is flushed with guilt, and worse, I am
aroused. “Yes, fine,” I say more sharply than I intend.  I try to soften my
voice, while palming my phone from sight.  “I was just working on my book.  I’m
at a difficult bit, I need to concentrate.” 

As an artist, he understands this. “Well I’m heading up to
bed now.  I want to be fresh for the morning.”  He looks bright, even hopeful,
and my heart sinks to think what another knock back will do to him – to
us.

“Okay, see you in the morning.  What time are you off?”

“About ten.  I want to park, and then I’ll have to make a
couple of trips with the canvasses.”  He’s given this a lot of thought.

“I hope it goes well,” I say softly, and I mean it.  He
looks at me from the doorway for a moment, and his vulnerability is written all
over his face.  My instinct is to want to reassure him that it will be okay,
that he will be great and they will be bound to want him, but I can’t do it. 
We’ve been here too many times before, and for his own sake I can’t give him
false hope.  It hurts too much when we have to pick ourselves up off the floor
again. 

“Thanks,” he says, before closing the door as he leaves the
room.  I sit there feeling sad for a few moments and wonder what is the matter
with me before I realise it’s probably the most meaningful exchange we’ve had
in weeks.  More because of what wasn’t said than what was.  I look back down at
my phone and James’ text, wondering how on earth to respond before finally
sending my message:

Today was beautiful – it meant the world to me.
But I think we have to stop

I turn my phone off, unwilling to talk further, knowing how
little it will take for me to cave to him again.  And then I sit there and cry
for a long time.

I don’t turn my phone on at all the following morning.  I
can’t face it.  I help Greg load up the car with all his stuff before getting
the bus to the gym.  It’s still relatively early considering it’s the weekend,
so the gym is quiet.  Stuart isn’t on duty; in fact, the only person I see who
I know is Pete.  At first he tries to avoid me, but I make a point of walking
over to where he is.

“Hi,” I say awkwardly, trying to judge his mood.

“Hi,” he says, looking sheepish.  His eyes dart about the
room as if he’s looking for an escape route.

“Look, I won’t hold it against you if you want nothing to do
with me,” I plough on, determined to say my piece. “I just want to apologise
for Greg’s treatment of you at the pub.  You did nothing wrong, Pete.  I like
having you as a friend, and I’m sorry my jealous husband can’t see that’s what
it is, but I understand if you don’t want the hassle.  I’m just mortified that
you got sucked in to the carnival of humiliation my life has apparently become,”
I say, looking at my feet.  He’s looking at me with more affection than I
deserve now.

“It’s okay, Lily, I understand.  I’d probably be pissed if
you were my wife and another bloke came sniffing round.  I can’t deny I like
you, you know that, but I do understand you only want to be friends, and I
respect your decision.” He pauses, trying to decide what to say next.  “He
looked mighty pissed off with you, though.  Were you okay after we all left?”

“Yeah, fine,” I mutter, not wanting to get into that can of
worms, but touched by his continued concern for my well-being.

“Just remember you have lots of people who care about you,
Lily.  If you need me, just call.” 

I nod before moving away to start my workout, hiding my eyes
so he doesn’t see the tears threatening to spill out of them, relieved he hasn’t
cut me off completely. 
God, I am pathetic at the moment
, I berate
myself.  
Any kind words, and I fall to pieces. 

I channel my emotion into exercise for an hour and a half,
and by the time I’m finished I feel amazingly better. 
Endorphins are the
best thing ever, it’s official
, I decide.  As I make my way home, stopping
on the way to pick up some shopping, I wonder how Greg has got on with Annie. 
I’ve avoided talking about it with her because I’m so worried that if she hates
his stuff it will impact on our friendship.  When I walk the last bit home from
the bus stop I can see the car is already back.  I’m not sure if that’s a good
or a bad sign, but I’ve been out for a few hours so it could mean anything. 

As I open the door a shout greets me, “Did you get my text?”

“No, my phone’s off, and I forgot to turn it back on.  Why?”

“She only loved them!” he says appearing out of the kitchen
with a big grin on his face.  It transforms his face, and I get a glimpse of
the man from years ago.  “She really liked my newer stuff and wants some pieces
for the shop.  If they sell, she’ll keep featuring more.  She’s planning an
evening event that she needs me to go to, you know to schmooze the punters, let
them meet the artist, that sort of thing which she reckons will help if I turn
on the charm,” he says grinning, his voice full of excitement. “And then the
icing on the cake is she’s networked with a load of other galleries across the
UK and even a couple abroad.  She’s going to share my details around, and if
any of them bite I’ll have to go and do the same for their galleries.  It might
mean a bit of travelling, but the costs should be low if I just stay in B&B’s,
and it could make all the difference.  If the demand picks up then hopefully I’ll
start being commissioned regularly.” 

I think my mouth is hanging open at this point.  I don’t
know how many years we dreamed about this happening, and I had honestly given
up hope.

“I can’t believe it – that’s fantastic,” I say,
overwhelmed by the joy that is radiating off my husband.  He grabs my hand and
pulls me into a fierce hug, crushing me against his chest until I push away if
only to breathe.

“It’s going to get a bit busy for me, because I need to get
some canvasses finished.  She definitely prefers my newer abstracts, so I want
to make sure I have a supply ready if she wants them.  I left her a few today
that she’s planning to hang, so we’ll see what happens.”  He’s so excited, the
change is phenomenal.  It’s like the small, pink, vulnerable male ego that had
been withering inside of him has woken up, stretched and is now beating its
proverbial chest.  He’s standing taller and straighter – he actually looks
five years younger than he did when he left the house this morning.

