A repeating conversation

Hi, how are you?”

Fine, how are you?

Just sitting here working away.  Feeling a little tired…

So is that why you didn’t call?

Wha..?

I’m kidding.  I’m kidding.   You don’t have to call.  It’s not like you have an obligation to phone your ex-mistress.  I’ll just sit here by the phone, waiting…

So you had a hard day?

Yeah, the course I’m taking was tough today and I felt like an idiot.  Whatever happened to me?  I used to think I was so smart.  It’s all your fault.

How is that?

Because even though we’re not, you know, involved, I still find my mind wandering.

But I thought you told me that if we stopped doing it, you would be OK and wouldn’t be so needy.

Yeah, well, it’s an easy thing to say but I still miss seeing you.

Well, we’re talking on the phone.

And how did you do that?  One minute we’re involved and the next we’re discussing how to stay away from each other.  You’re so smooth.  You manoeuvred me into this.

How can you say that?  You told me that you didn’t like yourself when we made love because you became so wishy washy and needy and wanted me all the time.  So we discussed it and…

And now you don’t have to worry about me.  A weight is off your shoulders.  An albatross is no longer around your neck.  I’m telling you, you’re a real Don Juan.

Don Juan?  That’s someone who doesn’t really care for people and I care for you.   Why would I phone you otherwise?

Yes, it’s true, you’re very kind, you took your time dumping me.   It didn’t happen all at once.  And actually, I like talking to you.

You like talking to me because I listen, I listen because I care and I care because I like you.

You’re so funny.  I’m smiling.  Can you hear me smiling?  It’s because you say the nicest things.  I really miss having you to talk to.

But I talk to you on the phone.

Yes, but I can’t hug you on the phone.  I did tell you that you’re a great hugger.

My problem is that when I hug you, I want to do more and one thing leads to another and then…

And then we go up to my bed and ….My god! I can’t believe you’ve seen me naked!  Nobody sees me naked, not even my own sister!

And then, we make love and you get all wishy washy, and dreamy and needy and you want me there all the time.  You know I can’t do that.

Yes, yes, you’re married.   Do you have to rub it in?   We committed adultery, OK?  Is that what you wanted to hear?

No, that’s not the point.  The point is you can’t seem to enjoy our time together without making me feel guilty or becoming extremely demanding and needy, wanting me to come see you every day, wanting to know where I’ve been and what I’ve done, if I miss a call.   We’ve been over all this.

Well, could you come over once in a while just to talk?  You think just like a woman about relationships and I love talking to you.  It’s like talking to a girl friend.

That’s a turn on.

No, No, I mean it.  You’re such a great listener and you give me such great advice.  Why should I give that up?

You don’t have to.  Here I am on the phone…

Phone, shmone.  I want to talk to you in person.   Just come over and give me a hug.

No kisses?

Well, you’re a great kisser, but if it’ll keep you happy, we’ll say no kissing, just hugging.   I read where people need hugs to stay healthy.

So I should come over and hug you once in a while, just to keep you in good health, is that it?

That’s it, that’s  perfect.  As long as I can squeeze your ass a little bit.

Well, I suppose a little bit wouldn’t hurt.

Did I say that out loud?  I was just thinking it and somehow it popped out.   So when will you come over?

Sometime next week.

We can’t make a date?  You’re going to leave me wondering and I’ll be sitting here anxiously wondering, will he phone, will he not phone and I’ll lose my concentration and won’t be able to do my course.

What about Tuesday?  About 3?

Tuesday at 3.   And what will we do?

I’ll come over, give you a hug, we’ll talk like girlfriends for a couple of hours and then as I leave, you’ll hug me and squeeze my butt.

You could stay longer.  And maybe I could handle the sex.

Hah, Hah… Not a chance!

Thinking of you

What shall I do?  Every day I wake thinking of you.  Your scent is in the air but disappears as I open my eyes as if I could smell you only through closed lids.

And when I close my eyes again, the scent is gone, evaporated by the coolish air around me.  It is too late.  I am back from my dreams and have to face the real world.

You have crept over me like a lovely hovering shadow.  Now even after I wake, your face and body float around me, no matter where I look.

I eat my cereal and cannot keep the thought of you at bay.  I wash and get dressed and when I brush my teeth, I feel your tongue inside my mouth.

These little flashes of you are like a drug I need more and more of.   In my car driving to work, I think of how long it would take to drive to you.  Do I really have to work today? 

I manage to drive with shaking hands to my office and there, the strange electric light acts like an antidote to dreams, driving your phantom far away.

But when the day is done, you reappear, your voice, your  sounds and sighs as we make love are tingling in my ears.  I see your body and swerve to keep from hitting a car.

The hungry look upon your face as you invite me in, the joy and gusto in our love and the distant regard to outer space when passion siezes you entire and shakes your being.

I remember every moment and want the time to pass, to bring me back to you even though I dread the ticking of the clock will mean I’m moving towards that end when I will lose your touch.

No matter.  Better to love you now and let come what may…later.   And when my final moment comes, I will think of you and smile.   I have been loved.  

Fear of losing you

I have had a mastectomy.  There.  I’ve said it.  I am boobless.   I feel so angry that I want to stick the fact in your face if not the boobs themselves.

If I wasn’t recovering from the surgery and wasn’t on the chemo and radiation treatment, maybe I might go on a shooting spree.

That’s all nonsense of course.   The doctor says to redirect my anger and use it to fight for my life.   I want to kill something or other, for sure.   When I am alone in bed with my husband, still bandaged and sore, I think, it might be myself that I want to be rid of.

He tries to reassure me but it how can I believe him?  Didn’t he used to say he loved my large breasts?   Didn’t he love to play with the nipples and kiss and fondle them?

I turn my back to him and he holds me from behind, curving his body around mine, the way he used to do after sex.  Now I wonder what he’s thinking.

I am on the look out for any change in the pressure of his arms.   Does he hesitate to hold me?   Is he reluctant to kiss me?  And yet, there are times when I cannot bear to look at him or worse yet, have him look at me.

I don’t want to see any expression of horror or disgust in his eyes.  And what if it’s pity?  Could I bear pity better than horror?  I am terribly afraid of what a changed look in those eyes will tell me.

And lately, I have felt myself in a green haze when he’s at work or not right next to me.

Is he thinking of me?   Is he looking at other women with longing and regret?   Is he checking porno sites on his computer?

What is he doing and what is in his mind?   And yet I restrain myself and do not ask him every five minutes where he’s been.  Apart from that first little while I have not phoned his work to see whether he’s at his desk. 

But I want to.   I can imagine him looking at women in his office.   I went to his office party last year and some of those women seemed to coming on to him when they were tipsy.

He’s a very gentle, noble man.   I wonder if I’ve been good enough to him.   Sometimes I’ve taken advantage of him, given him orders and he has always been the soul of compromise.   He never speaks roughly or meanly and his anger is the slow simmering type.   I know he restrains himself and holds his anger in.

I am sure he’s going to leave me, find someone who is kinder and warmer, someone in whose bosom he can bury his face when he is sad, or aroused.   I feel like half a person, like the better part of me is gone.

He tries to reassure me.   He says he loves me, not my body parts and I have not yet caught him looking away or cringing when he has seen the effects of the operation.   But I am waiting.

How long will he be able to keep up the pretense of being attracted to me?  Right now, my hair is falling out too and I have to wear a wig.  I cannot believe that he does not see the ugly hag that stands before my mirror every night before bed.

There are moments in my half sleep when I can feel my breasts, the nipples becoming erect.   It is a dream, a faint memory that will not completely fade.

I cannot bear it.   How can I go on? 

Yesterday, I saw him looking at a beautiful young blonde on the street and as soon as we entered the house, I started to harangue him about the chores he had not yet done.  

I still have the power of my lungs to get my revenge.  I will be avenged on him for being so kind to me in my agony and so gentle with me in my condition. 

