Party Time

"Your trouble is," Arthur said as he lit his first cigarette of the day, "you never think... cough... splutter... of anything... choke... gasp... but... gasp... gasp... sex."

Nancy looked at him darkly as Arthur thumped his sternum with a closed fist.

"You're... oh God that's better... cough... cough... nothing like the first... gasp... one of the... choke... choke... day... You're trouble is you're a... cough... cough... nympho bloody maniac. You know... cough... hawk... hawk... I'm not... hawk... well."

"It's not surprising," Nancy replied disdainfully, "if I'm a nymphomaniac then you're a fagomaniac. Anyway I'm not a nymphomaniac; I just want a normal sex life."

Arthur seemed to have overcome his first cigarette of the day paroxysm and his breathing settled down to a steady wheeze.

"Eighty a day, that's all I smoke, you know that, and it's the only pleasure I've got... and anyway, what do you mean by a normal sex life?"

"Oh, never mind," sighed Nancy. They seemed to have had this discussion before.

She looked across the table at her twenty year fate and remembered when they had first met. Now balding and gaunt, back then Arthur had been dark haired, gleaming of eye, and constantly hard of penis. He had been perhaps a bit on the short side, and he was twelve years older than Nancy, but his potency seemed to make up for what he lacked in inches – inches related, that is, to his overall height and not his male ember which lacked nothing regarding measurement lengthwise.

Now, as that once mighty member hung slackly down his trouser leg, and his rheumy eyes stared down at his breakfast plate, he had to decide whether to eat or light up another cigarette.

The cigarette won.

It was strange, Nancy thought, Arthur couldn't leave her alone before they got married; then came the "false alarm," and marriage. Very quickly after that Arthur had gone off the boil – sexually speaking, especially when, having missed one menstrual period that led to the hurried wedding ceremony, Nancy got her next one in due time. At that point Arthur had seemed to be a trifle miffed.

What held them together now was on Nancy's side the joint ownership of the house, a life insurance policy taken out on Arthur's life, and some medical knowledge that the doctor had confided to her, but not to Arthur.

Arthur was suffering from emphysema and somehow she couldn't bring herself to "leave the poor sod."

"Aaaagh," Arthur was clearing his throat ready to make a pronouncement.

Wheezily he said, "Shouldn't be surprised if you're getting it with some of them young blokes at that college you go to."

"That's a horrible thing to say," protested Nancy. "I've never been unfaithful."

"No, I don't suppose they'd be interested in a woman your age," he sneered, "so you just go on... wheeze... wheeze... bothering me."

Nancy had heard this before and on the previous occasions she had not let it hurt her, but this time Arthur got through. Her fortieth birthday was due in a month, and like a lot of people of that age she was beginning to question her attractiveness to the opposite gender.

Actually her attendance at the college had to some extent affirmed her attractiveness, in that while it was not true that she had been "getting it" with some of the young male students, they at least seemed to take an interest in her.

Unlike Arthur she had retained something of her youthful good looks and if anything maturity had enhanced them, and like many women her age she was probably at her best, neither a foolish giggling girl nor an arthritic sufferer from dementia.

The "college" referred to was a sort of second chance place, where those who had failed or hadn't completed high school, could have another attempt. Nancy had been taking a few subjects there and this brought her into contact with young people. In fact the college had proved to be something of a lifeline for her; lifting her out of the gloom of Arthur's ambience and the perpetual smell of cigarette smoke.

She felt tears starting to flow and rising from the table she said, "That... that was a... a bloody cruel thing to say."

Arthur, realising how wounding he had been, tried to make amends, but another paroxysm of coughing held up speech and meanwhile Nancy left the room.

She was due at a nine o'clock English class, so she got together her things and without saying goodbye to Arthur, left the house.

Arthur, who had been unemployed for nine months, and although he hadn't yet faced up to it, he would ever work again. He sat on eating his breakfast rapidly so he could get to the next cigarette.

He thought about his lot in life, and decided that he was lucky to have Nancy to cook and clean for him, and put up with the meagre income they got from his superannuation money – which was very little because he hadn't come anywhere near the designated retirement age of sixty five – and the bit they got as a top up from social services.

