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Election Ch. 01

By: Adrian69702006



(This is a new story which I hope very much that you'll enjoy. I have already posted it elsewhere but, if you've not already come across it, I hope it will give you pleasure. Please be aware though that for reasons of context it contains somewhat stronger language than the majority of my stories. If you're offended by that sort of thing, please give it a miss. My aim, as always, is to amuse and titilate, not offend.) 

*

Anne's feet ached, she felt tired and struggled to control the light-headedness which the lack of any lunch had induced. Had anyone suggested in her student days that one day she'd be out canvassing for Woodchester Conservatives, she'd have thought they were stark raving mad! Twenty five years down the line it was a different matter though. In Brian she'd married a man who, though seldom at home, was ambitious if he was anything. A successful businessman, busy councillor and one time town mayor of Attleton Market, his latest project was to try and get himself elected as the MP for Woodchester City. Moreover he'd been successful in getting the local Conservatives to select him as their candidate. 

All that remained was the small matter of the General Election which, in 2010, promised to be interesting if nothing else. Anne viewed the whole business with a quiet dread and found it impossible to avoid that sinking feeling which went with the realisation that her destiny was no longer her own. Of course she could have put her foot down and vetoed the whole business, just as she'd said 'no' to a second mayoral term, but she also realised that she'd never have heard the last of it. Brian's heart was set on becoming the new MP and she had at least to do the dutiful wife bit, supporting him as best she could. That support included canvassing, and thus it was that today she'd found herself on Birkbeck Rise, the most unpromising council estate in inner city Woodchester. Local residents hadn't exactly warmed to her -- or rather what she represented -- either. In the course of a morning she'd variously been ignored, sworn at, spat on and narrowly avoided being bitten by various dogs. 

Aching feet, exhaustion and the light headedness of a lunchless day were not the only things that bothered her though. During the last hour she'd become increasingly conscious of a rapidly filling bladder and had reached the stage where she needed to pee badly. It was rapidly approaching two in the afternoon and she'd not peed since seven thirty that morning so it was perhaps not altogether surprising that the need for relief was rapidly becoming urgent. Anne could hold her pee longer and better than most women of her age could claim, but even she had her limits. She knew from long experience that trying to exceed those limits, whether intentionally or unintentionally, had only one consequence -- wet knickers. It wasn't unusual for her to hold too long and wet herself at home when Brian wasn't around. In fact it made her incredibly horny and she'd often done it deliberately, masturbating as soon as she'd she'd peed herself, and reaching heights of orgasm to which Brian, with the best will in the world, couldn't possibly take her. 

Peeing herself in public though was a different matter. Even in the twenty first century the world judged grown women who openly peed themselves somewhat harshly. The default assumption tended to be that they were either drunk, on drugs or simply unable to control themselves - and she was never any of those things. Anne had observed how the world treated men differently. Although it was technically illegal, she'd often seen men unzip in the pedestrianised city centre shopping area, get their cocks out and just pee wherever they happened to be. Such behaviour was rarely commented upon as remarkable and she'd never seen a guy arrested for it. However if a woman happened to wet herself in public, not a frequent daytime occurrence by any means, she was immediately branded a "dirty bitch," a "cow," a "whore" - or something else equally derogatory. It was perhaps not altogether surprising that Anne was determined to avoid wetting herself whilst out canvassing if possible and it was rapidly become apparent that her only option was to knock on a door and ask to use somebody's loo. 

As it happened, the first of a row of bungalows which looked as though their tenants might be mainly pensioners, came in to view and Anne considered her options. That first one looked smart and appeared to have a well kept, if small, front garden. It looked promising, or rather the least unpromising of the lot, and maybe even the home of potential Tory voters. Clutching her leaflets with one hand, and desperate to thrust the other up her skirt, Anne surveyed the lay of the land. Encouragingly there was no sign of a dog in the garden but Anne opened the gate quietly, taking care to leave it off the latch. She was fairly athletic by the standards of most fortysomethings, but moving quickly whilst struggling to control a full bladder wasn't her strongest suit. Fighting the urge to reach for her crotch, Anne gingerly tiptoed to the front door and rang the doorbell.

The door flung open and she was greeted by an old man in a tatty, off-white shirt and badly stained trousers, held up by braces.

"What do you want?," he grunted. 

Anne did her best to look and sound composed under the circumstances, but it wasn't easy. 

"I was wondering if I might possibly use your loo. It's a bit of an emergency."

