Disclaimer: Hiya, LW readers. This is not your standard fuck-and-suck story, it's more a reflection on how an unexpected event can affect a marriage. There is some adult content here, but other than that, it's kinda lame. That's why I entered it in the Summer Lovin contest; I'm a glutton for punishment and I aspire to failure. Thanks for stopping by.
A majestic stand of towering redwoods cast a stately shadow over a pair of matching blue and white dome tents. The sound of a gurgling stream echoed off the canyon walls. The smell of sizzling bacon wafted through the trees as two middle-aged couples puttered around the picnic table on a fine, picture perfect morning.
But as is often the case with couples out on a summer road trip, the picture perfect morning would soon take a turn for the worse, because someone burned the bacon, and someone used up all the butter slathering it on pancakes yesterday morning, and someone was upset about about running out of clean socks.
Bob, the bacon-burner, opted for the non-confrontational approach. Grabbing his fishing pole, he announced: "I'm hiking up to the waterfall if that's alright with everyone."
His sour look elicited a half-hearted "see ya" from his wife Brenda.
My wife Sally was drying dishes, a task she carried out with grim determination. She had taken over kitchen duty because no one else in our group had the knowledge or competence required to properly prepare meals in a camping situation -- or so she assumed.
She looked over at me and sighed. "I can only go for so long without a hot shower," she said, her hair matted like a wet dog. "I'm driving down to the camp store to get cleaned up, do laundry, and buy food. I may be gone all day but I'm sure no one will miss me."
"Honey," I whined, "of course we'll miss you."
That was a lie. Sally and I had reached that point in our marriage where time apart was a welcome respite from the dreary reality of our lives. Divorce was looking more and more like the best option. It wasn't something we talked about, more of a deep apprehension, like the gathering clouds before a sudden summer storm.
"How about if I come with you?" I suggested, perfectly willing to play the martyr card.
"Don't be silly," Sally replied, disgust dripping from her voice like maple syrup leaking off the top of a stack of pancakes. "You've been waiting all year for this trip. I'm certainly not going to ruin it for you." With that she stomped back to our tent.
"Crap," I muttered under my breath. "Why does it always come to this?"
"Cause you're an insensitive ass?" Brenda, Bob's wife, whispered.
Then she laughed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Brenda and I had always felt a sort of kinship, a connection that ran much deeper than the superficialities of life in the suburbs. We could complain to each other about our annoying spouses. We could talk about our big dreams, the ones we both knew would never come true. It was a comfortable relationship with just enough unresolved sexual tension to keep it interesting.
"So," I said, watching out of the corner of my eye as my wife headed down the trail to the car, "want to swim with the fishes today?"
"Hmmm..." Brenda said, looking up at the billowy white clouds flirting with the mountain tops across the canyon, "if it doesn't rain, I was thinking of a river walk. You know, literally, in the middle of the river?"
"You mean like, wear our shoes in the water pretending like we're ten year-olds?"
"That's the idea," Brenda grinned.
"Cool," I said, suddenly appreciating Brenda's compulsiveness. It was a welcome change of pace from Sally's slothful determination, her excruciating attention to every insignificant little detail. I suppose deep down, I still loved my wife, but the spontaneity of Brenda's spirit, the quickness with which she made unmeasured decisions intrigued me in a way that Sally's dependability never could.
"We should probably wear our swim things, eh?" I asked, not so much because of a practicality issue, but because I was always up for seeing more of Brenda's trim, athletic body - another trait she possessed that Sally never would.
"Mine's still wet," she said, lacing up her shoes. "Anyway, the water's only a foot deep."
"Good point," I said, watching her while she put her hair up in a ponytail. My wife used to wear a ponytail, at least until she got the big promotion at work, a promotion that, apparently, came with a Hillary haircut. I was mortified, but what could I say? If the viability of my wife's career relied upon a dorky haircut, there was nothing I could do about it. Well, there was one thing I could do about it: Watch Brenda go jogging each night after work.
Sometimes I'd pass her as I pulled off Highway Drive and onto the curving streets of Lakeview Terrace. (There is no lake view, just a bunch of identical red tile roofs.) She'd wave, sweat dripping down her chest, but she wouldn't stop. Brenda never stopped when she was jogging. Actually, she did stop the first time we met, but that was because she and Bob were new to the neighborhood, and she thought it was important to mingle with the locals.
Ever since that first meeting, I had been mildly obsessed with Brenda. It wasn't so much her trim physique, or her wide grin, or her untrimmed eyebrows, it was a vibe thing, just like today. Being with Brenda was like getting a second chance at life.
"Ready?" Brenda asked, her freckled nose scrunched up as she squinted in the sun.
"I was born ready," I announced, grabbing a couple of water bottles from the picnic table. As we trudged down to the river I couldn't help but sneak furtive glances at Brenda's tan tummy peeking out above her denim cut-offs. Had she left the top button undone for my benefit, or was it by mistake? I was dying to know, but afraid to ask.
The river was icy cold, but we got used to it in no time. What I couldn't get used to was what the cold was doing to Brenda's jiggling tits. The sight of her stiff nipples poking at her Hard Rock Cafe T-shirt was driving me crazy. I was well aware of the 'look, look away' approach to ogling women, but Brenda was making the 'look away' part virtually impossible.
"You know Steve," she said, giving me a coy glance, "if you like my Hard Rock T-shirt so much, you could just buy one over the internet."
"Um, actually..." I stammered, "it's your cutoffs. The undone button look? It's perfect for you."
"The what?" she said, looking down at her waist. "Crap! My button's undone." She grabbed it, turning away from me.
"It does look good on you Brenda. It's sexy."
"And why would I want to look sexy for you?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at me.
"Cause you can?" I said, hoping I hadn't gone too far.
