The Wife

That’s the problem when there are two of you who are just similar enough but not quite the same, it’s the comparisons. It’s like having a sister who is you arch rival. The difference here of course was that only I- the mistress- knew that there even was a rival. Looking back, he said some things that just weren’t a fair fight. I remember, laying on the sofa bed in the front bedroom of your house, naked, and him remarking that I didn’t have any cellulite and now refreshing that was. You were 30 years old and I was 17. If you fuck around with kids, there probably won’t be a vast amount of cellulite, buddy. 

He always said you were really thick and I don’t know why because that can’t have been true. I’m not saying you were an intellectual giant, you probably weren’t, probably aren’t, but you had a good job and a good degree. You were once reading The Bell Jar too; I found it in your bedside drawer after he had fallen asleep and proceeded to read it myself one night when you were staying with your Gran. Your bookmark was about half way through, you were ploughing through it. So why did he say you were dim? Probably to justify it, everything he said that degraded and belittled you was always to justify it. I was clever and you were thick and he was clever QED he was totally fine to be cheating on his wife with a teenager. I’m not saying that I agree with him, by the way, regarding your intelligence or the justification. For what it’s worth I think you must be pretty smart, even if you did end up forgiving him.

He didn’t love you. He didn’t love me either, I don’t think he loved anyone. It is tempting here for my next sentence to be “except maybe himself” but I think he loved himself the very least, despite appearances. What did he see when he looked in the mirror? A fatherless child whose mother didn’t care very much about him, or at least that was the sob story I was fed. What were you? The person who was going to save him. Who was I? The person who was going to save him when you failed to save him. We were a means to an end for him. And now? I suppose now that you are the person who forgave him and loved him even when he had done the very worst thing he could do. So perhaps he does love you now, through fucking me he learnt to love you. My vagina as therapy. What a beautiful story. So glad to be of service. Maybe I will set myself up in marriage guidance.