The man looked at Anne with disdain but there was a distinct bulge in his trousers which hadn't been there before she'd mentioned her (now urgent) need of a loo.

"An emergency, eh? How do I know you're up to no good? Got some ID, woman? If you're one of them bloody Jehovah's Witnesses you can fuck off right now."

After a morning of meeting people of his ilk, Anne was sorely tempted to give him a piece of her mind, but decided that restraint was the better course.

"I'm from Woodchester Conservatives. Look, here's my card. Perhaps you'd care to take one of our leaflets."

The man grabbed a leaflet, studied it and scowled.

"Bloody Tories. Hey, you're the missus of that fat bastard who fancies himself from out Attleton way, aren't you? I've seen your photo in the paper."

Tiresome though she found the whole election business to be, Anne didn't like to hear Brian described in such terms and felt that his honour was at stake.

"My husband is a hard working man of integrity who only wants to serve the people of this city. If you care about immigration, jobs, taxes and the proposed rail link from here to London you'll vote for him. Yes, he caries a few more pounds than he or I would like, but he's not as fat as some of the idle slobs I've seen on this estate."

The man laughed. 

"Integrity? Your lot don't know what fucking integrity means. Fuck me. What about that bloke out Lincolnshire way on that claimed two thousand quid for cleaning his fucking moat, or the one the claimed for fucking duck houses? They say it's going to be a hung parliament a fucking good job too. They want to get a bloody big rope and hang the fucking lot of them."

Anne squared up to the man. She was unused to hearing such language and didn't intend to demean herself by stooping to the man's level.

"Sir, my husband cares a great deal about parliamentary standards and, like all the other candidates, he's committed to making sure that sort of thing doesn't happen again. Now can I please use your loo? It really is urgent."

A large spurt of pee escaped into Anne's knickers, a sure sign she was on the brink of wetting herself completely. Obviously aware of her increasing desperation, the man reached between his legs and played with his penis, caring nothing for the offence that such blatant masturbation might cause.

"No you can't use my fucking loo. The bloody Tories never did me any favours and I don't see why I should do them any. I used to have a fucking good job down the pit -- a job for life I'd been told and then that bloody Thatcher woman came along and I was out on the scrap heap."

Another large spurt escaped into Anne's knickers, indicating that a full on wetting was now only a matter of seconds away. Fighting to control her bladder was bad enough but struggling to keep her temper in the presence of such a foul mouthed, uncouth man was proving barely less difficult. Lewd though his behaviour was, at least he'd stopped short of exposing himself to her, a small mercy under the circumstances. 

"Sir, I think you'll find it was a Mr Scargill who cost you that job for life, not Mrs Thatcher. I was newly married at the time but I remember thinking what a silly, unnecessary, wasteful strike it was. Anyway, that's a long time ago and we must think about the future."

The man looked angrily at Anne.

"It is a fucking long time when you're thrown on the scrap heap at fifty. I've not worked since 1986. How the fuck do you think I've managed?"

Anne lowered her head. 

"On benefits, sir?"

"Yes, on fucking benefits and a reduced pension." 

"I'm sorry, sir."

Unable to hold her pee a second longer, Anne parted her legs and peed hard, her golden stream landing on the concrete of the garden path. The man gave her a black, disgusted look, but couldn't conceal a certain smugness either. 

"Fucking dirty bitch. I'll teach you to piss on my path."

Anne looked him hard in the eye. 

"I'm sorry sir but I asked to use your loo - and told you it was urgent - but you wouldn't let me. Actions have consequences, sir, something you seem not to understand."

At that, the man swung round at shouted into the hallway, "Mary, fetch the fucking dog!"

Abandoning the few remaining leaflets in her possession and still peeing slightly, Anne legged it, grateful that she'd left the gate unlatched. 

THE END

Election Ch. 02



Chapter 2 - Desperate to Poll

Adam and Barnaby turned the corner into Wentworth Street, location of the Community Centre with which they were both familiar, but today the local polling station. They'd originally intended to vote two hours earlier, upon returning from work, but had taken one look at the queue outside the polling station and thought better of it. Fortified by fish and chips at the Broadhurst Arms, washed down in Adam's case by diet coke and in Barnaby's by three pints of bitter, they were ready to try again. Neither could disguise their disappointment when they saw that the queue, far from diminishing, was even longer than it had been earlier, stretching almost the full length of suburban Wentworth Street. 

"Shit! I don't fucking believe it," Barnaby hissed.

