The Door Into Summer

This seemed to be the most salient section:

“Lastly, those relationship bonds in which there exists mutual reciprocation are defined aslimerent-limerent bondings. Tennov argues since limerence itself is an "unstable state" that mutually limerent bonds would be expected to be short-lived; mixed relationships probably last longer than limerent-limerent relationships. Some limerent-limerent relationships evolve into affectional bondings over time as limerence declines and such couples are described by Tennov as "old marrieds" whose interactions are typically both stable and mutually gratifying.”

The final sentence encapsulates my hopes. As you have mentioned, our circumstances have the effect of trapping us psychologically in an elongated honeymoon. Which in some ways is tremendously pleasurable. I love being in love with you and aflame with desire, except for the times that I crash into black despair, of course. But can any honeymoon last forever?

I'm certain that there is an element of fantasy in our relationship. But on the other hand, there are verifiably genuine bases for us to be in love. Our work on poetry together has been very productive, IMO, and wonderfully enjoyable. We both have a certain reverence for the arts and sciences, the creative power of the human mind, and we take a legitimate delight in the quickness of our intellectual discourse on these and related topics. Sexually, darling, we are dynamite -- there is no denying it. We don't know much about each other, of course, outside these rather idealized relations, although we have both seen each other go into emotional funks, which hint at what the downside of our relationship would be like. But we also both offered each other loving support at those moments, which would bode well. What we don't know is how we would be on the small things; would we fight about taking out the garbage?

So, what to do? You say that you don't think you are strong enough to acclimate to our situation, and you speak of cauterizing the wound. I'm not strong enough to lose you; I would rather suffer all the terrors of the ETs. But if we can just cling to the bucking horse long enough, perhaps our limerent-limerent relationship might evolve into an affectional bonding over time as limerence declines, becoming something both stable and mutually gratifying.

Sweetheart, I'm a bit tired and I hope this is not incoherent. I want to make you happy. I will keep trying until I figure it out.

From time to time we dared to speak of what our relationship might look like in the long term. We had both contemplated what it could be like to make a life together. Our relationship seemed so ideal, and it was easy to imagine it as a paradise on earth, were it not for the obvious stumbling block: we were both married, and our joy would come at the expense of misery for others that we cared about. It came to a head for us when Simona wrote to me:

The denouement, the bitter truth: it’s painful as hell because it is a dead end. It cannot go anywhere, proceed the way other relationships proceed. The more emotional involvement, the sweeter the sex, the more poignant our interactions. But it's a blind alley. Because it can't go anywhere. Except, if you're painfully honest, down in flames. Because if it goes forward, someone gets hurt. There is no option here, no way around - one of the four people (five really) involved will get hurt.

I received her email on my phone as I was on my way to audition a new singer for my band. I parked the car and replied:

Here is what I have imagined from time to time. We keep the precarious balance. We stoke the sexual fires until, gradually, over time, they begin to simmer down (although they seem like an eternal flame now, I do believe that the 2nd Law probably must obtain to some extent.) At a certain point, the yearning becomes less sharp, and by mutual consent, we begin a gradual transition to being Platonic lovers, where the threat we pose to our families converges on being negligible. This would not happen quickly. I imagine that we would be living clandestine lives for another year, at least. But thus far we have been successful in not harming our families. If we did harm them, I suspect that the guilt would taint our love.

Following this exchange, we both spent a miserable weekend. When we tried to go on the webcam, there were tears and we shut the camera down. We had managed up until this point to enjoy our love without confronting its mortality. Once we had looked honestly at our inevitable destiny, we shared an anguish that lasted for some days. Gradually we returned to what passed for normalcy, and did not speak of the matter again for some months.

Fourth Meeting

An opportunity arose unexpectedly in September. We would share the latter part of the first day, after which Simona would return home to her son. We would see each other again the following morning. As a pretext, I used the now-familiar fictitious out-of-town gig.

