The Possibility of the Harvest

It all began rather innocently: a glance, then a nod, progressing into a friendly "hello", a random conversation, sharing of a beer, to the final, inevitable destination of the bedroom. This inexorable spiral on which we rode lead down a path to nowhere; his misery and my loneliness proved to be an intoxicating, erotic, concoction. The surrender was negotiated, the final plans made, and the bittersweet spoil of victory. The victory was everything we had hoped it would be, but the trophy was far less than the heated whispers of passion anticipated. The trophy lead us both back to where we had begun: a glance, then a nod, the progression into a friendly "hello", a random conversation, sharing of a beer, and the return to the bedroom. Someone had already claimed the prize, someone he returned home to night after night, held the prize, which was far from my grasp.

I knew the first time would not be the last; the wanting between us would not be satisfied by just one taste. I enjoyed being with him: his openness, his lack of inhibitions, his wanting, and his skill as a lover made masked the bitterness leaving only the sweetness lingering. My feelings about the event left me confused. I had no regret and my only wanting was the desire to take another bite from the fruit. I had to wonder about him and his feelings. I had no one to answer to, but his situation was quite different. I wondered if she knew how loose her grasp was on her prize.

I kept replaying the event in my mind. There was no awkwardness between us, no moments of shyness, just two people indulging their appetites and satisfying a hunger. I watched as he undressed, unabashedly he stood before me, his clothes in a disheveled heap around his feet. Eagerly, he watched me undress. I could feel the stain of red as it spread across my cheeks. I felt burning heat from his eyes as he inspected each part revealed as I disrobed. I felt my nipples harden and my breasts swell beneath the intensity of his stare. My skin broke out into a series of goose bumps as he traced a visual path downward, past my stomach. I felt an ache deep within my body awakening as he looked on. With a deep, passionate, kiss he lowered me down on the bed.

I could feel the need within him as he pressed against me; hungrily I invited him in. He rose up, hurriedly sliding the condom down on his long shaft. I was grateful for his forethought, and ashamed at the lack of mine. Greedily, he plunged into my innermost parts creating a flurry of sensation within me. Unable to hold back, I felt the rush of orgasm as it flowed from deep within. He responded with a deep groan, sliding me on top of him. I forced him into submission as I grasped his wrists pushing down on him with my body weight. My sensed reeled as I observed the intensity of his response, the pleasure I created for him spurred me on. Very close to loosing control, I yielded allowing him to position me on my back. With cries of pleasure, I rocked against him allowing him to bring me to orgasm again. A few moments later, he joined me in that dusky world of pleasure.

We lay entwined, comfortable and warm, each of us lost in a private world of thought. He sighed as he got up, looking down at me as he put on his clothes. I slid on my robe and shared a cigarette with him. I sensed that he didn't want to go, but he had little choice. I locked the door behind him, listening as he pulled away from the curb. The circumstances of our lives had not changed, but something within us had. Although, we weren't exactly sure what effect the change would have.

I met him for a drink a few days after our union. I listened to him as he spoke, adding comments here and there as I saw fit. I listened as he talked about their relationship and I began to wonder why he stayed. I kept silent as he answered the phone call. I watched as his body stiffened; the hair on his arms stood erect and his jaw muscles tightened. I could tell by the tone of his voice, he was talking to her. There was no affection in his voice, the conversation was very curt and matter of fact. I began to wonder why she stayed. She knew about his marital exoduses, his feelings toward her were apparent in his voice, why did she stay when it was obvious that she was not wanted? I kept quiet after he turned off the ringer and waited for him to speak.

He took a long gulp of his beer and lit a cigarette. "You know," he said through a cloud of exhaled smoke, "I really enjoy this, just sitting here with you in a bar drinking a beer." I shook my head in understanding, he had to go and that I understood. He drained his glass and crunched out his cigarette, grabbing his jacket, he turned to leave. "I'll catch up with you in a couple of days," he said as he picked up his keys and turned toward the door. "See ya later," I replied trying to sound nonchalant, but on the inside, my mind was reeling. I sipped my drink and sat pondering. I wanted another taste of that sweet fruit, but found the unpleasant taste of bitterness beginning to rise on my tongue. I knew I would taste that fruit again, but I wondered when. Impatiently, I waited.

Over the next few days, I kept myself busy with work. I tried to entertain myself and went out for drinks with friends, but I began to feel lonely again and wondered if or when I would see him. I saw him here and there; life in a small town is like that. We always waved and exchanged glances and cordial "Hellos'". Anxiously, I waited for a less cordial exchange and one more carnal in nature.

I pulled my robe tighter around my frame as I answered the door, surprised to see him standing there with a six pack of beer tucked under his arm. He flopped on my couch, cracking open a beer and lighting a cigarette. I took the beer from him and waited for him to speak. A couple of beers and some light conversation later, I found myself in his arms again, longing and wanting. He untied my robe; its pink satin flowed to the floor around my feet. He looked at me with an appreciating look. Grasping my chin firmly, he kissed me deeply with a longing of his own. "You make me feel so good," he whispered in a moan. I pulled at his mat of chest hair as I unbuttoned his denim shirt, inhaling deeply of his masculine scent. He directed me into the bedroom, sitting me onto the bed. I watched as he unfastened his belt buckle and lowered his jeans. He was hard with wanting, I slid his briefs down, eagerly taking his member into my mouth. He wound his hands in my hair, guiding me. With a gasp he pulled me away and lowered me back. Spreading my legs wide, he lowered himself between them, licking and sucking, creating waves of pleasure within me.

I begged for him to stop as I struggled to control my climax. My begging encouraged him onward as he explored my nether regions. Unable to stop myself, my body rocked in orgasmic waves. He slid into my slick, milky, darkness pushing me closer and closer to an edge I had feared to explore. When we had exhausted ourselves, I looked up at the white of the ceiling. "Can you stay?" I asked afraid of the truth of his answer. With a deep sigh, he shook his head "no" and looked away. I felt a wave of jealously roar through me as I contemplated the unfairness of the situation in which I found myself.

He pulled on his clothes and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. I listened as he listed the reasons why he could not leave her. I don't know what made him go into such a repertoire; I had heard them all before. Perhaps, it was for his benefit, not mine. I shook off my feelings, not willing to risk a friendship, not wanting to think that this may be my last taste of the fruit. We made plans to see each other again and I kissed him on the cheek when he left.

I soaked in the tub, contemplating his rationales for staying. To me, it was incomprehensible. In so many ways his marriage was a marriage of sole convenience. They were entwined in a web in which I wanted no part, each strand and fiber carefully laid out, plotted for a desired outcome. The logical part of my mind listed the reasons why this could never be anything more than what it was. My heart yearned for something more; perhaps some answer dwelled in the realm of possibilities. My body urged my mind to silence; at least some part of my innermost being was fulfilled, even if it was just temporary. Together we struggled; submerged in doubt, grasping for hope, and fighting the undercurrents of reason.

He stopped by many times and we ate much more of the fruit, but in the end, we played a game that had no winner. Each night he went home and I slept alone. I felt sorry for him and sorrier for her. She kept her prize. No matter how precariously, he remained in her possession. She would have to fight bitterly to maintain her hold on him and for that I felt sorry for her. I had the one thing he wanted the most, but was too afraid pursue, freedom. Freedom is not with out risk, risks he was unwilling to take, and for that I felt sorry for him. Neither one of us was sorry about the fruit we had shared and neither one of us was worse off for the experience. Even now, we exchange glances, nods, cordial "Hellos'" and occasionally, polite conversation, but the remainder of the fruit hangs from the vine, impatiently waiting, waiting for the possibility of the harvest yet to come.