14 comments/ 96630 views/ 69 favorites A Slow Seduction By: Pussyrider It's a horrible feeling to be betrayed by someone you thought you could completely trust. When I caught my husband...but I'm running ahead of myself. I'm Tina Birch, formerly Mrs Tina Donnelly. Tim and I met when we were both 23, and on the rebound from other relationships. We married at 25, and spent 13 years together, as far as I knew happy and in love. Of course we irritated each other at times, what couple doesn't, and we had rows, but I assumed we were, well, at least comfortable with our marriage. His teaching career prospered, my Civil Service career rather stalled; shortly after I met Tim I had an opportunity to join a fast-track scheme that night have seen me shoot up the ladder, but I turned it down because I thought it was more important to be supportive to my then fiancé. We never had children -- we were both a bit diffident about the idea, and although we made a few token efforts it never really took. Perhaps if we had, things would have turned out differently. Probably not. Well, anyway. I started to suspect something at a party we went to, thrown by friends. One of the women at the party was a decorator who'd done some work at our house a few months earlier. I'd got on well with her at the time. Naturally we chatted with her, and she and Tim seemed to have a sort of sparky humour between them. There were also tiny glances between them that I picked up, the sort of momentary look you give someone when you want to share a secret with them, but you can't because someone else is there. Later, I went to look for Tim because I was ready to leave, and I saw them standing in a little summerhouse, holding each other's hands, their heads very close as they talked quietly. They didn't see me. Tim broke away -- reluctantly it seemed to me -- and I scuttled away to let him find me. When we got home, he could tell there was something wrong, and asked me what it was. I shrugged, and asked, "How long has it been going on?" You and Gillian?" He dredged up a bewildered look, and pretended he had no idea what I meant. That angered me. "Oh come on Tim, I'm not a complete fool. I saw the looks between you. And I saw you in the summerhouse. Please at least show me enough respect to be honest with me." The look on his face at that comment made me wonder what I might have seen if I'd got to that summerhouse a few minutes earlier. But he sank into a chair, gave me an earnest look, and said, "Tina, I'm sorry. I'll end it, I promise. I know it's a terrible cliché, but it doesn't mean anything to me, I don't know why I let her start it. I love you sweetheart, you know that." I spent a couple of nights in the spare room, thinking about the position. Then he told me he'd finished it with Gillian, and, well, we ended up making love that night, for the first time in weeks. I lay awake for hours afterwards though, wondering if I could ever really trust him again. A few nights later I found out. On Mondays Tim went to a regular pub quiz with a number of work colleagues. He'd originally asked me to be a member of the team but I'm not into quizzes -- as far as I'm concerned I get asked quite enough stupid questions at work. Normally he took a taxi home, so he could drink, but that night I decided to go and pick him up. God knows why I chose that night, maybe I felt guilty about not having faith in him, or perhaps it was my subconscious talking to me. Whatever; anyway, I turned up at the pub, and there were the team, sitting laughing and boozing, except that one chair was empty. When they saw me they immediately went quiet and a bit shifty, and I knew something was up. I asked where Tim was, and one of the guys, probably a bit too pissed to be sensible, said, "He's just gone out the back for a moment." Then he winced as another one kicked him under the table. He called to my retreating back, "Tina, hang on, I meant he's out the back at the loo" I stalked down the small corridor to the rear entrance of the pub -- past the gents' toilet -- with my heart racing. That door was hardly ever used, and led into a grubby little alley strewn with empty bottles, newspapers and used condoms. As I opened the door, in the half-light from the toilet window I saw about five yards away a figure leaning back against the wall. He was groaning, and there was another figure crouched in front of him, her head pressed to his groin. As I watched in open-mouthed horror, I heard my husband's voice mutter, "Oh fuck Gill, that's sweet." Tim didn't see me standing there, but I'm pretty sure the fucking bitch-slut