On the freeway, just south of Salem, I heard a terrible rumbling sound and a jarring vibration from my front right tire. I realized that I had had a blowout. I steered the car to the right of the freeway, but there was no shoulder, due to construction work. I was at a loss as to what to do. I had known two young men who had died, some years earlier, under similar circumstances. I put on my flashers and got out of the car as quickly as I could, running back along the side of
the freeway to wave away the cars and 18-wheelers that were speeding toward my stranded vehicle.

Miraculously, they all managed to swerve to miss my car, and after about two very long minutes, a highway patrolman appeared. He put on his super-flashers and shepherded me slowly along to the next exit, where a courtesy tow-truck appeared and helpfully put on my spare tire. I went into Corvallis and got the tire replaced, then got back on the freeway toward Eugene, anxious and behind schedule.

When I pulled into the Paramount Inn, Simona was waiting for me. We were hoping for early check-in, but the room was not yet ready, so we got into her car and drove up into the hills near the campus, to Hendricks Park. Simona admonished me with a smile that I was not to touch her until we got there.

We parked, and walked up the hillside with our picnic supplies, until we arrived at a semi-isolated grove of trees. We began to prepare our food, and Simona subtly let it be known that it was now OK to touch. I caressed her through her panties, then removed them and put them in a zip-lock bag, intending to take them home with me again.

We were perched on a fairly steep hillside, with our food threatening to escape down the slope, and the danger that anyone who chanced to wander up our particular trail would witness what we were doing. It was clear to me now that this danger excited Simona. I was soon happily absorbed in the now-familiar sensations of stroking her clit and her G-spot until she came joyously against my hand. We finished our repast, and descended the trail to our car.

When we returned to the Paramount, our room was ready. We transported our supplies up to the room, then I was ready for another experiment. I had asked Simona not to wear her corset this time, because I wanted to try CMNF, the opposite of our last experiment. I undressed Simona and asked her to lie back on the bed and masturbate for me, which she did with obvious relish.

I quickly became too excited to remain an observer. I stripped and joined her on the bed, offering my cock to her mouth. Things got hotter and hotter, until somehow I found myself seated in an armchair, with Simona crouching between my legs, sucking me. She had brought me right to the brink of orgasm and I hovered there. Suddenly she got an inspiration. She had expressed her interest in the erogenous potential of my asshole, and she inserted her finger tentatively inside it. It felt strange to be invaded in this way, but it was also creating a sort of tension that I thought might take me over the top. "In further," I gasped, and she obliged, pushing her finger in until suddenly my body tensed up and I cried out, "I'm going to cum." Then I flooded her mouth with my semen.

Simona seemed very gratified, both because I had cum for her, but possibly also because a scientific hypothesis had been demonstrated experimentally.

That evening something very special happened. I was given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be part of Simona's day-to-day life. We left the motel and went to pick up Alistair, her 9-year-old son, who was attending an after-school square dancing class. I was introduced as one of his mother's musician friends. We then proceeded Simona's home in the hills above the campus, just below Hendricks Park. As Simona cooked an Asian meal in her Wok, Alistair introduced me to Esmeralda (also known as Smelly), the family's pet ferret, and gave me a surprising dissertation on ferret behavior.

I joined Simona and Alistair at the dining table for some stir-fry. Alistair picked at his food for about 15 minutes before flitting off to watch television. Simona and I managed to successfully play the role of casual acquaintances while in her home, which was a challenging task. At one point we sat together and talked on the couch while Alistair was in the next room, and Simona reached over to touch my knee to emphasize some point. I felt it with the intensity of an electric shock. Later she drove me back to the motel. The motel had free wi-fi, and I chatted with Simona into the night, anticipating another meeting the next morning.

The following morning I received a call from Simona. She had gotten up early to go to the gym, part of her weekly regimen. She asked if she could come directly to the motel and shower there. I agreed, but then I asked her to pull her car over and park for a moment. Once she had done that, I told her that I was naked from the waist down and stroking my cock. I asked her to join me by touching her clit. She seemed excited by my suggestion. We described to each other how it felt, then she signed off in order to hurry to join me.

