If I had been asked ten years ago if I'd ever been attracted to a woman the answer would have been a resounding, absolutely-never-ever no. Last night I would have answered the same, though my more mature brain would recognize the answer as false. Today, even after my encounter -- if I can call it that -- I don't know how to answer. Because the truth means something that doesn't quite fit with me. My definition: wife, mother, photographer, artist...fits like an extracted cork to an open bottle with the word lesbian.
As I drove down University Avenue on Tuesday night my mind was on the planet Mars. Venus, the female counterpart, was nowhere to be seen. I'd gotten in an argument with my husband the night before. It had been the most awkward kind of argument a husband and wife can have, the kind about sex...or lack there of.
My husband had asked the dreaded question: "Are you still attracted to me?" And it wasn't my answer that had been the catalyst to the argument, but the delay in the delivery.
"Yes." I'd said, a moment too late. In that second heard round the world, many thoughts had raced through my un-aroused mind. Was he physically attractive? Yes. Did he turn me on?
That was the question that cogged my brain as I stuttered to answer.
He wasn't amused. And even worse off then me, now hopelessly un-aroused. And when you haven't had sex in two weeks, being un-aroused is not a good thing.
This morning he had kissed me with all the gusto of a salty slug and left for work as he always does on a Tuesday morning. I kissed him back, feeling less than the nothing I had felt for some time.
As I pulled into the gym parking lot, I noticed it was empty save for one car parked next to the security light. A pyramid of foamy light pored down around it and I pulled in next to it, shutting off the engine and climbing out.
The woman behind the check-in desk was folding scratchy towels. She glanced at me and held out her hand to take my card. She knew I would need one towel and the locker room door buzzed open. I thanked her, beginning to feel my sour mood fade away.
Swimming was my preferred form of exercise. It allowed me to work various muscles with the added benefit of feeling cool as the silken water washed over me. It was sensual in a way running or weight lifting was not. Evening was the best time to go because I often had the pool to myself.
Tonight was the rare night that another body was in the pool. There was always the lifeguard, a young, black man who liked to watch me as I swam. His open appraisal had fueled more than a few fantasies during my late night swims.
I sat on the edge of the pool and dipped my calves into the warm water. I recognized the woman who swam next to me as she drew closer. She often exercised at the same time I did, though not in the pool. Her stroke was impressive -- smooth and even, not a beginner for sure. I let my thoughts linger on the woman as I pulled the cap over my long hair.
She was the kind of woman who had no shame when it came to her body. She floated through the locker room in only a towel -- not wrapped around her body, but her hair. She would stand under the hair dryer, back arched, pushing her perfect breasts into the air as she ran her fingers through her long hair.
I envied her, to say the least, and often fought my urges to stare at her curvy figure. My stares were not just about jealousy or appreciation; I knew that, but also about longing. And desire. I wondered what it was like for her husband to have that body in bed every night. Did he love her breasts as much as I did?
I slipped into the water and stretched my hamstrings, trying to think of something else. I was obviously under-sexed and leaching onto any action I could get. God, I really am pathetic, I thought. If she knew what I was thinking she'd probably switch to the furthest lane in the pool.
I dove forward through the water. It washed over me in exhilarating waves, exciting my already stimulated mind and body. I turned to the side for air, sweeping my right arm down and to my side. The woman passed me at the same time, making the same motion I was. The last thing I saw before my face broke the surface and I sucked in a gasping breath was the swell of her breasts at the neckline of her suit.
How had my eyes locked there so quickly? It was as if I'd been waiting for it...as if I'd been hungering for another glance.
Feeling more pervert than ever, I swam harder, pushing my body past my usual warm up into an all-out sprint. I needed to clear my head, empty the fog that had built up around my mind.
To my great relief, the woman exited the pool. She must have been here for awhile -- or she felt my stare even under the water and couldn't bear to be ogled during her workout.
I swam for another thirty minutes, pushing my body to the point of exhaustion. My arms shook as I lifted myself out of the pool. I had to take slow, even steps to control the shake in my legs as I slipped into my water shoes and headed back to the locker room.
The workout had done the trick. I felt incredibly light when I was done. Clearer than before -- less tight, more fluid.
At the top of the stairs in my gym is a long, open shower. On the far side is a door leading to the locker room. Six showerheads line the wall on the right side, paralleled by a white shelf where you can hang towels and baskets of toiletries.
The shower was empty, of course. I was the only one at the gym. I was so exhausted that the effort to peel off my suit was almost too much and when it was finally off I leaned against the tile wall, letting the hot water cascade over my naked body.
I stood there for maybe half a minute before I was startled out of my half-dream state by the creak of a door. The only other person I thought was in the gym was the lifeguard which made me turn around to see who had entered.
It was the woman, in all her one-towel glory which she now draped over her bare arm.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you," she said, setting her towel on the shelf. A bead of water from the ceiling dropped down and landed on her bare chest. She didn't seem to feel it and I was yet again caught staring at her breasts. I turned back to the wall.
She stepped beside me and turned on the water. I couldn't fathom why she would have chosen that shower, the one right next to me, out of all the others. Wasn't there some unspoken shower etiquette that said you should at least space yourself by two shower heads?
I bent down and picked up my shampoo bottle, hoping to cover the bare essentials of showering and then make a quick exit. I filled my palm with the green slime and lathered my hair with it.