There is no way he will not betray me.   It is only a matter of time.   Even if he is sincere now, it cannot last.   I have seen my body up close.   I am not blind and I do not believe he is either.

They say you should focus on the inner you.   But the inner me had breasts.   And how many parts can they take away before the inner me becomes less than it was?

Yes, yes, now he professes to love me.  His feelings for me are unchanged, he says.   But for me, the bell has tolled.  I sit in my room looking at my empty chest and wonder what he is doing now and how long will it be before I find the e-mails to his lover.  

No doubt I will live.   I am too angry to die.   I am already the woman scorned in anticipation.   All that is required is that other penny drop, tomorrow, in a few weeks or a few years.

And when it does, even God himself will not be able to hide from my fury at His injustice. 

Directing sex in the fantastic theatre

“I want you to appear interested in the art work,” I tell the actor, who moves stiffly like a marionette.

He bends at the waist, his nose almost touching the painting by Renoir but he has the same fixed smile on his face.

“No, no, no!” I exclaim.  I move his head a little higher and his whole upper torso moves up from the waist.  

“That’s a little better,” I say but am not completely satisfied.

“Now, you,” I say addressing the actress, who is today in the form of a rag doll, “you enter from the left and come up close to his body so he can somehow sense your presence.”

The actress, who is very docile and malleable, is walked slowly up to the actor from behind, one of her wildly swing arms, gently touching him on the elbow.

“Perfect, perfect,” I say and move the actor’s head slightly to the side so that he could possibly see the presence of the actress behind him.  I straighten him up slowly and bring his arm up so that his hand is cupping his chin between his forefinger and thumb.

“I’m going to have to work on facial expressions, I see,” I think as I notice the same fixed smile and red cheeks he had when he moved stiffly over to the painting in the first place.

I toss the actress’s head and she catches his elbow with her ears.

“Good improvisation!” I say.

The actor now turns stiffly to look at the actress, and although his turn is rigid and his expression is unchanged, I feel satisfaction in that he initiated the move himself.

“This is where you say, ‘I love Renoir and his sensuous use of white and shade.’  Then you, the actress, say, ‘I can feel the colours inside me.  The astonishing green and white fill me to the brim with excitement and at the same time, satisfaction.’

“This stimulates your interest.   You turn more fully towards her and smile.   She sees your smile and how your teeth and white shirt mirror the brightness of the painting.

“You are standing near others and their shadows on your body  and the way they create vivid contrasts on your dark green pants, grab her attention.

“She opens her eyes in astonishment at the beauty of you standing there and almost gasps.  You think she is about to faint so you reach out your hand and grasp hers introducing yourself.   She trembles but manages to look up at you and to return your handshake.

“The touch of your hands together has now set off a chain of events that nothing can stop.

“You wander together through the rest of the exhibit and you are constantly struck by how she focuses on the senses and feeling of fullness it creates in her.

“You move closer to her as you look at a painting together and breather in her perfume.  She senses your breath and turns to go to another picture.   You turn at the same time but in the opposite direction and you step into each other and then step back in confusion.

“He has felt the imprint of your breasts on his chest and you the actress have felt the growth of what, in this case, it is appropriate to call a woody.”

I chortle as I watch the wooden movements of my actor and the slow pace of his companion, who is content to follow where I lead her.  But I am annoyed.  There has to be a better way to do this.   I see a ballerina in the wings who is there to be the understudy and I call her in to take the actress’s place.   I myself take the place of the actor whose wooden acting I can no longer bear.

“This is a crucial point in the story and I have to get this right,” I say as I position the ballerina and myself.

“Alright, action!” I say.

I and the ballerina move apart and and feign a mutual blush.

“So sorry, I thought you were going the other way.”

We both say this at almost the same time and then we laugh.

Her mouth is filled with laughter and her red tongue and lips set off against the whiteness of her teeth remind me of fruit bursting with juice.

I tell her that I must see her outside in the corridor and she seems to look startled but takes my hand as I lead her to the side.

In the corridor, just off stage, I pull her close and whisper that, as part of our play, we need to go the cloakroom to get our coats before the rest of the members of the tour.

She follows me discretely down the hall into the dark room at the end and as she closes the door, I do not turn on the lights.

“I can’t see anything,” she whispers.

“I can’t either,” I answer, “it’s like wearing a blindfold.  We will have to feel our way.”

I reach out my hand slowly to where I heard her voice and feel her lips, her soft cheeks, her hair in a bun.

I move closer and untie the bun, her hair cascading over my hands.

She  reaches out her hands and feels my own face with her hand which I seize and start to kiss.

I hear her inhale sharply as I turn her hand over to kiss her palm and as I do so, I feel a sudden hunger for taste and touch and texture and move my tongue and lips up her arm.

The hairs on her arm tickle my tongue and I am inspired to blow on them.  She is shivering and her supple, firm body falls into mine.

She is now pulling my head down firmly to hers and we kiss, her tongue and lips with their redness and her white teeth, gleaming in my mind’s eye as I taste the saltiness of her mouth and the sweet perfume of her lipstick.

We are embracing and stumbling around, her arms running over my body as mine run over hers.   We hit a table and I flick a lamp switch that suddenly throws beams of light and shadow across the room.

She pushes me onto the table and her mouth runs over my white shirt kissing my nipples through the cloth, her hands reaching down to my green pants and feeling the material around my haunches.

Suddenly she is grabbing at my pants and pulling them off me, her head bending low and kissing me everywhere my pants are not.

She cups me with her hand fondling me through my white underwear and raising what was already excited even higher.

I lean back on the table as her mouth closes on the tip of my penis and engulfs it, slowly, slowly, twisting her tongue around it.

She pauses long enough to say, “I love the texture and shadow of your art; it fills me to completion.”

She brings her hands into play and strokes with both her lips and hands as if she is playing an instrument and I feel so overpowered with excitement that I can no longer sit still and raise her up and kiss her once more and we switch positions.   I am now kissing the inside of her thighs and licking the flesh from her knees to her vagina and it is she who is leaning back on her hands.

The moisture from her is literally dripping on to my tongue and she says, “I’ve always admired your work.”

I use my lips and tongue to kiss her lower lips as I kissed her upper, parthing them and darting my tongue in and out and feeling the smooth wet flesh surround my taste buds like a peach.

And she suddenly grabs my head and, panting, presses my face close against her as she raises her hips thrusting and an excess of juice and saliva runs down my chin as I push my tongue as far as it can go and she falls back on the table, breathing deeply.

And the light from the lamp throws into relief her white skin and pinkish lips and an interior red that is filled with fluid and I stand up and do up my pants and shirt and say, “I must be getting back to the stage.”

And she straightens out her own clothing and stands with me and fixes her hair back up in a bun with only one stray hair falling down the side of her cheek.

And I return to the stage, with her following and everyone is applauding.

“Well done, Renoir!” they say.  “Well done!”

And I bow and she curtsies and the curtain falls and I turn to her and say, “you played your part perfectly.”

And she looks at me and says, “I could not have done it without your eye for design and colour and movement.”

And when the curtain rises again, I bring out the original actors, one who stands stiffly with the same apple cheeked smile and the other who gazes vacantly into the audience as I hold up her limp body in the lights.

An erotic fable of witches and wizards

She was alone in a dark cell.   A young and inexperienced witch she had fallen prey to the charms of the evil wizard and his snake’s tongue.

There she was walking down the corridor of the hall when she saw him approaching.   She saw him from a distance and was fascinated by his smooth skull, the nose almost non-existent and the wide red mouth with its long tongue slithering in and out.

He was so slender in his black suit and cape, so light on his feet.   His shoulders were visibly broad even under the black and red cape and his slender waist and long flanks were like those on a male model.   He carried his hands folded in front of him.  They were long and slender like his fingers and arms.

