The End Of Something

It's been a while since I wrote anything... So I thought I'd break up the winter monotony with this little tale. If there is a message here; it is that life entails choices. And the hard part of living it is making the right choice. The plot re-introduces three people from another of my stories. And I have to add that it was a pleasure revisiting old friends.

This was inspired by a reader who challenged me to write a classic Loving Wives piece from the standpoint of all three actors. A lot of writers do first person accounts from the couple's point of view. But it's hard to include the third actor's perspective without breaking up the flow. I like interesting writing challenges so this one's dedicated to you buddy.

I write this stuff strictly for my own amusement. And the fact that a few of you are willing to read and comment is very humbling. I find the human condition interesting. And writing is just my way of thinking through its many foibles and nuances.

Finally, I have rewritten the ending several times and the characters keep insisting that it turn out the way it does. So for the troll population - move along please... there's nothing for you to see. The title is from another Hemingway short story. If you see any similarity I couldn't possibly comment.

Prosperity and Decline

My wife Sasha and I have a lovely life. We met when I was 26 and she was 23. I was finishing a doctorate at George Mason in lying and deception.

Actually, it was called "Intelligence Studies" but you get the drift.

Sasha was doing a Master's in Public Policy. We met is a study group. Actually, she was the center of a swarm of male students and I was part of the fringe.

Sasha is a very smart and intellectually sophisticated woman. She just happens to be drawn like Jessica Rabbit. I think she had fucked several of the guys in that group before she got around to me. But it rapidly became clear that we were the ones who belonged together.

It started with me making an obscure pun that only Sasha laughed at. The sheep looked confused. I explained the joke. They continued to stare bewildered. Sasha tried explaining it - bullfrogs and crickets... She looked at me and said, "Let's get a beer."

We drove over to Brion's, which was a hangout for all of us.

Sasha is the essence of Slavic beauty. She wears her thick dark-blond hair in a braid that extends down her back to her lust provoking ass. That hair frames her perfect heart shaped face. And the face itself is flawlessly proportioned, with the full sensual mouth that seems to be a hallmark of classic Russian beauties.

But it's her huge, soulful, ice blue, almost feline eyes that are her most striking feature. Those eyes are as mystical as a Karelian lake. And they reflect the heart of Mother Russia.

The rest of Sasha is lithe and exquisitely shaped. Dance is every Russian girl's heritage - even if the family has been here for a couple of generations. Sasha's training produced an exceptionally supple, narrow-waisted body with remarkably long muscular legs. Those legs carry her with special grace and athletic power.

Every man turned and stared when we appeared. And the other half of the population just seethed with jealousy. Sasha didn't seem to notice. She was focused on me. But I was painfully aware that everybody in the place thought that I was outclassed.

I'm not a bad looking guy - I guess? If you like intellectuals - high cheekbones, thick shock of unruly brown hair, long nose and dark eyes. The only thing exceptional about me is my height.

At six-four people just assume that I played basketball - since I look like the classic, skinny-white-guy-in-the-middle. But I don't have an aggressive bone in my body.

I WAS a fairly successful swimmer when I was an undergraduate. But there are no million dollar contracts at the end of THAT rainbow. So I knew from early on that I needed a career.

I got into the cloak and dagger business because I'm a nerd. And that is the first place all of the cool technological shit rolls out. Most people would join an Alphabet Agency. But I'm a thinker - not a doer. So I chose to study and teach it.

When our pitcher was delivered - Sasha leaned back in her chair. She said with studied casualness, "Are you as bored with those idiots as I am?"

I had two thoughts. The first was that her flawlessly shaped breasts looked amazing when she was leaning back.

Don't judge me! All guys are sight-hounds.

The other thought was that there was a lot more to Sasha Averina than I had assumed.

She was certainly one of those rare beauties who glide through life on a magic carpet of pure sex appeal. But I was positive that I had detected a hint of anxiety in her voice.

I said guardedly, "Well - none of them is ever going to change the world. But there isn't anything particularly wrong with them. They're just average people."