"Neither do I," rejoined Adam. "Still if we're going to vote I think we're going to have to stick it out. They said this was a marginal and there's bound to be more interest at this one than last time. It's the last chance there'll be to get shot of Labour for another five years and we need a change."

"Oh yeah?," Barnaby retorted. "Change - the Lib Dems? In what sense does your wet party represent change? What with their soft policies on Europe and immigration oh, and proportional representation. Mucking about with voting system just to keep themselves in and the Tories out. I don't mean to be nasty but if you ask me they've not got much of a chance." 

Adam didn't care for his friend's tone and resolved to stick up for what he believed in. 

"Well at least they've got more chance of getting elected than your lot. Your UKIP lot won't get more than a thousand or fifteen hundred votes here and I doubt they'll have a single MP. They've not exactly wiped the floor yet, have they? Not that I'm surprised. All your lot want is to get out of Europe. A one policy party is all they are. Even the Tories realised this country was better off in Europe than out and most people agreed with them when they had the referendum."

"Which was before you or I were born, Adam. We didn't get any say in it, did we? I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for all those fat cats in the European parliament, getting rich whilst tying the rest of us in red tape. Oh, and that's without mentioning that fucking villain's paradise called the European Human Rights Act. What did for me was Brown signing that treaty which Blair promised a referendum on that we never got."

"What, the Lisbon Treaty?" 

"Yes, the Lisbon Treaty. No one but the politicians seem to know what's in it and even some of them aren't really sure. The only thing that's sure about it is less power to Westminster and more to Brussels."

"Well, does that matter?"

"Of course it bloody well matters. We might lose control of the army for a kick off. Can you imagine it? German generals in charge of our fucking troops. I don't think so!" 

Adam rolled his eyes in disapproval. 

An elderly gentleman queueing in front of them turned to Barnaby and uttered a stern rebuke. 

"Mind your language, lad!"

"Sorry sir," he replied. 

Although they were slowly getting closer to the polling station, the queue remained a long one and Barnaby glanced anxiously at Adam, slipping his hand down to his crotch, as he did so. They'd been friends long enough for Adam to recognise and understand the signs.

"Full bladder, mate?," he ventured.

"Yeah, I need a major piss."

"Though so. Why didn't you go at the pub?"

"Oh yeah? You'd never have let me live it down. You'd have been calling me Sergeant Weakbladder or something like it."

"Barnaby, that's not true. You've not been all day."

"Neither have you."

"True, but I can hold it. Having a dick the size of yours comes at a price. You can't expect to have a big cock and and a huge bladder as well. If you were average like me it would be different. You normally piss the minute we get in so it's hardly surprising you've gotta go now. Besides, what do you expect after three pints?"

"Alright Adam, don't rub it in! I'm fucking bursting."

"Well why don't you nip back to the pub? I'll try and keep your place in queue." 

"Adam, you've got to be kidding. I'm going to vote even if it means pissing myself. It's my first General Election and I don't intend missing out." 

"Okay Barnaby, it's just a thought. You know the longest I ever went without pissing was sixteen hours. It was a family wedding and I was well ready for a piss when the time came. Hey, I wonder if your Aunt Anne got caught short when she came to vote? It's the sort of thing she'd do."

"I doubt it. Brian and Anne were going to vote at seven when the place opened and I overheard her pissing in the bathroom at six. She was pissing like a fucking racehorse as usual. I know she didn't go at bedtime and she'd not pissed all evening so I wasn't too surprised. It woke me up though."

"And gave you a hardon too I shouldn't wonder! Pity I missed it but I was still fast asleep then."

Barnaby grabbed his crotch again, by now wearing a pained expression, and walking very gingerly. 

"Adam, can we change the subject?" 

"What? Not bloody likely. I'm enjoying this too much, Sergeant Weakbladder.! It's not every day I get to see you squirm." 

"Adam!"

"What?"

"I've started to piss myself."

"Can you stop it?"

"I'll try."

He didn't believe he'd do it, but Barnaby managed to close his urinary sphincter and stop the flow. Although he'd probably released less than a quarter of a pint, his trousers were noticeably wet. One of the disadvantages of having a cock as big as his was the near impossibility of finding comfortable briefs with the result that he invariably went commando. Without underpants to take the initial discharge, his trousers got wetter quicker than would otherwise have been the case. 

