The Journal of a Vicar's Wife (2 page)

Well, I most certainly did. Mr Henry Goddard is a lovely young man, of two and twenty years or three years my junior. Where my husband is like stone, Mr Goddard is like soft clay. He is malleable, moveable and responsive, the very antithesis of Mr Reeves. He works at his father’s dairy and comes twice weekly with fresh milk and cheese for the vicarage. His visits I have recently, though sinfully, come to welcome.

I heard his heavy footfall on the wooden floors, and my stomach danced with nerves. I checked my hair in the looking glass and slowly moved to the landing, where I espied the handsome young man waiting.

‘Good morning, Mrs Reeves,’ he said with a cocky smile. His expression of unfettered enthusiasm thrilled me to my soul, and it was impossible not to smile in return. His teeth were white, only slightly crooked, and his cheeks ruddy from the chill and rain.

‘Good morning, Mr Goddard,’ I suddenly frowned, ‘but you are soaked! Come into the sitting room and take off your coat, so that you may dry by the fire. Minny will get you tea.’

His smooth brow, bereft now of his hat, furrowed. He shook his head. A slightly humorous wariness crept over his face. ‘Really, I’ve got t’ get back t’ dairy,’ he said in his rustic way, then winked.

‘Oh, poo-poo. I’ll have no argument Henry,’ I chided. ‘Come, come.’

The young gentleman smiled again, but offered no excuse. He followed me into the sitting room.

Once inside, I insisted he remove his boots; they weren’t muddy, but they were wet. Thus I placed them beside the fire and assisted in the removal of his coat. His back was broad and finely muscled due to the heavy work he did, and I felt something low and tight in my belly. Without allowing myself to stop, I gently ran my hands down that smooth expanse of muscled flesh.

‘Mrs Reeves, are you certain ye want to do it again?’ he asked, his lip curling in a knowing smile. But Lord, he was so pretty, his angled jaw and curved, full lips. I caught and held his gaze.

We should not.

We both knew it.

Yet we would. I’d make certain of it.

For all that my husband spoke of abstinence and betterment through suffering and self-denial, I could not agree. I had come to feel that if my husband did not wish for intimate discourse, then in lieu of him, Henry Goddard could oblige me. I know it is a sin, I know it is a betrayal, but in those moments when I am alone with Mr Goddard, I can think of nothing else. It is with reluctance I confess it has been this way for some weeks now.

‘Hush now, Henry,’ I chided again. ‘You’re positively soaking,’ I began to unbutton his shirt. His light blue eyes darkened.

There was a knock on the door. A look of abject horror swept across his face, but I knew it was for naught.

‘Come in,’ I said. Minny entered, her eyes modestly averted, and deposited the tea on the small table.

‘Thank you, Minny.’

The maid offered me a tight smile and bobbed before leaving the room – a paragon of servile discretion.

‘Mrs Reeves,’ Henry was about to offer another excuse, but as the door closed I pressed my lips to his to silence any further discussion.

I kissed Mr Goddard, pressing my lips into his cool, damp ones. My sex loosened beneath my skirts and longing surged through my body. For just a moment, he played reluctantly seduced. It was our familiar dance. It was only a matter of time until I did with him what I wished.

My kiss deepened and in another moment he yielded completely. His mouth opened and I swept my tongue inside. He tasted sweet and wholesome.

Not breaking our kiss, I continued unbuttoning his shirt and waistcoat, until the damp cloth was gone and nothing separated my eager hands from his hot, golden flesh. He was beautifully made, a true angel, sent from the heavens to offer me bodily satisfaction where my husband wouldn’t.

Henry’s hands stayed by his sides, never quite touching me, unless requested. I found his reluctance charming, but knew it a mere façade, for there was little reluctant or shy about the gentleman beneath my hands.

At length, after I’d had my fill of his smooth, hard chest, my hands slipped in a more southerly direction and began to unbutton his britches. I could feel his manhood strain against the cloth, and my sex began to wet itself in preparation for plunder. He was a well-formed and well-sized young man. My hand found the velvety head, arching eagerly towards me.

‘Pull up my skirts,’ I whispered, depositing kisses on the plains of that magnificent chest. My skin thrilled as he obliged, and I felt those rough work-hardened hands bunch my skirts up and land upon my rear.