She reached across the table and grabbed my hand. She did it so abruptly that I nearly fell off the chair.

She said, "That's just it. I am bored to death with average." It was like she had been thinking about this for a long time.

She added - with odd intensity in her voice, "I want to connect, not socialize. I want to spend my life with a man who functions on my level. I want to be with somebody I have things in common with. I want a guy, who is capable of simulating me with his mind, not just his little winky."

Then she hesitated and said, "And you are the first man I have ever met who satisfies me that way."

Now THAT was a revelation. I sort of understood what she was saying. Because I had the same problem. I dated a bit. But none of those women was worth a second look. Cosmetics and dress can make a girl beautiful. But they can't make her any smarter.

Sasha is a whirlwind of intellect, sarcasm, nuanced humor and fabulous insight. I had known that from the first minute that we had met. There would be long periods when we were the only people interacting. We would banter- throw out concepts and bat them around. We exchanged jokes and innuendo - and had some downright knock-down-drag-out arguments - all of that was part of the process of developing ideas.

In fact, if you had seen us together you would have assumed that we had been a couple for years - instead of strangers who met by sheer chance.

If Sasha had been a nerdette with thick glasses and a taste for homespun there would be no difficulty recognizing her underlying nature. She was a superior intelligence whose focus and inclinations were strictly of the mind - not of this world. Unfortunately nobody saw that.

Instead they saw a beautiful woman. And a woman who looks like Sasha is stereotyped in a way that does not include intellectual pursuits. It must have been lonely being her.

I said, "From the beginning, I have understood that we are alike in many ways. And frankly I have always felt a sense of isolation from the rest of the herd. That is probably true with you too. But every man in this room is sizing up his odds of taking you away from me. While I can guarantee that none of the women are doing the same with you."

I took her hand in mine and said with my sincerest expression, "I know how intelligent you are. So I'm not going to bullshit you. I'm a nerd. It's all I have ever been - or ever will be. And I am realistic enough to know that beautiful women don't live happily ever after with nerds. So it has never crossed my mind that you and I would ever be a couple."

I added lamely, "If you want to hang out we can do that. There is no person whose companionship I value more. But that's as far as it goes."

She looked pissed.

I said puzzled, "What???!!"

She said, "I'm sorry. I misjudged you. I thought you were a man."

Okay, now I was pissed, "I said what the fuck does that mean?? Is this some sort of dick measuring contest that I wasn't aware of?"

She said, "I just offered myself to you and you came up with a half dozen phony reasons why I didn't measure up. I don't know what else to call it."

I said with some heat, "Really???!! Seriously??!! You think that you and I could be a couple and you wouldn't eventually want to trade up!!?? I just don't believe it."

She leaned back with total womanly confidence, gave me the hottest look that I have ever been given and said, "If you don't believe it then why don't you try me? I can guarantee that you won't regret it."

So I did.

And I didn't regret it.

From that day forward we were a pair. And I never had a reason to question her. Neither of us were big fans of PDA. Sasha is a strong, self-reliant woman. She is categorically not into draping herself all over a guy in a submissive high school girl way.

And submissive would be the last thing I wanted from her. I loved her tough independent spirit. I think that was the reason why we were such a perfect fit from the beginning.

She was a master of communicating to the whole-wide-world that she had made the decision to be with me and that honoring that commitment was important to her.

Together, we must have looked like Beauty and the Nerd. But our relative social disparity didn't matter in the slightest to either of us. Since we were so perfectly matched in the world of the mind - which was where both of us preferred to be.

Our marriage was a foregone conclusion.

Saying that we lived a lot in our heads was not to imply that we didn't mesh physically. Over the next twelve years we meshed a lot. I have always equated intelligence with sexuality. Smart girls have imaginations and inner fire. Those things come along with a mind that is limitless.

And Sasha's years at the barre had given her an exceptionally round and lithe body, with the endurance of a prima ballerina. So she fucked me in more interesting ways than Messalina on hashish.

And she trusted me. I know that. Because, no woman could abandon herself in the way that Sasha did without having a high degree of confidence in her partner.

