Him

‘The man I am seeing likes it when I wear sexy outfits,’ I explained.

‘Of course he does,’ she replied. ‘I have just the right item for you. It will drive him wild. Follow me.’

I walked past racks of lingerie, all beautiful and delicate and sexy, but she took me to the back aisle of the store and handed me a package. Inside was a crotchless black lace body suit.

‘Your man will love this. I suspect you will love it too. You are having a good time with this man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nothing has been like this before for you, has it?’

‘No,’ I said, barely in a whisper, my face reddening.

I believe she knew I was in the middle of a sexual relationship that was consuming me, body and soul. I was pretty sure she had travelled the same terrain: the darker, out-of-control side of sex. We both knew there was no going back.

‘You have to be careful though. All the sex can make you a little crazy,’ she said.

‘How?’ I asked nervously.

‘The sex takes you places you’ve never been before. But it can consume you.’

‘Yes. But that’s OK.’

‘Enjoy it, my dear. But be careful.’

‘OK.’

‘It’s just that men often have many secrets. You never know who he really is.’

‘He’s very open with me,’ I said defensively. ‘His ex-wife was horrible.’

‘They always are,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Enjoy the ride, but proceed with caution. Don’t always be so available.’

She might as well have told me to bicycle to Mars.

We walked back in silence to the store cash register. I wanted to ask her more about my situation but I really didn’t know her. I gave her my credit card. She ran it through the machine and handed me the package. We smiled at one another.

She put her hand on my shoulder. ‘Take care, honey. Come back to the store whenever you’d like. You can see we have many beautiful negligées, but I’m also here just if you want to talk. Your friends are probably too vanilla to understand what is going on with you.’

‘Thank you,’ I replied, almost in a whisper.

Once home I threw my clothes off and opened the package. It took a while to get the body suit on. I looked at myself in the mirror. My white skin against the black lace made my tits appear enormous. I was very turned on. I rushed to my phone and then back to the mirror. Aiming the phone at the mirror, I snapped the photo. I looked amazing. I sent it to HIM and waited, lying on my bed with the body suit on, expectantly.

He answered me about a half hour later.

HIM: OMG. I luv the photo. Totally hard 4 u. I have to fuck u now!

ME: Be my guest.

HIM: Damn, so busy @ work but can’t wait 2 c u on Tuesday.

ME: U r gonna luv the body suit.

HIM: U look gr8 in it. I want to do all sorts of things 2 u.

ME: U can do whatever u want 2 do 2 me. I want u so bad.

HIM: An offer I can’t refuse.

ME: K. Can’t wait 2 c u. Any chance sooner?

HIM: No. Busy w/kids this wkend. Gotta run. More mtgs.

* * *

And then the weekend was upon me. I had to get through more days before I would see HIM. I hated the weekends without HIM.

I wondered if he was really divorced. I had done for a while. I’d vacillate from wondering about whether he was lying to me to fantasising about the sex we were having. I knew he and I were lost in a world of secret desire.

* * *

I spent the weekend baking apple pies. I brought one over to Sam on Sunday night and then stayed for dinner. He didn’t ask me about HIM.

I kept my phone close by. I was hoping he’d text me but he didn’t.

Waiting for HIM to text me was hell. I could not imagine living like this for ever. My nerves were shot. I wanted to drink or smoke or use drugs and sleep all day or cry all day or injure myself in some way. This was hell.

Heaven was getting a text from HIM.

* * *

On Tuesday, he texted me during my class. The students heard it although I was supposed to have turned my phone off.

‘Excuse me,’ I said to my students. ‘I have a friend in the hospital. Her sister said she’d text me about the test results.’ I paused. ‘She’s OK.’

After the class THE BOY came to my desk. ‘Your friend is in the hospital?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Well, have a good time.’ I was too obsessed to really get crazy about THE BOY’s remarks. But I knew he was on to me.

I left the college early and went home to pick up my bag for the night. Esme followed me around the apartment. I felt guilty about leaving her alone. I scooped her up and held her in my arms. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ I told her. ‘I am so happy you’re in my life.’ She began purring softly and I held her for a long time.

I went into the kitchen, opened a can of catfood and put it into one of her bowls. I also took out the dry catfood and filled another bowl to the brim. I checked her water supply. She was going to be OK without me for the night, but I hurriedly left the duplex while she was still eating. Just as I was leaving I felt my phone vibrate. It was HIM.

HIM: Hey baby, can’t wait 2 c u @ downtown hotel 2nite.

ME: Me 2.

