We Need to Talk, Sweetheart

Another short and sweet little 'vignette' to amuse you all.

No background. I repeat --- no background. Enjoy imagining it how you would want it yourself.

Hope you enjoy it.

Almost wish it was me.

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"We need to talk sweetheart."

'Yes I bet we do,' I thought to myself, looking up at the woman who had been my wife for the last twenty odd years, the last few of them more in name only.

"It's finished," she continued, almost choking on her words. " John and I are no longer an item."

"Sorry Gwen," I consoled her, as she stood there wringing her hands together. "I guess you must be upset after all this time."

"Three years nearly," Gwen went on sadly. "I know I promised you all that time ago that it would eventually run its course and we'd go back to normal, but it's still heartbreaking when you get there."

"What happened?" I asked her gently. "I've seen you getting more and more unhappy over the last several months, so I guess it wasn't sudden."

"Familiarity or something I suppose," Gwen carried on hardly looking in my direction. "We just got used to one another and it seemed to lose that magic spark I guess."

"Sounds familiar," I remarked, though the point seemed somewhat lost on her.

I well remembered our conversation more than two years earlier, when Gwen had sat down one evening and shocked the life out of me, by telling me that our sex life had become boring, and that she had taken a lover, a somewhat younger and more vigorous man. How she had gone on to explain to me, her adoring husband, that she still had feelings for me, but fully intended to keep on seeing him, and that I would just have to accept it, or lose her, the two kids, my home and probably my job, working for her father as I did at the time.

"I told you at the time that it wouldn't last for ever, Tom," Gwen reminded me. "Thanks for being so patient with me sweetheart. It would have been so difficult if you hadn't been so understanding. "

I simply shrugged my shoulders, not having a lot to say at that moment, and she carried on, informing me of her plans for our future. What she had decided.

"We can get back to normal now Tom. You can move back into our bedroom whenever you want. Maybe straight away, tonight might be best, as I'm feeling pretty cut up about John packing me up like that. He really wasn't very nice about it at all at the end."

"Why was that then?" I questioned her. "What did he say?"

"Told me I was getting past it," she sobbed. "That I'd put on too much weight and that he didn't like being seen out with me anymore, the thoughtless bastard."

"That wasn't a nice thing to say," I commiserated, carefully avoiding having to disagree with his verdict. "But I don't think I could bring myself to sleep in that bed again. Not after the number of times John and you have used it."

"But Tom sweetheart," she leapt in. "You know I never had him back here when you were at home."

"You mean like all the days when I was at work, and all those nights I was away on business over in France?"

"We'll get rid of that old bed," my wife declared, my attempt at sarcasm too subtle for her. "We'll get a new one tomorrow."

"A new bed might be nice," I answered in little more than a whisper, and we both sat there for a few moments in an awkward silence.

"I'll make it up to you Tom," Gwen eventually burst out enthusiastically. "I know we haven't slept together for over two years, but I've been thinking about it a lot, and it can easily be like it used to be. You'll see Tom."

"You think it could be Gwen?" I asked quietly. "Exactly like it used to be. Do you really think it could be?"

"Yes of course it can be --- Will be sweetheart." Gwen went on, gaining steam. "You'll see. We can just carry on from where we left off. It's quite exciting if you think about it."

"You mean before you humiliated me in front of all our family and friends," I asked her. "Before I stopped going down the village pub to see my pals, because you went in there with John so often?"

"Sorry about that sweetheart. Perhaps that was a bit thoughtless, but they all knew what was going on anyway. Everyone knew that John and I were lovers."

"Maybe if you hadn't told them so often how much better in bed he was than me Gwen," I ventured, remembering the nightmare of her words being relayed to me by Gwen and John's friends as they stood around me sniggering.

"Well not better Tom," she whined. "Just different, new, more exciting than our sex life had become after all those years together."

"Like yours' and John's has become now you mean?"

"I guess so," she agreed, smiling benevolently at me. "I knew you'd understand sweetheart."

"Oh, I understand OK. But I still can't see myself going into that bedroom with you again that easily. You wrecked my male ego darling, and I'm not sure I could perform."

"OK then," my wife carried on. "Why don't we drive down to Brighton tomorrow for the week end? We can stay in that little hotel we used to go to, and we can drive down in your lovely old Jaguar XK140, like we used to. It'll be fun. Be like old times, and I can't wait for you to play with me, the way you used to."