Still, things were starting to look up. It was getting dark but, after a long wait, they were finally at the polling station door. Barnaby could feel himself starting to lose control again as further spurts of pee shot out of his gigantic cock, wetting further his already wet trousers. Not waiting to get his ballot paper, Barnaby shot off to the gents toilets, unzipped his cock which had quit all attempts at holding back the tide, and peed hard for a good two minutes into the long metal urinal. The relief was unbelievable. Wet but relieved, he zipped his now stress free cock back into his trousers. 

Barnaby made his way back into the main hall and surveyed the scene. The main doors had closed and Adam stood at the back of the room, obviously having voted. There was something of a commotion going off, a dozen or so disaffected voters arguing and shouting at the poll clerk. Unsure of what the commotion was about, Barnaby approached the poll clerk and retrieved a rather damp voting card from his pocket. 

"Can I please have a ballot paper?"

"No. I'm sorry sir but it's just gone ten o'clock and by law you've got to have the ballot paper before ten if you're to vote."

"But I've just been for a piss. You know I was here before ten, for goodness sake."

"I'm sorry sir but you have to be issued with the ballot paper by ten o'clock. That's the law of the land. I don't make the rules but I have to enforce them."

"So you're saying I can't fucking vote then?"

"That's correct sir. Look you're not the only that's missed out tonight. Turnout's been a lot higher than expected. If you'd come earlier you'd have stood a better chance."

Barnaby looked angrily at the man. 

"Do you know who I am? I'm the nephew of one of the candidates and I'll make sure he gets to hear about this."

Wearily the poll clerk polished his spectacles. 

"I know perfectly who you are young man. The fact remains I've got to shut up shop at ten and I can't make can't make any exceptions. Now I suggest you go home and let me get on with closing the polling station."

Before he could reply, Adam grabbed his friend and whisked him towards the door.

"Come on, Barnaby. There's no point in arguing. We'd better do as the man says."

Still angry and uncomfortable in his pee sodden trousers, Barnaby realised there was no point in arguing and followed Adam outside. There would no doubt be other future elections in which he could vote. 

The End.  



Election Ch. 03



 Ch 3 - The Result

At long last the polls had closed and now all that remained was for the results to be declared. City Hall's main conference room was packed with candidates, their partners, friends, party activists and, inevitably, representatives of the press. Despite the fatigue of campaigning – felt by all the candidates and their loved ones – there was an air of expectation and anticipation. Woodchester was a three way marginal and this particular election in May 2010 was billed to be somewhat unusual with widespread predictions of a hung parliament. 

Brian was at his smartest, sporting a new grey suit for the occasion and navy blue tie to match his the rosette on his lapel. Anne wore the cream blouse he liked to see her in, a favourite brooch, and the blue skirt she'd done so much of her canvassing in. Simply but immaculately turned out, she looked a million dollars. However something deep down told her that all wasn't well. Tired and not a little excited, her mind turned to the conversation she and Brian had had as they'd left their Attleton Market home three hours earlier.

"Annie, have you been to the loo?"

"Yes."

Her "yes" had been a barefaced lie, but one told for the very best of reasons. With a long night still ahead of them they were both tired and she wanted to avoid the row that admitting the truth would have precipitated. They'd been married for long enough and Brian probably knew the truth, but Anne realised there were times when it was expedient to tell him what he wanted to hear, and this was one such occasion. 

It wouldn't have mattered if it was simply a question of peeing as a thirty second delay in leaving home would have been neither here nor there. However she didn't need to pee. No, she needed to poo. It was hardly surprising as she'd not moved her bowels since Tuesday morning and it was now the small hours of Friday morning. As so often happened in Anne's case, the desire to defecate hadn't been sudden and it wasn't urgent. No, it had gradually developed from small beginnings with a feeling of slightly more than comfortable fullness down below and, slowly but surely, become a definite pressure on her bowel until the point had been reached when the need to go was unmistakable. Unlike some women who regarded the least sensation of needing to go as anathema and headed for a toilet as soon it was felt, Anne loved the feeling. Not surprisingly she sought every opportunity to savour and enjoy it. As it gradually grew more intense she'd become more turned on and, if privacy allowed, masturbate. 

Tonight though there was no such privacy and, well aware that her bowels were getting increasingly full, Anne wished she'd gone on the toilet earlier. She was anxious not to let Brian down on what might well be his big night. Thus far she'd managed to avoid farting, which whilst it would have relieved some pressure, would also have blown her cover – quite literally – and shattered Brian's dream of a wife who smelt as gorgeous as she looked. Clenching her buttocks and hoping the distinct glow on her her forehead wouldn't be taken for the perspiration that it really was, she smiled and did her best to pretend that all was well, even though the reality was somewhat different. 

