We're all hard-wired differently, but exactly how that wiring will cause us to act in any particular circumstance is a mystery. That is, most of the time I don't believe that we can really predict how we will react to true life-altering situations.
While both my parents were alive I remember thinking that I could take their deaths in stride. That is until my mother died. Even though I was twenty one and ostensibly an adult it rocked me to the core. I became a basket case in private, and was barely able to keep it together in public, for several months.
On the opposite extreme was when I was nineteen and walking with a date and we were mugged by two guys. I didn't even think about what I did next – I just reacted even though I'm no karate champ or anything. I was only slightly bigger than the muggers were and one had a knife. I moved my date behind me with one hand while simultaneously kicking the guy with the knife in the balls and then elbowed the other guy in the face, spewing blood everywhere from his obviously broken nose. I was trying to kick the guy with the knife again but they took off, the one who had been kicked in the balls quite slowly. I started to chase after them but my date pulled me back.
The point of the two stories – which were the most dramatic ones in my life up to the time of my present story, although there were dozens of more minor ones – is that I could not predict my reaction to significant events.
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I married Teresa after we had been dating only a few months, and not too long after my mother's death. Teresa never met my mother but helped me snap out of the malaise I had after her death.
I quickly fell head-over-heels in love with Teresa and it appeared to me that the feelings were mutual. To me Teresa was beautiful, with shapely thighs that drove me nuts, and a pleasant engaging smile. However what I most liked about her was her kindness and upbeat personality. I considered myself a nice easy-going guy, and she seemed to appreciate that about me too. We married six months after we met.
While I tried never to dwell upon it, I sometimes wondered what my reaction would be if Teresa ever cheated on me. While I always thought in the few minutes that I allowed myself to think about it that unless the circumstances were totally bizarre I'd probably forgive her and we'd move on with our lives together. The only real effect those fleeting thoughts normally had on me was to be sure that I made Teresa's happiness foremost when we had sex.
Teresa seemed to be inexperienced when we started having sex – although neither of us ever – and I mean ever – talked about past relationships. Although first apprehensive during oral sex, she came to love it, and I could have her cooing and hanging on me for a couple of days if I gave her a shocker (two in the pink, one in the stink) while simultaneously tonguing her clit to one or two orgasms, and then put her on her hands and knees and pounded the shit out of her doggy.
Of course the sex she most loved was no hardship for me either (ha, ha), especially since in addition to those spectacular thighs I mentioned she had big floppy tits that would slap together when I did her doggy, to me the most erotic sound in the world. Also, when I came in her the combination scream and whimper that left her lips was to me the most gratifying sound in the world.
After we had been married for four years, and when we were starting to have the conversation about kids – which both of us always said that we wanted, between three and four – Teresa had a mood change that lasted about three weeks. It wasn't typical PMS – which she never had particularly badly. Rather, it was a kind of detachment and wistfulness that seemed to permeate her being except when I was sucking on her clit or stroking my cock in and out of her pussy during love-making. When I asked her about her malaise she would either laugh or sluff it off, or give some lame response about things at work being stressful (she worked as a personal trainer – how stressful could that be?).
Then one Friday night, when I returned from work to our two bedroom apartment, the words every man dreads most – "Blake, honey; we need to talk."
I gulped, sat down in the living room across from where she was sitting sipping a glass of wine with a sort-of glazed expression on her face. "Do you want something to drink, Hon?" she asked.
"No, I'm good," I responded. "Is this related to your malaise over the last three weeks?"
"Yeah – I guess. The thought of having kids has made me restless and discontent. I...I have some sort of a longing. What I need to do is for us to take a sabbatical from our marriage for a little while until I get my thoughts straight. Then we can get back together for ever and ever and start on our three-four kids."
"A sabbatical? What the fuck does that mean? We're not college professors," I probably bellowed more than replied.
"No need to get crude, Hon. Just a little break; probably no more than a month," she replied while failing to make eye contact.
"I don't remember sabbaticals being in our vows, or in our plans," I shot back.
"I know – but things have gotten complicated for me. I...I just really need some time off."
"Where are you going, because I'm staying right here?" I responded, hopefully in a somewhat more conciliatory tone.
"My girlfriend Karen from work has a two bedroom apartment and her roommate just moved out so I can live there for a month or however long it takes."
Only then did I notice that our two largest suitcases were packed and sitting near the front door – really observant of me, huh?
