Wipe Off The Lipstick
– an immoral tale of woe by WTSman

How much room for interpretation does the term “forsaking all
others” actually leave? George and Deidre didn’t seem to agree on
that.
____________________

		A worried young man from Stamboul
		Found blotchy red spots on his tool.
		Said the doctor, a cynic,
		"Get out of my clinic,
		and wipe off the lipstick, you fool!"

No, I'm not from “Stamboul”. Unless you're a history freak, or a
fan of Graham Greene, you're unlikely to know this old name for
Istanbul. I certainly didn’t until I looked it up after finding
the limerick. And while I'm sure you can be George (or something
equivalent) in Turkish, my ancestry is British (whatever that
actually means), not Turkish.

Nor were my worries unfounded. No amount of wiping would remove
the red blotches and the stinging sensation when urinating was
acutely painful. I was also feeling really crook.

However my doctor was cynical when I protested – and kept on
protesting, even under the threat of legal repercussions – that
my one and only sexual partner for the last nearly nine years was
my wife of over seven years, Deidre.

I got out of his clinic with a prescription for some hefty
antibiotics, which he, with no small amount of glee, informed me
would make me feel like shit for weeks, causing unspeakable
mayhem to my digestive system (thus making me actually shit for
weeks) and make me “reflect on my sins”. Further, he informed me,
he would have to re-evaluate our doctor-patient relationship when
it was shown that I had lied to him about my sexual partners.

“When”, not “if”. You noticed that, didn’t you? Perhaps it was a
poor idea using my usual GP for something like this, given that
he is Deidre’s maternal uncle, but at that point I had frankly
not even considered the possibility that I had an STD (or a VD as
they are still known by old-fashioned doctors over here). I mean,
if you are in a monogamous relationship you don’t have to worry
about that kind of thing, do you?

Perhaps you’d (rightly) consider me a dim-wit for not learning
from my mistake in choice of doctor since I essentially repeated
it five minutes later when I handed in the prescription at the
local pharmacy to get it filled. The pharmacist and doctor are
brothers, you see – and their sister is Deidre’s mother.

But like with the doctor, I didn’t have all that much choice -
there is only one of each in our little hole of a town,

Anyway, the pharmacist too made the wrong inference at once. He
treated me like a leper and was far from discreet in handing me
the offensive medication.

His pharmacy was full of the usual gossips who would undoubtedly
swap notes with the old biddies back in the waiting room at the
doctor’s surgery whom, I am sure, had overhead my dressing down
by his brother earlier on – the doctor was loud, the door is thin
and their prim faces closely resembled chooks’ arses when I left.
I was in for interesting times.

On mature consideration I decided it was unlikely that Uncle
Graham, as the pharmacist was known to me then, would be
sympathetic in assisting me with obtaining ameliorating remedies
to counter the oncoming mayhem in my digestive tract that his
brother, Uncle Russell, had taken so much pleasure in forewarning
me about. I bought yoghurt in a local shop instead and by and
large that’s what I lived on for the next several weeks, but I’m
getting ahead of myself.

____________________

On my way back to work, I was taking stock. I had the clap – and
there was only one person I could have gotten it from – Deidre.
That surprised me; our marriage was to put it mildly no longer
loving and trusting and our sex-life had dwindled to a mercy-fuck
once in a blue moon, but infidelity was not something I would
have suspected Deidre of. I knew her strong views on the subject.
I would never ever have thought that either of us would bring
anything of that nature home to the other.

The funny thing is that I have from time to time brought home
smudges of lipstick. Not on so incriminating a place as my dick I
hasten to add, but even a trace on my cheek could make Deidre go
ballistic. One infamous example was shortly after we were
married. One Saturday I had gone to see my parents (something
Deidre went to great lengths to avoid even back then) and Great
Aunt Margaret was visiting. Now she is a character and something
of a trial. At least I thought so then; later I came to a very
different opinion and today I will defend her with my dying
breath. But that is an aside I will take up later.

Anyway! Great Aunt Margaret was there. She had made it clear she
thought Deidre was a sad mistake on my part, and managed to
monopolise the entire conversation with that theme during lunch.
On leaving, I went through a routine ordeal that I had feared and
loathed all my life. It is called “Give Auntie A Nice Kiss”. I
left the house with a large red smudge of lipstick on my cheek.
Regrettably, I was unaware of it.

That ignorance ended a few milliseconds after I was home, and for
the next hour or so Deidre was yelling and screaming at me for my
transgression. At no stage was I allowed to get a word in and
before long she had herself worked up to a state that could
hardly have been worse if she had caught me in flagrante delicto
with three prostitutes of varying genders.

Just before physical violence was inflicted on my unworthy body,
the phone rang. It was Mum who wanted to remind me to wipe off
Great Aunt Margaret’s lipstick. She had been unable to warn me at
the time and Great Aunt Margaret had only just left now. Since
Deidre was closest to the phone, possibly in preparation to throw
it at me, or strangling me with the cord, she took the call.

At least the make-up sex was great in those days. The somewhat
contrite Deidre, in a moment of post-coital bliss, reminded me
that we had promised each other fidelity to the forsaking of all
others. I agreed, laughingly, that I had no doubt she was serious
on that point. But she needn’t worry – so was I; never would
anyone replace her in my affections – just as I knew she would
never do that to me either. Funny thing was I actually really, as
in really-really, believed that then.

____________________

But back to the day of the unpleasant diagnosis. I didn’t have
all that much time for my musings – getting time off to go to the
doctor had not been popular, so I had to rush. And once back at
work, I had to concentrate on what I was doing (or I could end up
short of a hand); so there was little time for further thought.

I operate complex manufacturing machines. Or rather, I set them
up for operation. I am an engineer and was employed with Theo
Travis and Co a few weeks after graduating. The job wasn’t great
and the location in a small town in semi-rural West Yorkshire was
dreadful, but jobs were sparse at the time and at least I’d get
to use my education. And since it was reasonably close to my
parents’ home in Wakefield, they were happy.

Theo Travis & Co was still owned and run by the Travis family.
Just. Roger Travis, the last male of the family, was the
great-great-grandson of the founder and that was the absolutely
only reason he was involved with the company, since he was
notoriously stupid in matters of business and so ignorant about
what the company was producing that it defies description. The
actual leader of the company was his brother-in-law Gregory
Haines, brother of the aforementioned Russell and Graham Haines –
and of Gladys Travis, née Haines. If Gregory Haines ran Mr
Travis’ company for him, Gladys Travis ran his life. If you do a
Google Image search on “pussy whipped West Yorkshire” you ought
to get a page full of photos of the late lamented Roger. Oh, and
of me, I fear.

And if you think being the son-in-law of the owner and
nephew-in-law of the actual leader secured me a comfy cushioned
pretend-job, you’re sadly mistaken. My pay was fine until that
catastrophic day, but that was earned. I had few special perks to
speak of.

