This entry is a couple of weeks after our row. Things had almost got back to normal although I didn’t feel quite the same as I had. Then this that I’m about to relate happened.
Tim was too tied up at the nursery as usual. His manager was off sick, quite ill actually, and his other permanent member of staff was on holiday. He said he couldn’t leave the two Saturday girls on their own. So he was at work and I was on my own and we’d been invited to my friend Julia’s wedding. Great, I thought, I’ll be a gooseberry yet again. None of my other menfriends had had to work Saturdays. Most of them were ’employed’, like me, in their fathers’ businesses and could take time off whenever they wanted.
“Welcome to the real world” as Tim put it.
I’m ashamed now that I made such a fuss when he said he couldn’t come.
“I’d love to come, I really would.”
I believe him now but at the time all I wanted was my own way.
It was an early wedding, a white traditional church wedding, and I expected the press there as the bridegroom is the son of the local Tory MP, Sir somebody or other, with royal connections. I’d chosen my clothes carefully in case they put me in a magazine society picture, quite a daring outfit as I wanted to show off my legs. I was frightened the neck line is too low though. I didn’t want anyone to think I was available. My wedding and engagement rings were there to show I was taken.
The wedding went off well, the church was packed and the vicar was lovely. The reception was held in the bridegroom’s parent’s garden, almost next door to the church. There was a beautifully decorated marquee for the lunch and the dancing. The house itself was a country mansion, ideally suited to a wedding. The reception rooms were where the bride and groom and their parents greeted us as we arrived. Then we proceeded to the marquee for food and drinks. The food was lovely and the speeches weren’t too bad but I stupidly drank too much. My excuse was that was that I was bored because I was stuck on a table of couples who I didn’t know and who weren’t very inclusive. There was an empty seat next to me where Tim should have been. The bride, my friend Julia, came over briefly for a chat. She looked lovely. She was going to the Seychelles for three weeks for her honeymoon and Julian’s father (her new father-in-law) had bought them a beautiful house as a wedding present. I had hoped I’d be a bridesmaid but Julian had twin sisters – end of story.
After the meal, which finished about 4, the tables were moved away and a dance band started up. Julia took the floor with her Dad and then Julian and his mother joined them. After one number Julian’s Dad took over from his son and Julia’s Dad went and fetched Julian’s mother so the six of them were on the floor. It was lovely. They were joined by the best man and the two bridesmaids and then I was whisked onto the floor by the best man. I love dancing and really started to enjoy myself. The music was inspiring and I was carried away by it. My partner, the best man Boris, was a fantastic dancer. He could jive really well and do the old fashioned waltzes and quick steps too. I realised that we were dancing very close in the slow numbers. I could feel his thighs rubbing between mine and then I felt his erection pressing into my stomach. I was drunk and enjoying myself and I let myself get turned on even though I knew I was being naughty. I could feel dampness between my legs. Wow, I thought, this is exciting. Boris said, “you’re hot.” That made me come to my senses. This kind of behaviour was not right for me, a married woman, mother of two kids. So I broke away and told Boris I needed a break and to cool down outside. Boris followed me with drinks and brought them onto the terrace. The sun was shining onto fields of bright yellow flowers which Boris said were called rape. I began to feel a bit peculiar and wondered what he’d put in my drink. Maybe I’d just had one too many. Boris continued getting amorous. I knew it was partly my fault for getting carried away on the dance floor. He pulled me close to him and tried to kiss me with his hand groping for my funny. “Stop right now,” I said. “I’m married.”
He said, “So what, you’ve given me the come on all afternoon. You can’t go all high and mighty now.” He sounded a bit angry.
“I wasn’t giving you the come on. I was just enjoying dancing with you.” That’s what I said but I knew he was sort of right, otherwise I wouldn’t have got turned on.
He tightened his grip and tried to grope me harder. I tried to push him away but he was stronger than me. So I said I was feeling sick and was probably going to throw up. I must’ve looked a bit nauseous because he let me go. I rushed inside the house looking for the loo, suddenly realising I was desperate for a wee. I eventually found a toilet on the first floor, dropped my knickers and sat down, just in time. “That was a lucky escape,” I thought. “What was I thinking of?” I put my elbows on my knees and my hands on my forehead. My head was spinning. I had been excited by Boris. I could have carried on. It would serve Tim right for… My thoughts were interrupted by a noise which turned out to be the toilet door handle. I looked up as to my horror the door started to open and I realised I must have forgotten to lock it.
“Sorry, occupied,” I shouted and tried to hold the door shut with my foot. Whoever it was just kept pushing.
“Pleath don’t come in, I won’t be long,” I said but the door still kept opening until I saw it was Boris who must have followed me upstairs.