HIM: I have mtg til 8. If u want to come sooner I will leave ur name @ desk.

ME: K.

When I arrived at the hotel the clerk gave me the key to HIM’s room. I saw that he’d already settled in: his open suitcase was on top of the dresser. I looked at the contents. I supposed I was hoping to find clues to determine who he really was. But the items were generic: underwear, socks, several ties. There were several folders with electronic charts and diagrams. He’d put a suit in the closet. I smelled the jacket, taking in the delicious scent of HIM. HIM. He’d soon be inside me. I looked at the clock on the night table next to the bed. It would be several hours before he arrived.

* * *

I took a long bath, reapplied my make-up and put on the body suit. When I looked in the mirror I was once again shocked by how sexy I looked in it. I put one of my fingers in my already wet pussy. I went to the bed and lay down. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but I did.

* * *

I awoke to HIM opening the door. He came and lay down next to me.

He kissed me on the forehead, then took a strand of my hair and brushed it behind my ear. ‘Ah, ah, ah,’ he said.

He began stroking my pussy. He found the place, the very place. He slowly touched me THERE. He was so gentle and I began to move to his touch. I came in a moment of pure ecstasy, and then I came again. I wondered what it was like for HIM to watch me in my most intimate moments, my whole body quivering in delight.

I actually lost count of how many times he brought me to climax. And then we just lay on the bed, not talking.

* * *

He made love to me that evening and again in the middle of the night. In the morning he suggested we shower together. I agreed.

He opened the shower door and let me in first. He lathered me with a bar of soap, then himself. Our bodies glided over one another.

Then he pushed me up against the wall of the shower. He held my hands above my head so I could not move. He released one of his hands long enough to use it to guide his cock into my pussy. He looked down at me again while bringing his hand back up so that he was holding both of my hands up against the wall. It felt like handcuffs.

‘You have to have it this way. I know that about you,’ he whispered in my ear.

‘Of course,’ I whispered back.

‘I’m not kidding,’ he said, pushing his cock deeper inside me. ‘You don’t have a choice. You are the kind of woman that has to be fucked like this.’

‘Yes.’

He was still holding me up against the wall.

‘You need to ask me to fuck you this way.’

‘Will you fuck me this way?’ I asked.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he said withdrawing his cock.

‘Fuck me deeper,’ I said. I’d lost my mind. So completely lost to passion. I needed HIM inside me. I needed HIM so much.

‘Say it again,’ he said, thrusting his cock into me. ‘Louder. I need to know you really mean it.’

‘Fuck me deeper!’

‘Yes. That’s it,’ he said. By then he’d withdrawn his cock almost all the way, and when he thrust it back it went so deep inside me that I gasped.

‘Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!’ I was crying. We stayed like that for what seemed like hours. He pinned me against the shower wall. My nipples were engorged simply from the sensation of having his penis planted so deeply inside me. It was painful and exciting. All I knew was that I needed HIM to be doing just this.

‘Do it again,’ I commanded and he did.

8

He’s going to Paris. Paris?

Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!

John Galsworthy, The Forsyte Saga

This is what I understood: my life had been on hold since the day my mother got sick. After she died, I continued to live but only marginally. And then I met HIM. HIM. It was only after he came into my life that I could see how cut off I’d been from the rest of the world. I had taken the mournful road.

He and I ate breakfast in the room, then left. He kissed me softly in the hotel lobby. He did not set up another date, though I’d hoped he would, so by the time I arrived at college I was on the verge of tears. The students sensed I was vulnerable and remained quiet and passive.

When I got home later I couldn’t stop crying. My tears were the inevitable aftermath of a tryst with HIM, the price I paid for being with HIM.

I quickly changed out of my work clothes and put on an old pair of pajamas. I looked into the mirror and thought I was the exact opposite of the pretty, sexy woman who’d been fucked over and over at a downtown hotel the evening before.

I lit a fire and sat on my sofa looking at the burning logs. But it did not soothe me. I was still weepy. I couldn’t stop thinking about HIM. Esme jumped up on the couch and curled into my lap.

The sex. My God, the sex. He and I were pushing the envelope together. He’d taken me further than I’d gone with anyone. I suspected it was the same for HIM.

I wanted HIM inside me that very moment, to be with HIM night and day, 24/7. I could not live without HIM.

I could not stop crying. Sam came to my door in the late afternoon, holding an empty pie pan. I opened the screen door and took it from him. He looked at my swollen eyes and face. He asked me if I wanted to talk about it. I shook my head.

‘Do you want me to come in?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Well, you know where to find me. The pie was delicious as always.’

