Innocuous Interludes.

He had made it perfectly clear to me that I was there purely for purposes of sex. He didn’t expect me to do any housework. A maid came in once a week to do a thorough cleaning and iron his clothes. Naturally, I would make the bed and wash the dishes from the previous evening’s dinner, when I eventually got out of bed at around ten in the morning.

There was never any time to do the dishes at night. I was being subjected to heavier sexual traffic than I had ever been; every morning and evening and, sometimes, he’d pop home during the day, for a quickie. Largely, I was a lady of absolute leisure during the day, fulfilling my sexual duties in the evenings and on weekends.

It would go something like this; sex, from five to six in the morning. Then I would go back to sleep, while he made coffee for himself and bathed before leaving for work. At ten I’d get up and bath, then attend to my grooming, ensuring that I looked ravishing, in case he popped around. Then I would clean up quickly. I would do this just wearing a G-string and high heels. He wanted me to always wear high heels, even when I was alone at home. It’s a culture which I quickly adopted. It made me feel sexy and aroused me.

Then I‘d pull on something skimpy and go and sit outside, under the tree, reading a book, or writing my poetry [I have been published], or giving myself a manicure, while having a cup of tea. Sometimes, some of my ex-hopefuls would call on me, bearing gifts with which they still hoped to bribe me to screw them. I always accepted their gifts but never fulfilled their desires. I warned them not to call before three in the afternoon, when it was relatively certain that Pete wouldn’t be around before five again. I never dissuaded them from coming around, but I didn’t want him to find out that I was still entertaining them.

He doesn’t really work. He acts as a business consultant and accountant to his son’s business, but prefers to go in every day to ensure they don’t cause crap. He says his son’s father-in-law, whose business, it actually is, is inclined to go a little wild with money at times and they’re not very clued up about either sound business practices or accounting principles.

The arrival of a visitor would normally herald the time to have a drink. They liked bringing liquor with in the hopes of seducing me; as the adage goes: candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker. Anyway, nothing untoward happened as a result of these visits, but I was becoming bored, doing nothing all day.

On the Sunday morning of our initial meeting, two women had called on Pete. The one obviously had designs on him. I quickly put a stop to that, slipping on a T-shirt and plonking myself down on his lap, proprietorially, laying claim to “my man”. That earned me a rebuke. After they’d departed he told me never to appear in public, as I did, looking dishevelled and without being properly presented. We’d been enjoying the resumption our sexual activities when they interrupted us. In my panic, when I realised the gist of her intent, from the conversation I was overhearing, I grabbed a T-shirt and stumbled outside without giving a thought to my appearance.

Some days later, I was sitting under the tree when, surprisingly, this same woman arrived for what she portrayed as a casual visit. As it turned out, it was not such an innocuous visit. She had indeed surprised me by arriving so early and she was the last person I ever expected to visit me. I was sitting there just in a thong and high heels, not expecting visitors so early. She’d taken the liberty of just walking in as the gate was not locked. I was engrossed in the book and hadn’t heard her. When I realised I had a visitor, she was already standing in front of me. It was too late to cover up and, seeing who it was, I didn’t care. Let the bitch see what the object of her desire was getting, which she, so desperately, wished she was supplying him with.

She informed me that she lived in a garden flat, around the corner from us that she rented from a doctor. She was moving out and wanted to know if I wanted to move in there. The Doc was also an acquaintance of Pete’s. She regaled me with stories of the wild parties they had there, fuelled by booze and drugs that The Doc purloined from the hospital where he worked and how little rent she paid. She implied that she compensated him, in kind, for the low rent.

That was, of course, already obvious to me, as was her motive for visiting me. She was trying to get me out of the way so she could have a clear run-in on Pete. I told her I wasn’t interested, but facetiously thanked her, for thinking of me.

She knew all about Pete’s preferences for high heels, long nails and cleanly shaved pussies. I told her they were also my preferences and I loved being such a sexy bitch and that it ensured Pete screwed me every morning and evening. I was really rubbing her face in it, the bitch. Now I was glad I hadn’t dressed. All the evidence was right there for her to see, in the raw and swollen genitals, cleft by my G-string. She insisted on giving me The Doc’s number, in case I changed my mind, before departing.

This made me as jealous as all hell and, that evening, I asked him if he’d screwed her. He admitted that he’d tried, but it hadn’t been a success because she was, so, not his kind of woman. One drunken evening he’d bent her over the kitchen counter and given her a few pumps from behind. He hadn’t been able to maintain an erection and, very unceremoniously, told her to pull up her pants and go home. He said, it had been more of a joke than anything else.

That is how he is. He doesn’t give a shit about anything. I was relieved but the seed had been planted. I wasn’t about to go back into a similar situation as the one I’d just escaped from, but there was no harm in keeping all avenues open, just in case. It also gave me an idea to have some harmless fun to relieve my boredom.

I still didn’t understand fully that I was in fact free to indulge myself with other men, if I chose to, as long as I did so with discretion and integrity. As I’ve mentioned before, I couldn’t conceive of a man who didn’t demand fidelity from his woman. And, I viewed myself very much as that, after he’d conceded to let me move in with him. And, it had been a concession on his part, after I’d begged him, pleading loneliness, the dangers of a woman living on her own and any other excuse I could think of.

I have to admit that it wasn’t solely inspired by the fantastic sex, I'd experienced. I also saw it as an opportunity to save on my living expenses. I wasn’t being completely altruistic in my motives for moving in with him. In my usual fashion, I was using him.

The bit of “harmless fun” I had in mind wouldn’t turn out to be so harmless after all. It was fun, but the honesty and integrity were missing, as I’d decided to keep it all to myself and it came back to bite me in the ass.

After she’d left, I went to lie down on the bed and took a very provocative and explicit photo and sent it to The Doc. Tasteless, I know, but then, I did grow up in a mining community, didn’t I? And, although my last husband had money, it never buys class, does it?

This was what I would later come to understand what Pete was trying to instill in me. At first, I saw the long nails and high heels as being whorish. He tried to convince me that a woman could wear those things and be a sexy, provocative bitch, but with style. The question was; was I sufficiently qualified to carry it off?