Short Stories and Musings

Marriage Therapy

My husband and I could feel that the passion in our marriage was wavering. Perhaps I'm being kind when I say "wavering", perhaps I should say that it was pretty much gone altogether. Having never had any children, the sex was possibly the only thing keeping us together, and when that began to falter, I began to worry.

I considered bringing up the subject of divorce to Ralph, but I'd known several women who'd had very messy divorces, so that deterred me from the idea. Plus, the idea of fighting over the house, the car, the cat, all made me feel a bit ill.

Instead, I booked us in for one of those marriage therapy sessions, you know the sort. Ralph didn't seem too enthralled,  and complained he was too busy with work. Ralph was often busy with work these days, as he was a manager at an estate agents. It meant we could afford a lovely house and fantastic holidays, plus Ralph had an extremely luxurious office in the city. However, it also meant he was very stressed and had very little time to spend with me. 

I dragged him to the session, ignoring his protests. Well, they began asking us some VERY personal questions, all about how much sex we'd been having, how much sex we used to have, what we enjoy in the bedroom... It seems that most marriages can be fixed by reigniting the sex life.

The therapist was an ageing woman with grey wisps of hair, thinned across her scalp like dust coloured candyfloss. She was dressed in a China Blue skirt and a beige cashmere cardigan, with a short, chunky, pearl necklace resting on her collarbone. She looked as if she hadn't done anything remotely sexual in about fifty years, yet it seemed she was perfectly qualified to lecture us on how to remain sexually active. It was very bizarre.

"It is very important," she spoke softly, peering over her mug of coffee so that her glasses steamed up, "to keep things fresh and exciting. It's vital not to get bored."

I found myself fixated on her fingernails, which were absently tapping on the outside of her mug. They were perfectly rounded and painted a pearly peach colour.

"Perhaps introduce some light BDSM." she lowered her voice, almost sultry.

"No thank you!" I thought. The thought of being tied up and in varying degrees of pain did absolutely nothing for me.

"Or some couples find that introducing a third party to the bedroom is just what they need." She continued.

Ralph's interest seemed to peak at this. "I know just the person!" He exclaimed, almost spilling his coffee over himself.

The idea of inviting a strange woman into my bedroom didn't exactly enthrall me, but I was glad Ralph was showing some enthusiasm.

"Who was it you had in mind dear?" I asked, taking his hand.

I feel him tense. "Betty Morrison, from down the road..." he spoke tentatively.

Betty Morrison lives at the end of our cul-de-sac, about four doors down. She had recently divorced her husband, Frank, after discovering him in a passionate embrace with his secretary, Patricia. Frank and Ralph had been friends, but after the divorce, it was Betty that turned to Ralph for support.

I'd often come home in the evening, just as Betty was leaving after a heartfelt chat with Ralph. I'd been told she'd been visiting Ralph at his office too. I was glad she'd found someone to talk things over with. I didn't fancy sleeping with her though.

I hesitate. "What makes you say that dear?" I tried my best to be quietly tactful.

He was quiet for a minute, whilst he thought over what to say. "We were chatting, and she was saying that she really misses the sex, since the divorce." He paused and licked his lips. "She was saying she quite fancied... experimenting."

So it was arranged, she would join us the following Friday.

I got a little carried away if truth be told, setting the bedroom up all nice with candles and incense, rose petals, the lot. I broke out my old negligee, which Ralph used to love. He barely gave it a second glance. I'd even set up a little "pre-threesome" area, a little coffee table with a sofa and lots of wine, just in the corner of the bedroom. 

Betty turned up looking stunning as usual. Her lips painted a glossy red, her blonde hair all tousled... Ralph could hardly keep from gawping at her. When she took her coat off... well, she was hardly wearing anything, just this sheer little nightie thing that left very little to the imagination. 

They completely ignored the red wine I had laid out especially. This offended me a little, as I had specifically gone to a winery to select it, and it was quite expensive. I'd hoped to at least get a complement from Betty on my wine choice. Instead, Betty practically leapt onto Ralph without so much as a "Hello Mrs Foreman, lovely home, ooh a trail of rose petals, how romantic!" 

Ralph carried her across the bedroom, and before long they were writhing and wriggling together on top of the bed, making all kinds of grunts and moans. I stood watching at the foot of the bed, unsure where to fit in. 

It was quite interesting to watch, actually. Ralph seemed to know exactly where to touch Betty at exactly the right time to get her making exactly the right noises. It was as if he'd done it a thousand times. 

After about half an hour of watching, and not receiving so much as a peck on the cheek, I realised that they have no intention of including me in any of the proceedings. Feeling rather exposed, I pulled my dressing gown on, and sat down on the sofa. I offered the couple in the bed some wine, but received no reply. Somehow, I managed to block out the groans and moans, and settled down with my book and a glass of Bordeaux. 

I actually managed to get halfway through a chapter before Ralph let out one last, rather loud groan. I assumed this meant they were finished, and drained my wine. I was wrong. I watched in awe as Ralph proceeded to pleasure Betty with his hands (and sometimes his mouth)until he was ready for round two. 

Round two! I don't think I've had two rounds with Ralph since our wedding night!

Round two was much louder, and from what I could see, Betty spent most of it on top, thoroughly enjoying herself. I tried to think back to the last time I had made that much noise. Any sex in recent memory had been missionary, lights off, and as quiet as possible so as not to alert the neighbours. I poured myself another glass of wine and returned to my book. 

I began to get so engrossed in a (rather erotic) scene in my book, so I barely noticed that the noise had stopped, until Betty sat down next to me. She poured herself a glass and helped herself to a bread stick, dunking it in some of my homemade hummus. We made small talk until we finished the bottle between us. Before she left, Betty enthused "This was wonderful! We simply must do it again!"

Ralph had gone to sleep. 

The following day, we had our second meeting with the marriage therapist. 

"So, how was the threesome?" She asked, breezily, as if this was a perfectly normal question to ask over coffee on a Saturday morning. 

I had been waiting for this question. I most certainly hadn't enjoyed myself, (Well, at least in the way I should've.) and this was my opportunity to admit that. 

"It was wonderful!" Ralph exclaimed. "I think it's the perfect way to rekindle the passion in our bedroom!"

I began to protest, but thought twice about it. If I were to protest, it was likely to turn into an argument, which was the last thing I wanted, especially with this woman present. I knew she would analyse every word, and nobody needed that. 

"Oh... yes." I stuttered. "I had quite a nice time." This wasn't entirely a lie, the book had been a good one, and the wine one of my favourites. 

"I see." Said the woman, scribbling into her notebook. "So we're sorted then!"

Betty now comes over most Fridays, and some Sundays too. I don't bother watching anymore. It's a nice little arrangement actually. So far I've read three books and tried five new wines. I'm quite settled into the routine.