I watched him retreat and closed the door. I was feeling so desperate. I found my phone and quickly wrote to HIM.

ME: Where r u? Last night (and this morning) was so amazing.

I waited for HIM to write me back. The wait was excruciating.

When a text message arrived, it had been sent from one of my students who wanted to know when an essay was due. I felt like throwing the phone across the room but quickly texted her back.

Hours later, my phone vibrated again. My heart soared only to crash when I saw that the text was from a telemarketer. Every minute without a text from HIM was empty. My patience was non-existent.

Someone with a foreign accent called me on my cell next. He’d dialled the wrong number. Instead of being polite I screamed at him. What was wrong with me?

Then finally, finally …

HIM: U were spectacular.

ME: I want u inside me all the time.

HIM: I’m abt to catch plane 2 Paris.

ME: WHAT?

HIM: Yes. On biz.

ME: U didn’t say anything.

HIM: I didn’t?

ME: No. Nothing. Why didn’t u say anything?

HIM: I was busy fucking u.

ME: K. But.

HIM: Stop being garrulous. I won’t put up with it.

ME: Meaning?

HIM: I like you a lot but I won’t put up with a needy woman.

ME: You just sprung this Paris trip on me. Not fair.

HIM: Plenty of time to catch up when I get back.

ME: Yes. How long gone?

HIM: 10 days.

ME: 2 long.

HIM: Wish u could be in my hotel rm in Paris.

ME: Me 2.

HIM: U r an incredible lover.

ME: So r u.

HIM: Miss you already.

I hated that he was so far away. I despised that my life seemed so narrow while his was wide open. He was in Paris while I remained in a suburb of a vast forsaken city. It would take me at least six months to save enough money to buy a coach seat on a plane to Europe. I’d have to consider staying at youth hostels even though I would now probably be older than most of the other people staying there. I’d grown up in the neighbourhood where I was born. I’d moved into my landlord’s duplex in part because it was less than a mile away from my mother’s place.

He told me he travelled business class. He said he stayed at four-star hotels and often employed a driver for his international trips. He acted in a self-important manner. I resented HIM for it yet I also admired his social and professional status. I knew I didn’t have a fake bone in my body. What you saw was what you got. That might not be so with HIM. I believe image was important to HIM. Yet I wanted HIM to acknowledge me in his life as an equal, not this common woman he liked to fuck. When he said he was going to Paris I felt left out. Why couldn’t I accompany HIM? There was the matter of my leaving my job during that time. But if we were together, really together, then he would make room for me during these business trips. He’d never invited me to his apartment. I wondered whether I would ever meet his children.

And he never gave me much warning (if any) about these trips. He’d disappeared to Seattle and now to France. He could still be in our city with his wife or another woman. What I did know was that he was not with me right then. He was very far away, wherever he was. Scott Peterson, the famous wife-killer, had called his mistress and told her he was in Paris when in fact he was at a barbecue in Stockton. I always thought it so ironic. Stockton was the polar opposite of Paris. It would be like comparing hot dogs to lobster. And Scott Peterson had gone so far as to mention the fireworks over the Paris sky. Was my lover another Scott Peterson?

I hated that I was in so deep with HIM. There was no trust between us. Yet I lusted after HIM despite my suspicions that he was not being honest with me. What was I to do, tell HIM to send me a photo of himself in front of the Eiffel Tower?

Thinking about HIM in Paris made me think about the novels I had read over the years. Always, always, unrequited love was the central theme. Was I now my own tragic heroine in the novel I called my life?

9

A glorious weekend with HIM …

For time is the longest distance between two places.

Tennessee Williams, The Glass Menagerie

This is what I understood: I’d been alone too long. I’d put all my bets on HIM. HIM. But I hardly even knew HIM. I was starring in my own movie. In the end he would leave me. I’d taken the melodramatic road.

It was my mom who inspired my love for literature. She too loved the written word. When I was a little girl my mom read bedtime classics like Madeline or The Berenstain Bears. But by the time I was in the first grade it was Mark Twain she began to read, as I lay in my bed ready for slumber.

Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn were my favourite characters of all. How could they not be? These boys and their crazy adventures continue to make me smile. But it was the pure beauty of Twain’s colloquial words that my mother and I loved the most. We lost count of the times she read the two books to me. Soon I was able to anticipate the next scene in the book. I’d interrupt her to yell out, ‘No. No. It’s not fair that the King and the Duke have captured Jim. Huck has to rescue him.’ My mother would stop reading the book for a moment and smile. We both knew Huck would manage to free Jim. She’d close the book.

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