Herstory Unleashed

Although this is about a loving wife, in all honesty, it lacks the hate and anger to fit in there comfortably. So, rather than post for the tens of thousands of readers of that category, I decided to try to amuse the handful of you who are prepared to read non-erotic stories. I hope you enjoy it. If not, I'll try harder next time.

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"It's really quite simple," I hissed, trying to lock down the rage simmering inside. "I forbid it. You agreed to our vows," I reminded her. "In fact you fucking insisted. 'Love, honour and obey' YOU chose to swear, in front of our families and friends."

"You forbid me!" she yelled. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Here and now? Your husband. If you walk out of that door, that changes to soon-to-be ex-husband. The choice is yours, just as the vows were. Decide carefully; some lines cannot be uncrossed.

"If you walk out of that fucking door tonight, you disrespect me as a man and as a husband." I paused for breath. "If you leave this house before it is time to go to work in the morning, then that is two thirds of your vows clearly broken and I can't see how a woman who could do that could possibly claim to love me either, so that would give you a clean sweep in the treachery stakes."

"You're bluffing," she snarled. "You wouldn't fucking dare."

I shrugged. "Woman, you've tested me too many times these last few weeks. In hindsight, I should have spoken up sooner. But this is it; you've obviously lost all respect for me. If I do this though, at least I'll respect myself enough to look in a mirror."

We stood, facing each other, frozen in a tableau of conflicting wills, me daring her to do it, her debating whether I had the resolve to follow through.

"How did this stand-off start?" you might ask. I could tell you that in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. But I neither believe in God nor that the cosmos gives a shit about my wretched life. Is my wife pre-menopausal? I have no reason to think so; she's never mentioned any of the physical symptoms and she's way too young for that matter.

So what triggered this particular episode? Let me take you back about a week. Gina, that's my wife, works in the Clinical Resources Procurement Team in our local hospital. She started as a junior straight out of college when she was nineteen and has worked her way up over the last fifteen years. It's a vital job and she brings in a decent wage. Anyway, about five months ago, they merged teams with a nearby hospital in the interests of efficiency, and an American woman was amongst the staff who joined them.

Apparently, she was a breath of fresh air, according to Gina. A tall blonde Californian with a side hustle (whatever the fuck that is) as an influencer. "She has such a refreshing perspective on life," Gina had enthused. Well perhaps, but I was convinced that it was this bitch's influence that explained my wife's new attitude. And I'll be perectly honest here, I didn't fucking appreciate it; so much so that I decided to find out more.

So, about a week ago, I rang the hospital and asked for Sue Patterson. She picked up on the third ring. "Dermatology Deprtment, Sue speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hi Sue. It's Alan Lawrenson here, Gina's husband. I wondered if you could spare me a little time, either over lunch or after work. It's rather a personal matter."

She hesitated. "Hi Alan. In principle, yes, of course. But I need to speak to Dave first. I won't have supposedly well-meaning friends blind-siding him about seeing his wife on a date with another man."

This is why I'd chosen Sue. Of all Gina's circle, she was grounded. Not dull, you understand; she was, in fact, a talented folk singer as well as a Second Dan instructor at the local Karate club. It was just as though she had grown into her marriage as an actual functional adult whilst my wife seemed to be regressing into a petulant teenager.

Forty five minutes later, she called me back. She and her husband would meet me in the Kings Arms straight after work. That worried me. We'd met a few times, and I'd assumed that Dave had my measure. We had got along from our first encounter at one of Gina and Sue's staff Christmas parties. He knew I wouldn't hit on his wife. I hoped the fuck that she hadn't invited him as moral support, for me.

I called Gina and told her I had to work late and would grab a meal on the way home. As seemed to be the case recently, she didn't seem bothered either way.

Sue and Dave were already there when I arrived a little after six. They had claimed a table and were already making inroads into their glasses of wine. Dave offered to get me a drink but I insisted getting my own. As I sat down, a waitress was setting cutlery in front of them. She glanced at me in enquiry.

"Would you like to join us?" Dave asked me. "As we're here anyway, Sue and I thought we'd let someone else cook for us tonight."

I thanked him but declined. He asked the waitress to come back for their order after I'd left.

