Melting Away Slowly Pt 04

Copyright 2009, All rights reserved

Scenes from Chapters 5&6

"My, oh my, Mark. You're awfully chipper this morning," she commented at breakfast, "What's going on?"

I looked at her, for a moment wondering if she knew or had guessed that I was taking her admonition to heart and getting my animal urges taken care of somewhere else. But nothing that would indicate such knowledge showed on her face. And to be honest, I didn't think that she was enough of an actress to fool me.

"Nothing special," I said, thinking that doing something for the third time probably reduced it from being 'something special' to just mundane and routine.

"A lovely day," I smiled.

***

Stephanie took me aside during our break one evening.

"Mark," she told me laughing, "you know that all of these young coeds in our class, when they are waiting for their turns to dance with the men? They sit there admiring your wide shoulders and your tight little buns! They say things like 'not bad for a professor.' "

"And how do you know? Why are they telling you?" I asked her, thinking that she was pulling my leg.

"Because I tell them that I completely agree with them!" was her response, laughing even more herself.

How that woman does make me blush. Thankfully we were standing outside, where the lights were fairly dim.

***

"Suddenly, though, that changed for me," he was grinning as he told me, "When I was 16 year old, I was invited by one of the girls in my class to go with her to her 'coming out' party. I know it was a surprise to her, heck, it was almost a surprise to me, but I remembered all of the steps to the dances that I'd learned, and started dancing her around the floor.

"I discovered that for me, at least, dancing was my ticket to having more women that I would have ever dreamed possible. And, just between you, me and the lamp-post, I wasn't just nailing the girls, but a fair share of their mothers too!" Bob said, laughing at the memories.

"But Mark, what about you? I took up dancing to get women; what motivated you?" he asked as an afterthought.

"Bob, how can you ask that? To attract women, of course! Just like you," I replied, laughing at my joke, but knowing that it was kind of true, even as I said it.

***

As we drove home, the Margaritas were having their effect on Martha. She was pretty happy, and was waxing sentimental, recalling good times that we had earlier in our marriage, times before the boys had grown and left home.

"Mark," she whispered into my ear, "You're a hell of a guy, and a great husband. I love you. Thanks for taking me out to dinner."

I was about to tell her that I loved her too, when she gave me a peck on my cheek, and before I could say 'boo', she had left and gone into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

I was left standing there, flabbergasted. I hadn't been given the slip like that since college.

*** When Stephanie walked in, looking simply ravishing, in a sleeveless floral-print dress, wide at the bottom, that showed her shapely legs off to her advantage, and with a collar that came up on her neck, emphasizing the extra button (or two) that was open revealing her cleavage. I wasn't complaining.

I was waiting when she made her grand entrance, and as she walked over to me, I handed her a long-stem yellow rose, which I was told, according to the language of flowers, was for 'friendship.'

***

"Mark, I have to thank you, and not just for helping me today," she said, and I found my head being pulled down to where she could reach me, standing on her tip-toes.

Then she kissed me on the lips, her arm around my neck. She moved back just a short distance and looked up at me.

And then she kissed me again, this time, her lips were looser, and were gently moving in a way that I found sensuous beyond my recollection. I'd forgotten how much I longed for kisses, moist, slow, and delicate.

By the third kiss, we were embraced in passion, our tongues deeply probing each other, offering the promise of pleasures to come. My hands moved under her sweatshirt, where I discovered that I had been correct, she didn't have a bra on. She not only didn't seem to object when my hands found her breasts, but her nipples became erect almost immediately, as I caressed and rolled them in my fingers.

When we were done with that third kiss, Stephanie took my hand,

"Mark, if it's OK with you, I think we should adjourn this up to my bedroom," were the words she whispered quietly in my ear.

***

Chapter 7.

I'm sure that on that Friday, Martha made sure that she was finished at work by five o'clock, in order to be home at five-thirty. After all it was Valentine's Day.

She was probably cheerful as she drove home, wondering where we would go to dinner, our tradition on Valentine's Day. I'm supposed to do the whole thing — a card, flowers, and a small box (at her request) of candies; she loved the chocolate, hated the calories.