did. I had trouble driving home. At one point I shot a red light and had to pull over to calm down, swiping angry tears from my face, before I finished the journey slowly and carefully. Tim arrived home about 20 minutes later, and his friends had clearly told him I'd rushed back through the pub and screamed that they were bastards. He stood across the room to me, shrugged, and said simply, "Tina, I'm sorry." I clenched my hands, determined not to cry. I replied, "For what? For lying to me and not really breaking it off? Or about me finding out?" He stepped closer to me and reached a hand out to me. Then he spoke to me as if I was a petulant child -- I always used to hate it when he patronised me like that. "Look, we're both a bit overwrought tonight. Let's just go to bed, and we can talk about this tomorrow, when we're less tired." I stared at him in total disbelief. Then I hurled myself at him, fists flailing, and screaming, "You fucking, fucking bastard, how dare you!" I think the suddenness of my attack caught him off-guard, and he staggered back. I saw a trickle of blood from his lower lip, and realised I'd really connected. He looked furious for a moment, then turned on his heel and strode out of the room. The next morning he tried to speak to me, but I'd locked the door to the spare room. I waited until he'd left for school, then threw as many clothes as I could into our biggest suitcase, phoned in sick to work and wheeled the case down to the nearest tube station. The house belonged to Tim, inherited from his grandparents, so there was no question of him moving out. It was as I was standing on the crowded train, wondering which stop I was getting off at, that I realised I didn't have the slightest idea where I was going to sleep that night. I went to an internet café and found a cheap hotel in Kings Cross. I thought it would do for a night or two until I sorted myself out. After I'd checked in I stood and stared at myself in the full length mirror on the wall in my room. So this was me -- 38, pale, shoulder-length blonde hair a bit bedraggled from the drizzle which had been falling outside, at least half a stone overweight, separated -- permanently -- from my cheating shit of a husband -- and homeless. I'm five-feet-four, with boobs that strain a B-cup and wide hips, and any amount of extra weight looks terrible on me. I hadn't been to a gym for about three years, but I decided that was one of the first things that was going to change. The next few days were some of the worst of my life. With no cooking facilities I was eating at Burger King for my supper, and the hotel room was tiny and a bit smelly, with nothing to sit on but the bed. The other girls in my office - there are five of us - could tell something was up with me, but I wasn't ready to tell them my marriage had collapsed. I had to set up my own bank account, transfer a fair share of our joint account into it, let all sorts of other people know not to contact me at home...it was all too much for me. On the Thursday, after two nights in my dingy hotel room, I snapped at one of the other girls over something really trivial, she snapped back, and next thing I knew I was in floods of tears, with the poor kid standing there bewildered, wondering what the hell she'd done. Of course, it all came out then. The girls were great about it, cuddling me until I calmed down, making me cups of coffee, cracking jokes to try to cheer me up...that evening all four of them took me to a pasta place for dinner, then to our local pub. I drank rather too much, and my best mate in the office, Carmen, helped me home on the tube. She was shocked when she saw where I was staying. "No way! Look, I live on my own - the place is tiny, but tomorrow you're going to pack up all your belongings, check out of here and come and crash on my bed-settee till we find you something better. Tine, are you listening?" I nodded drunkenly. The next morning she phoned me to make sure I really had heard her, which was just as well otherwise I'd probably have slept all day. By the time I'd dragged my huge suitcase onto the tube, getting dagger stares from hundreds of commuters, then up to my office on the fifth floor of our building, I was knackered. As I flopped into my chair Carmen brought me a lovely cup of tea and grinned triumphantly. "I've got a better solution for you. You know Alice, downstairs in Contracts? Well, she's looking for a new housemate at the moment, and she said she'd be happy to let you share with her." I certainly knew Alice. I also knew I wasn't at all sure I'd be comfortable sharing