"Well, Alan," Sue began. "You rang me to ask about a personal matter. So rather than me guessing what it is, why don't you say what's on your mind."

So I did. I told them about how Gina's attitude shift seemed to co-incide with the team's merger and how Tiff's name seemed to crop up suspiciously often. "Is there anything that you can tell me, Sue?" I was not proud of how pathetic I must have sounded at that moment.

Sue sighed. "Tiffany, Tiff, is the epitome of a Valley Girl." She took pity on my confused expression and explained. "Think Essex Girl. Think - 'O. M. G! Did you see her outfit, babe? It was like, literally, tragic', - imagine that in block capitals, only with a Californian accent."

Dave looked apalled. Sue patted his hand reassuringly and continued. "She is a Vlogger. She does Toks or Instas or something and brags about having thirty thousand followers. Your problem is her content. She calls her channel "Herstory Unleashed."

I looked helplessly at Dave. He looked as confused as me.

Sue tried to explain. "Men are bigger and stronger than women. In most societies men, at least in public, dictate the rules. Women were generally treated as property, sometimes even prey. Things are better now, not perfect, but better. But Tiff's influencing follows a manifesto that works like this; we women are now entitled to the opposite swing of the pendulum. The patriarchy has had its day and now we are entitled to the privileges that men have always enjoyed. Freedom of association and sexual assertiveness being at the forefront."

"What does that actually mean though?" I pressed her.

"Well, in essence it means we women are entitled to treat all men like shit as reparation for the historic injustices heaped on our female predecessors by their men."

"But surely, the whole point of equality is to challenge those attitudes so everyone has the same opportunities," I retorted. "And half of my predecessors were women anyway so that should cancel any injustices out."

"Well, yes," Sue agreed. "But that's hardly going attract likes and subscribers is it?"

"And my wife has bought into this crap?"

"She barely even speaks to me any more. She sees me as a traitor to the sisterhood."

"But you were friends!" I exclaimed.

"But I treat my husband as a partner," she pointed out. "I ask his opinion and I don't do girls' nights out, admittedly that's mainly because they don't appeal, but Tiff reckons I should, just to make a point to Dave." She looked uncomfortable. "Has your sex-life changed?" she asked, glancing at her husband to see if he was okay with her discussing this. "Does it seem more... transactional?"

In hindsight, it did. "I noticed a few weeks ago that her attitude towards me became more polarised. If I didn't comply with a request quickly enough, then she'd decome very detatched. If I pleased her, then I'd be rewarded with affection, if you catch my drift."

Dave grinned and Sue winced at my implication. "That is probably Tiffany's influence. Has she invited you to Vera's retirement do next Friday?" Sue asked.

"No, but partners probably -"

"Dave is invited," Sue interrupted. "Vera has booked a private room at the Social Club so there's plenty of room for everyone, including partners."

"I see," I said glumly. And I did. There were lots of ways this could pan out but, of late, all the evidence suggested that my problems were only just beginning.

We chatted a little longer, with Dave offering his opinion on why Tiffany was publishing such crap, until I decided to let them order and eat their meals in peace. After all they still seemed to like each other. Gina and me though? I was starting to wonder. Before I left the pub, we exchanged numbers. I stored Dave and Sue's as D&SConsulting, just in case my wife decided to snoop through my phone. Yet more evidence of how fucked up our relationship had become.

As I drove home, I wondered about Tiffany's motives. Dave's assessment was probably on the nail. Clicks, validation and monetisation, he'd suggested. With virtually no effort and absolutely no research, she could sit in front of her phone and spout any old bollocks and her followers would lap it up.

And, as Dave further pointed out, she needed new content to keep the clicks, the likes, the subscribes, the money, coming in. He said it reminded him of an autobiography he'd read by an old school stand-up comedian. Before TV, the guy had written, he could take the same act with the same jokes to every variety venue in the country without having to change a word. One performance on national TV though, and every gag had to be replaced. This is the content creator's dilemma and Tiff seemed to be dealing with it by just pumping out ever more nonsensical advice. Advice that my wife was applying to me. I was not a happy Alan!

