Sunday, December 30
Are you still mine?
—Utterly.
Tell me.
—Always and in all ways.
Show me.
…
—Check your email.
…
Instantly hard. I envy your trainer.
—He won’t get to see all of that.
Of course not. Better today?
I pause. Truthfully? Yes. Alex I’m not so sure about, although he’s got game face on as he cajoles the children into snowsuits and out into the snow with sleds. And I know he’s taking them sledding because he can’t ever remember going sledding with his father.
—Yes. And I’ll be better yet after I lift heavy things until I’m covered with sweat and too exhausted to even scream.
Now I envy every man in your gym.
—I have to go.
Go. Tease. Tantalise. Remember who owns you. xx
—xo
The gym is empty, as befits the last Sunday of the old year. It will be unbearably full next week. I ponder whether I should start with the hated pull-ups or work up to them.
‘Jane?’
Jesse. Fuck.
‘Why are you working on a Sunday?’ I demand. Suddenly angry. Dealing with Jesse was not on today’s agenda.
‘I’m not,’ he says. Defensive. ‘I just needed to…you know. Lift heavy things. And not think.’ I see him trying not to look at me. And I laugh. Disarmed.
‘My fault?’ I ask. He chews his lower lip.
‘A little,’ he says.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. Genuine. ‘I was…out of sorts on Thursday. It’s been a rather intense week. Month.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ he says. ‘You were – I know you were just thinking of ways to help your friend. Insane, stupid ways, yes. But…I was…I was…unfair.’
That’s an interesting spin on it. Unfair?
‘We’re good?’ I ask.
He nods. ‘We’re good.’ Pauses. ‘Do you want me to spot you?’
‘No, babe, it’s your day off. Go do your thing,’ I say. ‘I’m just going to do…pull-ups. And other shit that makes me want to vomit.’
‘You’ll never do more than two on your own,’ he says. And boosts me up to the bar.
As his hands barely touch my still-tender hips, but linger on them for just a second too long, I realise we may not be OK after all. Fuck. And I keep my mouth shut all the rest of the workout. As does he.
I curse my bad judgement. And, for good measure, Nicola, although it’s clearly not her fault.
He’s waiting for me by the doors when I come out of the changing room.
‘There’s this New Year’s Eve party I’m going to,’ he says. Eyes on the ground. ‘Very casual. Lots of people. I could invite her to that. Would that help?’
‘Oh, sweetheart,’ I say. Disarmed totally. ‘That would be above and beyond the call of duty.’
He stands there a second longer. Awkward. ‘Well, see you in the New Year, Jane,’ he says finally.
‘Happy New Year,’ I answer. Smile. Walk away.
Alex and the kids are home when I get back, watching Muppet Christmas and drinking hot chocolate. I slide on to the couch beside him.
‘Better?’ he asks. I nod. ‘I called my father,’ he offers, looking at the screen.
‘Wow.’
‘Well, I called Jeanette,’ he corrects. ‘I talked to my father.’
‘And?’
‘He’s my father.’ Alex shrugs. Which, I interpret, means they said ‘How are you?’ ‘Fine’ and ‘See you in the New Year.’ Perhaps an awkward ‘I love you’ – no, probably not.
Annie and Eddie start a fight over who gets to be in my lap; Alex scoops Annie into his. Eddie settles into my armpit. Annie sticks her bum up into Alex’s face. He plops her down on top of Eddie who howls. We switch kids.
‘Have you heard from Marie?’ Alex asks. My hand involuntarily goes to my phone, even though I know there are no messages.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t expect I will for a while. Although I think they’re invited to Lacey’s party tomorrow.’
‘Well, that will be awkward,’ Alex says.
‘An appropriate continuation of the most awkward holiday season ever,’ I agree. ‘Marie and I will be OK, you know. Eventually.’
‘I seriously pondered switching firms just so I wouldn’t have to call him my partner any more,’ Alex says. ‘And I fucking swear, if he ever mentions your name to me again…all his teeth. Gone.’
‘I’d rather enjoy seeing that,’ I say.
‘Did Mom just say she wants you to punch JP in the face?’ Henry pipes up. ‘That is so cool!’
‘I keep on forgetting they have ears,’ Alex says. I rest my head on his shoulder and, with Annie in my lap, and Eddie occasionally kicking my thighs, doze off until the movie’s over.
The kids are all in bed and asleep. Alex disappears into the basement – ‘I think I too need to lift heavy shit today to decompress,’ he says – and it’s late in Calgary, and very late in Montréal. But I’m his. So I check in.
—Lover.
Thank God. I have need of you.