Anyway, with the exception of his bizarre personnel skills, Uncle
Gregory was an excellent business leader. He was a visionary and
foretold the need to introduce more modern technology to salvage
Theo Travis & Co from going the same way as the many other
companies in West Yorkshire’s then dwindling, but formerly proud
industrial heartland. I was part of that strategy, having
specialised in advanced computer controlled automation at a time
when that was new and rare, and while the initial pay was dismal,
the conditions unfavourable and my treatment borderline abusive,
I was given excellent opportunities to prove what I, and the
technology, could do.

With absolutely nothing else to do (the town had no life beyond a
boring pub), I threw myself into that task and did very well for
the first year – so well that even Gregory Haines moderated the
abuse (slightly) and raised my pay (even more slightly). What he
didn’t bank on was that I would help myself to improving my life,
particularly my private life, on his account. That happened at
the company Christmas party in mid-December where I fell for an
absolutely gorgeous brunette hitherto unknown to me. I’d been
involuntarily celibate for the whole year, so just about any
pretty girl would have piqued my interest, but this girl was hot
and it was lust at first sight.

Had I had my eyes more open the few times I’d been in the
Director’s office, I would have recognised her from a string of
photographs. She was one Deidre Travis, daughter and only child
(and sole heir) of the owner. She was home on Christmas holidays
from her last year at Uni and bored out of her mind. I was
practically the only male there younger than her uncle. I am also
not outright ugly, so Deidre willingly let herself be captured by
my tried-an-tired routine pick-up lines.

We spent the entire evening dancing, drinking and fooling around,
and ended up more than a little drunk in my small apartment where
we woke up the following morning with both physical and moral
hangovers. The physical hangovers were easily explained by our
immoderate consumption of Newcastle Brown the night before. The
moral side was due to having leapt into bed with a complete
stranger with no thought of the consequences. Neither of us had
any strong recollection of what we’d been doing, although the
state of Deidre’s crotch left us in no doubt that we had not
taken any precautions. We didn’t become parents as a result of
that night, but only just not. And a delay of more than a week
and a half of Deidre’s otherwise regular period two weeks later
had a profound impact on my life.

Anyway, Deidre cleaned up and snuck out of my apartment to go
home and face the music – at 21 she still went in some awe of her
mother. Our farewell was hardly the stuff of romances; we were
both acutely embarrassed and avoided each other’s eyes and it
could easily have been the end of the affair. OK, she was very
easy on the eye and she’d ended up in my bed. But where’s the fun
in having your ashes hauled by a gorgeous girl if you can’t
remember any of it? Besides, the daughter of the Director? What
was I thinking? With the little head, obviously. Forget it!

On that morning I was left with the distinct feeling that Deidre
was more than happy to forget about it too. She didn’t know me at
all, she actually had a boyfriend or two back at Uni, and I had
only been a distraction – and one she didn’t remember much of
either, although in retrospect she must have been far less drunk
than me.

But our embarrassed parting was not how it ended. If Gladys
Travis was a manic stubborn manipulating control-freak, Deidre
was a young and beautiful manic stubborn manipulating
control-freak. And she had learned from the best – Gladys. I was
obviously not present in the Travis household when Deidre
returned home, but the outcome of the shouting match between her
and her mother was that I received an invitation, nay a
guilt-edged summons, to attend New Year’s Eve celebrations at
Akroyd Hall; the Travis family’s stately home.

Work was winding down for the Christmas break, but I was kept
hard at it to prepare a new production-line that would start in
early January. For that reason I spent much time with Gregory
Haines. At first he was his usual stand-offish self, treating me
like a lowly, if skilled, serf. But the last day before Christmas
he suddenly remarked “You seem to have made a complete conquest
of my niece.”

That was news to me; apart from the highly surprising invitation
for the New Year bash, I had heard nothing. I hadn’t even seen
Deidre since that fateful morning. I was about to mumble some
non-committal noises when he fixed his eyes on mine and said “I
like young men with initiative. I’m sure you’ll go far.”

My indistinct mumbles were quickly turned into a clear and
respectful “Thank you Sir. I shall do my best to live up to your
trust and expectations.” In those days I could brown-nose with
the best of them.

____________________

I spent Christmas with my parents like I’ve always done. There is
only me, having been born as an unexpected surprise to my parents
long after they’d decided that no children would ever come.
Christmas was nice and relaxed; just hanging out with my parents
who, while they were slowing down physically, were still
completely on the ball mentally. Dad had been an engineer just
like me, and Mum a school mistress but they were both long
retired.

We talked about anything and everything like we always did, but I
somehow failed to mention Deidre. I mean, what was there to
mention that was suitable for my mother’s ears? At that stage I
didn’t know the underlying reason for the New Year invitation –
all I had was that guilt-edged printed card that’d arrived in the
mail. It was only Gregory’s mysterious comment that could suggest
that perhaps I was marked as special. But I hadn’t made that
inference; for all I knew it could be that all clerical staff
above a certain level was invited. What would I know? I mean, I
was new to the company and heaven knows Akroyd Hall is big
enough!

The day before New Year’s Eve that bubble burst. Deidre rang me
at work, told me she was fairly certain she was pregnant and
instructed me to 1) obtain an engagement ring size C½ and 2) make
sure that my parents would come to the New Year’s Eve do too,
since that was now going to be our engagement party. Before I
could recover enough from the shock to make some reply the call
ended.

WTF – engagement?! Funny thing is I couldn’t remember having
proposed! (If I did so during our drunken couplings I definitely
can’t remember it.)

But as a good little boy I did what I was told. I asked Gregory
for a couple of hours off since I had “a special purchase to
make”, and to my amazement I was sent on my way with a wink and a
cheerful “Good luck.” The ring I found cleaned me out completely,
but I reckoned I would be under close scrutiny by Deidre’s
family, friends and relations, and the ring had better be good.

Having performed instruction number one to the best of my
ability, I immediately continued with instruction number two when
I got back to work. To say that Mum and Dad were surprised would
be to put it very mildly. I somehow shied away from telling Mum
that I was equally surprised; I don’t think that would have gone
down well. Mum wanted to know all sorts of things about my
fiancée which was awkward since I didn’t know myself. I kept
telling her that she could have a heart-to-heart with Deidre at
the party. Questions about when the wedding was going to be and
where we were going to live were answered with completely
truthful but evasive statements like “We haven’t talked about
that yet”. But I assured Mum that it would be a summer wedding at
the earliest since Deidre had to finish her degree. Mercifully
Mum didn’t ask what Deidre was studying or where; it would have
been embarrassing since I didn’t know the answers. And while I
was aware that Deidre’s possible pregnancy could have a major
influence on the wedding date, I somehow didn’t feel any strong
urge to bring that up. There are things you don’t tell your
mother!

Despite my almost complete lack of knowledge about my fiancée,
the conversation with Mum still went well – she was excited and
happy. But I was acutely aware that I could get into deep waters
quickly when I met the friends-and-relations, so with some
trepidation, but with the practical approach to difficulties and
obstacles that my profession is justifiably known for, I rang
Deidre and requested an interview. This sounds bizarre, I’m sure,
but that’s essentially what happened.