She found herself blushing as she imagined being held by those supple arms that looked so strong and the tongue itself looked intriguing.   She felt the heat rise in her as she could picture how handy such a tongue might be in an erotic embrace.   She had the urge to examine it more closely and her lips parted slightly as he drew nearer.

His feet were long and slender like his other appendages and a thought flashed through her mind about what other parts of him might look like.

She was almost dreamy when he was upon her and she suddenly understood that he was not just light on his feet, he was hovering, like a bat.   She panicked and was unable to call on her own considerable charms in time to confound him.  He enfolded her in his cape and all went blank.

Until she woke here in this cell.

The evil wizard was known for what he did to young women.   If he used his tongue on her without her being able to use her own magic, she would be his slave forever.

She struggled and realized she was shackled to the wall by chains around her wrists.

She had no idea how long she had been unconscious but was certain he had not yet had his way with her.  She could resist him if she could only get her hands free.

She stood up when she suddenly heard a knock on the brick wall.  She kicked it with the back of her shoe and the sharp spike of her heel, magically endowed as it was, blasted out a hole.

She looked down and saw the head of her teen aged classmate appear.   He looked completely awkward as he usually did with his magic glasses sliding down his nose which was sniffling at the time.  His head was looking straight up her dress and he seemed wonder struck for a moment.

“What are you doing!” she asked. 

 ”Oh.  I was reconnoitering.   I just stuck my head through first.  I used my glasses to find you,” he whispered.  “Are you all right?”

“Yes I’m still fine.   I would know if he had used his magic tongue on me.   Can you fit through the hole?”

“Yes, give us a minute,” he said.  “I’m not that big.”

And sure enough, with a bit of struggle and wiggle, he squeezed through the hole and stood up before her.

He was not quite as tall she was and completely disheveled.   His wavy brown hair stuck out in different directions and his shirt was torn and dirty and hanging half out of his baggy trousers, which were worn and ripped at the knees.

Adjusting the glasses on his head, he said, “I see you are still untouched by the magic tongue.   I better get you out of there.”

“Well, hurry up, will you?  He could be here at any minute.”  She watched him fumble with the shackles on her wrists and mumbled half to herself, “what a nerd!”

He said, “What?”

“I said, is that a noise I heard?”

He paused and listened.  “I don’t think so.”

“I can’t use my real magic on you or he might hear,” he explained as he continued to fumble, as he had fumbled with her bra when they had been making out and she had finally gotten up in exasperation.

“My god, can’t you do any better!” she exclaimed just as he got one hand loose.

“SSShhh!” he hissed and that is when she realized the hissing was not stopping. 

With her free hand she pulled down the top of her dress and shone her two shining orbs into the darkness.

Two male voices, one closer and one further away and hissing said “Holy shit!”

Her rescuer fell down with the blast of light but the evil wizard managed to pull the cloak up in front of his eyes and advanced.

“I’ll have you soon enough,” his snake voice came through the gloom and she could see the flickering snake tongue shoot out from behind the cape, just missing her shining orbs. 

He managed to lick her face and she felt immediately drawn to its power.  She tried to take it into her mouth as he snapped it back and then it was on her lips, parting them and darting between them.

She was feeling faint as the tongue entered her mouth and massaged her.   It tasted so delicious and sweet, she wanted more, but a small voice in her head said, “resist!”  And then she heard her school mate say the words even louder as he stood in front of her, his hands massaging the light of her orbs so that it struck the evil wizard in the eye.

“AAArgh!” he cried and briefly retreated.

Her friend was now frantically rubbing the orbs trying to increase the light.  He touched the two knobs in the centre of the orbs and rubbed them as hard as he could.

“Not so hard,” she gasped.  “It only works if you rub them gently.”

He followed her instructions and glow from her chest started to fill the room.   He tried to use his own mouth magic on her by licking and sucking the tips.

Her knees started to buckle and she could only manage to murmur, “my god, that’s so good,” before she realized that his use of his mouth was having the wrong effect.

“Stop, stop,” she cried and as he moved his head she could see the snake like face coming closer.

“Do something!” she screamed and then her friend turned to face the evil wizard.

To her shock, she saw him pull down his pants and heard the evil wizard gasp, “No! Not that!”

“Yes, it’s true, I’ve been keeping this weapon under wraps.   I was not sure it was powerful enough to face you but you have forced me to use it.”

Her friend stepped out of his pants and started to maneouvre.   She caught a glimpse of his magnificent wand as he waved it casually in the wizard’s direction.

The wizard used his cape to defend himself and tried to flick his tongue at the stick which faced him but his tongue was not long enough to reach all the way and the light from the stiff rod was too bright for him to face.

And as she watched in fascination, her admiration for her school chum grew in leaps and bounds.   He handled the wand superbly and waved it in a weaving motion as if it itself were a snake.

The motion, produced a more and more intense heat in the room which she could feel in her own loins as the rod grew even larger. 

Suddenly a bright white stream of light shout out of the tip of the wand and burned right through the wizard’s cape and on to his face.

“Aaahh, it burns, it burns!”  he cried and was suddenly lifted off his feet by the force of the stream of light hitting him.

The wizard’s skin started to dissolve and her school mate advanced.  At the very last minute, the wizard managed to flick his tongue at his opponent whose own mouth was open at the time.  The wizard’s tongue entered even as his body was disappearing and with one last gasp he spat down his tongue all the venom he could muster and then he was gone.

The witch could not believe her eyes.   Her class mate, with the skewed glasses now turned to her with the largest wand she had ever seen.   She was blinded by it as he approached and easily freed her other hand.

“My god, you were so wonderful.  I didn’t realize… that your wand…was so huge!”

“I was always afraid to use its power,” he said with a slight hiss. 

“May I touch it?  You handled it so superbly.   What are its properties?”

As she said this her own dress slipped lower and her orbs were fully exposed.

“I think you will find it hassss medisssinal propertiesss and can heal all woundsss,”he said, his long tongue flickering out of his mouth and licking her all over.

She felt stunned.   First she felt tremendously excited by this tongue and moved her own mouth down to caress it.  Second, she had never expected this nerd to have such power.   Her hand closed on the rod between his legs and she stroked the smooth surface;  she was especially fascinated by the larger end of it where all the bright white light had come from and which now felt so silky.

As she felt his tongue move over her body, she felt weak once again.  She felt his body grow taller and his flanks grow sleeker. 

For a moment she was afraid the wizard had managed to pass his evil on but as she looked up into his face, she knew that only the tongue had been affected.  He still had the same warm brown eyes and wavy hair that now seemed comforting rather than comical.

She could not resist the tongue much longer and pulled the dress completely down.   Her orbs were shining and the centre of her body, her hidden charms now opened at his touch which she felt to be so gentle.

The light from his rod met a brilliant light from her centre which opened wide as if to welcome home a long lost friend.

His rod and her crucible joined and her head rolled back.   As she looked up at his face, he lifted her onto his hips, now much taller than she and as they moved slowly together, she tossed her head from side to side and felt the liquid light gush down her thighs.

As she let out a scream of pleasure just before she lost consciousness, she was aware that the light around them was almost as strong as a super nova and she knew that the evil wizard had failed.   He had only succeeded in passing on his snake’s tongue and body, but not his mind.   Now the gentle man with whom she was joined was the most powerful wizard in the world.

Finding hope

She was in high spirits.   At least her spirits were high compared to what she usually felt, which was almost dead to the world and its possiblities.

She had lost her children in a car accident, many years ago.   Her husband, who was driving, was never the same and had plunged into a deep depression.  Despite her best efforts she was never able to help lift him over the next fifteen years.  She had tried to keep in touch with their social circle but to no avail.   They all gradually drifted away as they felt their efforts at help being constantly rebuffed.   He had closed in on himself.

Eventually, she, a tall attractive woman with physical needs, found herself involved in some meaningless affairs, which she referred to as “drive-by sex”, with co-workers and younger men that she met when going to community events without her husband.

