Elements of Truth

He has never met anyone quite like himself. At least he doesn't think so. And that's where the problem lies. If we could read the minds of others, would we find more similarities than differences? If so, what would be the consequences?

To uphold the accepted values of our society we like to sit in parsimonious moral judgment of others. But do we secretly envy them their freedom, their experiences, even as we voice our verdicts, condemnation and contempt? As we judge, are we really grateful that we are not on trial ourselves, even if we ourselves are the only jury?

Bobby was certain it would be impossible to find someone who thought as he did about life, love, sex and death. Especially sex. He believed unreservedly that he had a very dark side. Fear crept into his everyday thinking. He was sometimes afraid of himself. Afraid of what lurked beneath his public persona. Private, hidden, fantastically morbid thoughts. If he ever allowed his musings to turn to action he'd be concerned for the well-being of others.

What would it be like to rape someone, he wondered? Was it still rape if that someone encouraged the act by behaving seductively, or even enjoyed the experience? Is it even possible that they could? Necrophilia. Pedophilia. Sex with animals. Fisting. Incest. Public sex. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism. Role playing. Cross-dressing.

So many intriguing proclivities. He knew about all these, some inclinations decidedly more deviant than others to his way of thinking. A few just simply macabre and abhorrent. Still, there must be people who are really wired differently for such sexual depictions and acts to be in the public domain in the first place.

Group orgies didn't seem so scarey and he was comfortable with the idea of gay and lesbian relationships. But did BDSM attract him? Was moderate pain or even outright humiliation an aphrodisiac for some people? Perhaps. And not that hard to imagine. Did he want a woman to piss on him? Work a dildo up her ass? Up his ass? Did she really enjoy being spanked? Having her tits slapped and nipples stretched painfully as she neared orgasm? Possibly. But who knew for certain?

Was all that porn out there just make-belief, created by men for male audiences with similar latent desires? Were the women merely models, staging an event for which they were handsomely paid? Another kind of prostitution? If so he could put his demons to rest because it was the idea of pleasuring someone else that truly, in his mind, determined what was acceptable sexual behavior.

Fantasies. If consensual, should we be encouraged to turn them into reality? A confluence of circumstances would be needed. The time, the place, the person, the connection. Exploring the possibilities together. Understanding the motivations and limitations, needs and desires of one another. What were the odds of all this coming together? About the same as winning the lottery. Of course, it might feel like winning the lottery!

****

"What's the kinkiest sex you've ever had with Suzanne?" asked Bobby as he stared intently into the flames of the campfire. He and his closest friend were enjoying the setting sun as they concluded another day of portaging and canoeing at a nearby state park. An annual summer ritual, the two men reveled in the solitude of their surroundings and each others company. A one-week respite from the stress of big city life, jobs and the constant demands of their spouses.

"Kinkiest?" asked George. "There's such a word? I dunno. Nothing really. We made out in my truck one time, parked at the beach if that counts."

"That's it? Sex in a truck?"

"Well, yeah. I mean there were some people around but kids too so we had to be really careful. It was a long time ago though. Just after we got married. I picked her up from work and on a whim just decided to drive to the beach instead of directly home. We parked far enough away, talked for a while and we just sorta got carried away. It was still quite light out. At one point she even flashed her tits. That was... well, it was pretty exciting for both of us. We'd never done anything like that. And we never have again. How 'bout you and Janine?"

"Nothing even remotely like it," said Bobby. "We did it once in a motel room with the drapes open a bit. We don't... you know, we don't do it much now. Fuck, that is. Period. It became kinda routine after a while and I think we both just got bored. I still love her. Don't get me wrong. But after all these years there's no passion left. No interest even. Like they say, it's like living with a great roommate. You get on really well, but that's about all."

Aside from the sound of crackling embers the two men sat in companionable silence. After a long minute George got up from the log that served as their seating arrangement for the evening and made his way to the tent.

