I heard Rumi wrestling with Pablo Neruda

I heard Rumi wrestling with Pablo Neruda in the park in Wakefield.

 

Their verses were clashing like arms and legs.

 

The dark water broke the light into white leaves rustling on the waves.

 

The dark light entered your eyes and made them black with desire.

 

The sun rode on the clouds like a boat and bobbed the one bright spot

 

That shone from the centre of your pupils.

 

Why does the light cause its opposite?

 

The eagle flew low over the water and called the count

 

As Neruda was lying pinned on the grass.

 

Your lips half opened as they read their poems

 

And I bent to close those soft fleshy gates to heaven

 

With my own awkward mouth

 

Like a cup seeking the nectar that will be poured into it.

 

Neruda heaves like a beast and sends Rumi skyward

 

Flying off like the dove that the eagle hunts.

 

He rises victorious and sinks his legs into the solid earth,

 

Clutching at our sides as we embrace.

 

I kiss you on a glorious day in the park in Wakefield.

 

 

How to keep the dogs at bay?

We walk into the wooded park

In the other world and stay.

But is there any way

To keep the dogs at bay?

 

The sun shines high

The air is cool

The lumbering trees

Surround our hill.

 

And we descend

Within our bubble

Within this world

Where we can stray.

 

But is there any way

To keep the dogs at bay?

 

The scent of flowering

Flows around us

The breeze just kisses us  

With lips so dry and fresh.

 

And water in the creek

Flows by us on the bank

And I kiss your open mouth

With my wet longing.

 

Just stay right there you say.

But is there any way?

And is there any way

To keep the dogs at bay?

 

Holding hands we walk the path,

The music from across the lake.

The huge and ancient trees

Hang down their leaves

 

And keep us safe

Together in our bed

Of greening grass and twisted sheets

Just stay right there you say.

 

But is there any way?

 

 

Like children in a bow’r of branch

We see the fruit of love and knowledge

Hanging low above our heads

And bite the juicy flesh.

 

We could not help but taste the pear

And as I move into your heart

My salty tongue meets yours

And stay right there you say.

 

But the world revolves.

It all dissolves

In liquid down our legs,

The remnant of the flowing river.

 

Where are we now?

The garden’s gone.

The trees are gone

The grass has disappeared.

 

And I am far again away.

So what remains to watch the dogs

Who wait to have their day?

 

Our love still joins us

Though we’re apart.

It stays right here and stays right there

and does not move. 

 

I close my eyes and see your face

And whisper to the wind,

“This is the way the way

To keep those dogs at bay.”

Driving through the Gatineau hills

Driving through the hills of Gatineau

I see the ancient giants of the Shield

Lift their bony heads and hands

Above their stone wracked bodies.

Bent and doubled by the earth

Flattened by the rain and wind

And dropped by disappearing ground.

Their mossy faces stare

From grass lined mounds

As bikers cycle up their sides

Like flies all swarming.

 

We stop to look at lakes

Like dull emeralds embedded in the

Bowls of crust

Upthrust and turned again

Like the mud pies of

God’s children

Hardened and baked

To receive the rush of water

From the depths of old and weathered soil.

We hear the birdsong echo through the tall pines,

The younglings of this forest

Who in their first exuberance,

Dare to claim it as their own.

 

We stand upon the crest

Of ridges cut by the saws of

Nature’s rumbling mantle

And see the flat lands around about

Painted with fields and roads and the sinuous blue river

That snakes its way around the borders of our vision.

We see the shape of the world

As if we could reach out

And touch the hazy circle’s edge

Sketched against a bright blue sky streaked with white scratches.

 

We kiss and chase away the flies who have no purchase.

We hold hands as if we too could claim this universe

And coddling the wonder and awe and beauty between us

We embrace to trap it in our hearts

And pulled by this force of nature

Together

We drive the beauty deeper in

Until we’re left breathless

And unable to speak

And unable to say in words

What we both now know.

O Love what wonders lie

In the Hills of Gatineau!

Love song for my wife

You remove the hand that’s on your shoulder.

 

“I’m doing taxes, can’t you see?”

 

You slip through my hug like water.

 

“It hurts my neck,” you say.

 

You evade the kiss that’s for your lips

 

And turn your cheek to receive it.

 

And shall I come to bed with you tonight?