After a few years, even these no longer provided a real distraction.  They were too meaningless and she often found she needed to be high on liquor or drugs to do anything at all.   She stopped and went back to being a caregiver to her husband who never seemed to have noticed her flings, or if he had noticed, never indicated he cared.  It turned out that care giving could occupy her time and numb her needs without the after effects of her artificial intoxications.

When he had contracted cancer, it seemed it was something he had asked for, as if he had felt guilty and this was supposed to be some form of atonement.

He did not put up any fight and accepted the disease as his fate.   In fact he died within a month of the diagnosis, plunging rapidly into weakness and unconsciousness before succumbing to pneumonia in the hospital.

The doctors were dumbfounded that he had gone that quickly. 

“He should have been able to live much longer with this condition,” the principal physician had told her.

The funeral was a small affair.   That was over 10 years ago.

He had left her a reasonable fund but she lost a significant part of it in the Dot Com crash and was now facing the need to return to work quite late in life.

In the 10 years since his death, she had dried up emotionally but had plunged into volunteer work to keep her connection with life and humanity.   It was a tenuous link she had to constantly manage and reinforce.

This evening, she had worked up some enthusiasm about a topic that she was going to hear a panel discussion on, which was the cause of her more elevated spirits.

She showered and shaved her legs, put on her make up and donned her most attractive clothing even though she was conscious she was heavier than she should be.   She looked in the mirror and noticed the wrinkles in her neck and around her mouth, all of which shouted her age.  She took note of her wrinkled hands.

“God, how did I get so old?” she thought.  Out loud, she said, “I need a smoke!”  She went into her back yard to light up and breathed the air and the smoke deeply into her lungs.   She looked at the last rays of the sun and let them warm her face.   She smiled,”maybe I’ll meet somebody interesting.”

She chortled to herself, “Yeah, right!  All the good ones are either gay or married.”

But something about the lingering sun warmed her spirit as well and she put out the cigarette, got her purse from the house and set off for the evening.

The room at the community centre held a number of people but there were still some good seats near the front, so she moved closer to hear what the panelists had to say.

For once, she lost herself in the discussion.  A few of the panelists had views that outraged her and she was struggling to find the words to express her anger in an objective way when the question and answer period began.

A man to her left and in the row in front of her, stood up and started to speak.   At first she was angry that someone had beaten her to the punch but as he spoke, she realized he was saying exactly the kind of thing she had wanted to.   But he said it easily, objectively and calmly. 

She looked at him more closely.   He was tall and large, his head even larger proportionally than the rest of him.  He had a mane of woolly hair and he spoke with a voice that was deep and resonant.

She was astonished as he continued to articulate the very thoughts that were in her head so effortlessly.  He sat down and someone from the back yelled, “right on!”

As he turned towards the voice, he was smiling, a broad, generous smile without any hint of pride or superiority.   It happened in that moment.   She felt a rush of returning physical need and longing that she had not felt for years.  She took in his broad face, high cheek bones, deep brown eyes and thick lips in one glance and felt the blood rush to her own cheeks.

When he looked away, she was both glad at the relief from looking at the radiant face and at the same time, longing to see it again, the way we both look at and look away from the sun.

The rest of the evening, she felt unable to take her eyes from him.   She watched the way he sat, upright but with relaxed shoulders, the way he reacted to the panelist’s own response with a joke that made everyone laugh.

When the evening was over, she went up to him and nervously tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned to her with that generous smile and she felt the tongue cleave to her mouth.

He stood up and asked her how she enjoyed the evening.

That seemed to loosen her voice and she began to talk and to tell him how much she enjoyed the way he had asked the question and how he had successfully deflected the panelist’s point with his humour.

“Did you really like that?” he asked.  “I am glad you liked it although I hope the panelist did not feel too bad.”

She was taken aback.  She gave her name and stuck her hand while she was trying to understand his response but was completely unprepared for the gentleness of his touch when he took her own hand in his hand and shook it.

She felt sure he could see the flush in her face and looked down at the large hand that dwarfed her own.  She found herself looking at his large feet as well and a thought flitted across her mind, “I wonder if he is large all over.”

It was a brief thought but she almost gasped at its implications and quickly told him she was pleased to meet him but that she had to go.

She went out into the hall and felt her knees weaken.  His face, his hands, his large body and head were in her mind as she took the railing and started to walk down the steps to the front entrance.  Even as she walked she started to realize that this whole encounter had stimulated her in a way that was totally unexpected.

By the time she got home, she could not keep his image out of her mind.  She got undressed and looked into the bathroom mirror.   Her face was red still but as she looked down, she realized so were her breasts.   The nipples were standing erect and she reached up to cup them herself, imagining that he was doing it.  Unbelievably, she felt a rush between her legs and when she reached down, she felt completely wet.

She felt shocked.   She had not had this experience in years and here she was so excited just from a brief meeting.   She could not believe her own emotions or her own hopes.   She had lived so long without any hope at all, hadn’t she?  Or maybe something, some force had kept her going and this was just its opportunity to express itself, to free itself from chains of despair and cynicism in which had been trapped.

She went to bed but could not sleep.   She kept on thinking of him and touching herself to feel her own wetness.   She did not play with herself but she kept on thinking of him and her excitement did not abate.  She hugged her pillows and tossed and turned until, at some point, exhausted, her consciousness just evaporated.

She dreamed she was in a large dark forest and felt that unkown eyes were staring at her.    Perhaps  they were animals who would tear her limb from limb?   The forest was dark except for the light of bright shiny moon and her fear escalated as she realized she was naked and everyone could see her as she was, old and wrinkled.   She started to run, the branches brushing her face and drawing blood from her cheeks.

The moon shone relentlessly and a sharp fear stabbed her as she thought of the word “werewolf”.   She ran and ran.  Was that a howl she heard and she turned to look behind her.

She collided with a large furry beast and when she looked up she realized it was a bear, a huge bear with a huge head and a gaping mouth full of sharp teeth.

Before she could utter a word, the bear wrapped its paws around her and she feared her imminent death.

But the paws enfolded her gently and its head bent closely to hers and licked her face softly and she looked away.

She felt its hairy arms enfold her like a tent, and it spoke in a low resonant voice, “you are safe, you are safe.”

 The bear head came closer and it bent its muzzle and kissed her and she felt both warm and comforted and tremendously excited so she reached up and ran her hands through the fur, the soft curly fur and looked into the soft brown eyes of the bear.

And the bear somehow turned her so that he was enfolding her from behind and the paws were like giant hands caressing her.   And the bear whispered, “I want you,” and its hands were now reaching between her legs and softly, slowly smoothing her thighs and reaching higher until they parted her labia so quietly. 

And she moaned and felt her wetness erupt as the bear’s hands and fingers caressed her so softly and she awoke.

She was in her bed and the sun was peeking its head in through her window.   She was completely wet and when she got up to bathe she smiled.   The sun had signalled the beginning of another day.

How his cheating helped his wife get pregnant

He fumbled with the keys to his car and wondered what to do.   He had made an assignation with one of the women he worked with and his mind was racing.

His plan was to take her to a motel but now that he thought about it more, he remembered that he would have to register his car there and he did not want anyone to be able to trace this little escapade.

After all, he was married.   True, he had been depressed for the past few months as he and his wife had been trying to conceive without success.  The whole routine of being available when the conditions were ripe and running home to have sex, only to find out soon that nothing had happened had worn him down after about a year.   They were being evaluated for their fertility and he had been told his sperm “clumped” and was too concentrated.  He needed to thin it out.

He had met the woman at work but had only really noticed her lately, after she had given her notice.   She was moving out to British Columbia with her husband.

She was the stereotype of the small town, apple cheeked blonde, fresh, bright and seemingly innocent.   But he had realized her body was absolutely stunning once he had seen her in the tight fitting blouse and black pants she had worn to the going away party two weekends before her final day.

It was there that, as they talked, he had understood, she was not particularly thrilled about leaving.