“Sorry,” he said, “I was desperate,” as he started to unzip himself.
“Get out, I’ll only be a thecond,” I said as firmly as I could but I just sounded very drunk. I’d stopped myself peeing but couldn’t hold it in any more. It was embarrassing urinating with him watching. He had a funny look on his face.
He turned round and shocked me by locking the door. I began to feel threatened. He fiddled with his trousers a bit more and out popped a fully erect penis which he held tightly in his left hand.
“Pleash leave me alone. I’m not intereshted,” I said. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. I’m married.”
His response was to take hold of my head with his right hand and try to force it towards his member.
“Come on darling, just do me a favour. I bet you’d love to.” he smirked gloatingly. “You owe it to me and I’ve heard you used to put it about.”
I winced at this. I might have been a bit promiscuous when I was a teenager but I’d never give head and I’d been a faithful wife to Tim for more than 10 years. I realised I had to get out of this situation somehow. The drink, the smell of his organ and the situation all combined to make me really nauseous and I was very frightened.
“Lishen, I’d love to suck you off. I give really good head. But I shink I’m going to be sick and I wouldn’t want to throw up all over you. Jush let me get that out of the way first.”
I gave his balls an encouraging squeeze and pushed him back gently. To my relief he backed away releasing my head from his grip. I managed to turn and get down on my knees by the toilet. I started to retch and leaned over the bowl clutching the seat. The taste in my mouth was awful and my stomach was churning painfully, making me feel very weak. The next thing I knew was I could feel Boris pulling my dress up over my back and my thong down so my bottom was exposed. I knew he must have knelt behind me. Then I felt his member searching between my legs. He started to fuck me from behind. It seemed to slip in easily and he started to thrust rhythmically deep inside me. As he forced himself in and out I had to cling hard onto the seat to stop my head banging repeatedly into the toilet lid. I should have screamed but I just felt weak and powerless. I don’t know why but I just bit my lip and didn’t utter a sound. My nausea had been completely supplanted by a feeling of complete helplessness and disgust. Then I heard someone trying the door. I recognised the noise.
“Won’t be long,” he shouted drowning out my pathetic, “Help.”
Fortunately it didn’t last long but my breasts were sore from his squeezing and my head bruised. By the time I got up and rearranged my clothes Boris had put his penis away. As I tried to Pull myself together Boris unlocked the door and said to the person who had tried the handle,
“I think she’s finished. A bit too much to drink.” And to me, “Rinse you mouth out then you’ll be OK.”
“Are you going to be alright?” said the lady – to my horror it was the bridegroom’s mother, Mrs Gwent.
“Wash your face and I’ll take you for some fresh air,” Boris said to me.
“Leave me alone,” was all I could manage through clenched teeth. I wanted to say
“I’ve been raped. This bastard has just raped me,”
but I was dazed and in that state wondered if somehow it was my fault. Also I was aware that I was drunk and Mrs Gwent might have thought that it was just a lover’ stiff. I washed my face and my mouth out and left the bathroom to the new occupant. Boris had gone. I felt a trickle of his sperm down my thigh and felt dirty. I wanted to sob my heart out. I didn’t know what to do. I checked my watch – 5:30. Tim would be setting off to join me at 6. He’d be here in less than an hour. I really didn’t think I could face him in my present state. I found an empty room downstairs and sat down, trembling. Someone popped their head round the door and asked if I was OK. I said I just needed a break from dancing. I sent Tim a text :
“Sorry darling I’ve got a migraine and I’m going home. I’ll see you there.”
Then I rang Fred, Mum and Dad’s caretaker come chauffeur, and asked if he could pick me up and take me home, telling him I had a headache. I couldn’t face trying to get a taxi and I didn’t want Tim to come here. No way could I go back into the marquee.
Fred was brilliant. He arrived quickly and left me to my own thoughts in the back of the Roller. He didn’t try to make me talk once. And I was back before Tim which was a great relief. I threw my thong away in the wheelybin and went up for a bath. My head was pounding and I was almost suicidal. How could I have let that beast do that do me? Why didn’t I scream, shout the house down, punch him in the balls, throw up over him? So many things I could have done and I did none of them. And now I’ve just washed his sperm, the evidence, away. Of course I could retrieve my spermy thong but do I want to go through the ordeal of police interviews? Do I want Tim to know? Or anyone? It’s my word against his and everyone knows I was drunk and that I’d been dancing intimately with him and Mrs Gwent had seen both of us in the toilet and thought she’d seen me being sick.
I was still in the bath when Tim came home but I’d locked the bathroom door so we had to talk through it. I told him I was feeling really poorly and would be going straight to bed. He said they’d had a really good day at the nursery with record takings.