 

“Oh, no.  Your snore won’t let me sleep.”

 

But when it’s cold, you insist I wear a hat.

 

In Winter: “The wind is blowing.  Wear a sweater.”

 

In Summer: “Make sure you wear a hat against the sun.”

 

Make sure you eat enough and drink your water.

 

Did you take your pill tonight?

 

And does your phone need charging?

 

I could sink almost beneath the weight of your concern.

 

And, when I sicken and lie dying

 

Why then perhaps you’ll take me in your arms

 

And hold me as you did when we were young.

 

A tear perhaps will drop upon my face

 

And I will look up to suck the love like moisture in a dry season.

 

And then perhaps your face leans low

 

Your lips brush against my own

 

And in a whisper none can hear but me, you say,

 

“You know I’ve always loved you.”

 

And with my dying breath, I’ll answer low

 

The mumbled words of my own.

 

And as you lean still closer to my mouth,

 

I’ll let my spirit out and you can clutch my body

 

And make it yours.

French tickle

She was lively and vivacious.   She was much younger than me.   She was a French speaker who worked in the same area as I did.  I was not the manager but one of the senior members of the staff who worked closely with the Assistant Deputy Minister.

The first time I met her, I was dumbstruck.  Her hair was long and lustrous, a shining light brown with hints of blonde and her eyes were blue.  She was wearing jeans and sandals and a loose blouse.

I shook her hand and as we were going to talk about the research I was interested in.  She was a recent graduate, working in our social research unit, and was just hired into a term position. 

Her oval face was slightly freckled, with very regular features but a mouth with lips which were a little on the thick side and when she laughed, her whole face lit up with her smile.

She was slender with noticeable hips and an informal offhand manner that was both challenging and teasing.

I held her hand a little longer than I should have, looking into her blue blue eyes.   She blushed and laughed and simply asked for her hand back.  

I felt the blood rush into my own cheeks and I felt warm both in my face and chest.  It was my turn to stumble and I mumbled something, like, “Excuse me, but I thought I knew you from somwhere else.”

Of course I did not.   She talked the whole time in a business like tone and when I questioned her, she defended every method she proposed.   When I suggested other methods that she did not agree with, she stated her position forcefully.

I felt completely blown away by her presence.   I kept stealing looks at her hair and shoulders, the light brown hair on her arms, that looked slender but well muscled.

We said good bye but I knew I would have the chance to see her again.

I met her often in the hallway after that.   She would often come to work on her bike, her hair done up in a bun, which she would let down once she was in the office.

She found out early on that I was married, but it did not seem to make any difference in the way she talked to me, open, direct and with an ear for humour.

It astonished me that she seemed to have lived so much even at the age of 23.   She had already lived with her boyfriend for a few years and now was in the process of breaking up with him.

I mentioned that it was too bad that she was breaking up and she laughed, “you don’t know my boyfriend.”

I asked if he was so terrible.  “Not really.  We’re just getting a little stale.   It’s time for me to move on.  Besides, who says I need to have a man in my life.   Maybe a little quiet will be good for me.  At least now I’ll get some sleep.”

She smiled as she said this last and gave me a wink.

I laughed and told her I would like to have lunch with her because I thought it was important for colleagues to get to know each other.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“How well you want to get to know me and where you want to go.  I like good food.”

I told her I wanted to go to the French restaurant down the street from our office.

“Ah, an excellent choice.   I think we will get to know each other quite well.”

Again she winked at me.

So there we were after work, in the fine French restaurant, eating mussels in cream sauce and drinking white wine, which she selected.

The food was delicious and she was brilliant company.  I watched her lick the mussel shell as she used her tongue to and perfect teeth to pull its contents into her mouth.  

She had worn a halter that showed off her strong brown shoulders and a dress that was just long enough to fully reveal her strong tanned legs.

I was drunk not only with the wine but with her superb appearance.

I could not take my eyes off her the whole time we were there.  I asked her about how she had gotten involved with her boyfriend and she had told me they were classmates working on the same degree.

I noted that she seemed so mature for her age.  She seemed to know what she wanted from life and did not appear to be shy about telling people what it was.

“Oh, when you study sociology in a French university, you have to learn quickly how to use your knowledge of groups and social interaction to make your way in the world.”

“How does that work?”  I asked.

