Even Mistresses Moan

(c)
Terry Moore 1998

Even Mistresses Moan

Although the date on the letter said April the first, the contents didn't make me a fool. My decree absolute had arrived. I was no longer married to Sylvia. Thirty odd years as man with wife, dissolved by the stroke of a pen.

I was discharged from the responsibility of worrying what she wanted to do at Christmas.

Where she wanted to go for our holiday's. What food was the best for us to eat. What the neighbours might think about our untidy garden.  Did I think we ought to have her mother over for the weekend, or should we just go and see her.  It'll be strange, not arguing about whether the wallpaper is straight, or the best place for my wellingtons.  And did I hear that noise outside, perhaps I ought to go and look just in-case.  She never explained to me what she meant by just in-case. I'd let her have the house as a gesture of good will. When I signed to say she could have all the contents as well, I didn't realise that included the car in the garage. She didn't want to drive it before, but now - now her world would collapse without it.

He was a wonderful guy, her lawyer, Mr Jones, of Jones, Jones and Smith. He'd smiled all the way through the negotiations, with my man, Mr Spring, of Trap, Trap and Spring, who seemed to nod most of the time. It was only afterwards I found out his speciality was juvenile crime. But by then It was too late.

Me and my suitcase went into bed and breakfast for a few days. I would have moved in with my mistress straight away, but she was having trouble getting rid of her husband. He was due to go down the same route as me, but was fighting against it, as he'd only just found out. Dolores wouldn't get his car.

As Dolores and I squeezed into the B&B's single bed, she whispered, he'll be gone by the weekend. Good, I said, and you'll have to be gone by ten, there's no women allowed after that. We cuddled up close and tried to bring all of our years of married experience to the
problem at hand. After several months we'd become quite adept at lovemaking in that small bed. In fact, I'd got used to hanging on to the edges for dear life, and ignoring the squeaking springs. I was quite proud of myself, if I had to clamp my hand over Dolores's
mouth to stop her from crying out. She was as good as gold really, the only time she laughed, was the once I fell onto the floor at a critical moment. By the time I'd scrambled back and got myself in a secure position again, the mood had passed.

We didn't spend all of our time trying to destroy my sleeping arrangements. We'd talk a lot about what It was going to be like when Bert, her husband, finally got the message and left. One particular Monday afternoon comes to mind.

"I'm going to see my lawyer tomorrow," she said, smoothing her stockings seductively.

Women smoothing their stockings has always been a sensual thing for me. I watched her hands glide slowly over her 15 denier.

"Did you hear me?"

"Yes," I mumbled. "Who is your lawyer by the way?"

"Trap of Trap and Trap."

"There are a lot of Trap's there, what happened to Spring? He was the bloody fool who lost me the car."

"Oh...he left just after your case."

"Left?...Where did he go?"

"He moved in with your wife."

I was thinking about suing Mr Spring for insider trading, when Dolores gave me one of her mind-blowing, throat exploratory, kisses. I was gasping for breath when she mentioned my 5 'o clock shadow.

"When are you going to have a proper shave in the mornings? And when are you going to move to a bigger place? I'm fed up with those broken springs digging in my back."

By the Wednesday I'd carried out Dolores's wishes. I'd moved in to a new pad and had a sparkling new slumberland installed. I'd got up that morning, showered, shaved, powdered and perfumed. I was ready for a brand new day. Unfortunately for Dolores, I hadn't given her my new address. I was miles away from her insatiable pursuit of my adams-apple and Sylvia's illegal brief. I had another companion in my life. A new love, who shared my bed without complaint. She didn't go on about the bedsprings, my quick-growing beard, Christmas or wallpaper. In fact she didn't go on about anything. When we'd
finished disturbing the sheets after another long session, I'd pull her plug out and she would just deflate with a sigh.

================================================================