Stepping in the River, Twice Ch. 03

Landing at the San Francisco airport was very strange. The airport, and San Francisco, was shrouded in heavy dense fog. It was as if the City-by-the-Bay was protected by the low-to-earth bubble of cool comfort or had suddenly vanished. Coupled with the late afternoon winds San Francisco had rightfully earned the description that it is the coldest place to spend a summer.

The drive to Sacramento would take Jenny and me a couple of hours once we made it to highway 101 and across the Bay Bridge to highway 80. It was a drive marked by silent and personal contemplation. I have always been the king of person who becomes introspective when confronted with life changing situations. My introspectiveness was much like the Buddhist Monk who chants, the same chant, over-and-over until his mind sees and hears nothing at all. An unintended consequence of this kind of meditation is the ability to not remember much about our drive to Sacramento.

Jenny seemed relaxed and dozed in the passenger seat for much of the trip. I was too full of my own thoughts and questions. As it was my "introspection", also known as daydreaming, was a distraction that had me drifting off onto the road's shoulder. The feel of gravel jarred me back to the task of driving. When this happened Jenny put her hand on my arm and asked if I was okay.

Okay as compared to what? Compared to a week ago, yes, I was okay. Okay did not mean great, it simply met I had no reason to complain about simply being alive. If that was the case then why did my chest feel constricted when I breathed? Where had my sense of humor gone and why did I feel tense? If I was drifting between these emotions, was Margo, my wife, my love, also experiencing these same things? I was experiencing what I call early-onset-loss due to depression associated with loss of a loved one. I was simply sad as I anticipated the death of my marriage.

"Any last words of advice?" We were in front of Jenny's apartments and I'd just sat her single bag in front of her.

"Matthew, your heart is all the direction you need. Just pay attention to your heart and know I will always be here for you . . . as a friend and shoulder to lean on." Jenny then kissed me, picked up her bag and disappeared into her apartment. Jenny could never be just a friend. I held no illusions about Jenny. There was no way I would ever turn to her again so long as my marriage was intact, even if it was on life support.

By the time I pulled into the driveway of my home, the house I shared with Margo, the only thing I could do was tell myself to breathe and be as fair as possible. I wanted to be as fair as possible for all of the wonderful years we have shared with one another.

When I opened the front door and walked in, I noticed music coming from our family room, where Margot spent most of our time when home. It was a part of the house that was comfortable and safe. Everything there we shared from photographs to the flat screen TV. There was no "mine" or "yours". The den was where I found Margot, wearing a pair of loose fitting jeans, an un-buttoned flannel shirt (one of mine) covering a spaghetti-strap held purple tank top.

Margot was reading a very thick paperback.

I stood watching her, waiting for her to see me, waiting. When she looked up from her book, more as if she was stopping to reflect about something she was reading, she saw me standing there.

"Matthew!" Margot tossed the book to the tiled floor, jumped off of the leather couch and ran to me, literally jumping into my arms. She didn't say anything else as she threw her arms around my neck and proceeded to kiss me long and hard. "God, I've missed you so much!" Then she was kissing me again with the passion of a woman who was greeting her first lover, her only lover.

We never made it to the bedroom. Margot had my clothes and her clothes off with practiced speed that I think I was dizzy. Yet, even as I let my body make love to Margot there was something I held in reserve, a hesitancy. I wasn't blaming Margot or anyone else, I had simply changed. My outlook on life had grown into something I didn't really recognize, at first.

Margot noticed my hesitancy but didn't say anything. I was home and that was all that seemed to matter.

We hadn't really talked since I'd walked in the door. Like a dog that hasn't eaten in several days feeding is the first thing that needs to be addressed. We'd just fed each other, sex. Now we could get on with the unraveling, the analysis of what had happened and why. The time for testing our commitment to one another was, now, whether Margo thought that way or not.

"Matthew, can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?" We were both arm-in-arm, naked, basking in the after-glow of satisfying sex. Margot was asking me about forgiveness as my cum seeped out of her.

"For being stupid, yes, but . . ." We all do stupid things. So I felt I didn't need to finish my thought.