Usually for Valentine's Day, we would go out to dinner someplace special. It was expected that I would have made reservations weeks in advance if necessary, to get into the finest new restaurants, and to get the best seats.

It didn't work out that way, though.

First, I was late getting home because I'd been getting my Valentine's Day gift from Stephanie, and was in no special hurry to get home.

It was past 6:15 when I arrived at the house. Martha's car was already in the garage, as I opened the door and drove in.

I must have seemed preoccupied, because I walked past the living room without even noticing that Martha was there.

Martha spoke up,

"Mark! I'm in here, in the living room."

I stopped and turned back a couple of steps, and my eyes adjusted to the lower light level, and sure enough, there was Martha.

Martha was dressed nicely for work, so she wouldn't have to change out of her outfit. She looked like she had been reading the newspaper to wait for me to arrive. When she saw me, she put down the paper and turned off the news on the television, and looked around for her purse, wondering if she needed to take it with her to dinner, I suppose.

"Oh, sorry. Couldn't see you in there," I said, "Have a good day at work?"

"Why...yes, I'm sure. But..." she stammered, as she looked at me expectantly.

I think that Martha was totally confused. I wasn't carrying anything — no cards, no flowers, no candy. Nada. I wasn't rushing to her to tell her that she was my Valentine sweetheart. She was perplexed. What could this possibly mean?

"Where are..., I mean, what are we doing for dinner?" she finally got out the words.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not that hungry tonight. Why don't you just fix yourself some left-overs, and I'll get something later, if I feel hungry," I replied, completely serious, and then I walked back to my office and shut the door.

I suspect that at first, Martha thought that it was some kind of joke. She didn't find it funny, I'm sure, but she was going to try and put her best face on anyway. Why ruin her evening by getting angry at me right off the bat.

She knocked and opened the door to my office, to find me looking back at her from the chair in front of my computer.

"Mark, honey, do you know what today is?" she inquired sweetly.

I looked back at her, my face with just a slightly wry smile,

"Can't fool me. It's Friday, February 14th. But I have to let you know, I cheated with the answer: I have a calendar right in front of me on the wall," I informed her, completely calmly, without any particular emotion. Her eyes followed my finger to the calendar to which I was pointing.

"Oh! I guess so," Martha said, as she retreated, with a look of fear and curiosity in her face.

I could almost read her mind: My goodness, he doesn't remember! He is going to have to see a doctor. It could be Alzheimer's or something. He's too young to be losing his mind.

She didn't even notice that my hair was still damp from my shower with Steph. Funny, that, when I thought back on it — I had showered with Stephanie because it was fun, not to conceal our affair. But it didn't matter, my erstwhile wife didn't notice anyway.

What I didn't know was whether my wife's plan had been to 'grant me' some sexual relief that night. After ignoring her that evening, I knew she wasn't going to offer now. Not that I gave a rat's ass.

On Sunday I would discover that Martha decided on her course of action, and called our eldest son Daniel to ask for help.

That night, for once, Martha and I were in entirely reversed positions. That night, Martha was the one in emotional turmoil, sure that there was something very wrong, just not sure of what.

On the other hand, I was asleep almost immediately, dreaming about a petite, redheaded woman, who was telling me that she was available as often as I want her, and whenever I can find the opportunity. That king-sized mattress sure was comfortable; especially when I was feeling satisfied.

***

The Saturday after Valentine's Day was like most weekends had been in the past year; Martha and I basically avoided each other. Only this weekend, Martha was nagged by an undefined fear.

Sure, she was plenty pissed that I had seemingly forgotten about Valentine's Day, but she contained her anger, offset by her fear that this was a sign of some major medical issue that needed to be diagnosed and corrected.

After talking to our son Dan on Friday night, Martha just lay low Saturday, keeping out of my way, which, it turns out, was fine by me.

Sunday was another matter.

Sunday morning, Dan had called me from his cell phone, already on his way to the house by the time he felt it was permissible to call. He spoke to me, and I agreed to go out to lunch with him.

In fact, to his surprise, I was in good spirits, and at first blush, was acting perfectly normal. I could see in his expression that he was relieved. We took separate cars, and went to one of the chain-restaurants that would serve either breakfast or lunch when we arrived.