Returning with one of the many bottles of Absolut stored in his backpack, he poured a generous helping into Bobby's paper cup and then filled his own. They were drinking the vodka neat, having run out of mixers as usual on the second day into the trip. "Throw some more wood on the fire will you," he requested as he resumed his place on the log. "Shit, I'm beat. That was quite the run today. Hot as hell and I think we must have covered about ten or twelve miles. Just as well only half a mile of that was portaging. Tell you what though. My butt sure knows I've been sitting in a canoe most of the day."

Bobby took a long pull from his drink and nonchalantly stoked the fire, adding wood as he did so. The alcohol was beginning its therapeutic work on him. It was easier now to ignore the aches and pains caused by four consecutive days of hiking and paddling. "I'm getting too old for this," he volunteered.

"Maybe we should take tomorrow off and just chill at the campsite," offered George as he inspected a blister that had formed on his left hand. "We've got the time if we start heading back to the cars on Friday."

Night sounds of the surrounding wilderness now began to encroach as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. It was time to cook up another batch of noodles and Bobby rose to collect the necessary paraphernalia and ingredients for their evening meal. He almost always did the cooking. George typically assumed responsibility for setting up the tent and securing the canoes for the night. As he worked at his preparations Bobby reflected once more on the disappointment that had become his sex life with Janine.

"I'm a married monk," he voiced his concern out loud knowing George would be listening, no longer distracted as he was by more evening chores. "I mean, damn. It's frustrating as hell. Sometimes I just wanna do something really crazy."

"Like what?" queried George, taking a moment to glance over at his companion as he bent over the fire, using unremarkable culinary skills to start the process of boiling water in a pot.

"I dunno exactly. Can I ask you something big guy?"

"Sure."

"Have you ever had an affair?" asked Bobby after a momentary pause for thought.

"No. Have you?"

"No. Have you ever wanted to George?"

"I guess. I mean I've never had the opportunity and I've never gone looking for it. But, yeah, I could see it happening. My sex life with Suzanne is nothing to write home about either. Seems to me, more and more she can take it or leave it. If I don't initiate something we go for weeks without it. Doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. Never used to be that way."

"See, I'm kinda thinking monogamy isn't the only choice in this day and age. If it works, then great. But I don't think it does for a lot of men," explained Bobby. "Not if they had a free choice."

"Why, 'cause we're horny all the time?" asked George, smiling broadly.

"That's a big part of it buddy. Seems like sex is in our face 24/7 these days and it's not our wives who are doing the teasing. Movies, video games, television, magazines, advertising, fashion, porn on the Net. I heard it said once that only a man can think about dipping his wick as he sits on scaffolding 20 feet above the ground, on a blistering hot day, welding the side of a ship. Now how different is that from what women mostly think about?

"I don't think their minds are on sex very much, except maybe as an afterthought. And then only if the circumstances are right. Like when she isn't too tired, is content with her career and personal life, isn't having a spat with one of her friends or all fucked up with misgivings about her own sexuality and appearance, and when she is with someone who turns her on, and is feeling..."

"... horny," interjected George.

"Well, yeah. All those things combined. See, but that's the problem. Unless all the conditions are right I don't think women get horny very often. So sex isn't what's on their minds most of the time. And the only reason they flirt and put out early on in the relationship is because they want to make babies for fuck's sake. Literally. That's what I think anyway."

"So all this crap about husbands stepping up and assuming a bigger role in housekeeping so the little woman will be more relaxed and accessible is a pile of hogwash?" asked George.

"Pretty much all crap I'd say. I've never seen any research done that suggests house-husbands and supportive men who do their share of the chores around the house and spend a lot of time with the kids get more or better sex. Have you?"

"No, can't say that I have. So what are all us married monks supposed to do?"

"If I knew that I'd be a much happier man, my friend. Much happier." Bobby paused as he gathered his thoughts. He trusted George. They had been good buddies since high school and were pretty much as close as two men could get, short of being gay.

"Can I tell you something?" he continued. "Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have sex like you see in porn on the Internet. You know, wild and unrestrained fucking."

"Unrestrained as in....?" asked George.

"I dunno. Use your imagination. You name it, you do it."

"Like really kinky stuff."

"Yeah, really kinky."

"Okay, I'm letting my imagination run wild and all I'm getting is horny," laughed George out loud. "And, no, you stay right where you are," he added, throwing a stern glance in Bobby's direction.

