A couple of weeks passed. Jackie and I saw each other a few times but I suspect she was wary of me and my part in her ‘evening of shame’.

Her fertility treatment continued though and to my fury, she looked even more gorgeous. Almost as if she was already pregnant, her hair simply shone and her skin took on a fresh, bright complexion. I hated her for it! It should have been me with the warm feminine glow; me waiting for Johnny’s baby to grow inside me.

In revenge, every few days I posted another small video clip from my threesome on the wife swapping website. Every time I did so from Jackie’s house, I took care to leave plenty of traces in the ‘favourites’ and ‘history’ folders on the cottage’s desktop PC.

The girl calling herself Fiddler’s Fancy had by now amassed quite a following across the swinging, cheating world. The local rumours were reaching fever-pitch too and from our online conversations, Carl was as keen to have a second helping of the cool, sophisticated blonde swinger in Fiddler’s Cottage as she seemed to be herself. All that was needed, she had told him in her messages, was a night when her husband was away.

Only Johnny seemed to be unaware of all this; partly through spending most of his time in London but also because, as the pub regulars used to say, ‘the husband’s the last to know.’

Gradually more and more of them were saying it and were saying it increasingly openly.

Unsuspecting, Jackie and Johnny strode around the village at weekends with an air of smug contentment which in other circumstances would have made my blood boil. In this case however, I knew that it was merely ‘pride coming before the fall’ so I forced myself to be patient and waited.

That wasn’t an easy thing to do; my feelings for Johnny were growing stronger and stronger and, now I knew what great sex could really be like, they had a harder, more visceral edge alongside the adoration I had suffered since childhood.

Many nights I had to bring myself to climax with my fingers or the new vibrator I had daringly bought from Ann Summers in a futile attempt to recreate some of the sensations from my threesome experience.

It was good but was no substitute for what I now knew was the Real Thing.

It was equally hard to resist all the offers and propositions from men that came my way as they come the way of all barmaids pretty or otherwise, but I managed to keep myself pure and unsullied.

Well, as pure unsullied as a girl can be who knows what a threesome is really like.

Given our shared secret, I think Jackie viewed me as both a close confidante and a potential danger but our friendship continued almost unaffected and we saw each other most days, if only for coffee.

I can’t tell you how painful it was to hear her making plans for all she and my beloved Johnny were going to do once she had conceived and later, once the baby was born. Several times I had to stick my car keys into my thigh to prevent myself crying.

I took out my frustration by sending increasingly explicit messages and photos of the mysterious married blonde to the most promising of my online correspondents.

***

“So we’re going to do it again when he comes home next weekend,” Jackie confided over the phone the following Saturday morning as I sat staring at my laptop and waiting to go to my lunchtime shift at the pub.

Johnny was in the USA on a long and important business trip and wasn’t due home until Friday evening.

“Do it?” I asked distracted by the surprisingly large number of emails the woman calling herself Fiddler’s Fancy had received over the weekend.

“Trying for a baby, silly! I’ll be at peak fertility again. I’m not going to mess it up this time!”

“I thought you were going to wait a few months,” I said.

Her disturbing words had snapped my full attention away from the highly sexual emails and back to my friend.

“I was going to wait but I keep feeling my biological clock ticking,” she laughed. “With my family’s medical history every month counts. And we might want more than one child too.”

A cold chill passed over me. If Johnny knew his wife was pregnant; that he was going to be a father then his whole attitude might change and my work would become much more difficult. There would be another important person involved; the baby. There would be another important reason to stay with his wife, whatever he believed she had done.

I had expected to have a few more months before the fertility cycle peaked again; a few more months to lay my traps. If Jackie got knocked up too soon, my whole plan might be scuppered. But what could I do?

The first thing I had to do was act the good friend Jackie believed me to be. With my knuckles white I forced myself to congratulate her on her strength of character, wish her good luck, assure her Johnny would be delighted, praise her good looks and self-control and offer to help in any way I could.

But I knew I had to create an opportunity quickly. After we had kissed our goodbyes I went to work then spent the afternoon making phone calls and sending emails.

For some of the messages I used another freshly-created email address.

When the phone calls were received there was no trace of local accent in the professional female voice the recipients heard.

***

“So I’ll be away until late tomorrow,” Jackie told me four days later.

It was Wednesday morning and as usual, we were standing in the kitchen of Fiddlers Cottage having yet another coffee before I went to the pub for yet another lunchtime shift. Johnny was due home around Thursday lunchtime; Jackie had been looking forward to an afternoon with him.

However, a series of anxious emails from a potentially lucrative new client in Bristol was calling her away for the day so Johnny would be coming home to an empty house.

“Will you make sure Jonathan is okay for me?” she asked innocently. “He’ll be a bit jetlagged and always needs a bit of TLC after an overseas trip. A friendly face would be good but then….” She looked around guiltily before continuing. “When I get back we’ll need a bit of private time, remember?”

I gritted my teeth and assured her I would be only too happy to greet her husband and my oldest friend on his return and would then make myself scarce so they could make all the babies they wanted in privacy. It would be painful to do so but my heart was racing.