‘Squeeze them,’ I gasped, satisfied his hands were finally in the vicinity of my dark need. Those rough hands squeezed the soft, round mounds of my buttocks and I gasped aloud. ‘I want you to touch me, there.’

He hesitated for just the briefest of moments, before I felt his hand slip between my thighs and tentatively touch the silken folds of my sex. His hands flittered, but hands were not enough. With a growl I pushed him down onto my husband’s lounge chair. It was from this chair my pious spouse would pontificate to me from as we sat of an evening.

How wrong it was of me to abuse it so. Yet I did, and will continue to do so, to spite those interminable sermons I endure.

Henry cried out in surprise, his hands falling from my sex and back to his sides. As he fell into the seat, I gathered my skirts once more, hitching them to my waist so that my lower portion was visible in the flickering of firelight and lamp. I could hear Henry’s impassioned inhalation of breath. I walked closer and straddled him, my knees resting on either side of his thighs.

For just one moment, I hovered over the head of his pulsing manhood. Then without any gentility at all, I pushed myself brutally down upon it, impaling myself to his hilt.

Henry groaned, and I heard my own surprised cry break from my lips. He felt wonderful there, deep inside my sex, stretching and filling me in a way my husband so rarely did.

With another cry, I slid up his staff and slipped back down. I did so with considerable force, for the brutality of the act offered me satisfaction like no other, and in some peculiar manner I felt that if our rut was a forceful one, my sex’s appetite for more may somehow be lessened – but it never was. I repeated the action over and over, the sounds of my flesh hitting his echoing in the still air of sitting room. My womb began to tighten. The urgency grew within Henry too, I could see it plainly in the contortions of his lovely face. Quickly, I slipped my hand down betwixt my legs, and stopped our frantic rut. My hand found that place where Henry’s staff rent my quim wide. My flesh there was stretched taut and my secret lips swollen. My fingers lingered but a moment, exploring the contrast of his hard, hot length and my body pulled tight around it. If only Frederick would allow me this! My nether hair was soaked as I found that special part of my sex that evoked an even greater pleasure. With Henry’s staff locked deep in my quim, I rubbed myself, just so.

My breath quickly hitched and everything low in my body tightened anew.

‘Move,’ I hissed at Henry. His blue eyes went wide but he did as he was bade. He thrust up and down as I played and rubbed against that sensitive place.

I could not stem my crisis. With the suddenness of a lightning strike, my sex clenched and that sweet, heady pleasure grew until I contorted around Henry and ground down upon him, wishing I could force all of him into me so that we could both feel the wonderment.

At length, my crisis abated, and my sex clenched about Henry several more times. He looked up at me, his brow furrowed. He needed his own release; I knew he’d held off just long enough to be certain I had met with mine. With a smile, I began move once more, the last paroxysms of my pleasure contracting around his staff as he cried out and plunged his last.

For a time, I remained straddling Henry, relishing his lingering presence as his phallus shrank and eventually slipped entirely from my body.

I sighed, and stood.

I looked about the room; religious paintings and my husband’s bookshelves caught my attention. A whiff of his scent seemed to drift past my nostrils, as if a ghost had just passed by.

The guilt came, as heavy as a lead cloak and even more crushing.

‘Thank you, Henry.’ I said, and felt his seed slip from my sex and sluice down my thigh. I ignored it, for there was naught I could do. I’d wash before Frederick returned. Without further delay, I picked up Henry’s shirt and handed it to him, only to find he was already busy re-buttoning his britches.

‘We’ll not do this again, Mrs Reeves, shall we?’ he said softly, as he always did, catching my eye and smiling.

‘Of course not,’ I replied, as I always did.

With silent regard, I helped him dress, as was my habit after our sinful joining. He offered me another suggestive smile but otherwise said nothing more. I did not want him to.

I know that what we did was terribly wrong, but for a man whose position leaves little time for
amore
and a woman bereft of affection in her marriage, our physical union is entirely and unrepentantly … convenient.

* * *

When Henry had left, Minny came in to collect the tea. It remained completely untouched, the cups unused and tea un-poured. Minny’s expression did not change. She nodded, however, and collected the things.

‘Luncheon will be shortly,’ she said. ‘Shall I run you a bath afore or after?’

‘I’d rather like one now, thank you,’ I said, the slick seed on my thighs a conspicuous reminder of my actions.