Glancing at the walk clock as she tried to make small talk with Brian's agent, Anne noticed it was nearly two thirty. As the chimes of the cathedral clock rang out, the Returning Officer made his way to the dais at the front of the hall, paper in hand and prepared to deliver the verdict. Hush swept through the hall and the candidates were joined by their respective partners, eager to hear the results. With all the solemnity due to his office and to the occasion, the Returning Officer announced the long awaited results. 

"I, Thomas Sparrow, Returning Officer for the Woodchester Borough Constituency, hereby give notice that the total number of votes given for each candidate at the election of Thursday 6th May was as follows. Helen Mary Atherton, Liberal Democrat, seven thousand four hundred and thirty eight. David Edward Barnes, British National Party, two hundred and eighty two. Darren Hugh Davis, Independent, seven hundred and seventy eight. Henry Arthur Dunn, Labour Party, fifteen thousand two hundred and forty two. Clive Alec Fotheringay, United Kingdom Independence Party, five hundred and twenty five. Diane Joyce Garnham, Green Party, three hundred and two. Brian Edgar Selwyn Timpson, Conservative Party, nineteen thousand three hundred and twenty two. And that Brian Edgar Selwyn Timpson has been duly elected to serve as Member of Parliament for the Woodchester Borough Constituency."

Loud cheers rang out and not a few boos too as cameras flashed, eager to capture the new MP's face in readiness for the front page of the Woodchester Mercury. Elated but a little dazed, Brian made his way to the dais to give his acceptance speech. Her mind temporarily distracted from the increasing fullness of her bowels, Anne walked proudly beside him, not fully grasping the implications of what lay ahead but simply thrilled that her husband's dream had become a reality. Although slightly stunned by his victory, Brian wasn't long lost for words and his performance, well rehearsed, was a polished one. 

"Ladies and gentleman, it gives me enormous pleasure to stand here as your new Member of Parliament. It is not just a pleasure though but a tremendous responsibility with which I have been entrusted. To quote an old Chinese proverb, we are living in interesting times, and the months, possibly years, which lie ahead will not be easy - whichever party or combination of parties - gets to form the new government. However ours is a great country and Woodchester is a great city with a high performing university, state of the art hospital, glorious medieval cathedral which equals any in the land and, despite the economic downturn, a vibrant commercial centre. All of this is good but I believe that it can be even better. I have long been committed to securing a direct rail link between Woodchester and London. It is my belief that such a link will enhance our economic prosperity and add to the city's attractiveness as a place to live. It is therefore my intention to do everything within my power to make it a reality during my time as your Member of Parliament. To conclude I must thank first of all the other candidates for ensuring that a robust but clean and fair campaign was fought. I do not share their convictions or else I would not be stood here tonight. However they are all people of honour, integrity and deep conviction to which I must pay tribute. Secondly, I must thank those friends, particularly the good people of Woodchester Conservative Association who put their faith in me and, without whose unstinting efforts on the campaign trail, I most certainly would not be stood here tonight. My thanks go to the people of this city who had the courage to vote for change and for something new. Rest assured, I will not let you down. Last but by no means least I must pay tribute to my beautiful long-suffering wife, Anne, without whose love, patience, good humour and hard work I would have stood no chance of ever representing you in parliament." 

Applause filled the room. However as Brian left the dais, Anne finally lost the battle to control her bowels as her anal sphincter gave up the fight. Unable to stop if if she'd wanted, she sensed a familiar warmth and muddiness, as well as a gentle crackling sound, as her panties filled with rich brown poo. The smell, her characteristic 'stewed veg' aroma, was overpowering. Before she could react to what was happening a pair of familiar arms tenderly encircled her and she was gently led away to the toilets by Wendy, her old friend. 

Escorting her into a cubicle, Wendy closed the door firmly behind her. She had about her the firm but kindly air of someone determined to take charge and who would brook no argument. 

"Right Anne. Give me that skirt. At least if we can salvage that it will be something."

Anne obediently did as she was told. It was clear from Wendy's tone that any attempt at protest would be as inadvisable as it was fruitless. Meekly handing her skirt over she decided that some attempt at an apology would be in order.

"Look, I'm really sorry Wendy."

Before she could continue, her friend cut her short. 

