Melting Away, Slowly... Pt. 05

It was such a surprise for me that I didn't respond immediately, so she slid over to be close to me. She put her arms around me and kissed me. A nice kiss, not a great kiss, but on the lips, and it seemed sincere.

"Mark," she whispered, as if it mattered, given that we were alone in the house and she could have shouted, "You are right, I have been neglecting you, and I'm sorry about that.

"You talked about rekindling our marriage, and I would like to try, if you're willing," she stated.

I didn't answer back, but I held her and kissed her.

She was wearing a negligée that I slipped off her shoulders. I began by kissing and sucking on her nipples, which she seemed to enjoy — at least in the dark I could tell that her breasts had responded, with her nipples getting hard.

I returned to kissing her, this time laying there next to each other, our bodies face-to-face, touching along the entire length of each other. Martha opened her mouth, and we touched our tongues, and began to kiss more deeply than we had in years.

After several minutes, I eased Martha on her back, and removed her panties. She lifted her mid-section to accommodate my pulling them over her bottom, and then lifted her legs slightly so that I could pull them the rest of the way off.

I returned to kissing and caressing her body there in the dark, while she lay back in the bed. I could feel her body relaxing as I stroked her. My hand made its way past her pubic hair, and she opened her legs to allow me to use my fingers between her thighs.

With my fingers, I started just gently playing with the hair above the outer lips, so that she could feel a light movement up and down the entire length of her opening. Then I moved the fingers in closer where they were actually in contact with the outer lips, still gentle, stroking the skin. With a light touch, I began massaging the lips in such a way that it would be stimulating the clitoris below. As I moved my fingers up and down, I could feel the moisture being released from her vagina that signaled a readiness for more direct contact.

A single light finger to start, I circled her vaginal opening, getting my finger moist with her liquid. I started moving the finger in deeper as I continued to circle the opening, until the hot moist cavern opened, and I could insert my digit. I began to search for her 'G' spot on the upper side of her vagina, almost directly opposite the clitoris, but on the inside. I could feel the rough texture of the area, as the stimulation caused the skin to harden into its ridges.

I had continued go from kissing Martha's mouth, to sucking on her breasts, tonguing and sucking on her nipples. But I could feel that she was becoming sexually aroused.

Rather than to use my finger on her clitoris and bring her to an orgasm, I moved down and began using my tongue on her clitoris, her center of sexual sensations, while still using my finger inside her vagina. Stephanie, I must confess, had been willing to share with me what gave her pleasure, so I applied the lessons I'd learned from another woman, to Martha. I would flicker my tongue up and down, and then rotate it around, varying the pressure, trying to gauge what Martha found most pleasurable.

If Martha didn't have an incredible orgasm, then she should win an academy award. It wasn't just the noise, the moaning, the little love words that she was saying, but also her entire body jerked in a spasm as she came, followed by her stretching and becoming almost rigid, her legs straight, her toes pointed, until the little death, the clouds and the rain, had passed. Then she went limp as a rag doll.

My vision was limited, as the only light in the room was that coming through the open door, emanating from lights down the hall. But even in the limited light, I could see that Martha seemed content.

And I was content to lie there, still and quiet, waiting for Martha to recover from what would be, hopefully, only one of several sexual encounters that night.

After perhaps ten minutes, Martha rolled over and hugged me, and put her head on my chest. This was as close as we had been for at least five years, maybe longer.

Perhaps there might be a chance for us, together.

We cuddled and kissed awhile longer, and I could tell that Martha was bracing herself to face going on, providing me with some reciprocity.

She began by lightly stroking my penis, which was still hard. If I hadn't been having sex with Stephanie, I would likely have exploded right then. But I was under better control.

Martha started kissing my body, licking and even sucking my nipples briefly. I was wondering where that came from, since she'd never done it before.

She began moving further down, and finally came face-to-face with my cock. She looked at it, and tentatively touched the tip with her tongue, and then leaned forward to kiss it.