"But what?" Margot was probably right about following up with her question. From this day forward there could be no room for misunderstanding.

"What you did was not just stupid; it was cold and thought through very carefully. You even had to time things just right so I would be walking in the door as you were lip-locked with Ted. It is easy to forgive stupidity but you knew I was picking you at noon that day. You shattered my belief that we had, as close as humanly possible, a perfect marriage where love and trust were not an issue." Margot did not respond as she put her hand on my chest and laid her head on my shoulder.

I was also distracted by how good her body felt against me. I could feel her hard nipples jutting into me with all of the natural pleading of a young lover. In the past feeling Margot next to me would be enough for me to believe we were the only people on earth. Now, well now I'd shared my bed with Jenny. Now I realized that "perfect love" had nothing to do with ownership, commitment and honoring one's vows. Now, I believed all of the psychological reports that indicated men and women see their relationships very differently.

"Oh Matthew what can I do to convince you we do have a perfect marriage, that I love you and want to have your babies." Margot, as she had done a thousand times before, began to caress my balls and penis in a way that was almost absent minded and without thought. It was natural and often leads to a second round of sex. It felt good and made me feel like I was important and cared for. There was still a little bird chirping in my ear that loving me wasn't enough for Margot. Saying she wanted my babies made me feel good, like a peacock ruffling his feathers and cawing with delight. After ruffling my feathers and cawing what was left?

If she wanted to "convince" me of the depths of her love it would mean a good dose of anal sex. I would soon know just how far she would go to "convince" me of her fidelity and her love. Fidelity and love are, of course, two different things but fit together nicely.

I'd read a journal article some years back about how mothers who displayed their love for their infants would caress and massage their testicles after a bath or changing their diapers. Margot often did this on those rare occasions when we showered together or sank into the recesses of a hot bath. Was Margot doing this to comfort me, to make me feel safe and loved?

"Margot, I won't lie to you but I believe something has changed between us." It was almost a stupid statement. A lot had changed between us. "What we had was, in my eyes, perfect to the point of being sacred. I never had any reason to question you about anything . . . so long as I knew our love was safe. Don't misunderstand, the sex we just shared was "comfortable", felt wonderful, but I no longer feel the security, the safety, I did before last week. As a result the passion seems to have fallen by the way side. You played it "comfortable" rather than letting your passion drive you."

It is as if the beautiful innocence of what we had is somehow sullied. The depth of our passion now had the seasoning of hesitation, doubt and fear. Maybe I was also learning, gaining a bit of insight and wisdom?

Stopping to let us both reflect on my words I focused on how Margot continued to scratch my chest and pull my chest hair slightly. Caressing my balls and scratching my chest hair were gestures she'd done naturally ever since I'd known her. I was getting upset with myself for beginning to analyze every little thing Margot said or did, and the analysis of our loving actions was enough to harm our marriage, which was a strange feeling."

"Matthew, I don't know what else I can do." Was she really saying she didn't know what would happen once I knew the truth? If the truth was different from what Margo was telling me? Her lips and mouth, her wet sex, were powerful forms of distraction and misinformation. She had a way of making me believe I was the only one who had ever been in her life and for Margo, this may have been exactly how she felt. I was now questioning, in my mind, everything.

"Nothing, Margo. If we've made mistakes we need to learn from them move on. I also know we need to speak clearly to one another in order to communicate thoughts, feelings, and desires. And, on this one, I can't tell you what to do to make things right and full of passion. For more than 6 years I've believed our marriage to be full of love and passion. All of that is now in jeopardy, isn't it?" I didn't need an answer to the rhetorical question. Margo took the question as just that, rhetorical and not requiring an answer.

"In the meantime my plan is to fuck you like a silly rabbit, whenever, however and wherever you want." I was still her silly rabbit? In that moment I realized being her silly rabbit, though endearing, was a way to minimize her in my eyes. It was a thought that didn't make much sense but resonated. Rabbits take, in average, 17 second to orgasm and move on. When they do copulate they recover almost immediately to fuck again.