I was asleep by the time he came to bed. Although he tried hard to be quiet he woke me but I didn’t let on I was awake. I didn’t want to tell him what had happened and I certainly didn’t want any intimacy. I felt dirty and what’s more I blamed myself for what had happened. I’d led him on, after all.
Next morning I was still weak and confused but it was Sunday and Tim and I were supposed to be going to his folks for late lunch. I didn’t want anything to draw attention to myself so resolved to pull myself together ready for the trip. I always enjoyed our visits to Wales and hoped the change would help me get over my agony.
I got up after Tim had gone downstairs and had another hot bath, letting the warmth permeate through me, hoping to feel clean. I swilled the water in and out of my vagina ten, twenty, thirty times. Then I massaged myself with body milk, enjoying the luxurious sensation. I chose casual clothes suitable, I hoped, for a visit to Cwm Dinas. I tried to keep my mind empty and calm when I went downstairs to face Tim.
“How’s the headache?”
“Oh, yes much better now thanks. I hope you’re not cross with me for pulling out.”
“No,”said Tim generously, “I’d had a busy day and wouldn’t have been much company anyway. I had an early night and feel much better for it. You were well gone when I came to bed. You still look a bit peeky.”
“I’m OK now,” I lied. “Were you busy with customers?”
“Yes, we did well. Took over £1,000.
“I’ve had to leave Kerry in charge today. First time she been in charge at the weekend. She only got back from Malaga yesterday. She’s two Sunday staff to help her so I’m sure she’ll be OK.”
“Great,” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Shame you couldn’t sort something out yesterday,” I muttered under my breath, thinking then nothing untoward would have happened.
As we drove along the A55 in the nursery van, towing a trailer, towards Cwn Dinas I kept going over the events of the wedding over and over, wondering what I did wrong, how I could have avoided what happened. Firstly I resolved never to get drunk again. If what happened yesterday wasn’t enough motivation, nothing would be. Why didn’t I scream? Why didn’t I reach between my legs, grab his balls and squeeze them hard? Why didn’t I tell Mrs Gwent what had happened? As I got nearer Tim’s parents’ house different thoughts raced about in my head. What would Wendy, Tim’s Mum, Mrs Smith, say if I took her aside and explained what happened? Would she want me to go the police? Should I go to the police? What would Tim’s reaction be? Would he be sympathetic, or angry with me, disgusted maybe? He might even threaten to beat up Boris or blame me and finish our marriage. My mind was a whirlwind. I was confused, unable to come up with any answers. As Tim drove off the slip road which was only 10 minutes from Cwm Dinas I tried to pull myself together, taking a few deep breaths and running my fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp. As we drove up the drive I decided, since nothing had been resolved in my head to say nothing and to try to put yesterday’s horror out of my mind.
Tim’s voice broke my reverie. “You’re very quiet today. You’re not nervous are you. You’ve met the folks loads of times before so you should know they’re very easy going.”
“No I’m not nervous. Sorry, I’ve something on my mind.”
“Can I help?”
“No, I don’t want to talk about it if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry I didn’t want to pry.”
“No I know.” I sounded a bit sharp then. “I’m sorry.”
We wound along a few miles of country lanes, which I found restful after the busy A55, and into the leafy drive of Wendy and John’s small holding. It was all a bit unkempt compared with Dad’s drive and we splashed through some quite deep puddles before swinging into a cleared area that served as the car park. I was pleased I’d worn my rubber boots as this are too was dotted with puddles. The house was, I suppose a typical Welsh cottage with a few rather unsightly extensions that must have been added on later. The main entrance was into a little lean-to for boots and waterproofs and that led straight into the main living room. We were greeted royally as we went into the house. Wendy, John and Mark, Tim’s younger brother all greeted us with hugs and kisses. Such warmth after the horror of yesterday. Such normality.
They wanted to know how Tim’s business was progressing and asked me how the wedding went. Of course I replied blandly but was never-the-less impressed that they were interested enough in me to ask the question. We had a simple but delicious meal – the Smiths were both vegetarian and then played some interesting games at the dinner table afterwards. I think they were called Zilch and Rummycup.
Then we went to inspect Wendy’s work. The poly-tunnel was full of row upon row of plants, almost no floor space even though Tim had already taken several trailer loads to the nursery this season. Her outside beds were equally impressive with rows of tall plants that she said were shrubs and saplings. She and Tim loaded up the trailer. Tim wouldn’t let me as he said my clothes were too smart. So I went in and Warren entertained me. He’d finished college, having done the same degree as Tim and was helping Wendy producing stock for the nursery. He was recovering from flu and been confined to the indoors. He’d always been curious. I remember him shooting very direct questions at me the first time I met him. Things like:
“Are you going to have children soon?”