She explained, “when you work in a group, you have to identify who are the important players, who are opinion leaders and who will help shape your fate as a participant.”

“How did your boyfriend fit into the picture?”

She laughed.  “He was a distraction.   He was very good looking and well built.   Not quite as smart as me, which I preferred at the time.   Now I am looking for men who are older and wiser.”

I perked up at this and gave her my full smile and could not help but looking deeply into her blue eyes as I sipped my wine.   I took a calculated bite out of the garlic bread and chewed it in my mouth feeling its full toasted texture and moist after-taste.

“I think the combination of youthful energy and enthusiasm with wisdom and experience is one that attracts me as well.”

I leaned forward as I said this and put my hand on hers.  She gently dislodged her hand and used it to pick up her glass.

“Let’s drink to the union of age and youth, then,” she said and crossed her legs.

We crossed arms at the elbows, which drew our faces together and drank the toast.

I was feeling as high as a kite.

“What are your plans for the future?”  I asked.

“Oh, I might want to stay on in the government, depending on the kind of job I am offered.”

As she said this, she rounded her full lips into the shape she used when speaking French and leaned forward.

She ate another mussel looking into my eyes and licked her lips.

“But you can have some influence on that,” she whispered. 

I smiled uncertainly.  “Me?  How?”

“Come closer and I will tell you.”

I leaned forward expecting to be propositioned.

She whispered, “I have heard you have the ear of the Assistant Deputy Minister.  You have what we called in our sociology and politics course, influence but not power.”

Not exactly sweet nothings.

I drew back and pulled my hand away.

She reached for my hand again and laughed confidently.  “Oh I was just teasing you,” she said.   “This is such a lovely meal.  Why do we have spoil it by talking about work?”

And the rest of the evening, she avoided the subject.  Yet, I had been seized by a horrible suspicion that would not let go of me.   The blood and warmth left my cheeks and my chest and I stopped drinking the wine.

We kept on a banter about other things, very light, very light but it felt like a game of scrabble.   Interesting but not evoking any passion in me, just a clearer more objective assessment of her.

When the bill came, I took it and put it on my credit card.   We shook hands and I offered to give her a lift.   She declined and said she would take a taxi.   By that time I felt stone cold sober so in the cool evening, I walked to my car around the corner.  I usually parked in the garage at work but today I had parked by the restaurant because of our date.

I drove around the corner and as I passed the restaurant I saw her get into a car with a man who was old enough to be her father.   She gave him a strong embrace that did not look very daughterly.

As I sped home, all I could think of was her face, the light touch of her fingers and the cool judgment of her cool eyes whose test I had not passed.   In spite of the feeling that she was using me, I realized that I had not given in her to charms out of cold principle.   I still wanted her, to caress that body and kiss those lips.   No, I just knew any recommendation coming from me to my boss would not wash, especially since my attraction to her was so obvious.

I still wonder whether, if I had been more objective, more of a conman, I could not have tickled the tickler and found a way of having her.

Carnal pleasure in a Chinese restaurant

There we were in a Chinese restaurant, eating a pleasant meal together.   You ordered the lemon chicken and I took the bean curds and vegetables in black bean sauce.

The waitress brought us the hot spring and egg rolls first and we sprinkled them lightly with plum sauce that dripped down the sides and engulfed the long thick rolls in liquid honey.

We smiled and carefully inserted the rolls into our rounded mouths, biting the tips just so and our tongues were tanged by the heat and sauce and crunchy skin.

From the corner of my eye, I watched you lick the corner of your mouth with your tongue and my hand was shaking as I poured the tea in small round cups.

“Why are you shaking?” you asked.

“I’m a bit atwitter,” I smiled and you laughed.

The waitress brought the hot steamed rice next, whose vapour we could breathe as we each took a serving.

The lemon chicken in its orange-yellow sauce came with the delicious mixed vegetables soaked in sauce and with our chopsticks, we took our share.

And as we smiled and looked into each other’s eyes, we licked the chicken and vegetables into our mouth and carefully chewed the hot, hot food.

And we smiled and daintily wiped the corners of our mouths as the juice and sauce and saliva were bursting through the futile muscles of the lips.

And I could feel you breathing in the aromas of the chicken and bean curds and the the garlic and the rice.