We ordered our meals, and chatted about Dan's family, various projects and activities that he had been working on, and how my classes were going. Finally, I looked at my son, and decided to stop playing around,

"Dan, I'm sure glad to see you, and I'm delighted that you've come all the way down here to see me, but maybe you could come around to the point of whatever it is we need to talk about," I said, laying it on the line.

"Dad, Mom is worried. She is worried about your memory, whether you need to see a doctor, or something," he told me; with clear distress at having to even raise this issue.

"Now why would your mother think that I'm having a problem with my memory? Here we go: Pi is equal to 3.14159265. Is that enough places? I could go for fifteen more if you wanted," I smirked a little as I said it; I was teasing him, and he knew it.

"It isn't your long-term memory that she's worried about, Dad, it's your short-term memory — about recent things. Like she tells me that she asked you repeatedly to fix a clog in her sink, but you kept forgetting," he gave his first example.

"What she told you is a little misleading, Son. Did she mention that the sink that she's talking about is the one in your old bathroom? The sinks in the master bath are working just fine, and I'll guarantee you that if we have any guests staying over in your old room, I'll clean the sink before they use it. I just don't see the same urgency to do it that your mom does," I explained, knowing that I too was doing a little prevaricating.

If his mother wanted him to know that she'd moved out of our bedroom, let her explain it to him. Maybe she would be more honest with him than she'd been with me.

"The other thing she mentioned," he continued in his investigation, "was that you forgot Valentine's Day altogether. She didn't get into details, but she implied that you didn't get her any cards, or flowers or candy, and that you didn't take her out for dinner, like you always do."

"Dan, I think that it is your mother who is having the memory problem. I was completely aware that last Friday, February the Fourteenth, was Valentine's Day. Perhaps, what she doesn't remember is that she made it clear to me Christmas evening, after you all had left, that she was not interested in romantic evenings, or gifts, and in fact that they make her angry.

"So I acquiesced to her wishes, and ignored Valentine's Day this year. We are too old for that kind of thing, according to your mother," I related to my son, although I suspect that my interpretation of her tirade was not what his mother intended or expected. So be it; it's the law of unintended consequences.

What Martha actually wanted was that I should remain the romantic, attentive husband, attending to her needs and desires, while she ignored mine.

"Well..." my son responded, still confused, but starting to realize that the waters were deeper here than he was aware. And I don't think that he want to get involved, either. Not that I blame him!

After a pause, in which we were both silent, Dan spoke again,

"I guess that there have been a few misunderstanding between you and mom. Maybe you two ought to sit down and get things straightened out. You know how you always told me to talk to you before I went off and did anything stupid. That communications solve most problems."

I was shaking my head at him, even though I was smiling.

"Son, I've tried talking to your mom, and she's not interested in listening to what I have to say," I concluded, on a sad note.

The check came, which I paid, and my son and I shook hands and went our separate ways. Dan was going directly home, and I assume that he would speak to his mother on the phone.

I got out my cell phone, and made a phone call as well. After she answered me in the affirmative, I drove over to Stephanie's condo. She met me at the door in a sheer robe that left little to the imagination. I sure hope that none of her neighbors saw it when she opened the door. They would be scandalized. We spent the afternoon together.

No, it wasn't all in bed. Only an hour or so. An absolutely fabulous hour or so, granted. Steph encouraged me to try her 'doggie style', and she finished things off on top. She was certainly broadening my horizons.

Then we took a drive, and went for a walk, holding hands, and laughing like a couple of kids, around one of the local lakes.

It was that afternoon that I had one of those epiphanies about relationships.

Although the sex with Stephanie was wonderful, different and far more varied than it had ever been with Martha, it truly wasn't the most important part of our relationship.

We talked. Even laying there in bed, we talked.

That was when I remembered that Martha and I used to talk like that as well, but as the intimacy declined, so did our conversation with each other.

I wondered about that. I know that it was difficult for me to sit there and have a civilized conversation with Martha anymore, because I was always angry with her. When she cut me off and humiliated me in the physical aspects of our relationship, I just avoided her, since if I started telling her my true feelings, we would become angry with each other, and it would just turn into a fight.