"Sorry? What do you mean by sorry? I think you know very well it's not me you've got to apologise to. This is Brian's big night for goodness sake and you just couldn't help yourself, could you? Now let's get those pants off – carefully, over the toilet if you please."

Anne did as she was bidden, gingerly removing her soiled panties but still getting her hands dirty as she did so. 

Wendy sighed. 

"Those knickers had better go straight in the sanitary towel bin. It's just as well there's plenty of toilet paper in here and I had the foresight to bring some moist wipes. I just knew something like this was bound to happen, but even I've never seen you in such a mess. Honestly, Anne Timpson!"

Anne blushed, trying to clean herself up as best she could, getting through countless sheets of toilet paper and grateful there was a plentiful supply of the stuff. 

"Wendy, I really am sorry and I do appreciate your help. You don't know how much it means right now."

Purposeful as ever, Wendy handed her friend some wipes. 

"Save that for later, Anne. Right now we need to concentrate on getting you cleaned up as best we can."

Anne finally wiped the worst of the sticky, revolting poo from her bum cheeks.

"Wendy, you're right – as usual. I need to get cleaned up and back out there for Brian as soon as possible. As you say it's his big night and he needs me."

"Not smelling like a crew yard, he doesn't. When you've cleaned up as well as we can manage in here, you're coming straight back to my place for a shower and a change of clothes. It's just as well we're both size fourteen. There'll be plenty of time to rejoin him before the champagne breakfast at party HQ. I'll tell him you're a little unwell and you're going to my place to rest for an hour or so."

Anne looked at her friend knowing very well she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"You're right, Wendy. What was I thinking of?"

"I don't know. Look, I think you're clean enough now to go out to my car. I've got an old paper that can go on the passenger seat. Let's get that skirt back on you. At least that'll see another day – pity the same can't be said for your panties. Come on, I think we've both got to wash our hands although yours might smell for some time."

Anne obediently followed Wendy out of the toilets and outside to the carpark. 

As they got into the car, Wendy turned to Anne, the kind but resolute tone still in her voice. 

"Anne, you're an MP's wife now. For good or ill that means you've got responsibilities. I know it goes against the grain, but you're going to have to change your ways and go to the loo before public engagements - even if you don't want to . Otherwise you're going to have accidents like this all the time and I won't always be there to rescue you."

Anne looked nervously at her friend. 

"Wendy, I'm not sure I can do it."

"What? Get a grip on your toilet habits? For goodness sake."

"No. Go through with this business of being the dutiful, angelic MP's wife."

"Well you're going to have to. Brian's been elected and, to put it bluntly, you've no choice. You could have vetoed the whole thing at the outset if you'd wanted but chose not to. It's not as though you didn't have the choice."

"Choice? What do you know about choice? You've never been married, Wendy Sullivan. If I'd tried to stop Brian chasing his dream and standing for this election I'd never have heard the last of it. Now, I just feel trapped though."

"Well don't. That's nerves and exhaustion talking, not the Anne Timpson I know and love. Trust me. Brian's got his dreams for now but I don't think he'll be the Woodchester MP for long. Westminster's full of temptation – pecuniary, sexual and otherwise. We both know Brian has his 'weaknesses' - to put it mildly. It's only a matter of time before he pays a visit to Brewer Street and someone there decides to tip off the media. That will be the end of his parliamentary career, trust me. Of course you'll be the dutiful wife and 'stand by him' as they say in the press but that – or something like it – will mean the end of his political career. You'll forgive him because you've got too much invested in that marriage to do otherwise and he does keep you in the style to which you're accustomed. In the meantime, just sit tight and keep your nose – or rather your bum – clean."

"Oh thanks Wendy! So my husband's likely to cheat on me in some seedy dive with a filthy whore and disgrace himself in the process. Great. I know he's fucking his secretary but at least I know who she is and believe me, he'll pay for it when I catch him but, as for what you're saying, I just can't get my head round it."

Wendy tutted. 

"Oh Anne, don't be such a drama queen. It might not come to that. We both know where Brian's weaknesses lie and if it's not sex it will be something else. Besides, whilst you'll have to be on parade at civic functions and the like, Brian's going to be away from home even more than he is now. You'll have quite a lot of freedom. Maybe we could spend more quality time together, go to bed sometimes, and savour a taste of life as it was before Brian. Remember the uses we discovered for a banana at uni?"

A broad smile crossed Anne's face.

"Wendy, you're right – as always."

    THE END