“I’m proud of you,” I say softly.

He grins before telling me, “This is the start, Lil, I know
it is.” 

I can only nod as he launches into his plans for the rest of
the day which basically involve him painting in the shed for the foreseeable
future.  When he leaves the house I have to sit down for a moment, unsure of
what has just happened.  I reach for my bag and retrieve my phone, finally
turning it back on for the first time since last night.  There is a short delay
before the texts start to arrive.  There are four altogether, two from James
and one each from Annie and Greg.  I read Greg’s first:

She likes them Lil – I think this is it x

I smile at the joy he exudes, and a part of me is pleased he
wanted to share his news with me first.  I look at Annie’s next:

His work is beautiful sweetie.  Really.  I know u well
enough to know you’ll be thinking I’m just doing you a favour.  Believe me when
I say as much as I love you I would never risk my business.  He really is good
A x 

I feel a warm glow inside, both for Greg’s sake that he has
earned this chance on his own merit, and for Annie, because she already knows
me well enough to want to reassure me.  I send her a quick text back.

Thanks Annie, you have made him a very happy man x   

Then I steel myself and open up the first of James’ texts.

I knew you’d try and push me away again– it won’t work

I don’t even bother deleting it and just open up the second. 
It simply says:

Thinking of you, see you soon xx

I resolve to stay firm and not
cave in to him, despite the fact that every communication he sends me increases
my pulse.  I manage not to reply to his text
.  I really meant it when I told
him we should stop
, I tell myself, and then wonder who I’m trying to
persuade.  The chance Greg and I have spent the last eighteen years waiting for
has finally arrived, and I need to focus on supporting him to make the most of
it, not spend all my time running around behind his back seeing another man. 
So
why can’t I stop thinking about him?
I wonder in despair. 

I am determined to distract myself by cooking a celebration
dinner, texting Adam and Ethan to let them know the good news and asking Adam
to call his father tonight so he can tell him about it himself, and for Ethan
to be home to share the meal.  They are both delighted.  It’s a small step and may
never come to anything, but its significance to our family is huge – the
boys know how much this means to their dad and promise to do as asked.  I buy a
bottle of prosecco so we can have something fizzy to celebrate with at the
meal.  When Greg finally comes in covered in paint and looking tired but happy,
I swiftly pour us both a glass.  Ethan arrives home five minutes later, and we
sit down together to enjoy the first light-hearted meal since the night before
Adam left. Thoughts of James flicker through my mind occasionally; I haven’t
checked my phone again today.  I wonder if he has texted me again, and then I reprimand
myself for even thinking about him. 

I wash up while listening to Greg chatting happily on the
phone to Adam.  I wonder how different our lives might have been if this had
happened sooner. 
Would I have even looked at a man like James if Greg and I
had been happier?
  Who knew if we would even have been happier if Greg had
had more success in his career, and life had not been so hard for us, who knew
what it was that had made our marriage become so hard? 

I can feel the desire to look at my phone building in me.  I
have suppressed it for a couple of hours now, but I can’t resist any longer,
rummaging in my bag until I find it.  When there’s no message my stomach drops,
and I feel sick. 
What if I have chased him off for good?
I worry
inwardly and then berate myself for caving so soon.  My fingers hover over the
buttons, but I force myself to put it back in my bag and finish wiping the
sides.  Ethan has gone out with his girlfriend again – he seems
surprisingly serious about her – so Greg and I are alone again as ever
these days.  When he comes into the kitchen I think at first it’s to make his
way down to the shed for more time painting, but he walks over to me instead
and asks if I am nearly finished.  He stands watching while I sweep the floor
and then when I am done takes me by the hand and leads me up the stairs. 

When we reach our room I walk to the window to close the
curtains.  There’s a Mercedes parked in the road outside that makes me pause
for a moment because we don’t exactly live in an area where Mercedes are a
common sight.  I feel Greg step up behind me and put his arms around my waist,
pulling me in to him, and I resist for a moment, closing the curtains before
turning in his arms to face him.  He kisses me gently and I close my eyes,
willing my body to respond, but all I seem to see is James’ face in my mind. 
Angry with myself, I kiss Greg more forcefully, and he takes it as a sign and
moves me to the bed.  I can see he’s already aroused.  We strip ourselves of
our clothes and then move back together to resume our touching and kissing.  I
really want to feel something.  I really want to be aroused and forget James
and what he does to me, but my body remains resolutely unaffected.  When Greg
enters me my body seems cold and dry compared to my experience of the day
before.  Somehow knowing what it can be like makes this experience one hundred
times worse.  Greg is lost in the moment as ever, relentlessly pushing on
towards his goal, while I lie there wondering what this means for me, for us. 
Can I do this for the rest of my life? Greg is grunting now, the precursor to
his orgasm.  The final thrusts are accompanied by a groan as he collapses over
me, swiftly pulling out and leaving a trail of semen over my thigh.  I shudder
and hope he didn’t notice.  I feel like a whore must feel as I allow my body to
be used as a receptacle for his sperm with no emotional involvement on my part –
we barely even kissed.  It’s like night and day when I compare my experience
with Greg to my experience with James.  I know Greg cares for me in his own
way, but I just don’t know if it’s enough anymore, and I’m not sure what it’s
all going to mean for Greg and me or for our marriage.