The image of rabbits running fast, and then stopping for a second to turn and run in another direction, for apparently no reason, came to mind. Rabbits looked silly starting and stopping then starting to run again. Did Margo see me as a 17-second fuck? It wasn't at all true but I wondered.

Margo took her silly rabbit statement as a cue to move her chin off of my chest and let her tongue slickly slide over my skin to engulf my slightly recovering cock. Her warm wet mouth seemed especially hot as Margo began to give me one of her mind-bending blow jobs. I loved the feel of her mouth but the feel of her touch was not the nerve-tingling mind-bending source of love and passion it had once been. What she was doing felt good but it was somehow, mechanical?

Margo, what if I said to you I didn't see myself as a rabbit or as silly? She was performing fellatio, designed to please me, but it lacked passion. She was doing a good job but then again a prostitute does a masterful job of getting her john off quickly. After all, time is money, yes? The passion was replaced with a semi-comfortable desire to please and be accepted. Was Margo fucking someone else? Who was the image she held in her mind, Stan? If that was her image then her standards had dropped significantly and Stan had a foot long cock that was always hard. I didn't believe either case was true.

No! I screamed at myself as I realized Margo had not changed! Margo's passion and willingness to love and please me was ever present. The understanding, the realization, that I could only be responsible for how I felt and what I gave to others, seemed to hit me hard. When the thought entered my mind I lost all interest in Margo's wonderful mouth, her soft and probing tongue, and the way her lips formed the perfect seal round my softening penis.

But the doubt was now ever present.

"Matthew? Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, Margo. It's me. I guess I am just tired from the flight and all of the tension of the last week. I will be okay." I was lying and didn't want to be hurtful. For years Margo had been a wonderful wife and lover. At that moment I could easily have blamed her for my apparent erectile dysfunction but I would have been lying again.

"If you say so Matthew . . . you will always be my silly rabbit and I love you beyond reason. It is my love for you that drives me crazy sometime." I was beginning to dislike being called her silly rabbit.

I wasn't feeling guilty for my afternoon with Jenny, the tall beautiful Jenny. I was, however remembering that afternoon. Jenny had reset the standard for what passionate love making was all about. The realization that I was now damaged goods damaged much in the way an individual is who shoots heroin for the first time. The euphoric high becomes the center of the individual's universe. For the heroin user all it takes is one "fix", one injection into the blood stream, and the individual's world changes forever. I wanted more of Jenny; something I knew was not possible at least not as a married man. I wanted more of the one thing that had the possibility to destroy my world.

Jenny had become my opioid of sexual satisfaction and everything else would pale by comparison. She had replaced Margo as my ultimate sexual standard. Jenny was the forbidden fruit for me, a married man. The irony was that Margo trusted her with her husband, me. The irony of my situation did not minimize the truth. I also knew I would never again betray Margo's trust again, at least not as long as we were married. My fear was that, between Margo feeling a need to test my commitment and me actually giving into Jenny's virgin world, I was destined for an existence filled with anguish and heart ache.

A couple weeks after getting back from the Philippines I got off work for an early lunch and decided to visit Margot. In the back of my mind I was hoping to see Jenny, to at least hear her say ""hell" when I walked into Margo's Real Estate office. So I was disappointed when I was greeted by a strange face, a new receptionist, not Jenny.

"Yes? How may I help you sir?" The new receptionist looked to be in her early fifties, was well dressed and very professional.

"Hi, I am here to see Margo Bassler please."

"Who may I say is calling?"

"I am Matthew Bassler, Margo's husband."

The receptionist had dialed Margot's extension before she was speaking to me.

Mr. Bassler, do you want to leave a message? She isn't answering her phone."

I thought for a minute. I had seen Margot's car parked in her assigned spot outside. I also noticed the door to Stan's office was closed, as it was when I walked in on Margot kissing her boss. Could it be happening again? Could Margo and Stan be involved in a real affair? Sure I'd been distracted with my own short comings the last couple of weeks and wasn't tuned into Margo as I have for years.

Inside I reasoned it would be better not to know if Margo was still involved with Stan. Yet, I knew I needed to verify what I was instinctually thinking. I turned to walk out, feeling cowardly, then turned around and walked straight for Stan's office.