“I have no idea what I’ll do there,” she said.  “Oh, I know it is a wonderful opportunity for my husband, but for me, I have to give up my job and plunge into the unknown.”

“But you are intelligent and are sure to get good recommendations,” he had said.  As she blushed, he could see the freckles on her nose more clearly and almost added, “and you’re so damned good looking,” but he didn’t.

They were alone on the back porch of the house where the party was being held.  It was late in the afternoon of a fall day.

The rays of the sun were coming from lower in the horizon and illuminated her creamy blouse as if it were gold.  Her hair, too was shining and luminescent.

She smiled amid her blushing and said, “you’ve always been kind and it’s nice of you to say so.  Do you really think I have a chance of landing something worthwhile?”

“Every time we’ve worked together, you’ve done a first rate job.  I know the boss thinks highly of you;  he’s complimented you on your work in front of everyone.”

She blushed again.  “I thought he was just trying to encourage me.”

“Are you kidding?  Who else has he complimented that way?”

“Well, I guess, no one that I’ve noticed.  But really I thought he was being kind because I was the new kid on the block.   And now I have to leave.”

He put his hand on hers.  “I know I’ll miss you,” he said.  “I love the way you laugh at my jokes.”

She laughed then too.  “Well, you are funny, you know.  I’m not the only one who laughs.”

“Still, where else am I going to find such a young good looking woman to laugh at what I say?”

“Oh, come on.  I’m twenty five.  How old can you be?”

“I’m thirty-five.   Compared to you, I’m an old man.”

“Hah!” she said, “I’ve seen you in your t-shirt when we were working overtime on the weekend.   Not so shabby.”

“So you noticed?  I wore it trying to impress you.”

She laughed again.  It was then that he noticed he still had his hand on hers and he could start to feel a tremble, whether his or hers, he could not tell.  

He stood and she rose at almost the same time, both saying at simultaneously, “well, I guess it’s time to go in.”

They both looked at each other, startled and laughed.   It was as they were laughing that he felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her.  He put his hand around her back and pulled her too him kissing her softly on the lips.

When she felt his arm around her, her eyes had opened wide as if in shock but as his face moved close to hers she closed them and kissed him back.   

She pulled back from him, her eyes troubled.  “What just happened?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered.  You were just so desirable at that precise moment and I felt swept away.  I…I…I just had to kiss you.”

They were standing there, not touching, but looking at each other seriously when the hostess came out and said, “Oh there you are.  We’re just about to drink a toast to you and your husband.  Why the serious look?  This is supposed to be a fun time.   Come on in.”

They both went in and did not talk for the rest of the evening.

At work the next week, she had come into his office and closed the door behind her. 

“Why did you kiss me?” she asked.  “I’ve been thinking about it since the party on Saturday.  What was that about?”

He stood up, went to her and embraced her.  For a moment, her body stiffened and then they were locked in a strong kiss, their lips so soft on each other, then kissing harder and deeper.   He put his hand behind her on her buttocks and she gasped, kissing him harder.

Suddenly, she pushed him away.  “I can’t do this.  I’m married.   I’m leaving for B.C.   I don’t believe in sex unless I am in love.”

“Are you in love with me?”

“No, well I don’t know, it’s confusing.  Do you love me?”

“I don’t know.  I do know that I desire you.   I want to make love to you.  You, your face, your body, everything excites me.”

He tried to pull her to him but she resisted, a troubled look on her face.  “Do you make love to everyone you’re attracted to?”

“No, but I have done this before.”

“You’ve had sex with someone who wasn’t your wife?  How could you?  Aren’t you afraid of falling in love with the woman you have sex with?”

“There’s always a risk.  But that’s part of the excitement.  Who knows whether it’ll take.  You have to try it to know.”

“I’m not sure,” she said.

“Does that mean that this is good bye?”

“I don’t know.  Everything is topsy turvy.  I don’t know how I feel.”

“Will you at least give me one last kiss before you leave?  I want to have some memory of you.  I want the feel of your lips on mine to be engraved there forever.”

She acquiesced.  “Good bye,” he said and as he kissed her, he reached down to her hips and buttocks again and inserted his hand underneath the waist band so that he could feel her more fully.

She gasped and kissed him strongly, “that feels more like hello than good bye.”

He glanced at the door and saw that it was locked.  He threw caution to the wind and moved his hands around to the front, undid the button and zipper of her jeans and inserted his hand under her panties.

“God, god,” she said, “what are you doing?”

He did not stop and started to massage her as he felt her wetness.  She leaned her head back, eyes closed and he whispered in her ear.

“We can’t really doing anything here.  Will you come with me on the weekend to somewhere we can be alone?”

“God,” she said, “I can hardly stand.  I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Will you come with me?”

“What will I tell my husband?”

“Just tell him you have some things to do at the office.  I’ll meet you here.”

That was a few days ago.   Now he was waiting for her to arrive from home at their designated meeting place, around the block from work.

He saw her in his rear view mirror and got out.  She was wearing a plaid shirt and jeans.   He kissed her quickly because you never know who might be walking by and they got into the car.   He drove to a shopping plaza across the street from the motel.

They got out of the car and walked across the street and he asked her to wait at the edge of the driveway, just out of the line of sight of the office.

He checked in at the office just carrying his brief case and explained that he was staying one night.  The clerk did not ask any questions once he had paid for the room in advance in cash.  From the office he had to walk across the courtyard to the main set of rooms, signalling to her to follow him as he did so.

He went to the door and and unlocked it.  She followed and entered behind him.

They were alone.

He was so excited, he could not speak.  His whole body was trembling and as he embraced he realized hers was too. 

He smelled her hair as she buried her head in his chest.  Then, he looked at her and said, “you are so beautiful.”

And that seemed to relax him.   He  took a deep breath and felt the tension seep out of him.

Now, he was all about undressing her slowly, kissing her everywhere that he removed an item of clothing.

She sighed every time he did so and once she was dressed only in her panties, they walked to the bed and pulled back the sheets.

She pulled off her panties and lay down.   He undressed except for his underwear, but the state of his excitement was obvious.   She was lying on the bed, one hand on her breasts, one covering her pudenda.  

He lay next to her and started to kiss her.   As he did so, her hands came up to his head.  He caressed her breasts and felt he was about to burst.   Suddenly he got up and moved to the edge of the bed.  He pulled her to the edge, her legs hanging over.   He leaned on her as she pulled his underwear down below his waist.   He stood up and completed the job and heard her gasp.  “You’re so big,” she said.

He knelt down and pleasured her with his mouth, her legs lying over his shoulder.    Once she had orgasmed, he rose up slowly between her legs lifting them on his shoulders as he stood.  He inserted himself into her slowly and moved into her with caution, as he wanted to make sure she could accommodate him.  He quickly realized she had nothing to fear and after some slow thrusting, she reached down and urged him on her hips rising to meet him.   He felt liquid coming out of himself before he could do anything and there was no sensation of orgasm.

They lay there for a moment, she thinking he had already come, he realizing that he was still engorged and then he started to move again.  She kissed him as she felt him move again.   Her legs were now bent back, her knees bent, as if she was doing a back flip.   He was thrusting harder and harder.   He cupped her breasts and massaged the nipples as he thrust and she moaned and called out his name.   He kept on for a few minutes before he felt the compulsion of his orgasm and he thrust even harder and faster as her legs began to shake and her head was moving from side to side.

He came and she was clutching his back and buttocks and lay still once again.   He rolled off her but they still kissed and he still caressed her everywhere that he could.   He was hard again in a very short while and was soon thrusting into her again, this time on his side.  He tried to drive himself completely into her and could feel their pubic bones collide.