"Difficult that," I commented shortly. "Damn near impossible really."

"Why Tom? Is the car broken down or something?"

"Not as far as I know," I told her. "But it's not mine anymore. I sold it."

That shocked her. It really did. Just about summed up how much notice she had taken of me over the last couple of years.

"You sold your classic Jaguar Tom!" She exclaimed. "But you loved that car. You spent hundreds and hundreds of hours renovating it. How could you sell it? When did it go?"

"Over a year ago," I informed her, and her mouth sagged open, astonished no doubt at how our lives had drifted apart. How little she now knew about me and my life.

"We can buy you another one Tom," was the next suggestion. "Maybe we could buy your old one back."

"It's not for sale Gwen," I replied. "Besides, what would we buy it with?"

"With money from the company Tom, of course. Or money from my trust that Daddy set up before he died."

"You signed the trust money away five months ago Gwen," it was my great pleasure to inform her. "Where do you think we got the money from to give both kids their deposit for their houses when they got married?"

"Is that where it came from Tom," she mumbled. "You never told me."

"Oh but I did Gwen. Just like I told you I was selling the Jag. Trouble was, you never listened as you were too tied up with that bloody John."

"But the family company is OK isn't it Tom?" she asked with a look of desperation. "We're still alright financially aren't we?"

"The company is OK Gwen," I delighted in telling her. "But we no longer own it. Those papers you signed a month or so ago, finalised the deal."

"What papers?" she asked absently, but I didn't bother to answer. She'd been too tied up trying to keep her affair going to worry about anything so mundane as our future.

"But there must be some money left. What about the sale of the business? Are we still rich? What are we going to do?"

I left her to stew for a while. Let her reflect a little on all the changes that had taken place right under her nose, while she'd been too busy enjoying the parties and social whirl with John, to worry about the rest of us.

"Your share will be just about enough to pay off the mortgage on the house," I then told her.

"What mortgage?" Gwen asked dejectedly. She really had been living in a little world of her own. "What do you mean by 'my share'?"

"Well I've spent my half on a forty-five foot sailing ketch. I've taken early retirement and I plan to spend the rest of my days wandering the seas."

"But I hate boats Tom," she squealed in anguish. "You know I detest the sea."

"I know," I confirmed. "But then there's no room on it for you anyway."

"What are you talking about Tom? How come there's no room for me on a boat that big," she demanded, apparently deciding that maybe she didn't hate the sea so much after all.

"It's rigged for just two people to sail," I told her. "Just me and the deckhand that I took on a while ago."

"But I could still come with you sweetheart," she insisted. "We could still have a wonderful time exploring the Med. or somewhere nice. Maybe we could sail to the South of France. I had a wonderful time going round the shops in Cannes when John took me there last year."

"Only one cabin, I'm afraid," I interjected. It was more or less true as well, but what a fantastic stateroom it was.

"Only one cabin," she repeated loudly. "Then where the hell is the deckhand sleeping?"

She thought she'd caught me out there.

"She's sleeping with me," I informed her. "The way she has been for some time now."

"She?" Gwen cried, aghast. "The deckhand's a woman?"

"Yup!" I confirmed happily. "Twenty-eight years old, French, blonde, slim and beautiful, superb cook, knows all about boats and fucks like a bunny-rabbit."

"Oh!"

With that, Gwen got the message I guess, and burst out crying.

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She was still sobbing the next day, when I left for France to join my boat and Giselle my sexy little deckhand at La Rochelle where it was berthed. It had taken some time to set up, but I was about to get my pay-off.

I hadn't told Gwen about the lovely six bedroomed Villa I'd bought nearby, with the money I had squirreled away over the last few years, before selling the company, and looked forward to leaping in the pool and being playful with Suzy, who for some totally obscure reason simply refused to entertain wearing the top half of her bikini, no matter where we were.

To be honest, I was also looking forward to opening the garage doors there as well. My lovely old Jag XK140 had sat there on it's own for far too long, and would soon be whisking Giselle and I off to a wonderful French restaurant that I'd got to know well, just down the coast.

Happy days!

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Told you it was short and sweet.

Forgot to mention that John got run over by a big red bus the next week ----- Or whatever!