And for a moment, it was as if we had one mouth and one tongue, one set of lips and teeth, one nose with nostrils flaring and our four hands were moving the chopsticks like instruments.

And when you looked at me through your eyes, I was shocked back into my body to see you there, your mouth smiling and gently chewing on the meat.

Were you licking your own lips or mine and whose tongue was twisting in my mouth?

And was that the sauce I was sipping or your own juices overflowing in my mouth, the taste of you between my lips?

And the carnal pleasure took us together as two sprits incarnated in one body, eating Chinese on a late summer afternoon. 

Missing my chance

I was invited to a sweet sixteen.  I was the date of the girl whose birthday it was.   She was a brunette, statuesque but tending toward the heavy side.  In those days girls had these hair cuts like beehives on their heads, held solid by hairspray.  

When I danced with her, her hair stuck to my cheek like candy floss.  It had about the same consistency, but a bit stiffer, as if she had coated her hair in viagra or dried semen.

I was polite.   I laughed politely.  I danced politely and, given the feel of her hair, ended up by dancing with her at arms length.  She commented on how classy she thought I was not to try and squeeze her the way “other boys” did.   She winked at me and tried to pull me closer but my chest refused to touch those outthrust breasts reinforced by metal struts.

We played charades and for some reason, I was very good.   I made everyone laugh with my imitations.   As the evening wore on, other girls asked me to dance as well.

We did the twist, a specialty of mine and in those days, I could twist vigorously for hours.  The sweat poured off me and my shirt was sopping.   My date no longer tried to pull me close but looked at me disdainfully.

Another girl, her smaller breasts bouncing more loosely in her dress, had no qualms about pulling me close.   She wanted every slow dance with me and by the third slow dance was glued to me from top to toe.

I reached down and pulled her into me.  Too bad the dresses were so frilly and puffy, I could not actually feel her.   But her breasts pressed nicely into my chest, well my upper abdomen, she was a bit short.   She buried her head in my shoulder and her small arms reached up to hold the back of my head.

During one slow dance when we turned out the lights, she pulled my head down and bit my ear.  “Why don’t you come and visit me at my house?  It’s summer and I’m not working.   We could dance some more like this.   You’re a really great slow dancer.”

I got her number and towards the end of the evening, I managed to walk her to the door where I kissed her in the dark outside.   She french kissed me and I squeezed her buttocks.

When we parted and I shook her hand, we held on for as long as possible as she turned slowly away to walk to her house in the neighbourhood.

I was on top of the world.   I had made a date to see her for Thursday and this was Saturday night.

Back in the house, my date was standing with her arms crossed and her beehive starting to collapse.

“Oh, there you are,” she said.  “I was wondering where you had gotten to?  You seemed to pay a lot of attention to that little slut!”

“Her?  Oh, I just walked her out because she wanted to ask me something,” I said innocently and kissed the sweaty, puffy hand of my date, which seemed to mollify her.

The other boys at the party had not come with dates and it was by chance that one asked me to give him a lift. 

I agreed and as we got into the car, he noted, “I saw you dancing with that hot little number tonight.   She is really something.   Did you get lucky?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Didn’t she invite you over to her place?  I think she invited every guy there for at least one day.  I’m going on Tuesday.   What about you?”

“Uh, Thursday,” I said and fell silent.   He kept on talking about something or other but I didn’t feel like talking.  

You would think that someone who had just been making out with a girl other than his own date, might not have taken this information so seriously.   You would be wrong.

It hurt my ego to think she was just as interested in this little twerp as she was in me, funny, smart, athletic and handsome.

But there it was.

I didn’t go to her place on Thursday out of sheer jealousy and ego.   Looking back on it from the distance several decades, I am not sure that I didn’t miss out on a fun time just for spite.

Maybe if I close my eyes, she will invite me again and this time, even though she probably enoyed the favours of others, I would go.

How my wife helped me romance other women

First, let me state the obvious.  I really love my wife and I would do almost anything to avoid hurting her feelings. 

But second, there I was pursuing another woman for her sexual favours while my wife was busy with her work.   This sounds bad I know, but you should always know the whole truth before jumping to conclusions.

You see, my wife has a condition which means she cannot have sex with me.   She, is in her particular way, an invalid.  It’s worse than that.   She finds it painful if I hug her.   The highlight of my month is when I hug her once or twice on the rare occasion she is feeling less pain.