____________________

OK, actually I rang the Travis residence and got to talk to the
Lady of the House – Gladys at her most formidable. Putting the
brown-nosing in overdrive, I thanked her profusely for the
invitation both on my own and on my parents’ behalf, saying we
were looking very much forward to it and a lot of similar polite
blether. “Very well Mr Hennessey – or I suppose I should call you
George, we shall expect you and your parents tomorrow a
six-thirty for seven” Gladys said and signalled the end of the
conversation.

“Eh, could I possibly speak to Deidre?” I asked at the last
possible moment.

There was an unpleasant pause while this unreasonable, unwelcome
and apparently outright rude request was being considered. “I
shall see if she is available,” came the answer at last –
granting my wish, but putting me in my place.”

If Gladys was cold, Deidre was warm. “Hello lover,” she gushed.
“Did you get some nice sparkly for my finger?”

That opening put me totally at ease. It was the kind of thing I
imagined a well-established couple would say to each other

“I sure did,” I replied, and then added, with a nervous
hesitation that was not at all difficult to mobilise, “Or at
least I hope so. I don’t really know your taste in engagement
rings.”

The bait was taken. “I guess not,” she laughed – a sweet  bubbly
sound. “I’m not even sure I know myself.”

Seizing that very opportune opening, I stated the real reason for
calling. “Deidre, could we meet somewhere before the party?”

“Are you getting cold feet?” she asked with more than a hint of
an edge to her voice.

“Absolutely not!” I replied – and in that statement I was
completely sincere. I mean, she was an extremely tasty piece,
bright enough for a university degree and wealthy and well
connected to boot. What was there not to like? But first and last
she was possibly pregnant with my child. Even if she’d been a
real dog, I would have stood by her.

An audible sigh of relief was heard on the phone, so I continued
explaining. “I’ve just had a surreal conversation with my mother.
She is very excited and wants to know all about you. To be
honest, so do I – do you know, I couldn’t answer a single of her
questions about my wife-to-be!”

“No I guess you couldn’t,” Deidre laughed. “I, on the other hand,
have been pumping Uncle Gregory for information about you so I
know almost all there is to know – I’ve even read your personnel
file.”

That certainly explained Gregory’s conquest comment. “You have me
at disadvantage My Lady,” I said. “I never dared to ask Gregory
about you.”

“I know you didn’t,” Deidre replied. “He told me you hadn’t. He
teased me terribly that you didn’t seem interested at all.”

I mumbled something indistinct about not exactly being best-pals
with her formidable Uncle Gregory, but Deidre just laughed and
called me a silly boy.

“So,” I started again

“So?” she teased.

“Can we meet for Morning coffee?” I asked.

“Happily,” she chirped. “Your place as usual?”

While ‘as usual’ was stretching it, I readily agreed. I had
planned on neutral ground like a café, but privacy is hard to
find in small-town café and I anticipated a rather personal
conversation, so at home was an unexpected bonus.

“Ten o’clock?” she suggested.

“Certainly M’Lady”, I replied. “I’ll tell the footman to admit
you. I shall be home for no-one but you.”

“Silly boy,” Deidre laughed and ended the call.

____________________

I finished the tasks that had been neglected by my shopping
expedition and long private phone calls. Luckily it didn’t
involve machinery; I was more than a little distracted. In about
16 hours I would have a much better idea where my life was going.
To say I was nervous or anxious didn’t quite describe it; I
simply had no idea what to expect.

When I got home I put on Pink Floyd’s ‘Momentary Lapse of
Reason’. The lyrics to ‘One Slip’ – the quasi-title song – goes
something like ‘…a momentary lapse of reason that binds a life
for life.” That summed up the situation perfectly, didn’t it?
What had I gotten myself into? Who was this girl I seemingly was
destined to spend my life with?

I’ve always been a good sleeper no matter what, so I slept well,
but when I got up the unsettled feeling returned. I was ready way
before ten, but didn’t have to wait very long: Deidre – who I
later learned was otherwise always punctual to a fault – was also
much less cool about it all than she had let on and rang the
doorbell more than half an hour early.

I let her in, got her coat and hung it up while she rid herself
of her winter boots and fixed her hair. Not a word had yet been
spoken. Not really knowing what to do, I opened my arms to her
and she came flying into them. Suddenly everything fell right.

Believe it or not: I fell in love that morning.

We talked and talked and talked and talked. Around noon I think
we really knew everything about each other. Deidre was quite
candid about not being a virgin before our tryst (not that I
expected a hot-looking 21 year old university student to be
that!). She also explained that she had been stringing a couple
of guys along recently, but that was totally and completely
history now. One of them – who possibly thought he was in there
with a chance for something more permanent, poor lad – had rung
her over Christmas, but she had firmly told him it was over: Her
wild days were a thing of the past; they ended now that she had
me.

Being told that by the prettiest girl in the county strokes your
ego, of course. I explained that I hadn’t been a virgin either,
but that I had no unfinished business anywhere – in fact, until
that fateful Christmas party I’d been celibate for over a year.

“Poor darling,” Deidre teased. “That explained the state of my
panties afterwards. I swear I was leaking all day!”

“Eh, yeah, sorry about that,” I faltered. “I didn’t handle that
too well, did I? I didn’t expect to get lucky – I’m not even sure
I have any condoms. But if you, you know, have been having a bit
of fun, how come you’re not on the pill?”

“Ah, I can hear you’re used to big-city anonymity,” Deidre
laughed. “You try to get a prescription for contraception in a
two-bit town where the only doctor is your uncle and the only
pharmacist is his brother!”

Having been in excellent health so far, I hadn’t noticed the
surnames of said professional gentlemen, but I got the
implication at once. “Ouch, yeah, I see. But isn’t there a
student clinic at your Uni? There was at the one I went to.”

“Oh, there is,” Deidre agreed, “but they tend to inform your
home-GP so the prescription is on file. I couldn’t have that.
Besides, condoms protect you against more than merely pregnancy.”

Too true. A pity she didn’t think of that all those years later,
but I’m getting ahead of myself again.

During the entire Q-and-A session, we’d been sitting very closely
together. When we ran out of immediately urgent things to ask
each other about, we started making out. Before long I had a
naked Deidre sprawled over the sofa. God, she was a sight and a
half – I couldn’t believe my luck! My own clothing was by then
reduced to a pair of grotesquely tented underwear. Deidre was
tugging at them, but I stopped her by saying “Wait a mo. There’s
something I’ve got to get first”.

“Silly boy,” Deidre laughed, evidently misunderstanding me. “No
point in shutting the barn door after the horse has bolted!”

“Oh I know that,” I replied. “It’s something else.”

I dashed to the bedroom, picked up yesterday’s purchase and
returned to the living room, kneeling in front of the sofa.
“Deidre Travis, my sweet companion and mother of my children to
be. Will you marry me?”

“Of course I will, silly boy,” Deidre replied with a sparkle in
her eyes. “I told you I would, didn’t I? But full marks for how
you phrased the question.” She opened the little box and let out
an excited gasp. “And full marks for choosing such a gorgeous
ring. Boy, are you going to get lucky now!”

I did. We screwed like bunnies for the next many hours and ended
up showering together (not easy in my tiny bathroom) before
Deidre absolutely had to hurry home to get ready for the party.