The atmosphere at home that evening was... civilised. I didn't believe for a moment that Gina had actually cheated on me, well, thus far at least, so I wasn't furious with her. And she, for reasons I could only suspect, had dialed the attitude down a touch. The weekend passed peacefully enough, though I noted with disappointment that Friday's party was still not mentioned.

On Monday afternoon, Sue rang with an update. The party was from seven thirty until eleven and she'd heard that Tiff and her acolytes were planning on going into town afterwards. Obviously, I wasn't invited because my presence would cramp their style. She heard the hurt in my voice as I processed the news. "Alan? What do you intend to do?"

"I'm going to give her every opportunity to be honest," I told Sue. "But there have to be limits. If I think that she intends to go out cruising bars after the party, looking for men to hook up with, then I will have to seriously consider why I should even bother trying."

"You are so much like my husband," she commented. "On the face of it, such a sweet man. But once he's chosen his hill, he will use every weapon at his disposal and fight to the death."

"That's what's pissing me off," I muttered. "She's mistaken an easy-going nature for weakness. We can't bloody win. Women seem to want spineless cucks for husbands and then go out chasing bad boys because we're not exciting enough. Sorry Sue."

"It's okay, Alan. I sympathise and I understand your frustration. How would you feel about stealing the initiative?"

"How?"

She explained. I think it might have been her martial arts strategy of using your enemy's power against him. Whatever, I was was in.

The rest of the week passed with me getting increasingly frustrated at Gina's failure to mention the party. She in turn seemed to be less confrontational, presumably hoping to have me in as good a mood as possible when she finally broke the news. In fact, she even initiated sex on Thursday evening. It was good too; so good that I started to worry just how badly she intended to betray me.

And so to Friday. I had considered surprising her with the suggestion that we had a date night but, in the end, thought that, if she even agreed, it would just postpone the inevitable. So it was with some trepidation that I arrived home from work. Unsurprisingly, there was no sign of any activity in the kitchen. I assumed I was supposed to sort out my own meal or order a take-away.

Gina was in the living room watching the news when I tracked her down. She greeted me. "Babe? One of the girls is leaving and we planned on giving her a send off tonight. You okay with that?"

"Anyone I know?"

"Don't think so," she lied. I'd met Vera a few times and Gina knew it.

"Going anywhere nice?"

"Nothing planned. Probably just a few Proseccos in her local." Lie number two.

"When will you be back?"

"Dunno. Can't see us being late." Lie number three.

"You're eating out?" I said, referring to the empty kitchen.

"Might grab a sarnie in the pub." I stopped counting; Vera had organised a catered buffet.

"I'm going in the shower," I mumbled, trying to stay calm despite the irritation at her bare-faced dishonesty.

"Don't be too long; I'm next," she called after me.

I gave her another chance. "We could save time if you joined me."

She laughed. "You know fine well that it would take twice as long and then we'd both have to shower again." She wasn't wrong, but it would have been nice if she'd found the thought of sex in the shower with me more exciting than her other plans for the evening.

I showered and shaved and shouted downstairs to tell Gina that the bathroom was free. Then, once the shower was running, I called Sue. "She's lied non-stop since I got home. I'll give her one more chance and then we're on."

"Sorry, Alan. I'll make the arrangements."

I dressed in joggers and tee and waited downstairs. It was about seven when she joined me. Objectively, she looked lovely. And saying that, it occurs to me that I haven't described her yet. About 5'6", slender build and long, shapely legs. Her belly has a slight swell and but her boobs, both in shape and size, more than compensate. Her features are handsome rather than pretty but, once you notice her, they draw you in as you realise how much character lies there.

She watched as I studied her, the carefree smi! e fading as she watched my expression change.

"What?" she snapped.

The dress exposed too much of those, long, slender legs; the halter showed too much of those perfect breasts; the skillfully applied make-up highlighted the angles of her cheekbones.

"Have you lied to me?" I asked quietly. "Not ever; just tonight?"

She tried to keep the conversation calm. "No babe. Of course not. I told you where I'm going."

"You've never dressed like that before when you've gone out with friends. Why tonight? Why show so much skin for a couple of drinks at your friend's local?"