But instead, she pulled back and leapt off the bed, and gathering her panties and negligée, she ran from the room down the hall to her room, where the door slammed behind her. There I was left sitting on the bed in shock. After a minute I padded down the hallway, where I could hear her weeping in the room. I tapped on the door.

"Are you all right?" I asked, incredulous at what had just occurred.

Her voice emanated from the room, hoarse,

"I can't do it, I won't do it. I just can't," she said, the crying making her words almost incomprehensible.

I walked back to the master bedroom. A decision had been made for me. Sleep would be slow in coming, so I didn't even bother to try.

My happiness counted for something and after Martha's performance, or rather, lack of performance, I was going to pursue my own happiness looking forward. Her behavior was convincing me that she needed a psychiatrist or outside help. It was not normal.

But from this moment on, it wasn't my concern.

Understand, that if Martha's problem was something that left her unable to live on her own, helpless or incompetent, I would stand by her. But her sexual hang-ups didn't effect her day-to-day ability to function well, so it wasn't a question of abandoning a spouse to her fate. She would do just fine without me.

Throwing a robe around me, I went into my office and booted up my computer and began to research.

Ours was, as I mentioned earlier, a 'no fault' divorce state. It turned out that if it was uncontested, a divorce could go through quickly and fairly inexpensively. I couldn't really imagine that Martha would bother to contest a divorce once she thought about it. As I had pointed out to her, we had become more akin to roommates than a couple, and we certainly weren't 'lovers,' and we were on a path where we wouldn't even be friends.

Pulling up a handy-dandy spreadsheet system, I started listing our assets to offer a proposal for an equitable split.

After working on that for awhile, I was finally tired enough to fall asleep, so I returned to bed.

Chapter 10.

The next morning, Sunday, I was up early, so I showered and dressed, and left the house without seeing or talking to Martha, to get a quiet breakfast.

I did phone Stephanie to see if she cared to join me, and she told me that she would be along in a couple of minutes. I ordered my coffee, and told the waitress that someone would be joining me, so I would wait to order until she arrived. I sipped at my coffee for fifteen minutes or so, before Stephanie arrived.

We ordered our breakfasts, and started talking.

I briefly explained what had happened the night before, and what I had decided.

"Mark, I'm so sorry. While I have my own selfish reasons for being close to you, I never wanted to see Martha suffer," she told me.

"Honestly, Steph, you're just a bystander to this little drama. The problem existed before you and I got together, and as far as I can see, there is no real solution for it. I've just been forced to accept that I can change my life to be happy, or I can continue being angry, frustrated, and miserable. As far as Martha is concerned, there is nothing I can do about her happiness. I can't change her. She doesn't need a husband, she needs a handy-man," I replied, laughing at my own little joke.

Then I turned the subject to my objective for the day.

"I'm going to find someplace to rent, and move out of the house. Tomorrow, I'll print out the papers for the do-it-yourself divorce, and put together a plan for splitting our assets that I can present to Martha later in the week," I explained, laying out my plan.

At that point our food arrived, and we started eating.

"Why don't you just move in with me?" Stephanie offered, flirting with her eyes, before taking a sip of her orange juice.

"I would be very tempted, you little vixen, you!" I smiled as I said it.

"But as much as I appreciate the offer, I think that it would just create more problems.

"First, it will be much more palatable to Martha if I'm living by myself while the divorce is taking place," I told her, and she nodded that she could see the point.

"Additionally, Steph, as strongly as I feel about you, I'm also worried that we could be moving too fast as it is. It may be that we should be together, but what if what you, a love-deprived widow," we smiled at each other as I said that, "and I, a lustful old man, have together isn't enough of a foundation upon which to build a long-term relationship? In a way, you and I are both on the rebound, and as a couple of mature, intelligent people, and it would be wise to give ourselves a little time.

"Anyway, wouldn't it be embarrassing if five- or six-months down the road, you got fed up with me, and had to kick me out of your condo?" I put my hand over hers as I made this last point.

"Darling Mark, you're right, I'm sure. But my heart wants to move your butt into my bed, where I can keep all of those other horny widows away from you!" she replied laughing.