“Please don’t let on to Mum that we’ve been, you know, intimate,
today,” Deidre said. I must have looked somewhat mystified. “Oh,
if it turns out that I am pregnant then we’ll have to change the
tune,” Deidre explained, “but Mum is very straight-laced. Quite
the pillar of the local church. I have kind of told her that the
Christmas party was completely out of character for both of us
and that we would be on our absolute best behaviour until we’re
married.”

“Sure,” I agreed. “For you, anything.”

I walked her to the door, kissed her again – and then took
courage, “Listen,” I said. “I hope you won’t find it corny, or in
bad taste – us having been at it all afternoon, but unlikely as
it may sound, I love you.”

“Silly boy,” Deidre said with a glint in her eyes. “I know you
do.”

____________________

The New Year’s Eve party was in retrospect not a success. Sure,
there was much conventional congratulation and the ring was duly
admired. But there was absolutely no chemistry between the
families. My parents were dressed in their best and willing to be
open, but they found very little common ground with my coming
in-laws. Of course Deidre’s parents were very much younger than
them – not so much so Roger, but Gladys was and she was fairly
condescending. And to my regret, Deidre and Mum didn’t hit off
either. Could have been some kind of mutual jealousy – Deidre
jealous with Mum because she knew so much about me, Mum jealous
with Deidre because she had stolen her boy. Who knows – they just
never clicked.

Besides, the extended Haines clan (and there were a lot of them)
was a trial. Especially Deidre’s male second cousins. What a
flock of Hoorah Henrys! I didn’t care much for the way they were
looking at, or talking to my bride-to-be. But when I voiced my
unease to Deidre she just called me a silly boy.

The party got rather wild – for an avowed churchwoman, Gladys
certainly let her hair down. Returning from a bathroom stop, I
accidently overheard a very drunk Gladys in one of the smaller
drawing rooms talking to somebody. “A pity randy old Roger only
had one good shot in him leaving Deidre an only child,” she
slurred. “Every girl ought to have three brothers – one for each
hole.”

Knowing Gladys and her three brothers (the doctor and the
pharmacist were there too), that statement set off some rather
ugly images in my mind’s eye. But I promptly forgot about it,
putting it down to drink.

I shouldn’t have.

____________________

I saw Deidre for lunch every day after New Year and most
afternoons after work too. I was completely and totally besotted
and she was in turn utterly sweet. She teased me continuously,
calling me “silly boy” all the time. I took it as a term of
endearment. Perhaps it was. At least most of the time.

On the eighth of January she was visibly unwell when she came to
see me for lunch. “No baby this time,” she said quietly when we
were alone.

To my surprise, I felt disappointed. I must have looked it too.
“Oh you sweet and silly boy,” Deidre said, and there was real
love in her eyes. “I want your babies too, but you must admit it
is practical that we wait a little, isn’t it?”

I nodded, but said nothing – my mind going at a hundred miles an
hour. There was a longish pause where we just stood there,
looking at each other; Deidre looking uncertain now. Finally we
started to speak at the same time, held back, started again at
the same time, and then stopped once more.

The third time I started first. “As long as you don’t dump me now
that you don’t have to marry me,” I blurted out; voicing the fear
I’d suddenly been struck by.

Deidre’s face changed back to her usual self-assured calm. “Silly
boy,” she said. “I’ll never let you go.”

She proceeded to lick my tonsils and didn’t even look embarrassed
when we were disturbed by the very loud clearing of throat
signalling that Gregory had entered my tiny office. We separated
and joined him for lunch. He was being quite chummy to me – at
least when his niece was around. And his presence obviously
precluded further discussions between Deidre and me regarding our
relationship.

They say timing is everything: Whoever blinks first loses. I
can’t help but think that had Deidre spoken first that January
day everything would have been different – the entire dynamics of
our relationship would have shifted. It turns out she was just as
uncertain as I was and feared just as much that I would bail out
now that the immediate cause for getting engaged was gone. Not
likely, of course, but had she been allowed to voice that fear so
it was me reassuring her and not the other way around, then our
relationship would have proceeded on a much more level footing
and I’m sure we would have been together today, the happy parents
of a flock of children.

As it was, I blinked first and our relationship was lopsided from
the start.

____________________

Deidre returned to the final semester at Uni. She would graduate
in the summer with a business degree and the plan was that she
would join the company with a view to help steering its finances
– as the only heir of the owner, she was to be groomed to take it
over one day and she seemed happy enough with that idea.

She promised to visit often (she did too) and when she left, she
whispered in my ear “Don’t buy condoms in this town – my mother
is certain to find out.” I got the hint and took care of that
little detail in Wakefield when visiting my parents. I made sure
to always have good stocks when Deidre visited; we went through a
lot of them in the small amount of time we had in private. We had
to keep up the charade, so what usually happened was that Deidre
would tell her parents she was coming to visit for the weekend
arriving on Saturday midday, but in reality showing up at my
place Friday night, boinking me senseless all night, and then
appearing as by magic at the railway station at the agreed time.
I think good old Roger had us sussed out, but he never commented.
He may have been stupid in business matters, but he was a man of
the world and a good sort, really.

Anyway, summer came and with that Deidre’s graduation and our
wedding. It was a grand affair. And somewhat unbalanced. Even
when I had roped in every old Uni friend I could think of, the
bride’s side still vastly outnumbered the groom’s: My family is
pretty thin on the ground – at the time of the wedding, in
addition to my parents it only included a further four people
that you’d dare to let out: In the older generation were the
aforementioned Great Aunt Margaret and her brother Great Uncle
George after whom I’m named. They are cousins of my long gone
paternal grandfather and share a rambling house in Leeds. Great
Uncle George has never married. Great Aunt Margaret, long
widowed, had an only daughter with serious mental issues – and
through her two grandchildren whose parentage is not immediately
obvious since their mother had never been in a long lasting
relationship. She was now permanently committed to a mental
institution (a fact that didn’t endear us to Gladys – she found
it almost scandalous) and the children were living with Great
Aunt Margaret and Great Uncle George. The boy Brian, then aged
20, has always been exceedingly intelligent. He was studying to
become a doctor (a fact that did endear us to Gladys) and as my
only living male relative of similar age he was roped in as my
best man – a task he undertook with gusto. (That endeared him to
Roger.)

His little sister (or half-sister, one must assume) is called
Ella. She was, most reluctantly, included amongst Deidre’s
countless attending women as a flower girl. At almost 13 years of
age, she was arguably too old for that role. Ella was, to put it
mildly, not a gracious looking child – she was, to quote my
fiancée, “a blob of lard”. Deidre sneered that the fat was the
only reason for discernible tits – in fact, Deidre went so out of
her way to be unpleasant to poor Ella that I remarked on it. I
had otherwise never really noticed the girl – her being so much
younger than me. As it turns out, that disinterest was NOT
reciprocated. Far from it. That could explain Deidre’s reaction
to Ella – sensing a “rival”, no matter how unlikely, triggered
her extreme jealousy.