"Women dress up for themselves," she snapped back. "And don't you fucking dare accuse me of lying. If you're insecure, that's on you."

I was getting heated too. "A girl I don't know is getting together with some mates in the pub and you're going to grab a sandwich at the bar. That's what you told me; right?"

"Right. And now you're getting pissy 'cos I made an effort to look nice."

"I'm getting pissy because you give me a couple of hours notice that you're having a girl's night in a pub and then you come downstairs dressed to go clubbing. Can't you see why I find that suspicious?

Gina struggled to find a convincing answer, so I offered her my susoicions. "I think that Tiff, your role model, has convinced you that you owe me exactly as much loyalty as you can be arsed to provide and not a jot more. I think you intend to hit the clubs and pretend you're single. I think if you find a guy you want to fuck, that's exactly what you'll do. Am I right?"

Her eyes told me that I had described her plan to perfection. "Here's my response to your scheme; It's really quite simple," I hissed, trying to lock down the rage simmering inside. "I forbid it."

And that's where we came in...

In the end, of course, stubborn entitlement and self interest won out and she left. In a way, I was almost relieved; at least I wouldn't spend the coming months waiting for the inevitable repeat performance or, worse still, wondering if she was just getting better at keeping me in the dark.

I called Sue again. "She's left. We're doing this."

"I'll let her know. How long?"

I considered. I had a table booked for eight fifteen. "I'll pick her up at eight." We finished the call and I went to get changed. By seven forty five I was smartly dressed and driving to collect my date. There was a seafood restaurant that I'd wanted to try ever since it opened, but Gina wouldn't eat fish so, of course, we never went, even though they did have other options.

Ronnie, short for Veronica, was Sue's younger sister. Her boyfriend had spent more time texting his ex than he had actually talking to Ronnie so she finally threw him out. Sue explained that the experience had left her sister rather wary of relationships. She also really hated cheats. Our plan was in two parts. First, two slighly damaged partners would have a quiet date to reassure ourselves that WE were not the ones at fault: Second, we would give Gina a taste of her own medicine.

Though the plan was simple, the outcome was unpredictable. That didn't matter though; our purpose was to force Gina to face up to reality and make a choice. I suspected that I already knew where the dice would fall, but the next few hours should show me the truth.

I pulled up outside the flat with two minutes to spare. A woman closed the front door and walked towards my car. I got out to greet her, "Ronnie?" I asked. She nodded. We'd never met until that moment, and the photographs that Sue had shown me on her phone did not do her sister justice. "You look even better in real life," I told her. Well why not; it was the truth.

Perhaps an inch taller than Gina, Ronnie was more curvy but every bit as attractive. Her fair hair was cut to shoulder length in a modern, layered style and her pale blue eyes sparkled with mischief. She too had dressed for the evening. I thought about the contrast, Ronnie looked classy while Gina had looked cheap.

"Thank you, Alan," she replied with a stunning smile. "You're looking very smart yourself. It's nice to meet a man who's willing to make an effort." I opened the car door for her. "And a gentleman too," she purred.

We kept the conversation light on our way to the restaurant and, over the course of the meal, we found that we had a lot of interests in common. Afterwards, as we sipped our coffee, we addressed the elephant in the room; loyalty.

"I've never had a problem with boyfriends having female friends," she told me. "But doesn't being an ex suggest that you should move on?"

"Doesn't not being an ex suggest that you shouldn't?" I countered. She smiled as she acknowledged my point.

Her phone rang. It was her sister. Ronnie held the phone between us. I leaned closer. Her proximity was intoxicating. "Ask Alan how soon you can get here," Sue instructed.

"I can hear you," I said. "We can be there in ten minutes."

"Be discreet when you come in," Sue warned me. "You might not like what you'll see, but I'm afraid that you need to see it."

We finished our drinks and settled the bill. On the way to the club Ronnie asked if I planned on making a scene. "I give you my word that I will not even raise my voice," I promised. "How Gina reacts is up to her."

Ronnie appeared satisfied and settled back in her seat. "I could have stayed in and watched Netflix," she said quietly. "But this should be much more fun." We parked outside the club and Ronnie went upstairs to the Function Room to speak to Sue. I waited until I could mingle with a group of guys returning from the gents. Ronnie met me at the door and guided me to the left.