It was good to have someone to talk with, who could lift my spirits while I was confronting one of the hardest acts of my life.

Stephanie looked thoughtful for a couple of seconds.

"You know, Mark, maybe I can't have you in my bed immediately, but would you consider renting a place close enough that we could walk from your place to mine?" she queried.

"Sure. You know of a condo for rent in your neighborhood?" I asked.

"I think so. Let me make a phone call," Stephanie suggested, and away she went.

That afternoon, I had signed a lease for an elegant condo, just a block away from Stephanie's, whose owner was on temporary assignment on the east coast for a year. It was mostly furnished, and I could move in immediately.

It was late afternoon when I returned home, or at least to the house that had been my home for so many years. As of that moment, it was no longer 'home.'

Martha was sitting in the living room. I don't know what she'd been doing. She had obviously gotten up and showered and dressed during the day, but I couldn't see a book next to her, and she didn't switch the TV off when I entered the room, so maybe she'd been just sitting waiting for me to return all day.

She looked somber, and a little angry, but she wasn't emotionally falling to pieces.

"Off with your girlfriend for the day, I suppose. You and she have a good laugh about my 'shortcomings' last night?" she asked bitterly.

Again, I felt the impulse to comfort her, to reassure her, to be her anchor in the storm. But this time, I resisted, knowing she would just rebuff any sympathetic move I could make.

"I've rented a place, and I am moving out. I came home to get a few things for tonight, and I'll come back during the week to get the rest of what I want," I said, calmly, my emotional batteries drained.

I looked at her again,

"Martha, I would never laugh at you or intentionally be cruel to you. I've always admired you in many ways, and I've always been proud of you, and that will never change."

She cringed a little.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have lashed out like that. I know you better than that. And I've always been proud of you. I've always thought that you are the best man that I know," she whispered, looking down at the carpet.

"Is this really necessary?" she finally asked.

"I don't see an alternative," I sadly concluded. She didn't offer me any alternatives, either.

I packed a suitcase of clothes and toiletries, grabbed my computer equipment and a few other things from my office that I would need in the next couple of days.

On my final trip out to the car, I stopped again in the living room. As far as I could see, Martha hadn't moved.

"I'll stop by later this week, and we can sit down and talk," I proposed, waiting for her affirmation that she agreed.

"OK. Call me at the office to let me know when you're coming first, just in case, so I don't work late or go out to eat or something," she requested.

"Sure," I said as I closed the door behind me, and walked away.

I rented a truck that week, and retrieved my things from the house, mostly clothes, my tools, and some odds and ends — some CD's and DVD's that I knew Martha would not want. The only piece of furniture that I took to my new place was my king-sized bed, mattress, and the linens and blankets that fit it. It was a lot more comfortable than the bed that had been in the condo.

I didn't see Stephanie much the first week — at dance class, and once she did come over and we made love once on the bed that I had expected to revive Martha's and my relationship. It worked better with a more cooperative partner.

On the whole, I was feeling down and depressed. I couldn't help but seeing myself as a failure as a husband. Martha was the woman with whom I'd expected to grow old. Instead, it seemed most likely that we would be going our separate ways.

That evening I called up my sons, Dan and Josh, and told them a little about what was happening. Not entirely to my surprise, they let me know that Martha had already called them. I didn't ask what she had said, but rather asked them to meet with me face-to-face the following Saturday, and we could hash things out.

All I asked of them was to let me give them my perspective on what was happening, before they reached any conclusions. They readily agreed; actually, they agreed so quickly and positively that I suspected that whatever Martha had said, they were taking with a grain of salt.

That week was a week like many before it — eating, sleeping, giving lectures and grading papers. I attended my dancing class, and if anyone noticed that I was slightly more withdrawn than normal, they didn't say anything.

That week was also a week unlike any before or since, for me.

Each evening that week, I worked on the do-it-yourself, no-fault divorce kit, preparing a proposal to my wife on the division of our assets.

It was actually pretty easy in our case.