Does that make me more sympathetic?  What else can I tell you to appeal to your sense of decency and fair play?  Well over the last 20 years, I have managed to keep myself away from other women.   Yes, it’s true.   I have kept it in my pants for twenty years.  I feel that is an accomplishment for a man.   Don’t I deserve a medal or something?

The last few months, I have decided to give myself some kind of reward.   No one else will.  So I started to flirt with women who find me attractive.   I hadn’t done this for so long, I wasn’t sure I knew how.

A few times I have visited women who find me attractive in their homes.  Well one thing has led to another.   And the other thing has occurred now a few times.   It reminded me of how much I still had to learn about lovemaking.   And although I am an old dog, I think I can still learn new tricks.

One of the things  I have learned is to be more romantic, giving and generous in my lovemaking.   This is a good thing to learn, no?   Secretly, I would like to show my spouse what I have learned, but I am never able to do so.

This puts me in the odd position of being more romantic with the women I see than with my wife.  So I bring them flowers on occasion, flowers that suits the particular person I am seeing.

And whenever I do so, I think, it is too bad my spouse would see this flower bringing as out of character, if I brought her some.   She would ask me what I had done wrong!

There is something burdensome about this flower buying though – the cost.   Once you have bought several bouquets, you will know what I mean.   So, I was somewhat preoccupied with my bills and got a print out from the bank to make sure I still had enough money in my own account to pay for things I did not want my wife to know about.

My wife’s attitude towards my infidelity by the way, is an interesting one.  It is like the American Army’s attitude to Gays and Lesbians: Don’t ask and don’t tell.   As long as I keep her ignorant of my extracurricular activities and do not let them interfere with my domestic duties, she does not ask; but this is a fine line that I walk.

So, as I mentioned, I have this private account, where I keep small amounts of money – mad money if you will.   I can buy condoms and other equipment, and of course flowers.

And as I mentioned I got a printout to go over how much money I had left for that month.   The number of women I could buy flowers for was, after all, limited by the sum available in the bank!

So on the one hand, I am very lucky because I have this free time that allows me to see as many women as I can squeeze into my calendar.   On the other hand, my resources are finite.   And on the third hand, although I always make sure to hide away condoms and other devices, I don’t always pay attention to what I do with my bank account print outs.  

So, there I was one afternoon, with a woman whose company I found so enjoyable and who apparently enjoyed mine in return.   And we were doing the horizontal cha cha at her place when my cell phone rang.

Without thinking, I picked up the cell phone with my free hand and said, “hello.”

“Hello,” said my wife, “where have I caught you?”

For the briefest second, I thought of saying, “in flagrante delicto,” but I knew she understood Italian and Latin.   So, instead, I said, “I was just lying down for a moment.  I’m feeling a bit groggy.”   I could have said “a little aroused” but I thought “groggy” was better.

“Well, where are you lying down, as I am at home and you’re not here.”

I sat up quickly and the part of me that was standing up, now lay down almost instantly.

“You came home early!” I exclaimed, stating the obvious.

“Yes, I was feeling tired after being at work so late yesterday, so I came home.   Where are you?”

“I’m at the Recreation Centre.   I used the library and read for a while and got so sleepy, I came here into the lounge.   I fell asleep.   What time is it, anyway?”

“Almost 4 o’clock.   Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to ask you,” she said. 

There was an ominous pause.

“I found a print out of your bank account expenditures for the last ten days and there are two items for flowers at the Florists.  Why in heaven’s name did you buy flowers?”

“Oh, the flowers.”  I said.   There are times when my brain works fast.   There are other times when it doesn’t.  All I could think of to say was – the truth.

“Oh, I was invited over to a friend’s place and that being my first visit, I thought it important to bring flowers as a sort of housewarming.”

“That doesn’t sound like you.   Did you do something wrong?  This was a friend?   Why did you buy flowers twice?”

“Twice?” I said, flubbered.  “I don’t remember twice, but I am sure I bought flowers to bring over to my friend’s place.”

“What friend?”  she asked and then named some of the women friends I had.

I could have said yes.  Instead I said, “no, as I said, I bought them for a friend who invited me over to her place for lunch.”

There was a pause and I really thought I was in for a confrontation, as I stared at the naked woman in front of me.