The “tug of war” between Mum and Deidre also continued, Deidre
emerging victorious of course, but dignified it was not. These
little flies in the ointment aside, the wedding was roaring good
fun. Roger and Gladys had gone all out for the only daughter’s
wedding and you’d be hard pressed not to have a good time. I
certainly did, and so did my Uni mates, three of whom ended up in
long-lasting relationships with the more delectable of Deidre’s
attending women.

And the bride herself? She was gorgeous beyond description and
everything went like clockwork. No tardiness here; she was at the
door on the spot, walking up the aisle on her justifiably proud
father’s arm in perfect sync to the music and made her wows in a
loud and clear voice.

If only she had kept them.

____________________

We had an ultra-romantic honeymoon in the Scottish Highlands
“living on love, spring water and oat-cakes” and returned happy
and very much in love to our new house, new jobs (Deidre joined
the company and I was given extended responsibilities) and every
expectation of a long and happy married life.

At least that’s how I saw things through rose-tinted glasses.
There could also be another reading of the facts.

 “You don’t marry your in-laws”, someone once said. In my case, a
less true word was never spoken. Everything, as in everything in
my life was in the hands of my in-laws: My wife (obviously), my
job, my car (a company car), our house, everything was controlled
by the Haines clan. I was owned outright. I was caged. It might
have been a golden cage at first, but a cage nonetheless.

It took me a couple of years to work it out. I was young and
naïve and, curiously, I was deeply in love with Deidre. My
relationship with my parents suffered greatly. That is one of my
deep and lasting regrets; Deidre and her family thought nothing
of them and in my controlled and blinkered existence I didn’t
keep in touch. Mum died all of a sudden; it turns out she had an
undiagnosed cancer. Dad followed her a few months later. The
cause of death was vague; in layman’s terms he died of a broken
heart. From a medical point of view there is no such thing, but
that’s what it was.

Deidre and her family treated these events with cold
indifference.

The passing of my parents – and especially my mother’s dying
comment that she regretted never becoming a grandmother – made me
start wondering, what was happening in my life. Ostensibly Deidre
and I had gotten together because we thought we were going to be
parents. When Deidre miscarried, she had reiterated her desire
for babies. But now children seemed to be right off the agenda –
she had gone on the pill a month before our wedding and had no
intention of dropping them again. Deidre was thriving in, and
excelling at, her job and she made it clear she had no interest,
at least in the short term, in breaking off her promising career.

I didn’t put my foot down (and I mean, you have to agree to such
things, don’t you?), nor even voice my desires forcefully, but it
was my first gentle wake-up call that all was not right.

____________________

If the slight disagreement over when to start our own family was
a gentle call, what really should have woken me up completely was
a sinister development that began towards the end of our third
year of married life not long after my Dad had died. Deidre
started to go to Haines “family retreats” – typically over long
weekends and often taking place at the country homes of the more
affluent second cousins.

I was not invited, and my presence clearly not desired. Usually
the only people left behind were me, Roger and Gregory’s wife
Diana (the other brothers were bachelors). We were (individually,
of course) told that these retreats were “just not our thing” and
that we should be happy to be let off the hook. At least that’s
what I discovered both Diana and I were told when we eventually
swapped notes; I never got to ask Roger.

After the first few “retreats” Deidre was unsettled for a couple
of days – and very loving, wearing me out in bed, but gradually
that effect wore off to be replaced by different, ill-boding
changes to our relationship.

In retrospect I should have smelled a rat, but I didn’t. In a
nutshell, I was incapable of comprehending what took place during
those weekends. Even to this day I find it difficult to come to
terms with the depravity.

So I didn’t directly suspect anything, but there were plenty of
warning signs – chiefly the change in Deidre’s demeanour. Sex was
becoming infrequent, while her contempt of me – even openly at
work – frequent.

To be honest, I don’t think she ever respected me. I’m sure she
really loved me unconditionally in the beginning, but it didn’t
last and I was too besotted to notice.

For the next several years I led a humdrum existence. I was not
happy, but I was too coved to realise it and I didn’t do anything
about it. The pretty vivacious girl I had married was still
beautiful, but the love that I’d always imagined flowing my way
had dried up. Of sex there was little, and in bitter retrospect I
can see it only happened when there hadn’t been a “family
retreat” for a long time. She was also slightly less abusive of
me – in private and in public – at those times, but after each
weekend away she got colder and colder.

____________________

Back to D-day (D for diagnosis) again: The leper-treatment
initiated by the medical and pharmaceutical Haines uncles after
the shocking diagnosis continued by the manufacturer one. It was
obvious already at my return to the factory that the few perks
hitherto bestowed on the son-in-law of the owner had been
cancelled. Not Roger’s doing obviously; he was kept out of the
loop. No, Gregory was judge, jury and executioner rolled into
one. Mind you, I wasn’t thrown out on the spot – the commercial
implications would have been dire. I was allowed to stay on while
Gregory started looking for a replacement, but I was told in no
uncertain terms that my transgression against the family meant I
was on borrowed time.

And where was my clearly not so faithful and loving wife in all
this? Vanished. Her office next to Gregory’s was empty, her cell
phone disconnected and all my attempts at gathering information
were stonewalled. My guess is she had fled to Akroyd Hall, later
to be whisked off to somewhere else. But that part I never knew
for sure. Initially, I couldn’t work it out and later I just
didn’t care.

The house was empty when I got home, as in Deidre wasn’t there,
nor were her clothes. It was just me and the antibiotics and the
yoghurt.

I stuck it out for three weeks, getting more and more sick. One
day I nearly had a nasty accident with the machinery, being so
dizzy and wobbly. So I decided that this was it – I had to get
help elsewhere. The next morning I went to the train station
rather than work, bought a ticket and boarded the train. That’s
the last I remember.

____________________

When I work up I was in a hospital bed with a drip in my arm, a
catheter in my dick and pain all over. A doctor and a nurse were
in my room – a single room, I should say. They were both wearing
protective gloves and masks. They looked grim. “Welcome back to
the land of the living,” the doctor said when the nurse had drawn
his attention to the fact that I was conscious.

I mumbled something indistinct – my mouth was very dry. The nurse
helped me to some iced water, so my next attempt at speech was
clearer. “Thank you nurse, thank you doctor. Where am I?”

“You are at the Leeds Teaching Hospital, Mr Hennessey,” he
replied. “This is an isolation ward in the Clinical Division of
Medicine’s Infection Medicine unit. I work here but am associated
with the Centre for Sexual Health.”

He let that hang in the air.

“Oh,” I said.

“Oh indeed,” the good doctor agreed. “Mr Hennessey, not to put
too fine a point to it, because we’re in a bit of a hurry, but
have you been to Thailand recently?”

“Thailand?” I asked incredulously. “Never. I don’t even have a
passport.”

“Mr Hennessey – this is important. You have a multi-resistant
strain of Gonorrhoea that we haven’t seen in the UK before but it
is known from Thailand. It is devilishly difficult to treat; only
one of our last-line antibiotics is doing anything to it. You
have been unconscious for more than a week and precious time has
been lost. It is essential that we find everyone who has been
infected and get them under treatment at once. Lives could depend
on it.” His eyes were boring into me – he was very compelling.
“We need to know who you have had sex with and we need that
information now!” he demanded.