"Your wife's over there," she told me, frowning as she gestured towards a table at the other end of the room. "Sue says to go and speak to Vera first. It is her retirement party after all. Then it's down to you."

I left Ronnie and sought out Vera. "Gina told me you couldn't come," she said.

"She never passed on the invitation," I admitted.

"Probably because that spray-tanned airhead told her not to," Vera huffed. Vera wasn't a fan either, it seemed.

Anyway, I wished Vera a happy retirement, we shared a hug and I steeled myself for phase two.

I angled my approach to Gina's table so that I was never in her direct line of sight. I saw Sue and Dave glancing at her from their own table with disapproving glares. As I got closer, I could understand why. There were four women and four men sat around the circular table. Gina was betwen two of the men. The one on her left had his right arm around her shoulder and his hand was idly fondling her breast. The one on her right had his hand on her thigh; very high on her thigh. I understood Sue's message now. I needed to see this, whether I wanted to or not.

I looked over to see that Ronnie was now in position next to her sister. We exchanged a look and I composed myself. Let the festivities begin.

"Hi, honey," I said, stepping into view. "Who are your friends?"

Startled, Gina flinched. Her reaction caused the guy on her left to instinctively clutch her tit even more firmly. The lad on the right snatched his hand away as though Gina's cunt had just burnt him.

"You know you said I didn't know the girl who was leaving?" I reminded her cheerfully. "I've known Vera for years." I waited for a reply. Gina was caught flat-footed, not knowing whether to attack or defend.

"I'm Alan," I told lothario number one. "That's my wife; the woman whose tit you were groping. Carry on by all means. If she didn't want you to do it, she'd have told you so."

I waited, but he didn't introduce himself. I turned my attention to the leg man. "Don't stop feeling her up on my account," I told him. "Her body her choice; that's the mantra; isn't it Tiff?" I directed this last to the over-made-up blonde Barbie at the table. She looked as stunned as the rest. I supposed than when your meaningless advice was shared across the internet, you probably didn't get to see the consequences in person all that often.

Right on cue, Ronnie appeared and slid her arm posessively around my waist, reaching up to kiss my cheek. "Can we go home now honey?" She asked. Then, apparently just noticing our stunned audience. "Oh, is that your wife?" Without waiting for an answer, she wrinkled her nose in obvious disapointment.

Not wanting to miss out on the entertainment, Vera strolled up and stood behind Gina's chair. "Look, Gina," she cooed, the way that only grandmas can. "Alan could make it after all. And he even interrupted his date to stop in and wish me well. Isn't he a dear?"

Gina was hamstrung. At that moment, all that the other guests could see was a dozen people chatting amicably at a party. Apart from Sue and Dave, no-one else had a clue what was happening. To be fair, neither did my wife.

I decided to twist the knife. "I know you said you wouldn't be late," I reminded Gina, referring to lie number three. "But if you want to go into town with your 'special' friends, that's fine. That way, I needn't rush home either."

Ronnie gasped theatrically and pressed her breast even more firmly into my bicep.

I flashed my most charming smile. I surprised myself at how easily this came. "Well goodnight everyone, enjoy your evening. Even you, Tiffany." And, holding Ronnie's hand, we made a dignified exit.

Sue updated us on the aftermath. Apparently, Gina tried to follow us but Vera had her trapped at the table. The older woman had put her hands on my wife's shoulders and bent to whisper in her ear. Sue insists that she heard enough to be convinced that Vera had told them get their slutty arses out of her party.

Once Vera had decided that we had escaped, she stood back and watched in quiet satisfaction as the table emptied and they fled.

Much as I'd enjoyed Ronnie's company, I knew that I'd imposed on her time quite enough for one evening. "I suppose I should take you home now," I conceded.

"I think so," she agreed, and turned to gaze out of the window. We drove quietly through the quiet urban landcape, each lost in our own thoughts. As I pulled onto her street, she pointed to a car park entrance. "Turn left into there and my spot is the third on the right."

Confused, I parked where she'd indicated. She unlatched her seatbelt and turned towards me. "Come on, slowcoach. You're never going to let me walk home alone?"

