Selective Breeding

"So then, you're husband hasn't even the slightest suspicion?" Louis asked through the steam of his Dunkin Donuts coffee.

"It was just one kiss, Lou!" answered Martha, while absently rowing a spoon through her light and sweet, "Considering my lip stick and perfume, your girlfriend has more cause for suspicion than my husband."

"Just washed it all away before she ever got the chance."

Martha half expected a devilish smile to fill Louis's face after his having made the remark. But, it didn't. Louis maintained the expression of storm threatened serenity he'd worn as long as Martha had known him; a look she'd associated with Buddhist monks setting themselves aflame in protest of one thing, or another. It was only three weeks ago that Martha first set eyes on the young man. It was in the Dodd's lecture hall, on the University Of New Haven campus. Out of a lecture theater of two hundred fellow graduate students, Martha took particular notice of Louis, primarily because of his white cane. Louis -the only visibly disabled entry into the education department's teacher training program- and Martha -one of the program's thirty-two middle aged married women- were just two of the eleven students with Language Arts as their field of concentration. However, what was common behind each student's reasons for entering the program was a genuine need for change. Whether that need was sought vigorously, idly, or desperately, or even blindly, was a matter of specifics.

"Actually, I believe they, your husband and Liz, have equal cause." Louis remarked.

"And why is that?" asked Martha while staring at the street beyond the doughnut shop's window.

"Because neither of us has made love with our partners in the last eight months."

Martha smiled seemingly without shame, like the smirk on a class clown's face, while being scornfully rebuked by the teacher that can't be taken seriously.

"Has Liz questioned your lack of interest?" inquired Martha as a favorite memory of her husband -the time he'd planted the two dozen star gazer lilies to commemorate their five year anniversary- pinpricked her conscience.

"Nope! Not at all."

"Why not?"

"Because she's needy. So needy, that she can't identify herself as a me. Apparently Liz can only identify herself as a we. At least that's when she's the most secure. Once she's a me, Liz could very well drown in self-pity. She ignores conflict, and so is willing to settle into whatever relationship she has; whether her partner is worthy, or not. What about David? Has he interrogated you?"

Martha put down her coffee, shrugged, then proceeded to helplessly gesture; her palms up, as if an answer would fall through the Dunkin Donuts ceiling.

"Louis, all you and I have done is kiss!"

"I know Martha, but hasn't he expressed a yearning for you even once? Or is it so bad that you guys don't even k-"

Louis cut himself off.

"Oh he had a yearning all right. Said Martha after a moment's silence between them.

She then peered directly into Louis's largely useless brown eyes. Louis met her gaze well enough to be embarrassed by hisnystagmus: a potentially unsettling involuntary rotation of his eyes' muscles.

"I forgot what kisses were for." Martha whispered before leaning back into her side of the booth.

It was three weeks prior to their coffee date when Martha first happened to imagine the better angels of her nature ridding themselves of their gowns; wings outstretched to the already naked devils coupling among themselves. The food for that thought was a short piece of Louis's fiction. Their Adolescent Literature instructor asked his students to bring in work of their own fiction, work that reflected adolescent conflict; which could perhaps be used as valuable lesson sources in a junior or senior high school class. When it was Louis's turn, Prof. Wrighte read his piece aloud, and Martha found herself staring at Louis. She made particular notice of, and found delight in his expression; which changed depending on what he liked, or disliked about the sound of his work. Louis's story related the details of one especially gratifying pair of kisses he'd exchanged with some young European woman. At one point, Martha succumbed to the infection of one of his smiles, the one that filled his face during the reciting of the five following lines.

"The very first kisses for us as children are singularly potent. As infants, all we had were two lips with which to feel the world. They were our textural probes, until we understood how to use our other tools for understanding. It is only logical that at the age of nine or ten or twelve -depending when the first kiss comes, coinciding with a budding sexuality- that our lips are ultra sensitive. The vibrancy of the first kiss is how we begin to desire, desire cultivated by imagination. The animal of us is in the kiss. Leave it be-"

If Louis's visual acuity went beyond the mere distance of a kiss, perhaps the young man -ten years younger to be exact- would have seen the look of captivation in Martha's gaze. It was an expression she hadn't recalled wearing since... Has it been years? She thought, staring blankly at the day to day outside the doughnut shop, the coffee warming her hands. Idle thought superimposed those wrestling concupiscent angels over Martha's reflection. A fully clothed boxing referee suddenly dragged them apart. It was her husband David of course, his expression rock hard with disdain. Martha sighed heavily, and fidgeted in her seat until arriving in a completely different posture.

"Why should I get into this with you?" Martha asked.

Louis raised a quizzical eyebrow. Then he took a great breath, and exhaled slowly. While he thought for an answer, Martha realized that it wasn't a fair question. It was for her to answer. It's a fair question for David though, she thought. It was her husband that hadn't made a genuinely sensual overture in ten months. There was that one time, after that evening at the Melissa Ethridge concert. She was acutely aware of David's awareness of the lesbian couple seated beside them, holding each other close, and sharing slow open mouth kisses. Later that night, Martha had interrupted her husband's coital advance, wondering whether David was mentally air brushing her features over the face of one of those lesbians. Or what if he wasn't? What if Martha was his vessel, a mere receptacle for the resolution to his fantasy? Martha gave the vibe; David stopped his prodding thrusts shortly after, and finished himself in the bathroom. And she thought, if David wasn't guilty at all, he would have masturbated right there in bed, at least kissing her in the mean time.