Feeling guilty for having made that crass remark about Nancy's age, he recalled his many "bits on the side" that Nancy had never known about - or at least he hoped she hadn't because she'd ever said anything. Anyway even his philandering had slowed and then stopped since he started to suffer from what he told himself was bronchitis.

Such is our human ability to deceive ourselves that Arthur had come to believe that he was suffering from some form of permanent of bronchitis. Such doctors and specialists as he had seen quickly noted that Arthur was not the sort of man you put things to in plain terms, so any documentation he was likely to see was couched in esoteric medical jargon.

It was only the local GP who had warned Nancy that Arthur was incurably sick. In giving her this information he had laid upon her yet another burden plus feelings of guilt if she ever thought of leaving Arthur.

The English class cheered her up a little. But afterwards, having no other classes for that day, the memory of Arthur's words came back to her. Not wanting to go home she wandered across the college sports field to where a high bank divided it from the river.

She sat on the top of the bank and gloomily watched some ducks and coots go about their food scavenging.

Normally Nancy could remain stoical in the face of adversity, but for some reason she felt unusually fragile that day and Arthur's thoughtless remark had got through to her.

"Perhaps," she thought, "I was cruel to him. I threatened him... his manhood... but... "

She recalled her words, almost casually spoken, "I wish we still made love."

"But then," she thought, "we haven't made love for... " She realised she couldn't remember the last time, and anyway they had slept in separate beds and then separate rooms because Arthur's constant coughing and hawking kept her awake at night. How long ago was it since she moved into a separate room; three years... perhaps a little longer, but even before that... "

She felt she should not have said it. "It's not his fault he can't get it up." For the moment she felt sorry for Arthur, and failed to remember that even before she had left the connubial bed Arthur's penis had been a rare visitor to her vagina.

As Arthur wouldn't face the truth about his sickness, so Nancy had not faced a probable reason for Arthur's early neglect of her; and if from time to time she had thought Arthur was going elsewhere for his sexual fun, she had dismissed the idea.

Such is our ability to delude ourselves.

Now, as she sat on the river bank she felt the weight of those years, from when as a happy eighteen year old bride, and apparently pregnant, she had joyfully if hurriedly, married Arthur. Now when she was teetering on the edge of middle age, Arthur was on a downhill run that had no chance of turning upwards, short of a miracle.

She started to sob and the tears flowed.

"Hi Nancy."

It was Cynthia, another mature age student that Nancy had got to know.

"What are you doing out here on your own, why... hey, what's the matter, get a bad mark for your essay?"

"No," gulped Nancy.

"Then why the tears?"

"Oh, its just everything; I feel... feel... oh... I don't know, its all so... so bloody depressing."

"Everything?"

Nancy managed a weepy smile and said, "It's just me, I feel so old and ugly... so... so... it's all pointless."

"Now stop that Nancy, and tell Aunty Cynthia all about it."

Cynthia was in fact about five years younger than Nancy and came under the heading of a "Gay Divorcee." From time to time Nancy had confided in her about life with Arthur and the gloomy future. Now she told her about Arthur's remark over breakfast that morning, and how wretched it had made her feel.

"Now look here you silly girl," Cynthia admonished, "stop thinking like that. You're... how old... thirty nine?"

"Nearly forty."

"Oh dear, you poor old thing; for God's sake Nancy go home and take a look at yourself in the mirror. You look nearer thirty than forty and I wish I got the looks you get from some of those young guys. Have you see Byron looking at you. Sometimes I think he's going to eat you."

"I wish he would," replied Nancy, as she started to sob again; "That way it would all be over."

"Now stop that Nancy." She put her arms round her and gently rocked her.

"Darling, you don't have much fun do you."

"I like the college."

"Yes, but you go home to Arthur and... well... there not much fun there is there?"

"No," wailed Nancy, "he's sick... he doesn't know how sick and... and... oh Cynthia."

She buried her face in Cynthia's shoulder as Cynthia stroked her hair.

"I don't suppose you... you and he... you know... have much... er... conviviality?"

"If you mean what I think you mean, then not for a long time. And even if he could... you know... he'd cough and splutter his way through it and it would all be spoilt, and anyway, he sticks of tobacco."

"Ah."

There was a long pause as Nancy wept on. As her sobs diminished Cynthia said, "I think its time you had a bit of fun."

"Huh, where am I likely to have fun?"

