Introduction
Natalie had just turned forty. She was married to Richard who was a couple of years older than her, and they had two beautiful daughters. Rebecca, who everyone called Becky, was twenty, and about to start her final year at university, and Eleanor, or Ellie to her friends and family, who was eighteen and had just started university.
She had everything that she had ever dreamed of as a girl. She’d been married to Richard for nineteen years and they lived in a lovely part of town, in a beautiful house which was now mortgage-free thanks to the success of her husband’s business. He was an electrician and had started his business just after they got married and it grew way beyond both of their expectations.
She was married to a man she loved with all of her heart, had the perfect family, great friends, a good social life, yet something was missing.
She was fourteen when she met Richard at a local ice-skating rink; he was sixteen, good-looking and popular with the girls. From that day forward, they became inseparable.
She was a virgin when they’d met, and Richard had been her entire sexual education. He’d waited until her sixteenth birthday before they made love for the first time in her bedroom while her parents were out, a patience that had surprised her, given that he’d had experience with other girls. She’d been grateful for that restraint, grateful for his willingness to teach her. Before that night, there had been months of exploration: his hands guiding hers, her learning the rhythm of blow jobs until she became confident, him introducing her to her first orgasm with his fingers. She’d thought it was the most wonderful thing she’d ever felt, and she’d associated all of that pleasure, all of that discovery, entirely with him. He was her only reference point for desire, for satisfaction, for what her body was capable of. In a way, she owed him everything about her sexuality.
They got engaged when she turned eighteen, and were married after her twenty-first birthday, and they’d had a wonderful life together. But still, something was missing.
She knew that she loved him, and couldn’t ever imagine a life without him. But she had to admit to herself that after the first couple of years, where they tried lots of different positions, and locations to have sex, once they had got married it settled into a natural rhythm. And once the kids came along, and his business took off, he worked long hours and they were lucky to have sex two or three times a week. And nowadays, the norm was once a week, a quickie on Saturday night.
She’d had fantasies that had been with her almost throughout her entire marriage. Her main fantasy was to have sex with another man as her husband watched. Another, was to have sex with a man with a huge cock, and her other favourite was to have sex with two men at the same time, and not necessarily to include her husband.
But before those fantasies had truly taken root, there had been Saturday nights. Once a week, like clockwork. Richard would come to bed, kiss her perfunctorily, and within minutes it would be over. She’d lie there afterwards, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ghost of what they used to be, those early years when he’d spent hours learning her body, when discovery felt mutual and urgent. Now it felt like an obligation he was ticking off. She felt invisible in those moments, reduced to a body that existed to relieve his tension before he rolled over and fell asleep.
It was in that emptiness, that mechanical, Saturday-night routine, that her fantasies had begun to flourish. They filled the space where genuine desire used to live.
She had discussed these with him over the years and whilst he had listened, and became aroused whilst they chatted about it, he had always said that he couldn’t deal with it, were it to happen. He’d even said that if she needed to have sex with another man to see what it was like, as long as he didn’t find out about it, then he wouldn’t stop her.
So, as she entered her forties, her fantasies remained unfulfilled.