She nodded and left.

Naturally, Minny and Mrs Cartwright know of my
liaison
. I knew they hope as much as I, that it will eventuate in a child. Mrs Cartwright’s husband died not long after Minny turned eight, and thus my husband hired them both as domestic servants. There is very little for them to do for just Mr Reeves and I, and I know they long for a babe’s cries to echo throughout the house.

Do not mistake me; I do not take pleasure in Mr Goddard for the express purpose of breeding – though that would be a happy event if it occurred – but my house-staff conveniently believe it to be so. Once I overheard Mrs Cartwright gossiping, hinting that my husband and I were barren. Not long after, she happened across Mr Goddard and I naked and mid-rut. It was terribly embarrassing, but I confessed a lie to her then. I told her I sought out Mr Goddard’s attention so that I may have a baby. She believed me, and has been the very model of discretion ever since. She agrees that the vicarage needs a child’s laughter, and considers poor, pious Mr Reeves incapable of providing one for me.

So, if not for purely procreative purposes, why do I do as I do? Why do continue to sin against the holy bonds of matrimony, and sin against myself in adulterous fornication?

I am lonely. I am sad. I can admit it here in this journal as I can nowhere else.

My marriage is unhappy in more than just the visceral sense. My husband, though I do not doubt his goodness, does not love nor want me. He married me for pure convenience. He needed a bride and I was the one offered to him. Thus I find my pleasures where I may. It is coincidently fortunate, however, that this pleasure may one day gain me a child.

I know there are women in my position who might be grateful for their husband’s neglect, but I am not. It has taken me years to understand – and even admit – that I verily crave the attentions of a man. I want my sex filled with a man’s flesh, I want to reach that sweet pinnacle of pleasure – and now I do, albeit with a man who is not my husband.

Many, I suspect, would think me a very improper, wicked and unfaithful wife if they ever discovered this truth, and in the literal sense I am all those things. Yet, I care for my husband and keep his home. I offer him my body and life in matrimony. If he cares not for that body, and wants only the house kept, is it then such a sin what I do?

My only significant concern is that one day he may discover my indiscretions, and I do fear his reaction. He is a good man, it is true, but there are few who would accept easily the extramarital relations of their wives – and I suspect Frederick is no exception.

* * *

Frederick returned late. The grey day had turned into a dark and thunderous evening. I fear I had indulged in some pre-prandial brandy in his absence, which I find I do quite often.

‘Good evening, Mr Reeves,’ I said and kissed him upon his cheek as he removed his hat and hung it dripping on the hatstand. Mrs Cartwright came and fussed over the wet droplets that shone in the candlelight.

‘Good evening, Mrs Reeves,’ he said cordially, his malcontent from the morning gone. His dark eyes were almost black in the candlelight, and his hair curled around his face, softening the otherwise hard lines. ‘I trust your day was a good one?’

I smiled at him; the brandy I had downed earlier made me mischievous.

‘Quite!’ I said gaily. ‘Mr Henry Goddard came today with his wares.’

Mayhap I imagined it, but did I discern a fleeting expression of suspicion and confusion flutter over my husband’s face? Absurdly, I found myself beginning to giggle.

‘All was as it should be, then?’ he asked after a moment of solicitous thought.

‘Oh, quite. In fact, he gave me rather a lot of cream.’

Again, his jaw tensed, as if he knew I was playing with him. I was being exceedingly naughty playing so obviously with these
double entendrés
, but the brandy and boredom were too much. So, I covered my mouth with my hand to wipe away my mirth.

‘Is receiving cream a standing part of your order?’ Frederick asked, and I bit my lip to stem an outrageous laugh.

When I released my lip to reveal a naughty grin, I finally replied, ‘Why no, not at all. Truthfully, I just require milk. Yet there is much pleasure to be had in the prompt and timely delivery of a little cream, wouldn’t you agree?’

It was too much, I had started to laugh now in earnest. I was being rude, and I personally found my rudeness entirely amusing.

‘Really, Mrs Reeves. What has gotten into you today?’ he snapped, clearly displeased by my inexplicable merriment.

Well, what could one say to that? I looked up into his increasingly stern expression and flew in to fits of giggles. With a sigh, he shook his head. ‘Honestly, this behaviour is most vexing. Have you been drinking?’