"Well, I have some of the guys and girls in for an occasional Saturday night party... a get together. I'm having one this Saturday night, why don't you come?"

"What guys and girls?" Nancy asked doubtfully.

"Oh, just some of the other students from the college; there's talk, a bit of drinking, eating and some dancing and... er... You'd enjoy it."

"I'm too old for... "

"No you're not; you're not much older than me and even old Aida comes sometimes and she's kicking on towards sixty and she has a marvellous time."

Aida was yet another mature age student, and could be adequately described, not as a Gay Divorcee, but a Gay Widow, who amused herself with history subjects and computer classes.

"But Arthur... "

"He can look after himself well enough; after all you leave him several times a week to come here, so one Saturday night out isn't going to kill him."

"But a party... "

"Then don't tell him it's a party. Tell him... er... tell him you're just visiting me to go over some college work; after all, that's not a complete lie because we do talk about college."

Cynthia giggled suggestively and went on, "Well, some of the time we talk about college but there are other things."

"What other things?"

Avoiding a direct answer Cynthia said, "Well darling, that's up to you. You don't need me to tell you what you want to do and don't want to do."

"Do you think I'd fit in; I mean... I wouldn't be too old for... "

"I told you to stop that. You dry your eyes, go home and tell Arthur you're going out Saturday evening. Come on, I'll walk part of the way home with you."

Cynthia lived in a more affluent part of the suburb than Nancy, her location and house being thanks to her ex-spouse. Before she married him Cynthia had checked his income carefully.

Leaving Cynthia at her somewhat luxurious home Nancy made her way to her more humble dwelling and Arthur.

Arthur was still feeling guilty about his careless remark to Nancy, and although Nancy did not know this, it did pave the way for her announcement.

"I shall be going out on Saturday night," she said with some bravado.

"Oh, where?"

"Just to Cynthia's place."

"That's the woman you talk to at college, isn't it?"

"Yes, we're going over some of our college work."

"That's good."

"You don't mind?"

"No... no... you don't get out much, so why not?"

"You'll be all right?"

"Of course I'll be all right. I've just got a touch of bronchitis, I'm not dying."

As if to reinforce his words Arthur demonstrated his bronchitis by breaking into a spasm of coughing.

"Are you sure you'll be all right?"

"Cough... cough... gasp; yes" he panted, "I said I'd be... gasp... all right."

Feeling that he had been sufficiently compliant he asked, "What's for lunch?"

There was no more talk about Saturday night until late Saturday afternoon. Arthur, having had a couple of days to think about Nancy's outing, and careless as he could be about her, he was not blind. He knew that what he couldn't do with her others could and would if given the chance.

Even in his philandering days he had puzzled over why he wasn't content with Nancy; but the unpleasant truth was that he had always been trying to prove himself with women. Exactly what he was trying to prove he had never stopped to consider. He was one of those men who just enjoyed the hunt, and when they finally get their prey, they lose interest.

"That Cynthia, she's divorced, isn't she?" he asked.

"That's right."

"And... ah... and there's only going to be you and her?"

"Well, there might be a few other students; it's a sort of seminar."

"Ah... all women?"

Nancy getting Arthur's drift replied impatiently, "I'm not sure exactly what the gender mix is going to be; Cynthia didn't consult me about who she should invite to her home. Look, if you don't want me to go just say so and I'll... "

While considering Nancy's evening out over the past couple of days, Arthur had come to realise how increasingly dependent on her he was. He could see that it would pay to keep her in a contented frame of mind, and that might not be the case if he told her not to go.

Nancy, putting the situation to the ultimate test said, "If you're worried about my going, why don't you come with me?"

She held her breath as she waited for his reply.

"Don't be daft woman, I'm a sick man. How can I go out with this... cough... gasp... bronchitis? You go and... wheeze... have a good time."

Once more feeling that he had been sufficiently placating he added, "Don't forget to leave me some supper."

Nancy breathed again.

She considered carefully what she should wear for the party. She knew that any young girls present would probably be dressed in such a way as to make it difficult to determine if they were on the inside trying to get out, or the outside trying to get in.

She didn't really have a great deal of choice since buying new clothes was an infrequent event, given their income. In any case, even if she had some tantalisingly revealing clothes, if Arthur saw her in them suspicion would no doubt rise in his ailing bosom.