“How rich are you?”
So I was a bit on edge in his company in case he asked any embarrassing questions whilst I felt so vulnerable. So I jumped in first, grilling him about his experience at college, his love life and how he felt living back at home after his three years of independence. John was busy in the kitchen and prepared a delicious lunch.
The whole day was so normal, so innocent, so far away from yesterday’s nightmare that I began to relax and the incident receded from the front of my mind. On the drive back, however, it came back. I still wasn’t sure whether to tell Tim.
“If I tell him,” I thought, “he’ll want to take it further. He’ll insist I go to the police. I suppose I should. Then I’d have to go to court. Then everyone would know about it. There’d be doubt in peoples minds and I’ve washed away the proof, and I didn’t stop him, and I didn’t scream. If I don’t tell anyone I can just forget about it. I’ll get Boris back somehow.”
Tim thought I was dozing as I deliberately closed my eyes and rested my head back. We dropped the trailer off at the nursery, just as it was getting dark and I made tea and sandwiches and plumped myself in front of the telly whilst Tim was getting changed.
I was deliberately untalkative and fended off Tim’s expressed concerns saying my headache had returned. Tim was wonderful, very gentle, just cuddling and caressing me. This had the effect of relaxing me. I wondered how was I going to feel if he wanted to have sex? Would yesterday mean I’d be put off any form of intimacy, that I’d be revolted by his advances? Should I put him off for a few days in case bloody Boris had given me some horrible genital infection. Thank God I was still on the pill or that would be another worry. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to wear a condom.
We went to bed early and Tim continued his gentle caresses. I started to respond. He was so warm and tender. He seemed to sense the change in me and his attentions became more sexual. Suddenly I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anyone before. My emotions boiled and I was completely abandoned. So much tension left me and I was more passionate than I’d ever been. My climax seemed to go on for ages. I think I surprised Tim. I certainly surprised myself. I fell into a deep sleep, happy and fulfilled.
Next morning was work for both of us, so we were up early and went our separate ways after a quick breakfast. I did nothing about the rape for ages. I tried to put it to the back of my mind. I’d resolved that, because I’d been flirtatious and therefore could be said to be partly to blame , I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Certainly I wasn’t going to tell Tim as I had no idea what his reaction would be but I knew I had to tell someone and so one night about two weeks later I went out for a drink with Sarah. I’d kept in touch with her over the years. She’d had a bit of a tough time, had a long-standing affair with a married man who dumped her when his wife found out.
She had a new man and was full of it. She said she couldn’t face going to nightclubs as she felt too old so she’d tried the on-line route and that was how she’d met Richard. She assaulted me for a good hour going on about how cool Richard was and how she thought he was the one. Apparently he’d been through a similar experience. He started an affair with a woman who turned out to be married and she dumped him because she’d decided she wanted children and wanted to be sure who the father was. After a good hour or so I managed to grab her attention. I managed to change the subject by offering to recharge our glasses and on my return came out with this:
“I’ve something to tell you but I want you to swear you won’t mention any of it to another soul, not to your new man or to any of your family and friends. What I’m going to tell you is very personal and mustn’t go any further. You are the only person I’m going to tell so I’ll know if any of it gets out.”
She promised faithfully it would go no further and I certainly had her full attention. I wanted to believe I could trust her but you can never tell. No-one’s good at keeping secrets and it’s very tempting to retell a bit of juicy gossip. But I knew it would help me draw a line under the incident if I could share it. So I did tell her, every last detail. Sarah had known Boris and said she could see he might be the kind of man who would chance his arm whatever he got the opportunity. She seemed to understand how I’d just let it happen and why I’d done nothing about it afterwards. It reminded her a bit of what had happened to her with the man who’d she’d met at the nightclub. She did ask me if it was unprotected sex and suggested I have a pregnancy test. I was on the pill so that wasn’t what was worrying me. I just hoped I hadn’t picked up any infection from him. I’d inspected myself down there several times every day but there was no sign of anything. I regretted that I’d let Tim make love to me in case I’d passed anything on to him. That would be awful.
At the end of the evening I felt my friendship with Sarah had been strengthened tremendously and I felt much better for telling someone. I insisted that she swear again that she wouldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want her to even relate the incident omitting names, which was one way of getting round the promise not to tell. I was pleased she had a new man and hoped we’d be able to go out as a foursome in the future.
It’s helped me putting down everything here, in my diary. I’ve read over it a number of times to make sure I’ve missed nothing out and what I’ve written reflects what I felt at the time.