“As I told my GP,” I replied, “I haven’t got a clue. The only
person I’ve had sex with for many years is my wife.”

I fear I teared up – the enormity of the situation was getting to
me.

“Your GP. Yes,” the doctor repeated slowly – and there was venom
in his voice. “Would that be the idiot who prescribed that
completely useless and very dangerous antibiotic we found in your
bag?”

I nodded.

“An antibiotic that is restricted because it is the only one
we’ve got left to treat certain strains of MRSA?” he continued.
The venom in his voice was now mixed with despair.

I shrugged helplessly. The doctor was on a roll. “When I’m
finished with that superannuated idiot he will be struck off.
Along with the moron pharmacist who supplied the drug to you.”

I only knew that the drug hadn’t helped me get better, but I’d
been certain that Uncle Russell, despite all, was doing his best
to treat me and said so.

“But the idiot knows that he must send you to us if the standard
treatment doesn’t help!” the doctor exclaimed.

“What standard treatment?” I asked bewildered. “That stuff you
found was what he gave me first up.”

“WHAT?” the doctor exploded. “Why on earth would he do that? How
could he know the strain you had wasn’t responding to the
standard treatment? Who is this moron?”

“He is the brother of my mother in law – and so is the
pharmacist,” I replied to the last question – the others I
couldn’t help with.

The nurse gasped and the doctor looked up sharply. “Now we’re
getting somewhere,” he said. “Listen, I know this is hurtful, but
is there anyone in your circle of acquaintances, or perhaps
rather in your wife’s circle of acquaintances, who has been to
Thailand?”

“Yes,” I said – as enlightenment struck me. “My wife’s second
cousin Henry came back from Bangkok in spring.” I knew because
Deidre had mentioned it returning from one of the “family
retreats”. She had gushed about how tanned and healthy Henry had
looked and goaded me about being winter-pale.

Not only was Deidre cheating on me, she was doing it with family.
Tears were streaming down my cheeks. The nurse was looking at me
with compassion and even the doctor tempered his demeanour. “It
sounds pretty bad,” he conceded. “I can’t even imagine how you
must feel. But that is none of my business, nor my primary
concern. We must find the infected people and that of course
begins with your wife. Is she in ‘treatment’ too?”

“I have no idea,” I replied. “She was gone from our house when I
got home after getting the diagnosis and the tablets. I haven’t
been able to get in touch with her since. She’s disappeared from
our workplace and her uncle wouldn’t tell me where she was.”

“Which uncle?” the doctor asked. “The quack or the drug-peddler?”

“Neither – my boss, the third brother,” I replied feebly

“Quite a kabala,” the doctor muttered, and no-one could accuse
him of being anti-Semitic – from his name and his features, not
to mention the kippah-styled scrub cap, it was clear he was
Jewish.

Kabala indeed. Uncle Russell must have known that the strain was
resistant to ordinary drugs – and he could only have had that
knowledge from Deidre. Or Henry. Or other family members. The
implications were sickening and I was trying unsuccessfully to
shut them out. We were quiet for a while, but something in the
chronology was bothering me and suddenly I realised what.
“Doctor,” I said. “I’ve had no indication that my wife’s been ill
at all. Wouldn’t she be?”

“Not necessarily,” the doctor replied. “Gonorrhoea is a sneaky
disease – in many patients, especially women, there are no clear
symptoms for quite a while.”

That could explain the panic reaction of the Haines clan. They
may not have known Deidre was infected until I showed up at Uncle
Russell’s surgery. Then they went into panic mode and had Deidre
whisked away to somewhere – and they had probably started testing
anyone else involved in their sick games.

But that was not for me to know about. Patient confidentiality is
absolute. Even if Uncle Russell so obviously breached them in my
case, my present doctor would not.

Actually, come to think of it maybe Uncle Russell didn’t. When a
doctor treats a patient for a sexually transmitted disease, he
must ensure that all of the patient’s sexually partners – and the
partners’ partners – are advised. Maybe he did just that by
calling Uncle Gregory. And possibly their sister. Gladys’ drunken
comment at the ill-fated engagement party all those years ago
came back to me.

“What happens now?” I asked

“Simple,” the doctor replied. “We keep looking for your wife and
will take it from there. Under law you are required to tell us
about your sexual partners. I believe you are telling the truth
when you say that list only includes your wife. More often it is
the wife who is cheated on and the husband that’ve brought home
STDs from prostitutes, but your situation is by no means unheard
of.”

“What about me?” I asked.

“You are finally responding well to the treatment,” he replied.
“There is every hope that you will be completely cured, including
retaining your fertility.”

That sounded hopeful and I thanked the doctor, not just for his
care but also for believing me.

He smiled a narrow smile. “I think, on the balance of things –
especially the fact that your family GP immediately put you on a
restricted antibiotic – that it is clear you are not the source
of the infection.”

The emphasis on ‘family’ was not pleasant and I nodded wryly.

“But,” the good doctor added, “if I find out you lied to me, then
I will stop the treatment and let your dick fall off – do you get
me?”

I gulped and nodded. The doctor left and a little while later the
nurse finished whatever she had to do and left too, leaving me
with my thoughts. They were not pretty. It didn’t take a rocket
scientist to work out what had been happening at the “family
retreats”. Probably for years. Probably for generations even. The
Haines clan was a flock of sick puppies, that’s for sure. How had
my beautiful, lovely, wife let herself be dragged into that dark
pit of depravity?

____________________

Over the next couple of days I did start to get better – a lot
better. Getting rid of the catheter and not having to rely on
bed-pans was a big relief. Eating proper food may seem but a
simple ordinary event, but to me it was sheer bliss getting to
that stage. About a week after regaining consciousness I was no
longer considered infectious and moved from the isolation ward to
an ordinary medical ward. That’s where I got my first visitors –
and boy, were they a surprise! It was Great Aunt Margaret and a
girl with short spiky black hair and otherwise of such bodily
perfection that my poor abused dick rose to large and painful
hardness in moments. Mercifully the bedclothes hid my condition,
but they didn’t hide my demented drool I was later told.

Who was this vision, and what was she doing here with Great Aunt
Margaret?

The cause of my hospitalisation – and my overall miserable state
of life – was, to put it mildly, embarrassing and I dreaded
having to explain it to my elderly aunt and this unknown gorgeous
girl. Alas I was spared that since Great Aunt Margaret and the
girl launched straight into tirades about the ignominy of the
dreadful scarlet woman I was married to. The two of them were
competing on who could libel and malign Deidre the most –
“hussy”, “slut”, “harlot” and similar terms being the absolute
mildest.

I was bemusedly following this exchange when something Great Aunt
Margaret said suddenly made me sit up in shock. What she said was
“No, Ella, in my day there were places for women like Deidre.
They were…”

“Ella?!?!” I exclaimed in loud shock. “You are Ella?”

“Why yes, didn’t you recognize your third cousin?” Great Aunt
Margaret asked, obviously put out by being interrupted in her
latest lecture on Deidre’s sins, and clearly worried that my
illness had diminished my mental faculties.