I looked over my shoulder. I could see her door behind us. I doubt if it was more than ten paces away. Even so, I was fascinated to see how this would play out. I unbuckled and got out, walking around the car to open Ronnie's door.

She grinned at me. "I'm not a slut," she told me. "But I am a woman who enjoy's a good man's company. And tonight, you are that man. I will send you home, in due course, unfucked. Well, probably," she added after a moment's thought. "But I've enjoyed our evening, even the charade at the party, and I'm not ready for it to end just yet." She let us in and pointed to the kitchen. "You make us a drink while I change into something more comfortable. Green tea for me," she called over her shoulder, as she disappeared into her bedroom.

You probably already have a mental image of how she was dressed when she returned; diaphanous negligee, tiny bra and a barely-there thong. Not. Even. Close! She was wearing a sleep set, certainly, but comprising lilac shorts and tee-shirt in an adorable panda print. Cute, sexy even, but not seductive. It was the content rather the packaging with Ronnie that night.

She grinned again. I realised she did that a lot. I also realised that I liked it. "I would love for us to have sex tonight," she said, surprising me with her frankness. "But you don't need any more complication in your life right now. I'm as sure as I can be," she continued. "That your wife is already at home wondering what you and I are getting up to. Regardless of her strategy though." At this point, Ronnie took my cup off me, placing it on a side-table before straddling my legs. "Regardless of her, the only thing that matters is what you decide that you want."

We studied each other. "At this moment," I confessed. "All I want is a kiss."

"Good choice," she complimented me, before bending to join our lips. As kisses go, it was only fucking spectacular. Not passionate, we both knew that sex would be a bad idea at that moment, but exploratory, as though we were deciding whether sex would be a good idea one day. By the time we broke, I knew without doubt that it would.

Ronnie straightened up, smirking as she glanced down. I followed her gaze to the hand palming her breast as my thumb grazed its nipple. "Oops, sorry," I apologised with absolute insincerity. Neither did I move my hand.

"It's fine, hun," she reassured me. "As long as we don't go any further than they did, how can she complain?" She wasn't wrong, I decided. "So, honey, exactly where did the younger lad have his hand?"

I showed her and took huge delight in the soft feel of her thighs against my finger tips. We kissed again and it's just possible that we might have gone a little further that Gina and her friend had in the club. I dealt with the guilt - such as it was - by reminding myself that Gina seemed to be setting herself up for at least an exclusive threesome that evening, with me being the one who was excluded.

As we kissed some more, my hand drifted ever higher. Ronnie stiffened and straightened up. "Alan? I'm not going to tell you to move your hand away; I'm truly happy with it being exactly where it is. But," she gave the sweetest smile. "If you move it a single millimetre higher, then I will definitely have to fuck your brains out on this couch."

You'll never know just what it took for me to pull back. But Ronnie was right. Having sex tonight would add a layer of complication that I just didn't need right then. I had the moral high ground, though Gina couldn't know that. She'd assume that I was as bad as her. But I'd know. And, as Ronnie had pointed out, it was up to me to decide what I wanted, rather than pandering to my wife.

After a little more playful flirting, I reluctantly made my way home, arriving a little after midnight. If Gina had gone clubbing, she wouldn't be in for a few hours. As I walked up the drive, I noticed that the bedroom light was on. I was sure that I'd switched it off. Half expecting to hear the sound of energetic sex echoing through the house, I opened the front door. Closing it quietly behind me, I slipped out of my shoes and activated the video camera on my phone.

The house was surprisingly quiet, perhaps, I speculated, they were all in a post-coital coma. The living room door was ajar. I looked inside. Gina was asleep on the sofa, alone and still dressed. Ronnie had been right, she'd come straight home, but the intent had been there, even though we'd disrupted the act.

I turned off my phone and sat in the chair opposite her. Asleep, she reminded me of the sweet young woman I'd met at a friend's party after I'd got my degree. Neither of us were virgins but nor had we become jaded by fucking anything that moved. We were both just experienced enough to realise that the secret to being a good lover was to actually love each other so much that our own pleasure was secondary to theirs.

