Of Love and Lust

"Fuck, this is bad," she said to me. She did not say it while running out the door or in tears cowering at the edge of the bed but while looking into my eyes and running long fingernails along the scratchy two-day growth along my jawline.

"It will all work out in the end. Everything does."

"I suspect that optimism comes from just having gotten off."

"Maybe."

"I'm serious about publishing your stories."

"Good. I'd like that."

"Maybe we will make a fortune from them and run off to a tropical island."

I just smiled at her.

"How would this end, if this is one of your stories?"

"You already know, they always end sadly."

"Will you write a happier ending to this one?"

"I will try."

"For me?"

"Anything for you."

"Anything?" she asked devilishly. I will admit, it sounded even better in real life than it had when I had put the word in the mouth of one of my characters.

"Anything." I promised her confidently.

"I have never been to an orgy. Is that place in your Cancun story real?"

"Yes."

She smiled and climbed on top of me. I was hoping to rise to the occasion but it was not to be. We were left kissing and fondling in the fading light of the afternoon until she kicked me out. Her son was going to be home soon.

Lisa's beauty and desirability pales when compared to her intelligence and long neglected ambition. It was less than sixty days when she posted a collection of my short stories for sale on a large Internet retailer. They sold mostly electronically but fourteen orders were placed for hardbacks. She presented me my copy excitedly. The cover was a photo I had taken of her hands cuffed behind her back positioned to hide enough of her ass that it was considered acceptable. She founded an LLC and proceeds of the book were deposited into it. As promised, they were pledged to a trip to a decadent resort on Mexico.

She was a harsh critic and we would draw looks when, sequestered away in a booth hidden away in the back of our wine bar we would debate my choice of wording or overuse of certain tenses that she knew the terms for and I didn't.

Our affair escalated as well as we explored the fantasies I created for my readers in more real and deviant ways than I ever could have hoped for.

I discovered I loved her when she painfully chopped my attempt at a novel into something she thought she could sell. It was difficult to have someone you loved slice apart the character you had created from yourself. It was one afternoon, laying in a room of a nice if cliché' hotel at the airport she cleaved apart myself as the protagonist. I, so hurt by her criticism not of the writing but of the character itself, found myself unable to speak.

"This isn't you, you know," she said.

I didn't respond. I can't admit it as it threatens my very manhood, but it's possible I couldn't speak for fear of letting loose the tears that had welled up behind the emotional wall a man builds within himself as a boy.

"This, Darling, is how you think of yourself. I fear it is that harpy of a wife you have that has made you think of yourself like this. It is not, however, the man I know you to be, that your son and daughter know their father to be. This isn't the man I love, this character is who he is afraid of becoming."

I just looked at her. I didn't believe her. She tossed the pile of papers covered in red ink aside. Forcibly she mounted me. Again, the precious nature of our emotional and physical connection was made evident as our bodies tangled furiously together as our eyes and lips met in delicate embraces.

"Did you tell me you loved me just now?" I asked her. We had finished fucking and although we were still fitted together the gentle lovemaking that followed our most physical sessions was typically filled with gentle conversations.

"I said no such thing." Her accent was more pronounced post-coitus and it made me smile.

"I think you did."

"Even if I did, I wouldn't say such a thing to you before you said it to me. I would never relinquish my power like that."

"No, that would be very unlike you," I admitted. It was unfair really to have such a serious discussion as she rocked slowly on my overly sensitive cock struggling to recover its full rigidity.

"Now, if you were to say such a thing, I don't know what my answer would be. It would be just cruel to have someone say something such as, 'I love you Darling and can't imagine my life without you,' without answering something just as lovely in response."

"I think you just said it again."

"That was -- hypothetical." I could tell from her movements, by the breaks she was taking mid sentence, by the firmness of her nipples and her closed eyes that our conversation was about to come to an end as she sought to fulfill more pressing needs.

"Say it." I said to her. I was not overly firm with her, not yet.

"No." she pressed her head back until her hair fell down her back.

I took a firm nipple between my thumb and forefinger. I pinched firmly. She had only recently discovered how roughly she liked to have her breasts played with and how, if properly motivated before hand, she could come from proper pressure on her breasts alone. With my cock inside of her and her hips rocking back and forth she would come quickly.

"Say it." I said again, taking both nipples firmly, pulling at them.

"No." She rocked more quickly.

"Say it, Love. Tell me."

"No."

I pinched yet harder. I was close. It was no longer about getting her to say anything. It was about release - desperate, violent, sexual release.

"Say it."

"Noooo!" she squealed. Her body shook. The muscles in her abdomen tightened and her thighs trembled.

I released her.