She settled for her hard wearing tartan skirt and a matching green shirt. "More suitable for my age," she told herself.

As she went to leave Arthur asked, "What time will you be home?"

Nancy felt a bit annoyed about that; it was as if she was a teenage girl being asked by her parents. The thought crossed her mind that it was a pity her parents hadn't asked her that question, and then she might not be asked it by Arthur now. But they hadn't asked it and she was there with Arthur.

"Water under the bridge now," she thought resignedly, and said to Arthur, "I don't know, I'll be home when I get here."

She left and Arthur lit his seventieth cigarette for the day.

As she walked to Cynthia's house Nancy started to worry again. Despite Cynthia's reassurances and her saying that old Aida sometimes joined the party, she still wondered if her presence would be acceptable.

It was in her mind to return home and ring Cynthia to say that she couldn't come because Arthur was having a bad day.

"Hi Nancy; Cynthia said you were coming tonight and she told me you'd come this way, so I thought I'd wait for you."

"Byron! You were waiting for me?"

"Well, it's your first time at one of Cynthia's do's and if you happen to be feeling a bit shy it's nice to arrive with someone you know."

"That's kind of you, Byron."

"My pleasure," he grinned, putting his arm round her shoulder as they walked along. "So remember, you're my girl for the evening."

"Your girl! But I thought... I mean... what...?"

He laughed and said, "Unfreeze Nancy you're out to have a good time, so just let go. Wait until you see... talk of the devil, there she is."

They were approaching Cynthia's house and coming from the opposite direction was old Aida. Nancy was astonished at what she saw. Around the college Aida wore an old brown skirt, an off-white blouse and a sagging green cardigan.

Now she was wearing a knee length dress that was so lacy it was more holes than lace. There was more than a suspicion that she was not wearing bras, and her less than firm breasts could be seen in motion. Nancy, who had always thought that Aida would wear old-fashioned bloomers, could at that moment not make up her mind if Aida was wearing anything that might defend her womanhood.

She had often wondered why someone Aida's age seemed to be so popular with the young men at the college. Now, despite the muscle slackness of her upper arms and thighs, and the slightly drooping jowls, Nancy had to admit that Aida was bright of eye and ripe of lip. Indeed, Aida had that oddly sensual look that some older women have just so long as they have not become too sexually uptight to even admit they have a wetly yearning vagina.

Aida was not alone. She was accompanied by three laughing and jostling young men that Nancy vaguely remembered seeing round the college. Aida was laughing and touching them as they progressed along the street.

Seeing Nancy and Byron, Aida called out, "Well, well, well, so you've come to join the party, and got an escort... "

She was interrupted by one of the young men who called, "Hey Byron, are you going to need any help?"

Byron seemed to be irritated by this question, and he replied, "No, and you've got all you need."

Aida cut in, addressing the young man who had called out, "I've got enough to keep you busy young Harry."

As Nancy tried to interpret this exchange they all went up the path to Cynthia's front door. It was opened by Cynthia who greeted them, and then said to Byron, "You met Nancy then?"

"Yes."

"Good boy."

"You'll be all right?"

"Yes, Lindsay is here, so it will be fine. Good luck, and if it doesn't work out, then afterwards we can... "

Nancy had been slightly abstracted on entering by the people who were milling around. There seemed to be a dozen or more, but as she turned her attention to Cynthia, Cynthia was still addressing Byron, then seeing Nancy looking at her she finished, "you know what I mean, Byron?"

He glanced quickly at Nancy and replied, "Yes, of course."

"Nancy darling, so glad you decided to come; now you loosen up and have a good time; Byron will look after you, won't you Byron?"

Byron looked at Nancy and said, "Yes, I'll look after her," then added somewhat ambiguously, "If she'll let me."

Cynthia said in what Nancy thought was slightly suggestive way, "I'm sure she will... you will won't you darling?"

"I... er... yes... if Byron wants me to." She wasn't at all sure what it was she had to let Byron do.

Cynthia kissed her on the cheek whispering, "Byron is very gentle," then she hurried off to attend to the other guests.

After these, what to Nancy had been mysterious exchanges, the evening began quietly enough. There was, as Cynthia had said, some talk about the college, mainly focused on the personalities of the lecturers and the sort of marks they awarded.