with her. She was a cheery girl of about 23, solid without being fat, with short red hair and freckles. I went and talked to her about it, and all the arrangements sounded fine. There was one issue bothering me, but I hesitated to mention it. Finally, nervously, I said, "Erm, there's just one thing -- aren't you gay?" I was sure she was going to be offended, but she grinned. "Oh yeah, totally. Don't worry though Tina, I'm just offering you a place of your own, not trying to pull you. No offence, but you're not my type." I laughed and thanked her, feeling a complete fool. That evening Alice helped me with my case back to her place in Kensal Rise. It was a terrace house, with a shared lounge and kitchen downstairs, shared bathroom upstairs and two bedrooms. Mine was a decent size, and besides the single bed and the other usual fittings there was a writing desk, a comfy armchair, a good quality TV that the previous occupant had left, and a Yale lock on the door. I immediately felt I'd be very comfortable there. Alice and I shared a glass of wine in the lounge to mark my arrival, then she left me to settle in. I sat on the bed and reflected with amazement that on Monday morning I'd been a married woman, by Friday night I was the separated flatmate of a young lesbian. I didn't see much of Alice at the weekend, but on the Monday we travelled to and from work together. That evening I was just settling down in my room to watch TV over a bowl of soup when she tapped on my door and asked if I'd like to join her downstairs. Being the new girl I had felt a bit nervous about just barging in, but I was happy to accept her invitation. Alice and I quickly became good mates. It turned out we had quite similar tastes in TV, especially soaps and comedy, and we regularly spent the evening together watching, or listening to music as we talked about everything and nothing. I usually made myself scarce when she had a girlfriend round -- rarely the same one twice -- unless I was invited in to join them (in the lounge I hasten to add, not Alice's bedroom!). We both took a half-day off work one day and sneaked back to my old home -- Tim's home -- to pack my remaining belongings into the mini van we'd hired for the purpose. They made my room back at my new home a bit cluttered, but it was worth it. The Sunday after that, Alice tapped on my door just before noon. "Hi Tine, I normally go and meet up with a few friends down at the pub on a Sunday for lunch. D'you fancy coming along?" "Thanks Alice," I said, "but you young things don't want an old bag like me there." She grinned at that. "You're as old as you feel. Honestly, you'll like the girls, and they'll like you. Some of them are ancient -- as old as 27, even! Seriously, they're a friendly bunch - come on Tine, it's a laugh." A thought occurred to me. "Er, Alice, are the girls..." She smiled and shook her head, in half-amusement and half-irritation. "Yes Tina, we're all gay. And what we do is, we have this big lesbian orgy right there in the middle of the pub floor every week, gives the lads something to watch over their pints till the football comes on the telly." I laughed at my own stupidity, to try and cover my embarrassment. "Sorry I'm such an arsehole. Yeah, I'd love to come, thank you." I did have a really good time. I accompanied Alice regularly after that - there were usually somewhere between five and eight of us there, and we talked, laughed, lunched on typical pub grub, and listened to the regular live set of classic '70s blues and soul from a local duo. Within a couple of weeks I was just accepted as one of the gang -- nobody could have cared less that I was straight, and I enjoyed the catty gossip among the girls about their friends, enemies, romances, and the evils of men in general, as much as they did. The other regulars all knew the noisy birds in the corner were a bunch of dykes, but weren't in the least bit bothered, greeting us with jovial cordiality. There was one girl who seemed to particularly take a shine to me. Her name was Laurel and she was 25, tall and slim with long, chestnut coloured hair, and a pretty face with big brown eyes, high cheekbones and lips which seemed to form a natural pout. She had a soft voice with the slightest trace of a Scots accent -- she was from Stirling -- and made a point of bringing me into conversations if I seemed to have drifted out of them. At first she always arrived with another woman called Jenny, a few years older than her, but after a few weeks Jenny stopped appearing. Alice told me they'd split up, and left it at that. After Jenny faded