She collapsed on me, kissing my lips in the long slow penetrating way she had used to so completely seduce me at the start.

After lying together for every moment we could snatch from our afternoon she showered. I took the time to put the manuscript back together. It was painful to watch her dress. She had worn a white top and navy skirt. She looked lovely.

"Will you make the changes?" she asked at the door. I was still naked; it would have been awkward to walk her any further out.

"You are the boss." I told her, we both knew it was true.

"Not anymore." She said.

"No?"

"Nope." She smiled and kissed me. "Because I love you, Darling, and I can't imagine my life without you.

I kissed her. "My Love. I love you too."

"I know," she said. "I am still the boss."

"Go. You're late."

We met for lunch. The kids were on Christmas break. I had not seen her in days. It had been painful. We met at a restaurant. It was business.

"They have accepted the treatment."

"What?" I know business. I don't know publishing. I had a vague idea this was good but I had no idea what she was saying.

"They accepted the treatment. They don't want to send us an offer though without an agent. I have three in mind. You need to meet with them."

"You choose. That's your thing."

She was sad and she shouldn't have been. I suspected this lunch, her choice of the restaurant, the dowdiness of her blouse and the prudish cut of her skirt suggested this lunch was going to take a turn I did not want it to take.

"No, darling. This is serious now. They are a real publishing house, not even a boutique brand. This is real. There will be real money behind their offer. This is you, my love. This is real. I said that didn't I."

I just looked at her. We spoke of love frequently, our future together occasionally and our present situation not at all. I had made changes. We had not discussed them. Even after the house had sold and been replaced by smaller his and hers three bedrooms in the same neighborhood I had still only met Lisa at hotels. Her situation was different. Her life was impossibly more complex to change. It frightened me to read the blog entry of her wedding in Bangalore and meeting Arjun for the first time during the ceremony.

"You get half."

"No, Darling. Not anymore."

It would have been unlike us to actually discuss this. It wasn't as though one of us stood and ran out of the restaurant in an emotional fit. We sat quite pleasantly. She handed me three business cards. We talked about our sons. We talked about the track and field state finals. We talked about her salmon and my sandwich. We talked about Ginnifer quitting the gym and how fat we were both going to get if she did.

She left and I recalled our story was to be called Padme and she had told me I couldn't call it that since it wasn't a real name. She wanted it called Lisa because that was her name, or just "Love" because that was what I called her. I recalled I had promised her a happy ending. When she stood to leave she told me to stay. She kissed me gently as she left. She said only "Goodbye."

My son was the one that told me they were leaving. More precisely he asked if the fact that Dev's family was moving was why I had been in a bad mood lately. It was the type of question that gives away knowledge without it having to be stated. He is a clever fellow, my boy. I told him no and admitted I didn't even know.

Son was again the one who came through. He pointed out Dev's grandmother at the track meet. She was an older woman of undetermined age. She was of course not so pretty as my Lisa but she had a presence. She was in a sari of orange and yellow. She was, to the best of my math abilities, no younger than 65 and probably older. The traditional garment wrapped about her revealed a bare belly one would never place on a woman of that age.

"Hello," I said. "I am Arthur."

"Good afternoon, Arthur. I am Leeza's mother." It was an odd greeting but suggested she, like everyone else around us, knew everything and we were far too foolish for people of our age.

I attempted small talk to no avail. I drew only the scornful look of an un-approving mother. I was always good with the mothers, but of course that was thirty years ago and there was no adultery going on. Defeated, I wished her a good afternoon.

"And how am I to have a good afternoon with my daughter and grandson moving half a country away."

"I am sorry." I said. I hoped it sounded as though I didn't hear her clearly and not the apology for everything I had done and for the things I probably should be doing but wasn't.

"Do not be sorry. Be a man. Fight for my daughter." She said. "I am too old to live in the cold!" she called out to me as I walked away. "Boston is so cold!"

It took some research. It wasn't difficult but I had to be precise. International air travel is particular these days. I used the name she had put on the paperwork for the LLC and the address from the Track and Field Parents Roster. I booked air for two departing in only four days and a week at full price at the resort she had mentioned where clothing was optional and sex was an afternoon group activity poolside. I printed the confirmations and placed them in an envelope.

I called her and she rejected the call. I texted her without a response. I had not seen her at the gym nor when I had haunted her coffee shop and after two days of fruitless stalking I was faced with the realization that she may have already left and that her house was my only alternative. I was dreading the idea of pressing her doorbell only to be greeted by her husband when she finally responded.

"Stop, please."

"I have one last thing for you. Let me give it to you and then I will leave you be."

"I don't want the money."

"It's not the money. I promised you something. Let me give it to you."

"It's not necessary."