"I'll call you every other day," she said getting up and approaching me after chugging her wine. I stood up too. I hugged her. "Please don't go," I said, my voice starting to crack.
"I need to, Hon; I love you," she replied, giving me a kiss with a wistful look on her face. "Can you help me with the suitcases?" she asked with a smile, and another quick kiss.
I followed after her to her car carrying the suitcases like some mindless porter. I put them in her trunk and asked her again not to go. Her only response was another quick kiss – and off she went, waving goodbye.
I held it together until I got back to my apartment. Then I lost it just like I had the day that my Mom died. My only thought the entire weekend was how to get Teresa back.
I'm sure that the messages that I left on Teresa's cellphone were pathetic. Although she thanked me for the roses that I sent to her workplace when she called me and I answered on the first ring, I got the feeling that that was a pathetic response in her eyes too. In fact it seemed that the next three weeks were a study in pathos on my part.
Of course my situation affected my work, but fortunately I have the type of job where I don't have to interact with others too much if I don't want to, and an understanding boss. Even she picked up on my pathos, however, and about two and a half weeks into my despair, on a Wednesday morning, gave me a no-nonsense talking-to.
"What the Hell is wrong with you Blake? From one of my two best workers you've turned into a worthless pile of shit in the last three weeks. Why is your head up your ass?" Belinda asked me.
As you can tell, Belinda doesn't mess words, and has a kick-ass personality. She is five years older than I am, smart as a whip, and although she has a just above average face has a six-foot tall body as kick-ass as her personality.
"Sorry, Belinda, I'm having some personal problems that are distracting me. My wife is taking a sabbatical from our marriage."
"Say what?" she barked.
"Well, what it means..." I started to meekly explain; even though I'm three inches taller than she is I seemed to be a little kid looking up at her before she vociferously interrupted me.
"I know what the fuck it's supposed to mean. What I'm wondering is why you're so spineless to go along with it? I didn't take you for a wimp, Blake."
While I was still trying to stutter a response, she grabbed me by both of my shoulders with hands that were unbelievably strong, even for a six foot tall woman with muscular arms and legs (not that I'd noticed her legs – cough, cough). "Quit trying to explain it or justify it. It's your personal business and if you want to be a fucking wimp outside the office I can't prevent it. However, you have three more work days to get back to the Blake that's one of my best employees. If you don't in three days' time, I'll put you on a work sabbatical. Got it?"
Shit she was intimidating. "Got it," I meekly replied.
"By this time Monday – what time is it, 10:30?" she went on.
"Yeah, about that," I replied.
"OK, by 10:30 Monday I see the old Blake or I suspend you for two weeks – without pay."
With that she gave me – what for her had to be a tender, and even for the average woman would have been somewhat tender – stroke on my cheek, turned, and went back to her office.
I was still acting like a milquetoast going into Saturday night, still living my whole life around waiting for Teresa's calls and preoccupied with how to get her back, despite my desire to get the backbone that Belinda was demanding of me. I decided to go to a movie to take my mind off of my troubles – but by myself, rather than with a friend since I didn't want anyone else to see me as a Debbie Downer. That's when I saw them.
There was Teresa, with a big smile on her face, holding hands with a guy with to-me-significant physical characteristics that were much different than mine, waiting in line to get tickets.
I immediately went home, heart-broken. I went straight to bed, suddenly realizing that I was emotionally exhausted. When I woke up 8 a. m. on Sunday, I had a new outlook on life.
I found that my hard-wired reaction was much different than what I had previously thought that it would be. While I can't say that I no longer gave a shit about Teresa because I truly had loved her, my entire approach was 180 degrees from what it was before, or what I would have predicted.
I rounded up some buddies and we played touch football. Three of them went with me to lunch, and after that I started looking for a new apartment. We had been living month-to-month in our apartment after our lease expired, and it was twenty five days from the end of the present month, so I could give the apartment up by giving fifteen days' notice, and get the security deposit back. I went to look at three of them and found one two blocks from my office that was entirely acceptable and that I could move into the last day of the present month.
At work Monday morning I was a dynamo; Old Blake Plus 20%. Belinda said nothing – she just smiled. Monday at lunchtime I met with an old friend of mine who had recently divorced and got a recommendation from her about a divorce attorney. "Get the one that my ex-husband had," she laughed. "He's the nastiest shark in the water if necessary, but reasonable when he needs to be," she continued as she wrote down his name and phone number. I called him before I went back to work, and got an appointment for Wednesday.