away, Laurel and I usually found ourselves sitting next to each other, and increasingly we seemed to be talking more just with each other than as part of the main group. One day I realise that they'd gone quiet, and looked up to see the other five all staring at Laurel and me; then as one they burst out laughing. I felt unaccountably embarrassed, and said, "What?!", while Laurel smiled into her beer glass. Laurel worked in the sports department of the local council. I told her that I had resolved to start going back to the gym, but hadn't found the enthusiasm yet. She said, "You should come with me. I go at least one night a week, and on Saturdays. In the summer I play tennis too. I used to be quite good as a kid, and it's a much more interesting way to keep fit than pounding a treadmill. Do you play?" I told her, "I used to, years ago, but I wasn't very good even then. I think it'd kill me now." She chuckled at that. "We should have a game sometime. Not a real game, just a gentle knock-up. Honestly, it is good fun, and I'm not exactly Amelie Mauresmo." I agreed to meet Laurel at the gym one evening. It was only a few minutes walk from the house, so I changed into my sports togs there and made my way over. I have to admit, my breath was taken away by Laurel when I first saw her in the fitness room. She was wearing a bright yellow spandex leotard which hugged her figure, and black footless tights, and looked like a glamour model advertising sportswear. The leotard emphasised a bust larger than I'd realised before. She seemed delighted with my reaction to her. I knew all the equipment in the gym, but Laurel helped me get used to it again, then did her own regular routine. I didn't even try to keep pace with her, the girl was super-fit. Afterwards I dragged myself back to the house for a shower and an early night to bed. After that, the gym on Tuesdays and Saturdays with Laurel became another regular thing in my life. After one session I lay happily in bed reflecting on how well I seemed to be re-inventing myself. I had a new circle of friends, two particularly good friends in Alice and Laurel, I was starting to get fit, and I felt happier and less uptight than I had in ages. A couple of weeks after Laurel and I started our gym sessions, she called me in the office one morning. "Hi, I've got the day off work and I'm in town doing a bit of shopping. I wondered if you'd fancy meeting up for lunch?" I thought that sounded lovely, so I agreed a long lunch break with my colleagues and we arranged to meet at the Pizza Hut close to my office. I virtuously ordered a salad, then Laurel showed me the purchases she'd already made. She seemed unusually giggly and a bit nervous. I placed a hand on hers to try and calm her down, and asked her if anything was wrong. She sat staring intently at the half-slice of pizza she was pushing around her plate with her fork. "Well, no, not wrong really, but..." She raised her eyes to me and bit her lip before going on. "The thing is, I...well, I wondered if you'd like to have dinner with me one night?" I sat back, momentarily stunned. I didn't want to misunderstand what was happening here, and said, "Hang on -- are you asking me for a date?" Looking uncomfortable, she shrugged shyly. I placed my hand on hers again. "Laurel, I'm really flattered, and you know how much I like you, but I thought you knew -- I'm not a lesbian." She raised her head to look at me properly. "Neither am I." She saw bewilderment in my face, and continued quickly. "No, seriously, I'm not. I've had boyfriends and girlfriends. Okay, I admit my last few relationships have all been with women, but it's the person I'm attracted to, not the gender. If I like someone it's simply irrelevant to me what sex they happen to be. And I really like you, Tina. You're funny, intelligent, lovely looking -- anyone would like you." She seemed to be becoming more embarrassed with every word, her normally pink cheeks turning crimson. I felt totally confused. I really liked Laurel too. I just didn't think I liked her in that way, but I really didn't want to hurt her feelings. She turned her hand over on the table, her fingers interlacing with mine, and spoke again. "Okay, look, let's not call it a date; let's call it two people who are good friends and maybe a wee bit lonely, going out for an evening in each other's company. After all, we're eating a meal together now, that's all I'm really suggesting, and we're having a good time. Aren't we?" I tried to re-assure her with a smile, and said, "Yeah, 'course we are. And yes, I'd really like to have dinner with