"It was a promise. Meet me for lunch tomorrow."

"I can't. We leave in the morning."

I felt my options were exhausted. She had asked me to stop. That should have been enough. She had said please. That was more than sufficient.

"I will leave it at the restaurant."

"We will be gone."

It was easy to leave it in the restaurant. I had been sitting there for several hours. I was well inebriated on wine. I paid my tab, tipped more than I needed to, and asked the bartender to hold the envelope for her. He asked how long. I told him if she didn't get it tomorrow it wasn't worth anything. He called me a cab and I went home. My son came home that night. It was up to him where he went on any given night. I don't know what his decision making process was but I was happy to have him there. He drove us to dinner. I asked him about Dev. He said he didn't know. Dev was a year younger, he only saw him at Track and Field events. We ate gargantuan piles of Mexican food and talked music. He suggested I try one of those dating apps. It was apparently working well for his mother.

Hung over I slept in. When I was finally moving I had work to do and had calls to return on the book I was now neglecting. The publisher needed an agent to work with. I ignored them. The book was hers.

I worked through lunch. Late in the afternoon my son came through the house with his girlfriend. They seemed frustrated that I was there. I think I cock-blocked him. I felt both badly for having done it and happy that I had been home.

At 6:02pm I got a check-in reminder for my flight the next day. I dismissed the reminder. I did however need to fetch my car. It was a couple-mile walk. It would feel good. I set out for our favorite restaurant wondering how long I would call it that.

I wished I still smoked. It seemed like a good afternoon for a cigarette. Lisa and her fitness thing had forced me to quit. The walk however was faster and easier for it. My car was safe and sound in the lot. I had planned to just drive home but I was there, I should check. It would be worth it to know. It would have closure. I really couldn't put it off anymore.

Derek, our bartender handed me a glass of wine and my envelope. It apparently hadn't been picked up.

"You wouldn't have a match and an ashtray, would you?"

"You can't smoke in here." He told me, pointing out the obvious.

"Naw, not smoking. I wanna do that thing they do in the movies where you burn the envelope. You know what I mean?"

"You probably shouldn't do that either but why not?" He actually handed me an ashtray from below the bar and a good old-fashioned Zippo lighter from his pocket.

"She leave you?"

"Not really. More she didn't leave him." I clicked open the lighter and watched the flame for a second. "I don't think I am the good guy in this story."

"Everyone is the hero of their own story. Shit, Darth Vader is the good guy fighting off a band of traitors if you look at it from his point of view."

I touched the flame to a corner of the envelope. It glowed orange and blue for a second and then the paper began to turn black. A slow creeping black death crept up the envelope towards my fingers as the flame burned brighter and fluttered six then nine inches high.

"I hope that's not the money you owe me." Her voice was soft, sad.

"Nope." I didn't turn around. I stared at the flames as the paper near fingers grew hotter. "Plane tickets."

"Aren't those all electronic now?"

"Yeah."

"When are they for?"

"Tomorrow afternoon."

"Shit."

"I know, I've been trying to give them to you for days."

"I was busy."

"I gathered."

She sat beside me, we watched the embers dim and go out, a pile of ashes and remnants of unburned papers sat lonely in the small metal tray.

"I was suspecting some grand gesture of stupidity. I thought I would see you standing outside my window holding a boom box over your head."

"That wouldn't have worked. There would have been crying and yelling and I don't know, maybe your husband is a Kra Magaw master or something."

"Krav maga is Jewish."

"Still, it wouldn't have worked. It was always up to you, you are the boss."

"You still think that don't you."

Again, we fell quiet for a long time.

"What do I need to pack?"

"Um, nothing. It's clothing optional."

"That's going to be hard for me."

"You get used to it quickly."

"I knew your stories were all real."

"Nope. Total fiction."

"Why do I feel kind of sad?" she asked. "Isn't this our happily-ever-after?"

"It is, Love." I kissed her lightly. She didn't let me get away. She kissed me just as softly but she made sure it went on for a good long while. "Love is awful," I told her. "You only know how good it is to be in love by realizing how totally shitty you feel when its gone. Sex is just pain that feels good. That's why an orgasm feels like relief. You don't get one without the other."

"So you are going to make me happy by making me feel sad."

"Exactly." God, it was good to sit beside her again.

"I love you, Darling. I can't imagine my life without you," she said, smiling at me finally in that way that makes it all feel better.

"No. You did imagine your life without me, that's why you stayed."

"Actually, Dev through a fit about changing schools."

"You are going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you?" How could anyone not lover her?

"Oh, don't complain. I read that story too. You like it in the butt."

We ordered more wine and dinner. We still needed to get home and pack.