Martha and I each had our own retirement plans; we each had our own jobs. Our savings and investments, we would split in half. The house would be sold, and the proceeds, after expenses divided. Her jewelry, which I had just had re-appraised for insurance purposes (it came to over $40,000!) would remain hers; my tools I would keep. We each would keep our own cars, which were both paid off.

The only furniture that I wanted was the bed that I'd already taken. Martha could keep whatever she wanted, and either sell or give away the rest to charity. Photo albums, and those sorts of things, we would sit down and divvy up ourselves. I could scan in photos and make duplicates, if there were any unique items that we both wanted.

It was Friday afternoon when I called her office, and we arranged for me to come over. Martha wanted me to come over for dinner but I wanted to wait until after dinner. On this occasion, Martha made the concession.

I took the package I had made with me, and presented it to her.

"Mark, I don't want a divorce. I won't sign," she objected, trying to raise a roadblock.

"That won't stop the process. It may slow it, but it will eventually go through," I patiently explained...

"I want it to be for your adultery," she insisted, pointing her finger at me, jabbing it in an aggressive manner.

I sighed, and sat back in my chair.

"This is a no-fault state. That isn't one of the options anymore. Anyway, you don't have proof of anything," I pointed out...

This went around and around for awhile, and I finally left her with a copy of the papers, and told her to confer with an attorney, but understand that if we could do this ourselves it would be simple and inexpensive. One of the beliefs that Martha and I still shared was that lawyers can make anything complex, expensive and painful.

The following day, Saturday, my sons had decided to both come down together to have the face-to-face with me. I asked them to join me at the condo and they agreed.

Once they arrived, I invited them in, and the first thing I did was to give them the grand tour of the place. I wasn't just showing off my new digs; I was showing them that I was living alone. They could see that the closets contained only my clothes, the bathrooms were bereft of feminine accouterments and throughout the house, there was no sign of occupancy by a woman. I was sure that information would make it back to their mother.

They both told me how nice the condo was, although I assured them, most of the contents belonged to the owner, and would be reclaimed when he returned.

Having gotten the preliminaries over, I asked them what their pleasure would be, and we all ended up with Bass Ales in front of us.

"Mom says you moved out because you have a girlfriend," Dan started the conversation. He was neutral in his pronouncement, suggesting that he neither believed nor disbelieved the contention. Josh just nodded in affirmation, that Martha had told him the same thing.

I was going to be as honest as I could, and hope that my boys could give me a fair shake.

"Dan and Josh, it's true that I have been seeing another woman, but that is only since last Christmas, in fact, actually not until February. So, for a couple of months.

"But let me make something clear, that your mother doesn't want to acknowledge.

"This woman is not a 'cause', she is an 'effect,' and has nothing to do with the problems between your mother and me." I laid out my premise.

"How's that?" Josh asked.

"Boys, from the time you moved out to go to college, your mother slowly, over time, became less and less physically intimate with me. You are both grown and married men, so I'll lay it on the line — she stopped doing things that caused her to come into physical contact with me, including hugging, kissing, touching, and yes, sex.

"It wasn't overnight or anything, just a little less at a time, so that I didn't even really notice how resistant she was to being in any sort of direct contact with me, until she moved out of the master bedroom and into Dan's old room, a couple of years ago.

"Even this past Christmas, she only moved back into the bedroom with me for the days while you were there visiting, and as soon as you were gone, poof! She was back in the other bedroom," I revealed.

Dan perked up.

"I was wondering about that," he said, "She kept popping into our room, into the bathroom, to get stuff, and I kept thinking, 'why doesn't she just keep her toiletries in her own bathroom?'"

I nodded my head.

"I hope that you never have to face a situation like this with your wives, or if you do, I hope you can nip it in the bud early, because over time it just gets more and more painful, embarrassing, and humiliating to be ignored and rejected. I really hope that you are more observant than I was, but I never expected it, so I wasn't looking," was my plea for mitigation.

"Anyway, I've tried to talk to her, to see if there was anything that we could do about it together — see a marriage counselor, or a psychologist, or even just to get checked out by a physician to see what might be wrong. But she wouldn't even give me the time of day.