you." We talked about the arrangements for a few minutes, then I returned to work and Laurel went off to spend more money. That afternoon I e-mailed Alice and asked if she'd meet me in the tea room. When she arrived, I said simply, "Laurel's asked me out." Whatever I expected Alice to say, it certainly wasn't "Good, about time." I stared at her open-mouthed. "What do you mean 'about time'? Alice, I..." I glanced around us nervously and lowered my voice. "You know I'm not...into girls." She looked me in the eye, and said, rather loudly for my comfort, "How do you know? No, don't give me that look, I mean it, have you ever been with a girl?" I hissed back, "Of course I haven't. And I know because, well, I like sex with men." Alice wasn't to be discouraged though. "The only thing a man's got that a woman hasn't is a cock; and we can buy them, bigger, longer and harder than...Tine, you're giving me that look again! Seriously, a woman can do anything a man can do, plus we're softer, we're more sensitive, we understand other women better, we smell better...and we're made the same way as each other, so we know better what feels good." I hadn't felt as uncomfortable with a conversation since that first night I found out Tim was having his affair, and I profoundly wished I hadn't started it. Alice just kept right on though. "Think about this Tina: and really think about it, don't just answer now, off the cuff. Knowing everything you do about Laurel, be totally honest, if she was exactly the same but a bloke, instead of happening to be the same sex as you, would you even hesitate about going out with her, now you're single again? You're both my friends, and I'd like to see you both happy. I think her asking you out could be the best thing that's happened to you in a long time." A Slow Seduction Afterwards I felt faint, and at first my eyes seemed as if they wouldn't focus. Laurel's voice sounded somehow far away as she cuddled up to me, telling me how much she loved me and kissing my face. I stroked her soft, warm back, feeling the beautiful velvety texture of her skin. I had been with several men in my life, and with Tim hundreds of times; but I couldn't remember ever feeling so totally aroused, or so mind-blowingly satisfied by sex as I felt that evening. I leaned up on one elbow, pushing Laurel back to the bed, and whispered, "Thank you...that was amazing." I realised she was crying softly, and hugged her to me. "Oh sweetie, don't, please. What is it, have I upset you?" She shook her head, crying harder. "No, no, of course not, you're wonderful. But I've been in love with you for weeks, and I've wanted you so much. I really didn't believe it'd ever happen, and now it has I'm so scared I'm going to fuck it up, like I always fuck things up." I was desperate to reassure her, and tried to kiss her tears away. "Oh Laurel, my love, you're not going to fuck anything up. You've given me the most incredible feelings I've ever had. I love you, and nothing's going to come between us, for as long as you want me." She smiled up at me, and sniffled. "Tina, I can't imagine not wanting you. I've been with a few girls, and a couple of guys, but I've never had feelings about any of them like I have about you. Really. Oh God, I've only known you a few weeks, that must sound such a fucking corny line." I kissed her cheeks, and said, seriously, "No, it doesn't sound corny at all. I think I feel the same way. My mum used to say you could fall in love with the right person in a second, and I adore you." We just held each other for a long time. I think we were both rather emotionally drained by what had passed between us in the last hour or so, and we slept in each other's arms. I awoke at some point in the night, to feel Laurel kissing my face, her arms around me, her hands softly kneading my buttocks. Seeing I'd woken, she pulled my hips towards her, and a blast of electricity shot through me as she began to grind her pubes against mine. I realised I hadn't done anything for her yet, and slipped my hand between us, my fingers slipping straight into her pussy. She breathed, "Oh fuck!", and her head fell against my shoulder for a moment. Then she ran her tongue around the contours of my ear, as she in turn sunk her fingers inside me. For the next few minutes we lay gazing into each other's eyes, panting as with one hand each of us caressed the other's breasts, while with our other hands we fingered each other to heaven. It was the strangest feeling. The only vagina I'd ever played with before was my own, and I was doing all the things I knew I liked, drawing