The next orgasm, was if anything better than the first.   They lay side by side and kissed.   Her beauty astonished him, he wanted to feel her nakedness against his chest.   He wanted to feel every nook and cranny of her body and at the same time, urged her to run her hands all over him.  In a short while, he felt himself erect again and this time lay down on his back.   She straddled him and continued to ride him.   He encouraged her to use her hands on herself as she did so and in one shuddering spasmodic moment, she gave a giant groan and collapsed on top of him.   He then thrust even harder until he came again, feeling by this time, completely drained.

They lay together for a while and he realized that the afternoon had flown by.

It was almost three thirty.   His wife would expect him home soon. 

“When does your husband expect you home?” he asked.

She sat up suddenly and said, “My god it’s getting late.  He’s coming to pick me up at 4:00.

They jumped up and pulled their clothes on as quickly as possible.   They ran out of the room and down the driveway, little caring whether the clerk in the office noticed.

They made it to the shopping plaza and drove like a bat out of hell back to work to get there at 3:45.   He left her off and she went into the bathroom and fixed herself up while he drove around the block to his parking spot.  He straightened himself out in the car and then went into the building at 3:50.   They both left the building at about 4:00 and he stood with her while waiting for her husband.

Her husband arrived just two minutes after 4:00 and waved.   He shook hands with her and smiled.  She smiled and said, “will we see each other again?”

He smiled at her and answered, “at work next week until Friday, your last day.  Why don’t we talk then?”

She smiled, waved good bye and got into the car.

He walked back to the car and thought of her and her scent all the way.   He drove home to his wife, who told him she had to have sex because now was her time.

That turned out to be one of the most painful and difficult acts of sexual intercourse he had ever performed.  As luck would have it, however, his wife got pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl, the young woman left for B.C. with her husband and he never heard from her again. 

He always wondered after that if his wife would have gotten pregnant if he had not gotten rid of all the bad sperm by having the other sex first.

Confessions of a repressed lover

Most people who know me, are most familiar with my personality in a more or less depressed state.   That’s the way I have been for most of my life.

That’s the way I am now or I couldn’t sit here writing – or at least nothing that made any good sense.  That is how I get when I am a bit manic.

It’s happened relatively infrequently in my years on the planet and so most people who are familiar with me might not even recognize me.  Or they might put it down to a little mood swing.  You know, mild mannered by day, but a little pushy and aggressive at other times.

I hold a tight rein on myself as well as I can.   I met someone the other day who was surprised to learn that I was actually “that interested in sex” when she first met me many years ago.

When I am in my normal, low key state, I often do not react to women.   As I move out of it, I react internally but contain it.  This is when I feel a tightness in my chest and I find it difficult breathing.   I am squeezing my passion so hard, it cannot possiby get out and I sound as if I am straining at stool.

In order not to give the game away, I keep my mouth shut.   But when I reach the height of manic excitement, all the restraints seem to snap, I talk a mile a minute and I say or write whatever is on my mind.  I say it to whoever is listening and as I have a sense of humour, I can sometimes be very entertaining.   The same with writing. 

I don’t stay up for very long, and I inevitably feel fairly guilty about things I did when I was in the other state.   Since these are rare, I try to avoid other people during them. 

In one of those moods, I ended up making love to three different women in about a day and a half.   I was very ecstatic, on top of the world.  When I remembered that I was married I started to try to recall whether I had used a condom or not.   I could not recall because it wasn’t important.  

I reacted the same way when the policeman asked me if I had been wearing a seat belt during my head on collision.  “I don’t remember, officer,” is what I said but I have this suspicion that I was not wearing one.

So when I met this woman at a bar, the other day, I was out celebrating my retirement.   I had had a few beer.  Everyone from work was there and I made an entertaining speech and read a poem.   A woman at the next table, with her female friend, could hear everything I said.   When people at my table laughed, I could see her laughing too.

I mentioned how lucky we were to be at this bar, because it had a reputation for great entertainment and beautiful women.   I looked at the woman at the table when I said this and she did not look away.   Neither did her friend.

They looked to be about my age, which somehow gave me even more encouragement.   When my speech was finished,  I sauntered over, wearing my straw summer hat pushed back a little on my head.

“I couldn’t help noticing you laugh when I gave my little speech,” I said.  “I’m practicing to do stand up so maybe you could give me some feed back.   You interested?”

“Yes,” said one woman while the other remained silent.

I introduced myself and shook hands.  “What did you like?” I asked.  

She told me, and I looked at her eyes while she talked.   I was fascinated by her large dark eyes.   As I watched, they seemed to twinkle.  I caught a quick glimpse of her companion who was smiling slightly at the beginning and so I turned to her and asked what she thought as well.

She seemed taken aback but said, “oh, I agree with what she says.”

I started to tell them about how I loved to make people laugh.   It was such a connection.   I told them how I had gotten started and they were interested to hear how I had done performances, written a humour column and was now doing stand-up gigs.

I told them I was also a palm reader and offered to read their palms for free.   They were loosened up a bit and agreed.   I read the reluctant woman’s palm first and told her that although she was restrained, she would soom meet someone who truly loved her, would see through that defensive shell and love her for the person she was.

With the second one, I took longer.  I held her hand longer and told her, I was getting a mixed message, I needed time to understand all the information.   I massaged her hand with mine and turned it over.  I could see the faint mark of a ring on her left hand but it was no longer there.

I told her that she was both bold and restrained.   She was looking for adventure but she was unsure because she had been hurt in the past.   I told her that life was short and that she had to trust her instincts, she had to seize the moment and go with what would give her joy and pleasure.  When I said, “pleasure,” I lingered slightly on the “zh” sound and held the hand closer to my face and inhaled its perfume.

I closed my eyes and inhaled again.  When I opened them I saw her looking at me intently.  “You have so much insight,” she said.  Then she smiled and laughed.  “And you’re funny too.”

“Is that a good thing?” I asked.

“You don’t know how hard it is to find men… to find people with those qualities,” she blushed.

“Well, I can tell you and your friend are out for some fun and I don’t want to take up more of your time.   I better say good bye to my friends as well.  Do you mind if we exchange information?  I’d like to talk to you again.”

I handed them my card and got their names, phone numbers and e-mails in return.

When I stood up, I kissed each of their hands in turn and said, “it’s been a pleasure to meet.   I look forward to seeing you again.”  Again, I put the emphasis on the “zh” in pleasure and looked long into the eyes of the woman who had laughed hardest at my jokes.  As I left their table, I held onto her hand as long as I could.  I wanted to communicate that I felt that I was being torn away.

I went back to our table as high as a kite.   When I got home that night, my wife was already asleep and I went to sleep in my usual place in the TV room.

The next morning, I woke with a bit of a headache.  Then I remembered.   I had the two phone numbers and e-mails in my pocket.  

In my regular life I would have thrown them out.

This time, the mania has lasted.   It’s been three months now.  In my altered state, I decided to e-mail the woman who had been most attracted to me.  I have pursued her with flowers and converstation I hoped was witty and have been intimate with her a few times.  

Now it’s my down times that are few and far between.   During them, right now in fact, I know there will be a price to pay.   But the rest of the time, I am not so sure.   I am focused on something else.   Keeping that high for as long as possible.

So, lovers of the world, unite.  You have nothing to lose but your repressions.

Calendar girl

I am getting up as my husband lies facing the window, his back to me.  I hear the same quiet breathing I have listened to for 32 years.

It is odd that I find the sound both reassuring and enraging.  It’s always there, it’s been like a saftey net for me and my children.  But it is so bloody boring.   It never varies.   It never has, even when we were younger and making love like rabbits.  I found it calming then.  Now, it just irritates.   I’d like to stick a pin in to see if I can burst something instead of having this constant slow leak of air out of a deflated tire.

Speaking of deflated tires, his calm which at one time seemed to be centred in his head, has now spread to all his parts.   We haven’t had sex for months now.  But I’m quite pleased not to have to perform.   At least he has given me some space. 

Not that I have that much space.   Our older children have all moved out but our youngest son, Chuck, is still downstairs in his basement bedroom, sleeping or doing whatever young men of twenty do in the privacy of their beds when they are alone.