“Shit no!” I exclaimed – not wise; one does not swear in Great
Aunt Margaret’s presence – even if she is in the process of
calling your wife every bad name in the OED (and quite a few
unlikely ever to be included).

Hell no! I hadn’t recognized Ella. It wasn’t just that she had
exchanged her boring dirty blond hair colour with a very becoming
jet black from a bottle, or that the school-girl plats had been
replaced with a really sexy short hairstyle. No, it was her body.
It was like all of the lard had mysteriously moved up on her
chest and gathered into the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen.
(Almost all the lard I should say, apart from a fraction that had
moved to her backside, forming the most perfect butt ever seen in
England; the celebrated “rear of the year” of the sister of the
Duchess of Cambridge included.)

My very ill-hidden appraisal of the metamorphosis of my little
third cousin was obviously not only NOT offensive to her; it was
appreciated. She smiled back such a smile, revealing perfect even
teeth and sapphire blue eyes under long lush eyelashes, that my
dick was leaking. Oh wow!

One should never look a gift horse in the mouth and the
unexpected presence of Great Aunt Margaret and Ella was certainly
a gift. But I had to know: “How come you know I’m here?” I asked
in something that even to me sounded like a croak – and the two
of them dissolved in laughter.

____________________

The reason was funny. With Ella as the driver, Great Aunt
Margaret had come to visit her older brother who was at the same
hospital as me for a hernia operation – a fairly harmless
ailment, except any surgery is always dangerous when you’re past
80. To her surprise she was told – when asking after George
Wilberforce Hennessey – that the patient was in isolation in the
infectious diseases ward and could not be seen. According to
Ella, Great Aunt Margaret declared “Rubbish – my brother could
never infect anyone with anything. Hernias are not infectious!”

The young thing at the information desk was sufficiently
flustered to exclaim “Your brother? The man is only 31!” Then the
cat was out of the bag.

“That must be my great-nephew George you’re talking about,” Great
Aunt Margaret declared – name and age being too much of a
coincidence and Great Aunt Margaret does not believe in
coincidences in the first place. “Where is he, and what is wrong
with him?”

“I’m not allowed to tell,” the girl faltered, “although there is
a code here suggesting that we have tried and failed to get in
touch with next-of-kin.”

The outcome was that Great Aunt Margaret (and Ella) got to talk
to the doctor in charge of the infectious diseases ward (after
they had visited Great Uncle George) and told about my condition.
Unlike the uncles back home, Great Aunt Margaret and Ella
instantly knew the truth about who had infected me, and their
dislike of Diedre got another massive notch up. The two of them
kept in close contact with the hospital, and as soon as I was out
of isolation and allowed visits, they came – and that’s when
things started to look up for me.

____________________

First up, I was told in no uncertain terms that I was moving in
with Great Aunt Margaret, Great Uncle George and Ella (Brian
having married and left home a long time ago). There was plenty
of room in the big house – and no room for arguments, had I been
so inclined. Great Aunt Margaret may have been in her
mid-seventies then, but she was as formidable as ever.

Next, Great Uncle George – completely recovered from the surgery
and sharp as a tack despite his age – sat me down to talk about
“my divorce”. At this stage I hadn’t even thought about divorce,
I mean, for years Deidre had taken all decisions and she wasn’t
there to tell me what to do! My feeble “buts” where shot down not
only by Great Uncle George but also by Great Aunt Margaret and
Ella who were listening in.

“Of course you’re divorcing that adulterous cow,” Ella exclaimed.
“Throw her cheating ass to the curb!”

“Ah but you see, that’s the snag,” Great Uncle George said. “Poor
George hasn’t got any curb to throw her to – he doesn’t own the
house, and neither does Deidre, at least not formally. Besides,
we may know that George got infected through Deidre’s infidelity,
but where’s the proof? The doctors can’t tell us who else is
infected. They aren’t allowed to.”

A wicked smile came over Ella’s face. “Just supposing I could get
hold of the list of people being treated for this strain of
Gonorrhoea?” she asked. “And supposing all of those were
relatives of the slut?” I noticed not for the first time that
Ella consistently refused to use Deidre’s name. Her hatred was
almost palpable. Dim as I am, I didn’t understand for quite some
time the reason for this hatred. Sure, loyalty to a third cousin
is admirable, but it was a little excessive.

“And how would you do that?” Great Uncle George asked. “I very
much doubt it would be admissible in court, but it would
certainly strengthen our hand in the negotiations.”

“Easy,” Ella boasted. “When Brian was doing his doctorate, I
helped him with access to the national databases. I can still get
in.”

“But obviously his username wouldn’t have access to information
on restricted antibiotics,” I argued. “Didn’t Brian write on the
drop in measles vaccination after that quack claimed it was
linked to autism?”

“I wouldn’t use Brian’s account,” Ella shot back. “I have my own
– and access to just about everything.”

“How?” I asked – clearly puzzled.

“You really don’t what to know,” Ella replied sweetly. “Does
change-on-install ring a bell?”

I was stunned and before we could continue out of this
IT-tangent, Great Uncle George cut us off. “Enough techno-babble.
If you can get this information without incriminating yourself or
your brother then do it – and we may have a stronger hand.”

It turned out Ella could – and the information was duly
uncovered. The number of people with “Haines” as surname, middle
name or maiden name being treated for “Thai Clap” with a
last-line antibiotic was staggering. Deidre and her kabala of
perverts were in for a world of hurt.

I’m still not quite sure how Ella did it. But she was a total
computer whiz – and had been so for years. Once more I failed to
see the clues. But it was really quite simple. I did computers,
so Ella did computers. And she was good – oh was she good. She
was presently finishing a computer science degree and already had
job-offers galore. She had other plans, though.

____________________

We, that is to say Great Uncle George and the women, decided to
strike pre-emptively and file for divorce on the grounds of
adultery, unreasonable behaviour and desertion. The works, in
fact. We also put in claims for major compensation from my
erstwhile employers. The claim on its own was weak; Ella’s highly
irregular “research” eased the subsequent negotiations
significantly and the matter of compensation never went to court.

But anyway, I signed the papers at Great Uncle George’s chambers
(a junior clerk having done all the work) and was then dragged
out to “celebrate” at one of Leeds’ finer eateries.

I found the whole thing a bit unsettling, but Great Uncle George,
Great Aunt Margaret and Ella were in a festive mood – and Brian,
who came too with his immensely sweet and obviously very pregnant
wife Chloe, concurred that it was about time my life began.

That theme was repeated several hours later in my bedroom. Ella
came in after I’d done my ablutions and changed to pyjamas. “You
agree that your marriage to the cow is over, don’t you?” she
challenged.

“I signed the papers to that effect today,” I replied, slightly
puzzled. “There may be a legal delay, but in my mind it’s over.
Why?”

Lamb to the slaughter! A dangerous glint appeared in my gorgeous
third cousin’s eyes. Subconsciously she pushed her chest forward,
her prominent hard nipples becoming even more so through the thin
material of her otherwise fairly demure night gown.