moans and gasps from Laurel, yet getting different sensations to the ones I was used to when I did those things, because it was her hand, not mine, that was reaming around inside my pussy. Her love-hole felt tighter than mine, and she was incredibly wet. She cried out as she came, and her hips pushed at my fingers. I withdrew from her and, my eyes still fixed on hers, slipped my fingers into my mouth, sucking her juices from them. That, and the steady rhythm with which she had begun to fuck me, sent me over the top, and I had another crashing orgasm, before Laurel fed her fingers not into her own mouth but into mine, and I tasted my own sex, the bitter-sweet flavour mingling with hers. We hugged, kissed and whispered together for the rest of the night, then slept late into Sunday morning. Laurel made us both coffee, then we dressed for the pub, I pulling on the same clothes I had slipped out of a few hours earlier. Laurel wore a yellow vest top and a pleated white tennis skirt, showing her long, slim legs. As we were about to leave, I pulled her to me, her back to me, and buried my face in her neck. "Laurel, I'm sorry I didn't go down on you last night. I wish I had." She turned and gave me a genuine smile, kissing my cheek. "Don't worry about it, angel. I'd love you to do that for me sometime, but there's no rush, and no pressure. It's a big thing the first time; honestly, it took me a while to pluck up the courage. I've had a lovely night, and I'm looking forward to a lot more like it." While Laurel had been showering I'd phoned Alice and told her my news. She was over the moon about it, but promised not to say anything to the other girls. Laurel and I wanted to get properly used to each other before we came out as a couple, and Alice had agreed to meet me outside the pub, ten minutes after Laurel went in. Our 'secret' lasted about another 20 minutes though. As I returned to the table balancing a tray of drinks, having got my round in, Laurel was grinning in a slightly embarrassed way, and all the other girls were beaming at me. As I sat, one of our friends, Kit, leaned over to me, kissed me on the cheek, and said "Welcome to the club, girl." I turned to Alison, who was grinning like the Cheshire cat, and asked her, "Did you say something?" I knew Laurel wouldn't have done. Alison shook her head, and Kit told me, "No-one needed to say anything Tine. It's been obvious from the moment you two came in -- you can hardly keep your hands off each other, let alone your eyes. We've all known it was going to happen for weeks, we're just glad it has." Four hours later, a bit pissed and glowing with the warmth of our friends' happiness for us, Laurel and I returned to her place, via mine to pick up a change of clothes -- I doubted I'd make it home that night either! Laurel half-collapsed into a chair and I sat at her feet, resting my weight on one hand and rubbing my other hand up and down one of her smooth legs. I don't know if it was the beer, or the friendship I'd been basking in, or just that I so wanted to make my lover happy, but I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted to do. Kneeling, I reached my hands under her skirt and began to pull at her thong panties. She had been almost drowsing, but she gave a little giggle and lifted her bum to help me get her pants off. I placed both my hands on her thighs, eased them apart and shuffled between them. She realised with shock what I was intending, and murmured, "Tina, baby, you don't have to...oh Christ!" My mouth was within inches of her slit, and I gently blew air up its length, making her squirm, as I gazed at it. It was much more beautiful than I had expected. My bush ends at the start of my vulva, but Laurel had a thin line of black hair either side of her opening, her pink lips glistening between it and the pearl of her clitoris clearly visible. I was glad that, like me, she trimmed her pussy hair short: I'm not sure how I would have coped with an Amazonian bush. As I moved in she thrust her knees wide apart, and whimpered in anticipation of what I was about to do. Acting on instinct, I grazed my teeth lightly across her clit. She almost screamed, and pushed hard at me. Pleased at her reaction, I stroked her clitty with my tongue as I pressed two fingers deep into her pussy, stroking her lips with my thumb. Before long Laurel's bum had slipped off the chair, her back supporting her on it as she thrust onto my probing fingers and tongue. I was amazed at how much I was enjoying what I was doing, and revelling in the effect I was having on my sweet Laurel. I longed to