"No fears man. I'm not thinking that way. But things like BDSM, golden showers. That sort of thing. Would you ever do that stuff?"

"I guess. No. Actually, who the fuck knows. If it was there, maybe. I'm betting every guy thinks about things like that, at least once in a while."

"Would you do it with Suzanne? Or with a stranger? Maybe a lover?"

"Suzanne doesn't even come into the picture... into my fantasies I mean," replied George, "because it would be so improbable. Hell she'd divorce me just knowing I think about kinky sex on occasion. So in my fantasies it would have to be with a stranger in an unanticipated tryst. Makes it seem more possible. And more unreal and palatable at the same time if you get my drift, speaking as someone with a moral conscience."

"I know what you mean. Still, isn't that kinda sad? That we can't be honest enough with our life partners to say, 'hey, look-it. It would really turn me on if we... if you... could we try...'. And know that they would want to enjoy the experience with you. It's too bad. Being in love for so long, caring about and for someone each in our own way, and we don't even feel safe exploring our fantasies together. I wonder how many men out there actually have that ability, that privilege? I'm thinking very few."

"Not likely any of those in traditional relationships anyway," offered George. "Their women wouldn't be too obliging."

"Yeah, next thing you know they'd be checking your computer to see what porn sites you visit and demanding that you stop. Why is that? Because they don't want you fantasizing about having sex with other women, that's why. In case you get it in your head to try it one day. At the same time, they wouldn't ever be interested in doing any of that stuff with you.

"It goes back to the earliest times, to the days of hunters and gatherers. Men provided, women cared for the offspring. Women held on to their men. It was a preservation thing. For themselves, their offspring and society. That possessiveness still governs relationships that women have today, and not just with men, even though they're so-called emancipated and quite capable of looking after themselves. I could be wrong, but I doubt it."

"I dunno buddy," replied George after some serious thought. "I think you may be stretching things a bit here, even if you're just talking generalities. I mean don't men have the same jealousies, the same need to possess and protect what they have? Like, how would it be if Janine slept with another man?"

Bobby grinned. "Hell, fine by me as long as I could watch while they were doing it. Maybe jack off on her." He hesitated briefly, then continued: "I remember Janine got pretty pissed at me one time when I was telling her about a fantasy that involved another man. She said she hated it that my fantasies involved other people. She made it clear she wasn't happy about it. That's pretty much when I stopped sharing my thoughts with her.

"Truth is I really don't know if I would have a problem knowing she was doing it with another man. If I was actually there, if I knew it was really happening. I just don't know. I might kill the bastard, or I might join in. I think it would entirely depend on what Janine wanted. If she was getting off on it, hell that might be pretty exciting. A great turn-on. How weird is that?"

Bobby paused again: "How 'bout you and Suzanne?"

"You're one fucked up dude brother," replied George, punching Bobby playfully on the shoulder. "So I guess it really does come down to that. If it's okay for you to sleep around, it would be okay for your wife to do the same. Make sense?"

"I guess. Kinda. You didn't answer my question about Suzanne though."

"No, I can't say I'd stand for that."

"Okay, fine. That's legit. But could you share her at least in a fantasy? And could she share in that fantasy? No harm in that, right?"

"Oh I'd have no difficulty. But she'd never agree to even share the fantasy, let alone carry it through. So what's the point of telling her?" replied George earnestly. "My guess is she'd just get pissed off, like you say Janine did. The way I see it, women typically think there is something wrong with those kinds of fantasies so there can never be a meeting of the minds there, right?"

The two friends sat quietly absorbed in thought until Bobby once more broke the silence. "Well, that's it then, my fellow monk. That's all she wrote. Nowhere to go with this. For all intents and purposes we are celibate and frustrated. Our wives are celibate and happy. I guess we know who holds all the cards. Who has always held the full hand."

"Yes sir. At least the cards women know about," replied George. "So many extramarital affairs. So many secrets. Just another way this world is all screwed up. But something I've always wondered about. For every guy who cheats in a relationship, there's a woman doing the same to their spouse, boyfriend or whatever."