They was not the only erectile tissue making its presence visible
through thin night attire I guarantee you – and my dick actually
escaped through the fly of my pyjamas pants when she grabbed the
hem of her night gown, pulling it over her head and revealing she
was completely nude underneath. “Good! I agree with Brian - it is
about time your life began!” she said in a smouldering voice.

I was speechless. I apparently did a very good imitation of a
fish out of water, or so Ella said when she recounted the episode
to Great Aunt Margaret the next morning (talk about
embarrassing!) “Ah, oh, eh” was the limit of my eloquence.

“Forget the objections,” Ella said. “One: Third cousins can
marry. Damn it, first cousins can. Two: I have loved you for
years and I’m sure you fancy me.” She looked at my rampant dick
and licked her lips. “And three,” she continued. “You are cured.
Dr Goldschmidt assures me you can’t infect anybody.”

I was defenceless when she knelt down and closed are pouty lips
around my engorged dick. She had other plans for me though, so
the blow job finished quickly: She pushed me back on the bed and
then impaled herself on me – I never got my pyjamas off!

It was easily the best sex I’ve ever had. She did things with her
vaginal muscles I didn’t realise was possible. But there was more
than mere physical stimulation; her whole nature - her sweetness,
her beauty, and her vivaciousness – merged with the bodily
perfection into the most attractive being imaginable.

“Oh, and four,” she panted as we were both reaching the point of
no return. “I know you want babies. And Dr Goldschmidt also
assured me that you have healthy and vigorous sperm. We shall now
put that to the test!” She collapsed in orgasm on me, her hot wet
vagina pulsing around my dick and rushing me towards an explosive
climax.

I surrendered to my fate. It seems to be my destiny to be seduced
by 21 year old vixens. The difference between Deidre and Ella 9
years later are numerous though – there are no hidden agendas and
no imbalance in expectations or a complete lack of equality in my
relationship with Ella. Sure, all married men kid themselves that
they have some measure of control and influence in their
marriage. We’re all deluded of course, but with Deidre the
delusion was complete – I never had any say in that marriage.

____________________

Speaking of which: Deidre fought the divorce tooth and nail. Not
that it mattered beyond Ella being very pregnant before I was
free to marry her. I turned down all offers of reconciliation and
all requests for counselling. There were just too many factors –
the deceit, the cheating itself, the STD, the lack of respect on
her side – and in return my complete lack of trust in her. Do I
still love her? I suppose so. Ella got me to admit as much and
then, to my surprise, said she was pleased with that. I’ll never
understand women!

Deidre in turn has never understood why I wanted out or why I was
upset at all. In her mind it wasn’t really cheating when it was
“just the family”. It was “an old tradition” and it “hurt
nobody”. Her mother must have brain-washed her well. She can’t
get into her head that the incestuous and inter-generational
nature of her infidelity makes it worse, rather than being a
mitigating circumstance! My getting infected and hovering at
death’s door from it was “just an unfortunate accident”. She
assures me again and again that the mistreatment at the hands of
her uncles was not of her doing and that she whole-heartedly
disapproved when she learned of it. They just panicked when the
consequences of Henry’s recklessness suddenly spread outside “the
family”.

How do I know all this? Simple. I talk to her every day, which is
hard to avoid since we have offices right next to each other and
are working together, quite successfully I might add, to keep
Theo Travis & Co afloat.

Deidre owns it now but she will be the last of the family line to
do so. Even if she could get over me, and I somehow doubt that
(something else that pleases my mischievous new wife no end!),
there can be no more Travises: The Thai Clap cost Deidre her
fertility; her ovaries were so damaged that she ceased
menstruating. Even when faced with that, she didn’t give up. One
of her delusional suggestions was that I divorce Ella, remarry
her and that she then adopted my now three children. I sometimes
wonder if Gonorrhoea can affect your brain in the way Syphilis
does. I’ve been too tactful to mention it to Deidre, but Ella
loves the theory.

And the Haines clan? They didn’t fare too well. Gladys (may the
Lord have mercy on her soul – I certainly won’t!) died from the
disease. I never knew you could actually die from the clap, but
you can and apparently I too was on the critical list myself for
the first few days in hospital. Anyway, her death put a sudden
end to the acrimonious divorce that Roger had started. It meant
that Gladys’ threat of “taking him to the cleaners” came to
nought – and that Uncle Gregory was sacked with two minutes’
warning. Roger then offered to hire me back to take over. Ella
said I would be a fool not to accept, so I did.

Roger bankrolled Diana’s divorce and Gregory barely had a shirt
to his back when they’d finished with him. Their children –
Diedre’s only first cousins – sided with their mother. They were
mercifully too young to have been roped into the sick games in
the Haines clan and I doubt they will ever be in touch with that
mob ever again.

Roger’s wrath did not extend to his only daughter – she was still
his heir and the apple of his eye. He reluctantly understood that
I couldn’t be married to her anymore, but he failed to comprehend
my initial refusal to work with her. “It’s just business my boy,”
he would say. Ella persuaded me to accept.

Roger was extremely fond of Ella, by the way – and adored our
little boy. Sadly he died suddenly just before the girls came
along only 18 months later; he would have been a great substitute
grandfather to them all. Great Uncle George and Great Aunt
Margaret are still around. They’ve slowed down significantly of
course – especially Great Uncle George, but we still see them
several times a month.

____________________

Lose ends? Oh yeah, the other uncles. Uncle Russell ran into a
shit-storm, courtesy of Dr Goldschmidt who made good his promise
to have “the quack” struck off. He left the UK and is reportedly
working in some third world country. A friend of Brian’s is now
our local GP. The kids love him; calling in “Uncle Michael” when
someone’s ill is popular and almost a cure in itself.

Uncle Graham failed to provide a reasonable explanation of his
actions when charged with conspiring with his brother to dispense
a restricted drug to treat something it was not approved for. In
the end he only got a warning; after all he was only dispensing
prescriptions, but by then too much of the goings-on in the
Haines clan had become common knowledge in town (Uncle Roger
being struck off opened the flood gates), so he sold the pharmacy
and moved away. We don’t know where, and we don’t care.

Second cousin Henry? He’s had his last Hoorah. Remember the good
Dr Goldschmidt’s threat to me if he found I lied to him? Well, it
was not an idle threat. Apparently untreated (or untreatable)
Gonorrhoea can lead to your dick falling off. (Actually, it can
lead to gangrene. A surgeon’s knife then makes it fall off in
order to save the patient’s life.) Couldn’t have happened to a
nicer asshole.

And finally Deidre: That girl just never gives up. Her latest
suggestion is that Ella, the children and I all move in with her
at Akroyd Hall “to experiment with alternative family forms”. I
understand that a world-renowned fertility expert has done his
utmost to help her and managed to find several viable eggs during
recent very expensive exploratory surgery. She is banking on
those eggs – and sperm from me. I was greatly disconcerted when
Ella, rather than laughing out loud, looked pensive.

I know she loves Akroyd Hall, but hell – there must be a limit
somewhere. I think I’d better go and talk to Great Aunt Margaret
about it. She is quite the sanest woman I know, so her counsel
will be wise.

And I’ll remember to wipe of the lipstick when I leave, although
I doubt Ella would care.

THE END.