The final phase of my plan had started.

“Who are these new clients?” I asked deliberately using the plural by mistake.

“There’s only one; he’s a young freelance designer who’s just come over from the US. He’s just landed a new account in Bristol but it’s a rush job and he needs local help urgently. I’ve worked with his new corporate client before so they recommended me.”

“A young, talented American designer?” I said in a suggestive voice. “Is he gorgeous, Jackie? Does he need a gopher in scruffy jeans? Has he got a friend?”

Jackie laughed.

“I’ve not seen him at all yet; it’s all been done by email. He’s booked a meeting room at the Marriott for tomorrow afternoon after he’s had the full brief from the company. He wants to start work right way, that’s why I’ll be late.”

“Congratulations! It sounds like a great opportunity,” I said, trying to keep my face straight.

In fact my friend was heading for disappointment; the great opportunity was mine.

“And don’t worry about Johnny. I’ll take care of him,” I added, my tummy rumbling with excitement.

“Thanks Robyn,” she smiled. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

***

I was at Fiddler’s Cottage early on Thursday morning making sure everything was ready. The desktop computer was on but sleeping, the web browser open, its browsing history undeleted and containing just the right combination of entries to reveal a certain pattern – with a little detective work of course.

I slipped the mobile phone I had registered in the name of the blonde occupant of Fiddler’s Cottage down the side of the sofa where it might have been accidentally dropped. It was switched on and there was a trail of calls and text messages in its memory.

Johnny arrived home just before ten o’clock, tired and a little grouchy after his long overnight flight. I smiled inwardly; a little bad temper on his part would do me no harm.

“Jackie asked me to make sure you were okay,” I smiled as I passed him a mug of freshly made tea and a plate of the chocolate biscuits which had always been his and my favourites.

“It’s sweet of you Robbie,” he smiled. “Do you know anything about this new client she’s seeing?”

I told him all Jackie had told me, trying to make it sound as exciting as possible.

“Why don’t you freshen up? I’ll make some more tea,” I suggested.

He was clearly disappointed that his wife wasn’t home but my presence seemed to please him and after he had showered and changed into jeans and a polo shirt – a combination that made him even more drop-dead-desirable to me - we sat in the kitchen and chatted for a while about his trip, the USA and his exciting job.

After half an hour I surreptitiously slipped my hand into the thigh pocket of my tomboy shorts and pressed the ‘send’ button on the new phone I had hidden there.

‘BEEP’

A satisfyingly loud electronic noise came through from the lounge.

“Was that your phone?” Johnny asked. I shook my head.

“Mine’s here,” I patted the pocket on my other thigh.

“So is mine,” he smiled, patting his breast pocket.

We chatted for a few minutes more.

‘BEEP’

A second, insistent sound came through. We ignored it for a while then I pressed the ‘send’ button on my hidden phone again.

‘BEEP BEEP’

“I’d better go and see what’s going on,” he said, rising to his feet and going through to the lounge.

I shrugged and followed as casually as I could. For a few moments he searched for the phone without success.

‘BEEP’

“Aha! Got it!”

Johnny plunged his hand down the side of the sofa, pulled the phone from its hiding place triumphantly and looked at it, puzzled.

“I don’t recognise this,” he said, turning it over in his hand.

‘BEEP’

I could see a message appear on the black screen then fade. Johnny looked at it, first casually then with an intensity that was a bit frightening.

“What the...?”

“What is it Johnny?” I asked anxiously.

He simply handed me the handset. I touched the button and the screen came to life.

‘Marriott room 237 same as last time. Big bed. Can’t wait to see you again Mrs P xxx’

I stared at the screen as if dumbfounded until the message disappeared again.

“What’s going on, Robbie?” Johnny asked coldly.

“I... I don’t know what you mean,” I replied deliberately unconvincingly.

“You’re her closest friend. Why is my wife going to a hotel bedroom at this time of the afternoon?

I waited a few moments before replying.

“She... she might be going to a meeting there.” It was a very weak idea and deliberately so. “She did say she was seeing a new client didn’t she?”

Johnny grunted.

“Call the hotel and ask,” I insisted. “It’s probably just a misunderstanding. She’s your wife; you can’t go on thinking these things about her! ”

“I suppose you’re right,” he grudgingly admitted. “Maybe it’s the jet-lag. Maybe I’m being over-sensitive.”

“Call them,” I said in as reassuring a voice as I could manage. “I will if you don’t want to.”

A few minutes later Johnny was on the phone to reception at the Bristol Marriott. Having booked the room myself, I could almost predict word for word what he would be hearing but had to make do with one half of the conversation.

“Hello? Hi! My name is Jonathan Preston. I’m calling to check whether my wife has booked a room for tonight. There was a bit of a misunderstanding. Can you help?”

“Yes. Mrs. Jackie Preston…” he said slowly. “Fiddler’s Cottage… yes?”

“She has? What room did she book? Oh, an early check-in too?”

“Has she checked in yet? Okay thank you. No, no message.”

He turned to face me as he hung up.