—Anything.
I need you to get me hard and ready for utilitarian, reproductive sex.
…
—Seriously? This, you ask of me?
What the fuck are you?
—Yours.
Continue.
—Your whore. Your fuckslave.
So yes. This I ask of you. Do I have to say it?
—Yes.
Do what you’re fucking told.
—How much time do you have?
Enough. Make it good. Reproductive sex is fucking boring.
I understand him perfectly. I always did. I don’t need to think for long; I know exactly what he needs to hear, right now.
—Do you remember…it must have been barely three days before my wedding.
Your and Alex’s wedding. This is going to make me want to fuck my wife?
—Yes. You don’t remember. You were already in Montreal. You flew back for our wedding, with Joy. You stayed at the fucking Ramada Inn.
We were still counting pennies. But I remember now. We met for coffee.
—Coffee? We met in the hotel room.
There was a coffeemaker. I made coffee. You said, ‘Where’s Joy?’ She was shopping.
—Her suitcase was on one of the beds. You started pulling her lingerie out, showing me.
You were angry. I wanted to make you angry.
—I was sitting on the other bed. And I asked you how monogamy was going. You had been married, what, six months?
Something like that. I remember, I wanted to stuff her panties in your mouth.
—Instead, you asked me to tell you about my last pre-marital fling. How did you know?
I know you as well as you know me.
—And I told you.
Tell me again. Yesss. Just like you told me then. I sat down on the bed beside you.
—I said, it was a few weeks ago. Alex was – away. At some conference. And we had this big workshop – I was still coaching skiing then, remember, but not competing any more. They brought in some big shot from Quebec. So fucking hot. Mulatto. Six-foot-three. Blond corns. Ripped.
—Another guy from the team, from Edmonton, was billeting with me, for the workshop.
Mmmm. I liked that set up the first time, too. By this time, we were lying on the bed. I reached for your legs.
—I slapped you. I said, no fucking hands. Just listen.
Tease.
—So. Where were we? Fiancé away. House guest. Workshop. Saturday afternoon. I have a work party Saturday night after the seminar. The Edmonton guy – he’s got plans Saturday night sans me, but he’s coming back to my place, not necessarily with expectations, but perhaps with hopes.
—We had, um, transgressed before.
Of course.
—Workshop is terrific. The Quebec guy spends a lot of time on me, during the workshop.
I bet he did.
—That’s what you said when I told you the story the first time, too.
I’m consistent. Continue.
—As things are wrapping up, he comes up to me, asks me what I was doing that night. I say, work party – would he like to come? He says – too spent for the party. Would I come see him after?
—And he gives me his motel room key.
—When I told you the story the first time, I pretended I didn’t know what he was saying.
—But of course I did.
—Although, in all honesty, I was not sure…how fully I would transgress.
—There are gradations to this art, as you know.
Of course.
—(hard?)
(Very much so.)
Continue.
Bold move, the hotel key. One of my favourite parts. He gets bolder, if I remember right.
—Yes.
—I call him from the party – it runs later than I had anticipated – to see if he was ‘still up for something’. He ‘is eagerly waiting’.
—So I go.
—I don’t use the room key; I knock.
so shy
(so fucking hard)
—He opens the door wearing boxer shorts.
—‘You made me get dressed,’ he says.
—I say, ‘Should you get dressed more, so we can go to the bar and get a drink or something?’
So innocent. When you told me that story the first time, at this point, I had you stroking my cock.
—No. You were fucking hard, and starting to fumble with your belt. Groaning a little. But every time you reached for me, I slapped you away.
That’s not how I remember it. Your hands on my cock by this time. Yesss. Tell me more.
—So there I am, at the door. Demure. Honestly, not a hundred per cent sure yet. And he says, in that über-sexy French accent, something like ‘The things I want to do with you, I can’t do in a bar.’
—I totally freeze up. Possibly yelp.
—And he laughs, and says, ‘English girls!’
Here comes my favourite part.
—You do remember.
—He shepherds me to a chair at the far end of the room, sits me down in it and then moves over to the bed. Sprawls there.
—And says, ‘I will stay here. And you stay there. And we will talk, and you will tell me things about yourself. And as you feel more comfortable, move the chair closer. I won’t come for you.’
Fuck, that is some serious skill.
—Yes.
—I think he had much practice.
Tell me, how long did you hold out. Now, when you’re telling me the story the first time, my hands are definitely under your skirt, and yours are on my cock.
—Yes. I held out only a little while, for both of you.
—I move the chair closer, bit by bit, as we talk.