My wife said, “Oh, I don’t really care.”   The tension evaporated.

“But,” she added, “the next time you buy flowers, buy them at the supermarket.  They’re a lot cheaper than at the florists.”

“Ok,” I said and cupped the breast of the woman sitting next to me.  “I promise.”

“When will you be home?” my wife asked.  “Anyway, when you come in don’t make noise because I am going up for a nap.”

“It shouldn’t be long,” I said.  “I’ll be quiet.”

I hung up and turned to the woman I was with.

“Where were we?” I asked.

She showed me.

But the great thing is, since I have started buying flowers at the supermarket, I have been even more busy than before.  You get more flowers for the same price.

Love and berries in the park

The thunder rolled across the distance as we set up our picnic.

“Oh, it won’t rain,” I said.

“Nothing can rain on our parade at any rate,” she replied.

She was opening the wine and smiled as she inserted the corkscrew in the cork and pushed it in.

“I think this is a job for a man,” she said, her eyes sparkling and handed it over to me.

I turned the screw and pushed it in.  She was laughing and licking her lips.

I pulled the cork out slowly until it popped and then smelled the cork. 

She had gotten out the plastic glasses and then I poured.

The cheese and crackers were spread out before us on napkins.

“A feast for a king and queen,” I said.  “To your health.”

We clinked the glasses although there was no real clink, just the one we imagined.

We sat down to our repast and savoured every piece.  I watched her as she bit into the crackers and then the cheese, rolling them around her mouth.

“MMM,” she said, “I love to eat.   I love the odours and the tastes.  It gets my juices flowing.”   She winked at me and I winked back, licking my lips from the wine.

We were just about finished when a few drops began to fall.

“It might not rain on our parade but it looks like it will rain on our picnic,” I said.  “And we haven’t even finished the wine yet.”

“Let’s head for higher ground,” she said and pointed to the pavillion about 50 yards away.

As we gathered up our food, we looked around and the park was almost deserted where a few minutes before there had been squirrels and birds and people.

Now only the gulls continued their rounds looking for crumbs in the grass.  It was very dark.

We ran with our arms full and just made it as the skies opened up, the wind ratcheted up and thunder rolled across the sky.

The pavillion overhung the steps so we set up camp on the stairs and sat together, sipping the last of the wine.

A bolt of lightning flashed not too far from us and the crack was enough to deafen a small child.

I put my arm around her and said, “I hope you’ll protect me from harm.”

She laughed and pinched me.   “Looks like I have to inspire some courage in you.”  She pinched me again.

I sat up straight and pulled her to me, kissing her softly on the lips.  She was looking at me with her twinkling eyes and said, “we haven’t had dessert yet.”

She brought out some blueberries and rasberries and said, “We can eat these by putting some yogurt on them or, we could eat them this way.”

She placed a berry between her lips and kissed me, pushing the berry into my mouth with her tongue.   I tasted the juice and the wine on her breath.

“Well?” she said after pulling away.

“More please,” I said and took a berry and performed the same operation on her.

We finished the berries and continued to kiss.   Now I had her in my arms and we were french kissing.   I ran my hands up and down her back and then moved them to her thighs.  Her own hand reached down massaged my buttocks.

“I’m so wet,” she said. 

“It’s the rain,” I said between kisses.

“I don’t think so,” she said. 

I caressed her breasts and she gasped.   This made me feel that perhaps it was not the rain that made her damp.  I reached down and felt her crotch and felt the moisture through her pants.

“It’s at times like this that I wish we could lie down,”  I said and looked around.   There was no one in front of us but there were a few people at the back of the pavillion.   One couple was making out against the back ballustrade.  Another was just standing at the side looking out at the rain with their bicycles.

“These people must be fools to be out in the rain,” she said.

I agreed and kissed her hungrily one more time.  She moved totally into the embrace and I moved my hand underneath her jersey.

“I don’t think we can do this in public,” she said.

We shifted apart.

“More wine?” I said and poured us each another glass, the last of what was in the bottle.

We sat and watched the rain slow, as we held hands and sipped our wine.

The trees and bushed which had been throwing themselves about as if they had a fit, just a moment before, were now slowly waving to us.

The couple on bicylces left the pavillion and we continued to kiss a bit more.   I nuzzled her neck and admired the nape. 