I don’t really care but I know I have to wake him before I leave for work at the college.  He has a doctor’s appointment and in my role as calendar keeper it’s my job to wake him at least once and so discharge my duty.   It has always fallen on me to keep track of these things, appointments, trips, doctor’s visits, interviews.   

My  husband has shifted even more of this onto me lately as he is constantly busy at the hospital doing doctor things.  Doctor things in the morning, doctor things in the evening, doctor things at supper time.  He has even slept in the hospital a number of times over the past few months.

But I have not objected.   It’s almost a relief not to have to spend all that time with him, listen to his boring jokes and hear his boring, even breathing.

What I really resent is that despite all that, I missed his even breathing in the mornings when he went to his medical conference in Calgary for a few days.   Instead of relief, I felt a bit anxious when I awoke to silence and an empty bed.

I have to admit, I have myself been really busy at work at the college.  If it wasn’t for my colleague Derek, this whole last while would have been unbearable.

Ah, Derek!  His rugged face, his wit all are such contrasts to my boring husband who has almost nothing to say about anything except medicine, which has lately consumed all his time and attention.   His promotion at the hospital seems to have given him the impression that now he had to really get serious – and if possible, even more boring than before.  Good old steady Bill.

I think of Derek again and smile.   He can so easily make me laugh.  And when we made love at his place on one of those evenings my husband was at the hospital, he was fantastic.  It was so exciting to be with him because he was so excited to be with me.  His lips were so wide and his tongue so gentle.  God!  I have to stop thinking about him and remember what I have to do.   

OK.   The coffee is on.  The toast is in the toaster.   I have got to…Well!  I am nearly scared out of my wits because there is my husband in the kitchen.   This is early for him.

“I’m just getting up,” he says.  “I’ll be down in a bit.  I really need to talk to you.   Can you stay after Chuck goes to his appointment?  It’s really important.”

My husband is wearing his serious face and I am a bit nervous.  Could  he have found out about Derek?   But no, he would be angrier, he wouldn’t just be serious.   Besides he couldn’t know about Derek or about the number of times we have been together.  I am the keeper of the calendar so I know where everybody is at all times.   He couldn’t know.

“Ah, I can try to rearrange some meetings I have, but it will take some phone calls.  Can’t it wait until this evening?”

“No,” my husband says, “it can’t wait.   But I have to get dressed first.  I’ll be down in a bit.  Just rearrange your meeting.”

And then he is gone.  I am on slow boil.  My husband is always like that.  He speaks to me as if he is giving orders to a nurse, not asking his wife for a favour.   I am in actuality a Dean at my college and yet he still treats me the same way as when we were first married, he the resident who had just won a valued placement and me the struggling graduate student trying to find a school where I could do my PhD.

Derek treats me as an equal, well almost as a superior because I am a full professor and he is younger than I am.  Huh!  I don’t know where that thought came from.   I just love the way he is with me, the way he kisses me everywhere and…

Damn!  I have to wake Chuck, and I better rearrange the meetings.   My husband did seem serious and we better get this over with.   I don’t avoid confrontations and I am not going to avoid this one, whatever it is.

I wake my son  and go upstairs to the kitchen where I make the phone calls needed to rearrange my morning.   As the keeper of the calendar, I can move things around a lot easier than the other two members of my family who are governed by it.

My son surprises me and gets up on time, gets washed and dressed, eats his breakfast and is out of the house in time to get to his doctor’s appointment.   Maybe I did train him right after all.

I have just a few minutes to go over the calendar and to see if there is something I missed.   Is there some way my husband could have found out about my romantic suppers with Derek?   After a careful review,  I am convinced he could not have found out.   But what if some gossip from school had called him?  Some neighbour?  One of our friends?

I am still wondering when my husband walks into the kitchen with his serious face on.

“My god, you look like thunder,”  I say, “what in heaven’s name is the matter?”

My husband, my serious, stable husband then looks at me and for a moment, just a nanosecond really, a tender wounded look crosses his face and he says, “I’m in love with somebody else.”

I am caught looking at him my mouth open to say something, but unable to speak in surprise.

“Don’t be so shocked,” he says. “You know we have been boring the life out of each other for the last few years, since the kids have moved out.  I have buried myself in my work and you are always at the college.  I could feel your indifference to me when we were making love.   That’s why I stopped.”

“But how?” I ask bewildred and sit down.

He laughed.  “Oh, it was easy enough.  I met this younger colleague at the hospital who is interested in the same field I am.   It is so easy for me to share with her and she just seems to appreciate me.    When I talk to you, your boredom is palpable.”

“How could you do this to me!”  I say more in reflex and shock than because I want to know.

“Come off it!  I was sure you knew.   Look how many times I told you I was sleeping at the hospital in the last few months.   You’re the keeper of the calendar.   You surely must have guessed that I wouldn’t all of a sudden decide to sleep elsewhere.”

“I thought it was your promotion and you being caught up with it, thinking you had to really devote yourself to it…. And all this time the only thing you’ve been devoted to is fucking some younger bimbo…!”

“I won’t have you talking about her that way.  She’s no bimbo unless you think a doctor with a postgraduate placement in neurology is a bimbo.  Look,” he says, his voice more conciliatory, “it just happened, OK?  Can’t you admit that we have grown apart?”

After a pause, during which I wonder whether to mention Derek and decide not to, I say, “Yes, you’re right.  We have grown bored with each other.   I admit it.   But what should we do now?”

“I want to go live with her.  I’m in love and don’t want to do this pretend thing any more.”

“But it’s been thirty-two years.   Shouldn’t we give it another try?  It’s kind of insane to throw what we have out the window.  Dividing our house and possessions will be impossible.”

“What do we have?  A boring routine which you so clearly disdain that it shows all over your face any time I come close to you and me sneaking off to grab a few moments of excitement and fulfillment?  I don’t think we can go on?”

“But what if we both change?”  I say.  “What if we recommit to each other?  What if we find ways to make our relationship more exciting?  Come on, you can’t just walk out.   Let’s give it another chance.”   I put my hand on his and put on my best contrite look.   I purse my lips in the way I know he finds exciting and bend my head forward always looking up at him, to show off my large brown eyes.   I’m feeling desperate.   I need that stability even as I crave excitement.   I do not want us to end like this.   Not right now.

Because he is predictable, he bends his face to mine and kisses me and I return the kiss as passionately as I can.   I pretend he is Derek and close my eyes.   He responds to my passion and we both stand up at the same time.

“I have been feeling guilty about this for weeks,” he says.  “I had to tell you.   I had to find out if you really wanted to go on.”

“Oh god, yes!” I say and say in truth, “I need you and don’t want you to go.”

We kiss again and then my husband sweeps me up in his arms.  

“Did you rearrange your meetings?” he asks hoarsely.

“I don’t have to be there until this afternoon.”

We go upstairs to our bedroom and make love as if it is our first time.   He is so passionate, almost as passionate as Derek.   I am commited to staying with him.

On the other hand,  I still control the calendar.  In the afterglow of sex in the morning, I start to think of Derek and his young eagerness to please.   I remember his delicious mouth, the lips so easy to chew.   I wonder if I can find a way to see him again.  I am staying with my husband.   But for how long only the calendar can tell.

Wife gives birth. Sex with others

Men like me are not very resistant to the charms of other women, especially when my wife has given birth and is not particularly interested in sex.

On one hot day in August, I had just assisted with the birth of one of our children.   I was nose to nose with the baby as it came out and I was looking on in amazement as first that head, then the rest of the body and a whole whack of liquid and goo came out of my wife’s body. 

Women are such heroes.  Can you imagine men trying to do this?  They’d be such whiners.  On the other hand, if they could actually do this, they would be women, which would make them OK.

All this to say that after witnessing the birth of a child, I was shaken, my insides all ajumble.   At the same time, my motor was revving and I was full of energy.