Occasionally she would get so wild that she would lather my ass with the TV remote - urging me on like a jockey in the home stretch. I started taking the small things off the bedside table after she used a hair brush on me. And I was STILL not absolutely certain that someday she wouldn't grab the lamp as a riding crop.

THAT was just a typical Tuesday evening around the Schneider house.

There were no tricks. She liked it as deep as she could get it - legs spread in an exaggerated V - arms braced against the headboard trying to bang it through the wall - all the while moaning loudly and urgently.

She particularly liked it doggy style.

The picture will be forever burned in my memory of Sasha with covers bunched in her two hands and that hard supple body with those big round muscular buns sticking up in the air pounding back at me as she sought her pleasure.

And the cuddling afterward was superb. Sasha could communicate our bond in the boneless way she would lie sighing and gasping on top of me after one of her super orgasms.

I eased out from underneath her and she plopped face down on the bed. It was still early evening on a beautiful spring day in DC. There are times of the year when the place is uninhabitable. But there are other times when it's almost paradise. This was one of them.

I ran myself through the shower, just to get my wits back and the smell of sex off me. Sasha was still lying face down breathing contentedly. I took a long leer at her incredible muscular ass and threw on a sweatshirt and jeans. I said, "I'll see you on the balcony."

She said, "I'll see you after my shower." She rolled herself out of bed agile as a cat. And walked toward the bathroom in the hip swinging fashion of naked women. For a thirty five year old she still had a spectacular body.

We have a little balcony that faces out toward the Kennedy Center and the Potomac. We like to sit on it on a nice day and sip wine. She appeared in a pair of black yoga pants that molded to her incredible legs and a bulky green and gold GMU sweatshirt. Her extremely thick mane of long dirty blonde hair was tied back in a frizzy ponytail.

Freshly scrubbed she was so naturally gorgeous she took my breath away.

She picked up her glass and we clinked them together. Then we sat and watched the planes drone in over the river into DCA. It was peaceful on our balcony, with the hustle and bustle of M Street just a block and a half in the distance to our left.

She said, "I love you Jake. I never dreamed I could be this happy."

I said, "I love you too. But more importantly, over these past dozen years the gift of wellbeing and confidence that you have given me has made me a much better man. You are truly the center of my universe."

She said, "But there is one thing missing. I want somebody we can both love and be a part of. And I want to give that to you. Can we talk about a baby?

I was flabbergasted. A baby would slow down Sasha's high flying career. I said, Are you sure?"

She said, "I have been thinking about this for a long time. I just turned 35 so the window is closing. And I do not want to end up like the other Dinks - living life strictly for ourselves. This is something I desperately want to share with you. Can we please try?"

I got up and walked over to her. I raised her to me by her one hand and put my arms around her waist. She rested her forearms on my shoulders with her hands dangling behind me. It was her special way of communicating her total openness and connection to me.

I looked her sincerely in the eye and said, "It would be my ultimate joy to bring somebody into this world who we could experience together. To be able to parent her with you and see her grow into the spitting image of her mother."

She said, "Whoa buster - what if it's a boy?"

I grinned and said, "A woman with a spirit as powerful as yours could only produce a girl child. We can talk about the boy later."

She was staring at me now - with the kind of "fuck me" look that I had not seen since our honeymoon. That was followed shortly thereafter by her grabbing my hand and dragging me back to bed. There - we spent an exhausting night getting down to the business at hand.

Wandering among the Ruins

Sasha went off the pill. But we had not really expected anything to happen that fast. I was looking forward to the end of the semester and a summer consulting gig. Sasha had been as busy as ever. I would see her off to work and then toddle down to campus. It was an easy walk. Then I would spend a day either prepping lectures or sitting in meetings.

Most people work hard for a living. Me - not so much.

My week involves a grueling six hour obligation - three lectures a week, two hours per lecture. If I had a modicum of shame, I would feel guilty about how much I get paid to do that.

It's ironic really - they give me a ton of money to do something that I would happily do for free. I'm a nerd and I like talking about nerd things. Teaching just gives me a captive audience.