I know for a fact that there are many men out there with longer or thicker penises; men who can fuck until they ejaculate and then fuck some more. But none of them, or so I assumed, would ever care more than I did about making her come. I sighed as I wondered how I'd failed.

She stirred at the sound and, slowly realising that she wasn't in bed, she looked around, still waking up. I gave her time to gather her senses. I wasn't trying to win a fight here. I just wasn't prepared to lose one. I sat, still watching, as she remembered why she was there.

"Who was she?" Gina asked quietly.

"Veronica, a friend," I replied. "And your companions?" I shot back. "They never introduced themselves."

"Just some lads from work." She waved her hand dismissively.

"Do all the lads at work feel your tits and put their hands in your knickers?" I enquired innocently. "That's if you were actually wearing any. Knickers, that is," I added for clarity.

She ignored my barb. "Right," she sneered. "What you mean is that you found a hooker at short notice to make a point. Wasn't that a bit pathetic?"

"It would have been," I agreed. "If that's what I'd done. But it wasn't. I've known about the party for ages." Yes, that was a lie; so sue me. "So I made alternative arrangements. If you, my wife, relented and passed on Vera's invitation, I'd have cancelled them. You didn't, so I took Veronica out to dinner. Then we callled in so that I could say goodbye to Vera and then I took Ronnie home."

"And fucked her," Gina spat out the accusation.

"That's called projecting," I said calmly. "Where you assume other people have the same lack of moral values that you do. Veronica and I did no more in private than you did in public tonight."

She looked at me then and saw that I was telling the truth.

I hadn't finished. "You failed the husband test," I pointed out. You let two men touch you intimately. I assume the plan was to fuck them both back at Tiffany's flat. Were the others in on it too? Were the eight of you at that table just going to fuck each other until exhaustion or guilt drove you to go home?"

She looked down at the floor. I'd guessed right. She tried to rally. "Tiff says that-"

"What the fuck does Tiffany know about anything?" I snarled. "She looks like she's barely started her periods. She collates inventories for paper towels and incontinence pads for fucks sake. She publishes pseudo-psycho-babble on the internet for stupid people. And you bought it. My wife decided that this absolute drivel had some deep social meaning. And, purely by chance of course, the deep meaning is that you can bang anyone you like, while I stay at home like a good little cuck."

"But," she protested. "Women are entitled to the freedom we've always been denied."

That was it. No self awareness; no reflection; no empathy for how I must have felt seeing her accepting the gropes of 'just some lads'. I'd had enough. "Okay," I said, watching her carefully. "Next time I go out with Veronica, I'll fuck her, if you think it's that important."

Gina's head shot up. "What?" she shrieked. "When did I tell you to fuck the little tart?"

"Gina," I said, in the most patronising tone that I could muster. "Ronnie is a modern woman too, and she wants to have sex with me. How can I, a mere male, refuse her when you make such a compelling case?"

Gina's eyes flicked across my face again, searching in vain for any indication that I was just teasing. I think that was the moment that the significance of her words and actions over the past weeks crystallised in her mind. She slumped forward, head in her hands as the tears ran down her cheeks. I didn't comfort her. It wouldn't have been fair, giving her false hope that out marriage could be rescued. I'd forgive her, in time; she'd been foolish and greedy rather than evil; but I'd never trust her enough to stay married. I try to be a good man, but I'm not a saint.

I patted my wife on the shoulder. "Come to bed, Gina. We won't have sex, because I can't trust you to be honest about who you might have slept with already. But I don't hate you enough to make you sleep alone tonight." She looked up gratefully through her tears as I held out my hand to lead her upstairs. We had the whole weekend to plan the end of our marriage, I thought, why make it any more painful than it had to be.

Eight months later

Gina and I were sat at a table in our local pub, arguing about her job. She was planning on turning down a promotion and I was telling her how ridiculous that was. Her point was that her gullibility had nearly wrecked our relationship, mine was that she had learnt and grown as a result.

Ronnie sat down in a spare seat between us. "I agree with Alan," she declared.

"Well, of course you do, you have to, you're fucking him," Gina pointed out

"True," my girlfriend conceded. "But he is quite smart too." She leaned forward. "So what are we actually arguing about?"