"Mr. Bassler?" The receptionist asked as I casually, at least as casually as I could, walked by the receptionist desk.

I did my best to smile as I continued walking and shaking my head "no." Inside I was reliving the stolen kiss, the lost feelings of passion, and the anger I'd felt when I left the last time I'd visited the Real Estate office. The only difference between then and now was that Margot did not expect me to be visiting today.

When I got to Stan's closed door I stopped, feeling my heart beating. My palms were sweating and I was breathing in short, shallow breaths. Many of the things I was experiencing were similar to a post-traumatic stress response. Putting my hand on the door knob I took a deep breath as I realized seeing Stan and my wife lip-locked a second time might actually be a good thing. It might give me the impetus, no so much the justification, to leave my marriage. At the same time I realized that seeing Margot with Stan would emotionally hurt like hell.

There was no turning back. I could hear Stan's phone ringing from inside. Turning my head I could see the receptionist watching me, her phone receiver to her ear. She was calling to inform Stan I was at his door. So I turned and waited for the phone to stop ringing then I opened the door and walked into his office praying like hell I would not find Margo behind the door.

I realize God doesn't necessarily answer prayers for power or material things. God gave us the Beatitudes as a way for us to care for the sick, dying, hungry and homeless. God wants us to love one another as we love God, first. Praying helps us remember what is important in life and avoid temptation.

I opened Stan's door realizing it was not locked thinking that was good. After all why would he be fucking an employee like Margo without locking his door? At least what I saw was not as rattling as the scene of the two of them lip-locked in a passionate kiss. What I did see was Margot quickly sitting down on Stan's couch. Stan was doing his best to get behind his desk, but was a little late. He was in the process of pulling his pants back on, exposing a pair of purple stripped speedo-type underwear. I had to chuckle, a sick chuckle, wondering if she was the fucking rabbit.

A glance to Margot revealed her in all of her scared-shitless beauty. If ever there was an expression of someone whose hands were caught in the cookie jar, it was on her face. The top two buttons of her blouse were undone and her skirt was still hiked a little too-high for my comfort.

As I stared at her I noticed she seemed to be about to break into tears. At least there was a little remorse left in her. If it was remorse it probably was also coupled with a shit-load of embarrassment and shame. I'd been back only two weeks! It was then I realized time had nothing to do with catching them, again. I reasoned Margo and Stan had probably been having an affair for quite some time I just had no proof, no hard evidence.

I also reasoned Margo probably had forgotten I was going to visit her three weeks ago and used the "test" as a way to hide the real affair.

"Margo, what can I say? You two no longer have to sneak around, do you?" I just shook my head as I turned to leave then turned back around to face Stan. "You are simply a piece of shit! So you want to do this in court or do we be civilized? Fuck being civilized, we will work this out in court." I stopped not wanting anything on the record that said I ever threatened Stan.

When I looked back at Margo she had broken down in tears. It was all a little too late and, for me, I realized I'd gotten my wish. It was more than enough for me to justify getting myself free from the marriage. "You know Margo I never, even after walking in on you kissing Stan three weeks ago, thought of you as a whore. Guess we can all be wrong about people, yes?"

I was blowing smoke with Stan. Macho men do this all the time when they feel their manhood has been challenged. Stan was no challenge to my confidence, my self-esteem and my ability to function in this world as a man, a husband, and a member of civilized society. At the same time I had no room to throw stones, did I? I'd committed adultery as well and had no room to be critical, to point my finger at Margo and Stan.

There was no energy in me to get nasty. Stan was a middle-aged over-weight asshole. For Margo Stan was not a matter of doing better it was a case of slipping into a world of sick shit characterized by living a decadent life where redemption is not possible. Who am I to talk about redemption?

As I walked out of Stan's office I noticed the receptionist was at the door and probably had heard most of the conversation. She was doing her job. I had acted with respect and now Margo was on her own, or with Stan, or whatever. Except I knew Stan was married. I was a little amazed that my intense feelings of passionate love for Margo had died in three weeks. It had taken a mere three weeks to drive the stake into our hearts and toss our bodies to the side of the road.