When she arrived at the motel, I greeted her naked at the door and we embraced. She tried to excuse herself to go to the shower, but I asked her to wait for just a minute. I fell to my knees and nuzzled her crotch, pulling her exercise pants down so that I had access to her cunt. It smelled stronger than usual, and I found it extremely arousing. I buried my face between her thighs and began to eat her, loving her taste, then jumped up and begged her to join me on the bed.

We assumed the 69 position, and I was transported by how good she smelled and tasted. Now and then I would lift my face from her crotch long enough to tell her about it. She responded by sucking my cock with greater and greater ardor. I felt my excitement mounting to a fever pitch, and I cried out to Simona that I was going to cum in her mouth. We sucked each other desperately as I began to erupt.

It was a particularly memorable and delicious encounter. Months later, Simona would memorialize it with this poem:

His Offering

She can't help it: she still dreams

often

of how he knelt in front of her--

his eyes, nose and mouth hungry

for her thick, slick, fragrant flavor.

She remembers how he could

barely contain his impatience,

enough only to wrap

his lips around hers

as he knelt

and suckled

and prayed

to his carnal

goddess.

He was naked then, in all ways,

and she received his gift

trembling

with wonder and grace;

wished to receive it

again

and again

every

single

day.

We continued to make love, drink scotch, and talk until we had to check out at 1:00 PM. Then we drove to Alton Baker Park along the Willamette, where we found a picnic table and ate lunch, with a stiff breeze ruffling our bags of bread, meats and cheeses.

Afterward, we visited some of Simona's haunts in the area around the campus, a coffee shop, another viewpoint along the Willamette. Simona drove; she steered with her left hand, while her right hand wandered over to my crotch. I unzipped my fly to give her access to my cock; she stroked it expertly and delicately, arousing me to the point where I was indifferent to idea that we might be seen. Then we decided to return to Hendricks Park.

I was still worried that we might encounter someone who knew Simona, but she was determined to forge ahead. We began walking along the trails, and stopping here and there to kiss and fondle each other. On two occasions we had to hurriedly break off contact as I rushed to pull up my pants because joggers were approaching us along the trail. I don't think we were terribly successful in concealing what we were up to.

I have vivid memories of standing close to Simona on a trail with my fingers inside her, as she breathlessly regaled me with stories of how she had used her crossed-leg masturbation technique in classrooms during her high school and college days.

Finally, we went to another coffee shop and drank espresso as Simona gave me a very detailed layman's presentation on some of the research she was engaged in. As I struggled to follow what she was presenting, I found myself oddly touched; this was a different sort of intimacy, where Simona was inviting me to visit the rarefied regions of her intellectual life. Over these two days, I had gotten to know her further sexually, I had been permitted a glimpse into her family life, and now I was getting better acquainted with her professional identity.

Finally, she drove me back to the motel parking lot where my car awaited me. I got on the interstate, headed back to Portland, feeling very content.

Intermezzo

After a particularly enjoyable online discussion, I wrote to Simona,

Darling, our hour and half chat this morning was beautiful. Our RL visit was beautiful. The sex was beautiful, the deep discussions interspersed with the sex, my visit to your home, running around town with you to the river and the park and the coffee shops, your briefing to me on your research, all beautiful. I love it, and I need it.

We have discussed some of our insecurities in recent days, how each of us feared that we might be unimportant to the other. Those fears were baseless. We are unusual people. We are getting closer, our relationship is becoming more multi-dimensional, we are becoming more relaxed and secure with one another. We operate under severe, daunting constraints, but we are making it work. We worry about the future, but if there is nuclear war tomorrow morning and we are no longer able to reach each other electronically, I am still so very happy that we met and fell in love.