The clouds started to dissipate and a hot sun peaked out from behind them.

We started to swelter and after a minute or two, the squirrels were back frolicking in the grass and people were pulling up in cars to wander around the grounds.  She lit up a cigarette and took some deep drags.

“I haven’t done this for a long time,” I said.   “I feel so calm and … free.”

She looked at me and smiled, “Well, the pleasure was all mine and I am still vibrating from the feel of your tongue.”

We stood up and held hands.   After putting the bottle in the recycle, throwing out the garbage and gathering the remaining food up, we walked down from the pavillion towards the car.

I had my hand around her shoulder and she had hers around my waist.

“I haven’t felt like this for ages,” I said.

“Listen,” she said, “you don’t owe me anything.   If we should get together again, I will be very happy.   But the ball is in your court.”

“It’s a good thing I know how to play tennis I said and hugged her.   Just before we got into the car, I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply.   She responded and I could taste the cigarettes.

“This is a better way to get the taste of cigarettes,” I said and opened the car door.

She got in.    I walked around the other side and paused to look at the view, the trees and the river visible through them.

If only life were not so bloody complicated I thought, it could always be like this.   I looked at my watch and knew I could make it in time to pick up my wife at the office.

I got into the car, my shoulders slumping as I felt some weight reassert itself on them, as if I had been weightless and had just re-entered a gravitational field.  I turned on the car and we drove off.

My husband would never do that

My husband would never do that.  That was my reaction when I heard he was being accused of sexual harassment at work.

It just didn’t make sense.   I knew he was a wonderful father and such a gentleman with all the women we knew.   Actually he was a little too formal and gallant for my taste sometimes, the way he would kiss the hands of women he met and the way he holds open doors for everyone including me.

He is so patient and gentle with our children and our daughter and I had never heard a whisper about him from anyone else before.   I knew it just could not be true.

Besides, we read all the books on feminism together and he is such a strong defender of women’s rights and equal treatment.   What kind of harassment could it be?  I was sure it was either that she was harassing him and he refused or that she had some other kind of personal grudge against him.

I stood by him throughout that affair and I would do so again.   It was impossible to think of him, who I knew at home, as a man who harassed women.  It was completely counter to all our values.  Besides, he knew I would kill him if he did.  I’ve been a feminist all my life and I’m no pushover.

I only became a little concerned when he started to take these business trips all over North America and occasionally to Europe.   He seemed extraordinarily tense before he left and somehow so relaxed when he returned.   Once, he got a postcard from a woman who he had met at one of these conferences and I began to get this vague sensation that he might be having a fling now and then.

But our own love life continued to be quite satisfactory and I trusted him to take precautions.   As a liberated woman I could accept a little sexual experimentation when he was away.   As long as it was just one night stand or holiday fling, I was not too concerned.   I trusted him and never asked.  He never said anything about it either, although, thinking back on it, he had been a bit defensive about that postcard.

So when his doctor called and told me I had to come in to see him, I was somewhat mystified.   That’s when I found out.   He had an STD and I had to be tested for it, since he had had unprotected sex with me since.

I felt completely betrayed.   Here is a man I was sure would always take precautions, who I thought was thoughtful and caring and protective of me and his family and here he had a fling with someone without a condom….

I was floored.   I couldn’t believe it.   I asked him again and again how this could have happened and he would not answer.  He just looked down at the floor.

I let him have it with both barrels.  How could he do this to me and to the children?  How could  he bring disease into our house and put our health at risk, especially since I have had bouts of cancer and it’s very dangerous for me to be infected with anything.    Or for that matter to  be stressed about anything!

He would not answer.   I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him.   He took my hands and pulled them down and said, “you haven’t been willing to respond to my needs for years.   What did you expect?”

I was so flabbergasted I sat down with my mouth open.   “What on earth are you talking about?”

“I’ve told you about some of the fantasies I would like to act out and you have treated my ideas as ridiculous.   You’ve laughed at them and made me out to be the fool.   Well, I’ve found people who are willing to play and I’ve played.”

“Whaa?  Are you talking about your suggestions that I have sex with somebody else while you watch?   Are you talking about your jokes that you’d like to have a threesome sometime?   And blindfolds and ropes?   You only mentioned them as jokes or throw away lines.  Those are things I would never do….”