In those days, women actually stayed in the hospital for a week.  During that week, I had all sorts of visitors and helpers to take care of the other children.  After a few days of this, I was starting to feel cooped up.  The helpers and friends suggested I go out, to a movie with a friend perhaps.

I could not find any friends free so I headed out to the movie myself.   At the movie, in front of the theatre, I met a woman I hadn’t seen for some time but who I knew had a thing for me.  She approached me with a big smile on her face and gave me a hug.

“I heard through the grapevine that you are a father.  Was it a boy or a girl?  How much did it weigh?  Is everybody OK?”  And after a brief pause, “What on earth are you  doing here?”

“I was just taking an evening off.  The friends and family are with the kids and the wife and baby are still in the hospital for a few more days.  It was a girl, 7 pounds as usual and everybody’s fine.”

“You must be exhausted,” she said and put her hand on my arm.

“No, actually I am going stir crazy.  I am a little energized but could not find anything to do so I came here.   What about you?  Are you here with anybody?’

She blushed and admitted that for the first time in a long time she had decided to go see a movie she liked by herself.  She didn’t live far from the theatre so had decided to walk over on a whim.

We both enthused about how this was a coincidence and that it must be fate, etc.

“Listen,” I said, “maybe we could meet after the movie for a coffee?”

I watched her hesitate.  She was wearing a pair of tight pants and flimsy top.  I could see her nipples through the cotton top.

“Hey!” I exclaimed.  “You were always interested in dancing.  Are you really interested in this movie?  We could go to this great bar downtown where they have great music all night instead.”

“Are you serious?  But you’re a married man with a wife and kids…”

“Does that mean I’m dead?  Look, I just saw the birth of my daughter and it was the most amazing thing.   It inspires me.  I want to sing, to write poetry.   But tonight, I want to dance.  How about it?  Will you help me release all this energy?”

She said, “I really shouldn’t.  What if others see us?  They might get the wrong impression…”

“Who cares?  Public opinion be damned.   I’m happy and I want to enjoy it.  I want to live in the now.  Come with me, help me out,”  I said and pulled on her hand.

She looked at me with very large brown eyes under her lustrous brown wavy hair.   She looked doubtful.  I squeezed her hand gently and pulled her towards me.  “You will get extra points in heaven if you are kind to a joyous father,” I said.

Suddenly she smiled and allowed herself to be pulled along.  “I really shouldn’t but I’ve been cooped up myself for a while.   Just got over a cold.  So, why not?  Let’s go have some fun.  Besides,” she added, “this is all platonic, right?”

“Right, platonic fun and raunch.”

She laughed again and I put my arm around her shoulders as I led her to my car.

We drove to the bar and I regaled her with stories.  We were laughing all the way.  Once at the bar, we danced up a storm.  She was as energetic as I was.  After a few drinks and a lot of dances, it looked like it was getting  late so I suggested we take off.

She was a bit tipsy, breathless, laughing and shaking her shoulder length hair as she moved, “We just got started.  I’m all worked up now.  What am I going to do with you?”

“Whatever you want,” I answered, “except it really is getting late so I think we should go.”

She punched me playfully in the arm and stumbled against me, “and you promised me a night of fun and raunch,” she said.

I could feel her breasts through my shirt and put my arm around her shoulders. 

“Fun and raunch, OK,”  I said, “but we’ve already had a lot of fun.”

“Well, alright,” she said, “I suppose it’s the responsible thing to do.”  She got her things from the table and took her hand and led her to the car.

She stumbled as we approached the car and I caught her.  She looked up at me and said, “what am I going to do with you?”

I smiled and said, “anything you want.”  So she reached up, pulled down my face to hers and kissed me.

Suddenly she pushed me away.  “What are you doing!  You’re a married man!  I can’t be doing this!”

“But you kissed me!” I exclaimed.

“It doesn’t matter.  It was all your fault, getting me all worked up like that.  Well, I’m not going to let you drive me home and have sex with me if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Furthest thing from my mind,” I said.

“Why?  Is there something the matter with me?  I thought men always wanted to have sex?”

I laughed.  “Look, just get in the car and I’ll drive you home.”

She got into the car and sat with her head leaning back.

“You could ravish me right here in the car and I would be too weak to resist,” she said.

“Well, I have thought about it but it occurred to me it might be difficult while I’m driving.  Maybe later.”

“I knew you were thinking about sex,” she said and closed her eyes.

I took her to her apartment and decided to walk her to the door.  She seemed a bit wobbly so I let her lean on my shoulder as she held on to my arm.

When I got to the door, she fumbled for the key and handed it to me.  “You open it.  I’m not wearing my glasses.”

I opened the door and let her in.  I moved into the front entrance and flipped the switch.   When I looked back at her she was looking at me with a sly smile on her face.

“See how I got you into my apartment?”

“Do you want me to make you a coffee?” I volunteered.

“No,” she said with definiteness losing all trace of the drowsiness and tipsiness she had exhibited before.  “I just want to jump your bones.”

Before I could react, she moved into me, put her arms around me and started to kiss me.

I kissed back.  We stood in the embrace for a moment and she murmured, “God I’ve wanted you to do that for such a long time.”

Truth to say, I was still full of energy so I kissed her and moved my hands down her back as she bit my lower lip.

“God, I’m so evil,” she said.  Then, again, she stopped and pushed me away.  “What must you think of me!  You’re a married man with children.  We can’t do this!”

“But…”

“Oh shut up,” she said, “we’ll just stand here like this for a moment and then you’ll leave.   You don’t think I’m going to let you take me into the bedroom and make love to me do you?”

“Where is your bedroom?” I asked.

“I knew it,” she said, “all you’re interested in is sex.  And you are a new father and your wife is in the hospital.   You should be ashamed.”

“I just meant…”

“Yes, I know what you meant.  You think you can just put your hand on my breast like this,” she put my right hand on her breast, “and I’ll take off all my clothes.”

“No..”

“Oh god, I love the way you touch me,” she said and moved back into me now pressing her crotch against mine. 

I was getting more and more aroused by this routine.   It felt like another dance.

We continued like this for another twenty minutes, alternating between her making suggestions as to what I should do and expressing anger at my lust.

As she did so, we moved further and further into the apartment.  Eventually I was sitting beside her on the couch, French kissing her, feeling her breasts and she running her hands down my back to my buttocks. 

I bent over and kissed her crotch through the pants and she gasped, “My god, you are making me so wet.  You could have your way with me anytime.”

I lifter her top and started to kiss her nipples and make them erect.  She was moaning my name and “Oh god, oh god, I’m so evil, I’m so evil.”  Suddenly she pushed me away again and said, “No, I can’t do this with a married man.  It’s adultery.”

“It’s a good thing I am an adult then,” I said.

She laughed and collapsed into my arms.

Then she said, “how can I do this?  How can I do this?”

I pulled down her pants and started to excite her with my mouth and tongue.  She screamed and I moved onto her.   She frantically pulled down my pants and underwear and we were soon involved in another rythmic exercise.  She did not even remember to ask me about a condom, but I remembered to pull out before I climaxed.

By that time we were pressing into each other to try to get closer than our skin and bone, which  proved impossible but enjoyable.

As we cleaned up, she said, “You are so bad.  You are not an adult.  You are an adulterer.”

After I got dressed, she walked me to the door. 

“That was just the liquor and the dancing,” she said.  “It didn’t mean anything.  Don’t go thinking that just because we had sex once, you can come over anytime and have your way with me.  Just remember.  You’re a married man.”

I turned to go but she pulled me back and put my hand on her breast as she put her hand on my crotch.  “Just don’t forget me either,” she said.

I got home a little later than I thought I would and explained that I had met an aquaintance at the movie and had gone out with him afterwards for a night cap.  I apologized profusely.

But two things are true.   I did not go back to see the woman because, after all, I was a married man.   And I have never forgotten her and how she helped me express my joy at being a new father.