I gestured for Gina to explain as I sat back and took a pull of my pint. I thought back to that weekend. It had been hard, for both of us. Gina had finally realised how flimsy Tiffany's Herstory thesis had been, and recognised the hurt that her embracing it had caused me. I understood that she had been seduced by the promise that she too could have guilt-free extra-marital sex because now it was women's turn. My issue was that understanding was not the same as approving.

By that Sunday evening we had agreed to divorce. We filled out the on-line forms together, agreed on the distribution of what few assets we had and resolved to part on good terms. Did I look for some sort of payback? On Gina? No, she'd made poor choices but ending our marriage nearly broke her. How could hurting her even more make me feel good about myself?

What about the lads who were groping her? No, I did nothing. If they had spiked her drink, then I would have hurt them both, badly. But she was a consenting adult; her body was hers to offer, not mine. The consequences fell on her for offering, not them for accepting. I saw no reason to waste my life thinking about them for a second longer.

Tiffany though? I hoped that there was a special place in Hell reseved for that sociopath. No wonder she was living and working in England; even the bloody Californians didn't want her. I didn't do much. I wrote to the IRS in America and HMRC in the UK asking if they were aware of a revenue stream from her on-line activities. I also posted a comment on her page as the husband of a follower. I explained how Tiff had sat and watched as her lifestyle advice blew up in an acolyte's face. Said follower now being single and living in a shitty apartment as she faced divorce. I hope it lost her some income. It cost me nothing but ten minutes venting on-line. It was also much cheaper than therapy.

The sensible women in the office ostracised her too. Gina was the victim in their eyes. Eventually, the management suggested that Tiff might find a happier working atmosphere elsewhere; anywhere but there, to be honest. They gave her three months wages to just fuck off. According to Sue, she used the money to set up an OnlyFans site. I didn't look to she if she had, because I didn't give a shit what she did any more.

So the three of us? Ronnie and I were set up. Sue saw the writing on the wall even before I called her. Our conversation merely prompted her into action. Veronica often lamented how lucky her sister was to have a loving husband like Dave, and Sue had often commented on how alike he and I were. To Sue, the answer was simple. If Gina didn't appreciate me, Ronnie might.

Ronnie and I went on our second date the following weekend. I stayed over. By then Gina and I had our own bedrooms and never had sex again. Ronnie was right; sleeping with her before I resolved my relationship with Gina would have complicated things. By the same token, sleeping with Gina while Ronnie and I were deciding if we had a future together would have been just as bad.

Our divorce was likewise amazingly civilised. Ronnie's flat was too small for the two of us and the mortgage on the house that Gina and I shared was too much for any one salary. So, the women just swapped places. Obviously, there had to be a few changes, beds, finances and the like. They also navigated the awkward situation of each wanting to put their own stamp on their new home without hurting the feelings of the other. I think it was this, above everything else, that cemented their friendship. And they are, friends I mean. They have a circle of like-minded women who meet in the pub once a month to catch up and chat. Does Ronnie ask me if she can go? No, why should she? She does ask if I have any plans that night, because they would take precedence if I did.

Gina hasn't started dating yet, but Ronnie tells me that their friends have some lovely guys in mind for when she's ready. I hope that, when she does find someone, he's secure enough not to fear her friendship with Ronnie and me. Deep down, I still love her, but Ronnie is my first and foremost, and Gina understands that. It's rare that you can break something beautiful and repair it so that it's as good as new. Sometimes you just have to throw it away. If you're lucky you might manage a cosmetic repair, but it will never be quite what it was. That's Gina and me; we're okay like this but we'll never be what we were.

I was roused from my meditation by an elbow in the ribs from my girlfriend. Apparently, after hearing Gina's explanation of her job offer, she still agrees that I was right. Gina has promised to accept the offer as soon as she gets into the office. I sensed we still weren't finished though. Ronnie has that sparkle again. I mean, she gets it a lot, and it's never disappointed me so far, and yet...

Ronnie reached into her bag and pulled out a white plastic stick, about the length of my index finger. There's a white window in the middle. It reminds me of a Covid test kit. There's two red lines in the window. Gina gets it first, of course. She screams. Then realisation hits; and I thought my life was complicated before!