“That’s exactly my point!  These are things I need and my needs have grown more urgent and pressing over the last few years.   And it was impossible to get you to deal with any of them.  So I’ve taken action on my own.”

“But how has this happened?  What have you done?”

“Every time I went away, I would go on the computer to find people interested in the same thing as me in the cities I was going to.   I have managed to have a number of such meetings over the years.”

“But an STD!”

“I admit that was a mistake.   But she wanted me without a condom and I couldn’t refuse her.  I still can’t refuse her.”

“Still?! What city does she live in?”

“Actually, she lives on the other side of town.   I told her I’d see her tonight.”

“You can’t mean this.   You want to go sleep with another woman tonight, after you’ve tested positive for an STD?  And what about me?  What did you think would be my reaction?”

“I sort of knew you would be upset.  But there’s no reason to be.   I still love you.   You are the mother of my children and I have tremendous respect for you.   But there are some needs that I have that you will not meet and she will.  It’s simple.   I’ll make sure I always wear protection and then I’ll come home.   Why should you turn our life upside down just because I’ve found a new hobby?”

“A new hobby!  It sems more like an obsession!  You expect to go sleep with another woman and then come home to me?  Don’t be ridiculous!  I couldn’t stand it.”

“Why not?  I know that deep down you still love me.  Although the children are all grown and do not live with us anymore, they would be hurt if you made this into a big thing.   Why can’t we just go on the way we are?  After all, the only difference is that now you know how I have been behaving for the past ten years.   I am not really changing anything.   You just know about it.”

“Ten years!  And anyway, you are getting to be an old man.  Hell, I just retired last month and we were going to go travelling together to different countries, you and I.   What about all those plans?”

“Listen, I’m not the one trying to change anything.   We’ll still go on those trips.   I just want some time with someone else now so that I can practice my hobby.   It’s like having a train set.   As to being old, Viagra is a man’s best friend and the woman I’m seeing is no spring chicken either.  She’s a grandmother, married to some guy who likes it when we have threesomes.  But she likes the things I like and she’s young in the way that counts.”

Then he looks at me and says, “I’m tired of talking about this.   I’m going over tonight and I’ll be back for the weekend.”

He leaves me stunned as he walks out and I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.   I can barely breathe and I am not sure what I am looking at.

I pick up a cup and carry it over to the sink where I wash it and place it in the drying rack.

I look at the clock.

What the hell will I do for the next few days until he comes back?

That evening and the whole next day, I look through the e-mail on his computer and find messages to this other woman – and to others over the last few months.   It’s disgusting.   I check the history on his web searches and am astonished at how many porn and S&M sites he has visited.  That’s why he’s always on the computer until late at night.

On Friday, I go to his office to see him just after lunch and learn that he has left for the day.   I see the open bottom drawer of his filing cabinet and look away.   It has scattered sex toys in it, although his gym bag is missing.  My god!  Anybody could see these if they bother to look behind his desk like I did.  He has no shame.

When he comes home the next day in the morning, he is shaven and showered and tries to kiss me.   I move away from him.   I refuse to sleep in the same bed as him so he sleeps on the couch.   Probably after looking at porn sites I think.

So my world is upside down.   I don’t know what to do.   But I cannot go on like this.  

I think of all the times over the years I have had the slightest discomfort or suspicion.

I am so angry that I do not know what to do.   I think of getting the pornographic pictures of the grandmother he is seeing off his computer and sending them to her grandchildren.   I think of exposing my husband to my children and the world for what he is.

I think of kicking him out of our house and never seeing him again.   I think of how I have loved and defended him for years and I feel completely betrayed.   I am such a sucker and such a fool.

Now that I am retired, how will I live?   He has ruined my future and he should pay.   I don’t know how yet, but I will find a way to make him suffer as I do.   He cannot get away with this.

I think back on the sexual harassment case.   Then, I could not conceive of him doing it – but now?   I cry out again, “my husband would never do that!”  A little voice that grows louder as it speaks and I feel will grow louder still says, “yes he would.”

And it is that realization above all, that little voice that says, “you are lost forever.”

I close my eyes, ball my fists and smash them on the bed.  “No, I’m not!” I say, “no, I’m not!”

I am still today between the poles of total despair and total resistance.  We are getting a divorce.  Surprisingly, life goes on anyway.