I suspect that Martha avoided initiating conversations with me because she knew that if we had an open-ended discussion it would inevitably come around to our lack of intimacy, a topic which she certainly wanted to avoid. So we both avoided conversation with each other, except for the most mundane topics.

The lack of physical intimacy and sex actually kept us from talking. It was a cause and effect situation. Could you have a successful relationship in which you stopped communicating?

I reflected that perhaps if both spouses had lost their physical desires for each other and didn't care about it anymore, they could continue to communicate; but that wasn't true in my case.

Now that I had established a physically intimate relationship with Stephanie, I wasn't angry with Martha all of the time the way I had been, I was just becoming indifferent towards her. It was even starting to amuse me, that she was so self-absorbed that she hadn't noticed that I was happier these days.

I got home late that night.

***

In the story of life, if one takes the broader view, most of it is spent in routine. We sleep about 1/3 of our lives, we work about an equal amount. We spend various hours fixing meals and eating; we spend a certain amount of time grooming. We engage in certain forms of entertainment. And there is a small fraction of time for most of us that is spent having sex.

So, in the McDonald house, life went on.

I don't know what Dan told his mother about our conversation. If I know him, it was probably limited to 'Dad's memory is fine, you just have to sit down and have a talk with him.' Well, that didn't happen.

Maybe Martha just thought that leaving well enough alone was good enough. For the most part, so did I.

I was taking Stephanie's advice, and not rushing to make any permanent decisions about Martha and me. No surreptitious visits to lawyers having divorce papers drawn up, no secret splitting of bank accounts. I was just taking my time and considering the future.

Not terribly 'up to speed' on state law, I was vaguely aware that California was a 'no-fault' state, so if there was a divorce, it wouldn't matter what the cause or whose 'fault.' It was just a question of equitable division of property, which I realized would be pretty easy for Martha and me.

The next 'crisis' occurred about a month after the 'Missing Valentine's Day,' as I thought of it. It was the same weekend as St. Patrick's Day, but completely unrelated. It had to do with Martha's employment.

The Vice-President of the finance department was retiring, and was having a going-away party. It was to be a formal event, with a multi-course meal and dancing. And presumably, his successor would be named before the end of the evening.

"Be sure that you are home in time tonight, Mark," Martha was instructing me at breakfast.

"No later than 5:30. And remember to pick up your tux sometime today," she added.

"I'll see you then," she finished, blowing me some sort of air kiss on her way out the door.

"Absolutely. Sure. Whatever you desire!" I replied with a chuckle to the already closing door, as I listened to her car starting, while the garage door opener ground away, lifting the outer door to allow her car to pass out of the house.

I picked up the phone and called Stephanie's number,

"Hello darling,' she answered, seeing my telephone I.D.

"What if I had been Martha calling and you called her 'darling'?" I asked, mischievously.

"Oh my goodness... I suppose I would have to tell her that I thought she was you, and accept the consequences," she told me.

I'll bet she would, too!

"I just called to update you on today's schedule. The retirement party for Martha's boss is tonight, so I have to pick up my tux, and be home by 5:30, so we can get there in time for dinner," I laid out my assigned tasks.

"OK. Will that give us time for practice this afternoon? You know I am really glad that Bob showed us the basic 'Quickstep.' That gives us, what? Four or five ballroom dances to do," Stephanie was gushing.

"Sure. I'll pick up my tux on the way to school, and I don't have anyone scheduled to see me this afternoon, so we can start early, so long as there isn't a class going on in the room," I agreed.

My day went pretty much as anticipated, and Steph and I got together that afternoon, but only for dance practice.

Chapter 8.

Speaking of dancing, I was actually looking forward to this evening, since it would be the first time for me to use my new-found skills since I started the class.

It seemed longer than just eight weeks, but part of that was because Stephanie and I had been practicing at least once a week on our own, sometimes more. A couple of times, our teacher Bob was around, waiting for another class to begin, and he would come in and help us out, correcting any bad habits that we might develop, and sometimes showing us a new dance, like when he gave us a short lesson on the 'Quickstep' a couple of weeks prior.