Simona and I argued from time to time about politics. I regarded President Barack Obama as a Trojan Horse, who had used his skin color and some boilerplate liberal rhetoric to distract Americans from his continuation of all the most wretched policies of George W. Bush. My wife Ella was even more indignant; you will find no harsher critics of Obama than Black Americans who feel betrayed.

Simona, on the other hand, regarded Obama as a well-intentioned pragmatist who had made necessary compromises in order to work with intransigent Republicans. She also argued that he had liberal policies on social “wedge issues” that were important to her (and less so to me).

We jousted good-naturedly about Obama and other political themes. Only rarely did our exchanges become heated. Some of our best political debates took place naked in bed during our real-life meetings. There they became heated for other reasons.

There is something redemptive about falling head-over-heels in love at 62 years of age, even if it is doomed to be a clandestine affair, fraught with peril. I wrote to Simona:

We had a very intimate chat last night, and we have had a number of them this week. We have shared with each other some of our anxieties with respect to our relationship, and it seems to me that once again we our finding that it can be a bit like looking into a mirror. I went back and found the poem that I started and then put aside, which begins with the play on words, "Where do I begin?" I'm going to dust that poem off and have another go at it.

I think you expressed a concern recently that our sex life might diminish in heat. When we first encountered each other in Salem, there was perhaps a feeling of danger, that if we were as wanton with each other as we are inclined to be, would we shock each other? Repulse each other? And the fact that we embraced each other's wantonness was exhilarating. That feeling of exhilaration is something I think we both love.

With each successive meeting, we have experimented with new things, discovered new kinks, and we will continue to do that. But there is another process afoot. We are getting to know each other. We are becoming intellectually and emotionally intimate. That has the effect of investing our love-making with more meaning. It is no longer just the thrill of risk in the discovery of a new lover; it is an affirmation of what we have already discovered. Sweetheart, I think that adds a whole new dimension of hotness.

I received a reply from Simona which I particularly treasure:

I love it when you wax philosophical, which you do so often. I don't mean it in any sort of teasing way - I really love this part of you, and that you like to analyze each part of our relationship and our interactions. I like that you are introspective in that way. We'll add psychologist to the things you might have done well had you chosen to do them.

I don't know, of course, that our sex life will diminish in heat. That's what happens when you live with someone everyday, when you become so familiar with them they become a routine, almost an afterthought, someone you take for granted. It's in the nature of our relationship that this won't happen, not like it usually does. Even with my RL relationship - we've had to work specifically to try to keep the romance alive. With you and I, the rate of burnout is so slow - I never get enough of you. You've worried about that lately - of my becoming saturated, or feeling smothered? Or maybe something somewhat less drastic but along the same lines. I can't see how that would ever happen - I never get enough of you. For every chat that we have like one last night, I'd like to have ten more. Perhaps then I might feel that I knew you enough to take you even slightly for granted.

I am just getting to know you enough, if that makes sense. Even as recently as a month ago or so we had one of our misunderstandings that sent me into a spiral of worry, because I didn't know you well enough and misinterpreted what you said I feel less like that will be a problem. I thought I'd be, potentially, just a partner in a sex game for you, even if an elaborate one. I have come to know you well enough that I don't doubt how deeply you're into " us," how much this means to you. I feel the same way, Andre: the sexual passion I feel is an expression of my love for you, not a game I play with you.

So, yes. We will fall even deeper in love. We are so screwed, darling.

I worry about you sometimes. And I wish that I could embrace your cares, if not away, then at least to share them more often, soothe them. I hope I am able to make you feel loved, and a bit better when you're down. You've lifted my spirits so much since we've met.

I can't wait to crawl even more under each other's skin. That sounds a little horrific, but I love feeling your skin. I love every part of you, watching you, thinking about how we'll blend our heat together every time and whip something up between us that's different and even more revealing than the last time. Friday morning was such a perfect example. I want even more of those moments, lover, where as I said we abandon any sense of inhibition or propriety, any "sense" whatsoever and just revel in each other. You are the perfect lover for me.