In fact, I have a lot in common with my employers the Jesuits. We are both pushing a product that people are apathetic about - but feel like they have to sit through for some nebulous long-term advantage. Needless to say - unlike the Church we charge for the privilege. So I get paid whether the students get anything out of my lectures, or not.

Still, there was one thing that kept my job from being a total scam. When Henry Kissinger said, "Academic politics are so vicious because there is so little to gain." He was thinking about faculty meetings.

I got into the teaching game because I figured I would spend my days debating lofty ideas. What I GOT was endless nit-picking shit - chiefly aimed at establishing who the smartest person in the room was.

And I was a prime target for the mainly liberal arts faculty. That was because the things I taught carried the stigma of "The Man." So, the group spent a lot of their time putting me in my place.

There was one especially strident old bat who had probably been really, really hot back in the Johnson administration - that's Andrew, not Lyndon.

Faith hadn't progressed much past the "summer of love." And the fact that I was teaching things like "Ethical Hacking" made me the Antichrist in her eyes. So I spent the morning fighting off a pack of aging hippies, all of whom were vying to establish their counter-culture cred.

Like all committees - they finally agreed to do a study about Faith's issues. I knew that would drop Faith Messenger's concerns down a deep well - and yes I think that's her Haight-Ashbury handle - not her actual name.

When I got out of there I was so pissed that I had to talk to Sasha. My wife is like a pharmacy full of happy-pills when the urge to throttle comes over me. It was close to noon so I flagged down one of the cabs that regularly cruise M Street.

It was only a mile and a half to Sasha's work. And I planned to take the Metro back to Foggy Bottom. But I needed to cab over there if I wanted to catch her before she left for lunch.

The cab dropped me opposite her place on Connecticut. I paid the cabbie and turned to cross the street. At that moment I spotted her exiting the building. She was clearly headed somewhere. Even in the middle of a herd of people and across a busy thoroughfare her beauty stood out.

Dashing out into DC traffic is a death sentence. So I hit the speed dial. She paused, looked at her phone. And then she hit the decline button. At that point she got into a waiting cab. There was somebody else inside - male I thought - but I couldn't tell.

The cab whisked them away heading up Connecticut toward DuPont Circle. There was no way I could follow so I started trudging the opposite direction toward the Farragut North Metro stop.

I was puzzled. She was obviously going somewhere with somebody. She's a K-Streeter and they get paid to go places - especially for lunch. But why had she declined my call? All she had to do was tell me she was busy.

I spent the rest of the day working on things at home. We have a little former bedroom that Sasha calls my "Lair". It's where I play with the tools of my trade. Most of those are virtual, for instance my cracking gear and such. But I also have a sophisticated electronics workbench. I use it when I am developing ubiquitous surveillance gear.

Some guys tie flies for a hobby. I work at the microscopic level on little transceivers that you can hook to all kinds of things. They are so tiny that you could put them on a real bug and the target wouldn't know that the fly on the wall was actually a "fly on the wall."

When Sasha got home I was building the prototype of something I was pretty sure would get me paid by a little "Company" in Langley. I had walked over to Sushi-to-Go on the C&O canal to get us dinner and it was spread out on the dining room island.

She disappeared upstairs and came down 15 minutes later in her yoga pants and a sweater. The sweater showed off her marvelous cleavage. Her boobs aren't huge but they are very firm and round and full. And of course those muscular legs and that round butt are to die for.

She was a bundle of energy. Even after eight hours in the salt mines. She stood on tiptoe and kissed me warmly on the mouth. There is a foot difference in our height.

She said cheerily, "Have you been playing in there all day while I've been chained to my desk?"

I said mystified, "Didn't you go out for lunch?"

She laughed and said, "No - we were working on the DOE funding proposal. I never left the office. We sent OUT for lunch."

Huh???!! I said, "You mean you didn't leave the building - didn't go somewhere?"

She said, "No silly. What did I just tell you? We were on a deadline for midnight tonight. I was lucky to get out of there at normal close of business."

Okay, that was really baffling. Why did she just lie to me?