Bobby gave George one of his knowing looks. "I've got the answer to that one too. Those are the women who are still looking, or looking for something better. Why do you suppose it is the rich and famous who get hit on the most? And let me ask you, when was the last time you were hit on anyways?"

"Precisely never."

"Exactly. My point. Case closed. You and me Jack. We're plain, ordinary folk. Spoken for. Signed, sealed and delivered. I'm not being unkind here but we're not much of a catch. Mid-career nobodies in our fourth decade, a little overweight, kids at home, driving mini-vans and still heavily in debt. Hell, I wouldn't even be interested in me."

"That's why I love you, man. Your conversation is always so uplifting," chuckled George.

"Yeah, well. Somewhere in all this shit lies the truth man," mused Bobby, finishing his plate of noodles and washing it down with a mouthful of vodka. "It's not a pathetic picture. Just a blurry, less than colorful one. I'm going down to the waterfront to wash these plates off. When I come back I'm going to help myself to another very large measure of vodka before I turn in for the night. And dream of something other than sugar plum fairies."

***

As Bobby rinsed the plastic crockery through crystal clear cool water, faint sounds reached him from somewhere across the still lake. Darkness hid any activity from view but the rhythmic splish-splash of canoe paddles was unmistakable, clearly audible over the ripples of subdued giggling. "Hello," he called out. Instantly the sounds ceased. "Hello," he repeated. "Who's out there?"

"Land ho," he heard a disembodied woman's voice respond. "Hi-ya landlubber, or whatever the proper greeting is. We're coming in. Keep talking so we can track to you."

"I think it's a good thing you come ashore," Bobby called again. "You really shouldn't be out when it's dark. Besides, the weather on the lake can be a little unpredictable this time of year. What are you doing out there anyway?"

"Dark? Duh, really? Is it? I thought my eyesight had gone," came the sarcastic reply. What had been muted chuckles now turned into merry chortling. "Keep talking me hearty. We're almost there I think," the voice came back a second time.

"What do you want me to say?" queried Bobby. "I can recite the words to the national anthem, pieces of Shakespeare. Whatever. Just keep paddling."

"Just don't mime anything," came the immediate retort.

"Right, got ya. Speaking of playwrights, we had a really great English teacher one year in high school. His way of getting us to understand Shakespeare was to first tell us about the life and times that the bard lived in so we could better appreciate what he wrote about, the words he used and why. Then we all took parts in the play and read them out loud in class and discussed them. I'm sure you find this all very fascinating. To this day...."

"Enough," interjected the first voice, now much closer. "Spare us any more words about reading old writings."

With that a shadow darker than it's surroundings began to form before Bobby. Gradually the outline of a canoe and its two occupants took shape. He reached for the grab loops on the bow and pulled the aluminum craft part way up the sandy strip of beach. As he busied himself steadying the boat so that the two women could step out, he became aware that George was standing at his shoulder, already offering his hand to each of them as they came ashore.

"Ever the gallant gentleman," muttered Bobby as he straightened himself up and gestured courteously to each newcomer in turn. "George, I'd like you to meet Mystery and Enigma, ladies of the lake. Mystery. Enigma. This is George. And I answer to most anything but come most readily if you call me Bobby."

"Interesting choice of words. Hi, I'm Grace. And grateful," said the first woman, smiling. "And this is Eileen," as she pointed with her chin towards her companion. "We were so lost. Eileen has no sense of direction in daylight never mind in the dark. We had no idea which way to go to get to shore."

"Well, all that el Jimador didn't help," explained Eileen, reaching down into the canoe to retrieve several unopened cans of the tequila cocktail. "This is all that's left. We started out with a bunch but Grace got thirsty," she chuckled.

"Well," offered George, "you ladies look wet and cold. I have no idea where your camp is but you're welcome to share our fire. Follow me." With that he turned to head up a nearby embankment, Eileen firmly latched on to his extended elbow.

The log barely provided seating for four but as Bobby explained, sitting side by side and shoulder to shoulder would help the fire do its work to dry and keep them warm. From time to time after a little awkward maneuvering he was able to study the newcomers, albeit in profile, but he was pleased with what he saw.