So what about me, David? Martha had been asking herself that for months, never once thinking of raising the issue, although sure she should. She had tried to make overtures of her own, even after that particularly septic night, but to no avail. Gradually, she found herself advancing in other ways. Martha had loosed herself from the full-time position in the patient population inventory department at Yale, to earn a master's in secondary education. That was quite gratifying in its self, but it was another thing to develop her own rich fantasy life. After years of the mere after-shock orgasms she no longer cared to be used to, Martha knew she could achieve more with the right partner. In the secret half of her fiction, that partner had developed. And that paper doll man -faceless, yet bold and brawny- broke some of the tension between Martha and David. Some, but not all. There was the gremlin of her id, the selfish little harpy that drew Louis's face onto the paper doll.

"Because you want to?"

"What?" Martha said sharply, as she was startled out of thought.

"You should get into this because you want to." Louis answered.

"No I shouldn't."

"Fine then. So...maybe I should go home now?"

"Why are you forcing me to make a choice?"

"I'm not-"

Louis stopped then, and fit a hand over his brow, to perhaps rub out some of the deliberation.

"Faulkner wrote:" he continued, "Those that can, do. Those that can not, suffer for it and so, write about it. You either have it in you to do this, or to just...pretend to do it."

"What the hell is going on with me?" asked Martha, leaning her head on a fist.

"Uh...let's see. At your age, you have a monstrous degree of ardor. Where as, your husband -just a few years older- feels that hunger for you once, maybe twice a month. That's what's going on right now. Now, at my age, I can take you no less than three times a day for ten days straight; provided I get decent sleep and food. Now, I'm going to ask you one last time; is that intensity worth your husband finding out? How bad do you want it, Martha?"

"Lower your voice, Louis!"

"Lower my voice? I've been whispering Martha!"

"You have some nerve."

"And apparently, you don't have enough."

"Bull shit! Remember how I told you that David said I shouldn't put any sex in my stories? Well, I did anyway. And, and when he said I spent way too much time at the country club, I didn't cut back one bit."

"And if he says don't free yourself from this loveless marriage, you toy with the idea of me, until..."

Martha was suddenly, gracefully, furious.

"I think I should take you home now."

The drive to Louis's home seemed to take longer than usual. Martha took the time to re-evaluate. Was Louis brawny? Not remarkably, no. Was he bold? She had her doubts at first. During the reality of their kiss, Martha learned that if given an inch, Louis would take maybe only a few feet. But his over the counter sexual commentary reminded Martha of the stranger Louis was. I can take you three times a day for no less than ten days in a row? She contemplated over whether Louis was extremely arrogant or delerious with carnal starvation. What the hell was that, she wondered, a prescription? That was a polite way of putting it. Still, whether it was random contingency or Karma that urged her feelings, Martha was sure that only Louis could be the object of her infidelity. But I've been married to David for over ten years, Martha thought when she first became aware of her feelings for the young blind stranger. I can't do it. I shouldn't do it. With that in mind, she wrote a short piece about meeting a younger man in a bar, and making the right decision by the end. She called it The Medicine Man. Slightly ashamed, but proud of what she'd written, Martha read the piece aloud in class; sure that Louis hadn't yet the faintest clue as to her sketched out betrayal. The usual class participants told her they liked it, and Louis -who didn't make comments that often; but when he did, he was right on the Money- said that she might want to have more deliberation during the drive to the bar, and maybe give the guy some minor physical feature that makes him exotic, an eye brow ring, a mole on his cheek, a tattoo.

"I'm...I'm going to condo-sit for a friend of mine, and I thought I'd go through all this stuff I got for that lesson plan project." stated Martha; as her Torcelle idled in front of Louis's apartment, "I thought maybe you'd want to...work together, compare notes?"

"Sure." Louis agreed, "Uh...when?"

Martha cleared her throat.

"This Saturday; sometime after dark...preferably."

The events of that Saturday evening played out exactly as Martha had desired. It was as if she had prophesied about the very night through her sexual character studies that preceded her Medicine Man piece. Louis gave her no warning as they entered the condo. In the darkness of the living room, he embraced her from behind, and planted gentle kisses along the contours of her neck. Martha slowly tilted her head until it came to rest against him. Still kissing, Louis tugged the blazer from her, then undid the buttons of her blouse. It was caught between them for a moment before finally falling to the floor. Carefully, Louis then proceeded to undo the snaps of her bra, and let it drop also to the floor. He found Martha's small breasts, and the vague ribs under his fingers. He was reaching for her slacks when she stopped him. Wrapped in Louis's arms, Martha turned, embracing him tightly; pressing her engorged vulva to his erection. They loosen, and she proceeded to take off his jacket, and tie, and shirt; breathing in the scent of his musk fragranted skin before letting the shirt fall. Martha caressed the contours of Louis's shoulders, arms, chest and belly; smiling in the dark. At his belt buckle, she stops, and feels how the head of Louis's penis has wedged itself upward between his body, and the top of his pants. Martha runs her fingers along the edge of his belt, just barely touching his sex with each pass. She has ached so -with the collection of sexless months, and the vibrancy David couldn't dull with a million years of his spot primer sex- that the shaking of her desire gets worse, and so she asks that they lay on the floor. Louis eases her downward, and they sit.

"Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah," she replied, "But its like...its like I was in a desert for... Never mind. Lay down."

Four sessions later, Martha woke up from a dream. She saw herself as Talia Shire and David as Jack Nicholson, playing their characters in The Shining. Martha was startled into the light of early morning just at the moment when David threw Louis's dismembered member through the hole he'd hacked out of the door locked between them. When Louis woke, he found her sobbing, bedclothes gathered around her like a womb. Louis reached out to old her, then paused. He called her name once, twice, but Martha's only response was to sob a little more quietly.

"The animal of us isn't just in the kiss, you know." Louis chose to say, "I don't care how far we've progressed; things like hate crime, territory security concerns, and promiscuity run so deep, they just can't be eliminated from humanity. The animal of us is what makes our instinct to survive."

Martha's sobbing ceased, and she rolled around to face him.

"Louis? What the hell are you talking about?"

"The things we can't help about ourselves."

"Betraying my husband once is not promiscuity. Said Martha while rubbing her cheeks dry.

"Infidelity, promiscuity; that's the same family in most people's books."

"Okay then Lou. For shits and giggles, since we are now together in my mess, let's rationalize promiscuity. Are you trying to tell me that it's a primitive defense mechanism?"

"Absolutely!" said Louis as he heard and felt that Martha was in the midst of dressing, "There's this social anthropologist -Desmond Morris- who studies all this stuff. And he learned that the healthiest, most intelligent, and attractive children tend to be born from such extra-marital relationships. The female mates with her reliable, caring househusband, or cave husband. But for strength and beauty, she goes out to find a more physically alluring specimen. What's more is that -and this can be proven under a microscope I might add- one man's sperm can defend it's occupation of the female's egg, from a rival man's ejaculet. It's like this little biological war game going on in their, sperm killing sperm."

"I'm not looking to get pregnant though Louis. I'm just interested in-"

"In what?" he asked, also halfway dressed?

"In, in gaining an experience."

"Well that was a surprisingly quick answer."

"Well why not? I want...the experience. Or, as you might put it, I wanted to get laid!"

"I doubt if I would have put it exactly that way-"

"Well what did you think would happen to us? Did you think we would fall in love? Did you think I would leave my husband for you? I may very well leave my husband because of my...experience with you, but not for you. Am I making sense?"

Louis nodded quickly, and turned away.

"So...that doesn't mean we won't do it again?" he asked.

"Actually; yes, it does mean that we won't do it again. You see, Louis, You hit the spot. I did something I needed to do, and if I ever want to refer back to that experience for one reason or another, then I'll go ahead. Now, if I had this conflict and we were the same age, I'd probably be with you, only as long as menopause started to rear her potentially ugly head. The thing about David, or someone like David, can keep the same slow pace my old age might set me on. You're too...animate, too...charismatic. Just don't let that last one go to your head anymore. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Louis. Let me just take you home now, okay?"

Martha and Louis worked independently from then on. Every now and again during the program, they provided one another with input while in small group sessions during their adolescent literature course, or history of education. But before Louis could settle comfortably into indifference, he needed to work it out on paper first. After he'd eaten his meal in the off-campus Subway sub shop, Louis wrote the following words in his characteristic thick black marker. Actually Martha, all my relationships seem to last only this long. Well, the truth is, this is about when I get tired of my partner anyway. You see Martha; love only really lasts for about ninety days, give or take. After that, the person you're with becomes...a prison. David...is your prison. You're locked in, Martha. And if that truly makes you happy, then by all means...enjoy, if you can. Through you, I've finally become sure that love is just another way of saying thank you. In that way, Liz is to me, as David is to you.

"So that's him, huh." said David as he peered from the Dunkin' Donuts window across the street.

"Yep, that's him alright." replied Liz, between sips of French vanilla, light and sweet.

"That retinitis pigmentosa thing he's got; now you're sure he can't pass that on?"

"Sure enough. His doctors tell him that his strain is so rare that the chances are really slim. Do you think she'll tell him?"

"Maybe, maybe not. Who cares? She's not going to leave me over it, not for a while anyway, a long while. But...enough about all that. Tell me; when am I gonna' meet that girlfriend of yours?"

"Why as soon as we get the results from your blood test, baby. Lorna and I are very specific on that when we consider a third party. Louis tested negative, but for whatever reason Lorna has opted out of making us a trio. Frankly, I think his confidence is too much for her.¡¨

"Butăbut she likes what she sees in that picture I gave you, right?"

"Oh absolutely she does. We love how distinguished you look with that little bit of gray over your ears."

"Can I see her picture again, please?"

"Sure honey."