—Such a sexy voice.
a very erotic dance
—When I finally make it within arm’s reach of the bed, he reaches for me and pulls me on to the bed.
And you fuck. And as I remember, the plot line – of the original event – goes downhill from here.
—Yes. The sex itself was anti-climactic. He had a good time. I was…underwhelmed.
—Terrible oral.
When you tell me the story, at this point, I put my face between your legs. I need to make that up to you.
—And I push you away. Hard.
motel key in hand
slowly inching yourself towards him to get fucked
very sexy
I’m so fucking hard – then, now
But yes, you push me away, and say, it’s not quite over. I let you finish, but I stay down between your thighs. Caressing, licking, occasionally nibbling.
—And now?
Go on. Finish. She’s not ready yet.
—So when it’s all over (and I think ‘Jeezus, finally, that was getting a little monotonous’), he lies on top of me and whispers what I suppose are all the right things (in French) into my ear. He starts trying to lull me to sleep, to stay the rest of the night…although there wasn’t much left of that…with him.
This is the point at which you remember you have another man at your house. Possibly in your bed.
—That’s your editorial. More importantly, there is another seminar session tomorrow, and the things I plan to wear for it are still wet in the washer.
—I leave with ‘I have things I need to put in the dryer’ as the genuine excuse.
—I don’t think he believes me.
Of course not.
—I get home. My friend is asleep.
—In my bed, not in the guest room.
Nice.
—I lie down beside him.
—(I switched the laundry stuff to the dryer first, priorities in order.)
naturally
—…and sleep like the dead until the alarm rings.
—And in the morning, I am mean.
Hot. I like this part too.
—I slide out of bed, and give him a pat on the arm.
—‘Too bad you were asleep when I came home.’
Cruel.
—Yes.
—I’m mildly sorry about that, now, you know.
—He was very fond of me. A good egg.
Tell me what happens next. In my hotel room. As you finish telling me the story the first time.
—Your belt’s undone and your cock’s out of your pants. My skirt is up around my waist and my panties down to my knees. I’m pushing you away, but you keep on climbing on me. Your fingers caress my pussy, then thrust in. You say…
‘Are you done talking? Then you can suck my cock.’
—And I say, ‘Fuck off.’
‘Fuck you? I’m planning to.’
—I don’t know when or how you get the condom on…
I’m talented.
—…but then you’re splitting me in half. Fuck. I scream.
I tell you to keep on fighting me.
—It’s the most violent sex we’ve ever had. Well, up to that point.
You’re so angry.
—And you?
Perhaps. Yes, I expect I was angry back then. I wasn’t as generous with my things yet. I liked the idea of sharing more than the reality.
—I thrust up against you with my hips as I push you away with my hands. I slam my forehead against your chest.
I fucking throw you against the bed, you hit the headboard. Fuck.
—That’s when you cum.
You came as soon as I slid into you.
—Slide is not the right verb.
Thrust. Rammed.
—Yes.
—We’re lying on the bed, my skirt still up around my waist, your pants undone, belt unbuckled, when we hear Joy fumbling with the door.
Continue. She is coming up the stairs right now.
—I pull up my panties and pull down my skirt. You just sit there, cock, with condom still half on it, hanging out.
—And not until you hear the door open do you slide it off – and into my panties – and do up your pants.
Oh, fuck yes. Thank you lover.
You are entrancing. Always.
—You’re welcome. For you.
xx
—xo
Fumbling at my door too. Alex. Naked. Except for a towel wrapped around his waist. I did not hear him come up, or go into the shower. He searches for pyjamas, then glances at me, laptop on lap.
‘What are you doing, love?’ he asks. Smiles.
What am I doing.
How about: Facilitating reproductive sex for an old friend.
How about: Cyberfucking my forever lover.
Instead:
‘Facebooking,’ I say. Naked, pyjamas in hand, Alex slides into bed beside me.
‘Anything new?’ he asks. I look at the screen as I log off.
‘Marie’s still married. Lacey is yet to update her status to engaged – do you think that’s intentional? My father’s single and your father’s in a relationship.’ Alex swats me with a pillow. But laughs.
‘And you and I?’ he asks as I put the laptop away.
‘Married,’ I say. He spoons me and kisses the back of my neck. Then slides into me – no thrusting or ramming. The sex is short, but satisfying. My orgasm unfolds slowly and gently, and although part of me is in a hotel room in Calgary three days before my wedding, most of me is in the bed, here, in the present. Satisfied.
After he comes, he’s asleep in seconds. I drift off a little more slowly. For the first time in several days, again mostly tranquil.
Mostly.
Because life, after all, is complicated.