please her, but I had a deep desire to really taste her as well. I slipped my thumb onto her clit and licked my tongue down the length of her pussy then pushed it deep inside, savouring the full flavour of the taste I had only had traces of before. I waggled around inside Laurel as she vibrated on my face, then she gasped loudly, over and over again, her burning hot pussy walls tightening around my tongue. Following her earlier example I continued licking and stroking her, and I was sure she came again before landing on the floor in front of me with a thump, her legs splayed either side of me, her eyes glazed, and her body as limp as a rag doll's. I hugged her to me with tears streaming down my face, feeling that my transition from betrayed wife to lady-lover was complete. A few weeks later I met Tim again. Laurel had met Alice and me out of work as we had planned a night on the town, and we were all sitting in the pub in our glad rags when he suddenly appeared at our table. I assume he must have been waiting outside the office to see me. He stared at me, and murmured, "Hi Tina -- you look great." Thanks to Alice's skills I was wearing my hair differently, and under Laurel's influence I was dressing younger and more stylishly. I greeted my estranged husband coolly -- I really had no wish to see him. He glanced nervously at my friends, sitting either side of me, then pulled out a chair and invited himself to sit down. Trying to be civil, I said, "How are you? And how's Gillian?" I managed to stop myself calling her the bitch-slut. He gave me a weak smile, and said, "We've split up." Rather cattily, I asked if she'd dumped him and, trying for dignified aloofness, he responded, "No, I told her it was over." Alice leaned into me and whispered, "He probably caught her with someone else's cock in her mouth." Laurel heard too, and the three of us cackled together like the witches from Macbeth. Tim shot Alice a poisonous look, and snapped, "I'm sorry, what did you say?" Alice smirked and said nothing. Breathing a big, dramatic sigh, I said, "Look Tim, we're here for a fun night out -- what is it you want?" Still looking daggers at Alice, and at Laurel, he said, "I want to talk to you -- in private, if that's allowed." I shook my head. "Laurel's my girlfriend, and Alice is my best friend. Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of them." The look on Tim's face was a picture. He spluttered, "Your girlf...? Tina, you're not gay -- believe me, I work with enough of them, I should know. Look, I miss you. I want to ask you to forgive me for the stupid mistake I made, and I'm offering you the chance to come home with me." I couldn't believe the arrogance of the man. I stared at him silently for several seconds. Alice touched my hand, sensing the storm that was brewing inside me. Finally I found my voice again. "Christ, you prick! Not only do you apparently know my mind better than I do, on the basis that you happen to work with a couple of dykes; but, out of the graciousness of your heart, you having split with that cocksucker, you're inviting me to give up the new life I've made for myself and come and be your little wifey again, in the hope that you can keep your fucking fly zipped up this time!" I really should have tried to keep my voice down, but I was livid. Tim sank back in his chair, as if I'd slapped him, as I continued. "Well for your information, dickhead, Laurel and I love each other, I intend to spend the rest of my life with her -- and she's a hundred times better in bed than you ever were!" The only sound in the stunned silence that followed was the students at the next table sniggering into their drinks. Then the spell was broken: Alice started chortling with laughter, and Laurel squeezed my hand under the table and grinned into her glass. Tim's face was purple with rage. He looked as if he was about to speak; but then he glanced at Alice and Laurel again, slammed his half-drunk pint down on the table, and stalked out of the pub without a word. I slumped back in my seat, suddenly feeling exhausted as both my friends hugged me. Three days after that encounter I received formal notice that Tim had started divorce proceedings. That same day Laurel asked me to marry her, and we're planning a civil partnership ceremony as soon as I'm free. She's moved into my room with me, and we've installed a double bed and re-decorated in her style. My life has been turned upside-down in the last few months; but I've never felt more settled than I do now, more certain of my future course, or of my love for my partner, and hers for me.