“Mrs. Jackie Preston has booked a king size room with an extra-large bed and champagne on arrival,” Johnny repeated slowly, staring at me directly. “Oh, and she’s expecting a guest to follow. They’re to send him straight up.”

His expression was pure anger.

“What’s the hell’s going on Robbie?” he demanded. “You’re her closest friend. What is going on?”

“I… I don’t know,” I stammered helplessly.

“I know you’re trying to protect her,” he growled. “But remember you were my friend before you were hers. My best friend, I thought!”

“I… I can’t say,” I protested.

Then Johnny went a little crazy, at first trying to read the messages on the rogue mobile then, when he couldn’t unlock it, stomping from room to room in search of any other evidence of his wife’s infidelity.

I remained in the lounge, listening to the banging and crashing going on upstairs until eventually I heard heavy footsteps and my beloved appeared in the doorway, his arms full of what seemed to be dirty washing.

“Look at this!” he yelled, hurling a pair of Jackie’s sexiest panties at me. I caught them and looked at him puzzled.

“What about them?” I asked.

“They were at the bottom of the washing basket. Look at the crotch!”

I looked and pretended to be amazed to find an off-white crispy stain on the pale satin.

“That’s semen, Robbie! Semen on my wife’s underwear!”

I didn’t reply. He was right; it was semen; semen I had put there from the pot hidden in my backpack; semen from my two lovers.

“And what about this?” he demanded, holding up a rumpled bedsheet with an equally crispy stain in its middle. “It’s the guest room undersheet where she wouldn’t expect anyone to look. That’s a semen stain too, Robbie. And there was a used condom stuck half way round the U-bend in the bathroom toilet.”

“Johnny... I don’t know what to say,” I stammered again, pleased with the effect I had been able to achieve on the sheet with a mixture of the remaining semen and my own freshly-produces juices.

“How long has this been going on? Who is he? Or should I ask who are they?”

But there was no opportunity for me to reply because at that moment his leg banged into the desk, the whole table rocked, the computer’s mouse moved and the screen spring into life.

Johnny span round in surprise then snarled at me.

“Now we’ll see what’s really going on!”

He sat down on the desk’s hard chair and set to work frantically on the computer.

“Johnny please don’t…” I began. “She… We…”

“Just fuck off, Robbie,” he half yelled. “If you won’t tell me then I’ll have to find out by myself.”

“Johnny please…”

”LEAVE ME ALONE!” he yelled then added, “Jesus! She hasn’t even deleted her history!”

“I’ll... I’ll leave you then…” I said softly as I backed to the door, the room full of rapid clicking sounds.

“Come back when she comes back. I want witnesses!” he shouted as I finally left him to his own anger.

***

It was nearly eight o’clock when I saw Jackie’s car drive past my window on its way to Fiddler’s Cottage. I ran as fast as I could through the empty streets, arriving just as the car doors were banging shut. Jackie looked angry herself but also excited as she opened the cottage’s front door opened and rushed inside, leaving the door partly open.

I crossed the road, pushed the door silently open and sneaked inside just as my friend bustled into the lounge, her beaming, delighted but exhausted face turning to greet her much-missed husband. She took two quick steps towards him and threw her arms around him… to find cold, stiff, unwelcoming iceberg of a man.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Did you have a bad flight? I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’d better leave you to it,” I said, making for the open front door.

“Wait, Robbie,” Johnny snapped in a cold, emotionless voice. “I think I’d prefer it if you stayed.”

Sensing his hostility, Jackie released him and backed anxiously away.

“What is it Johnathan? What’s wrong?”

I backed into a corner of the room, my ears flapping, my eyes open wide.

“Where have you been today, Jackie?” he asked slowly and purposefully.

“I’ve been in Bristol, I told you,” she replied.

“What were you there for?”

“I was seeing a new client,” she said impatiently. “What is all this?”

“Did it go well?” he asked dangerously.

“Well no, as you ask, it didn’t. No-one showed up. I went to the hotel and waited in the lobby but he didn’t come to get me or even phone me. I emailed him but there was no reply. Then I asked at reception and found no-one had even booked a room.”

However true I knew it to be, it sounded very weak. This story was cutting no ice with her husband.

“What would you be doing with a client in a Marriott hotel bedroom anyway?”

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

“I wasn’t in a hotel bedroom with anyone. Why do you think…”

“Ha!” he laughed loudly and hollowly then picked up the newly-discovered mobile with its incriminating message on the screen. “So this message wasn’t sent to you? You’re not this Mrs Preston; you’re just a Mrs Preston who happens to live in the same house?”

“What are you talking about Johnathan? I’ve never seen that mobile before. You’re scaring me!”

“Are you having an affair Jackie? Are you sleeping with other men?”

“How can you ask me that?” Her fear suddenly turned to anger. “How dare you ask that? Who in God’s name has told you I’m having an affair?”

“So you deny it,” he stated, his voice dangerously cold.

“Of course I deny it! Stop talking this way.”

“You’re not having an affair?”

“No!”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“I’M NOT HAVING AN AFFAIR!” she was shouting now.

“So it was just a one night stand...