Urges

"You were fantasizing about me, weren't you?" Again it is a statement of fact, not a question.

I am mute, my mouth goes dry and the words of denial die in the dust in my throat. I cannot hold eye contact. My head drops and I focus my eyes on my hands, fidgeting in my lap. Everything has been said that needs to be said and no words have been exchanged. Suddenly, the gung-ho, take charge businesswoman dressed in power suits is no longer in charge, in command. She knows my innermost thoughts, my most secret, private urges. "Janie…?"

"Yes, Stephanie?"

"Look at me!"

Unable to resist the command, my head rises and my eyes are drawn to her.

"I think it would be a very good idea if you were to go into your office and call Gerald and tell him you are going out for drinks to-night and to see my new condo and you will be home in the morning."

"Janie…?"

"JANIE…"

"Yes Stephanie?"

"Don't you agree?"

"Yes, Stephanie. I'll go and call him now."

"Good, I'm glad we finally have that out of the way. It's proven to be a good day after all in spite of the rain, hasn't it?"

In a state of shock I can only nod mutely as I rise to walk back to my office like a zombie. The desk clock continues its to methodically ticking 3:47:06 P.M.… 3:47:07 P.M. but I hardly even notice it. Head in hands, I stare at the blotter on my desk, dazed, wondering what has happened. My world has been turned upside down in 17 minutes, or has it? Nothing has happened, yet. Will something happen; is the question I ask myself? Stephanie won't talk, that is obvious. The ball is in my court. Will I step up to the line and join the game or will I return to the stands to watch life, a passive spectator, content to yearn, dream, fantasize, but not participate. Is the risk worth the potential rewards, the price I may have to pay if I am exposed? What would my mother and my dad think? Gerald, could he stand the public embarrassment? Would he stand it? Do I want to lose him?

No, no, a thousand times no, I silently scream in my private hell. All logic, reason, instinct, common sense, education, family background screams to let this situation pass. But oh, my emotions, my hormones are in full flight. Just the thought of the tight curve of her trim ass, the promise of her luxuriant bush that I had but a peek at, the gentle curve of her breast only partially hidden by her bra and loose fitting blouse sends shivers down my spine. I tightly clench the muscles in my thighs trying to stem the flow of juices trying to leak out of my aroused pussy and further soil my pantyhose. A bead of perspiration forms on my upper lip and my nostrils flare, as I smell my own scent, the smell of a bitch in heat. Do I have the will power to resist? Do I want to resist? My mind is a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and emotions. Loyalties and needs fighting each other for supremacy, for control of my body and actions. The urge to break down and cry is overwhelming. What have I done? What have I started? I am like a dog that has always chased car tires. Finally I have caught one, now what do I do with it? The secret yearnings hidden deep in the recesses of my mind have been exposed. Stephanie knows of my hidden longings for her, longings than even I have never been willing to admit, even to myself. She has issued the challenge. Do I dare accept?

"Janie?"

"JANIE?"

My head rises from my hands, my eyes focus and inexplicably I look at the clock once again, 5:00:00 P.M.

"Janie, its time."

Slowly my head rotates in the direction of the sound, the voice.

"It's quitting time Janie. Have you called Gerald and told him we have plans for the evening?"

Blankly I stare at her, uncomprehending.

"Have you called?"

Silence.

"Janie?"

"No…"

Stephanie says nothing for several seconds. Finally, quietly but firmly, she says, "I'm going out to my car to have a smoke and warm it up. I'll be ten minutes. It's your decision. If you make it before I finish, join me and we will go to Joe and Curly's before I take you to show you my new condo. If not, I'll see you Monday morning." Abruptly, Stephanie turns and leaves, and the office is enveloped in the sounds of silence. The clock ticks away. 5:01: 00 P.M.…. 5:02:00P.M. 5:03:00 P.M.…. 5:04:00 P.M. The numbers fly, I can't believe it. There has to be a power surge. It simply can't be going that fast. 5:06:00 P.M.…. 5:07:00 P.M.

The hand attached to the end of my arm develops a mind of its own. The telephone receiver rises from the console, the speed dial is pushed, and ringing followed by the answering machine. A strange voice belonging to a strange person unknown to me leaves a message and it is done. The decision has been made.

Someone else, who has temporarily taken possession of my body and mind, has made it. I am possessed, or maybe it is just that my inner desires have overridden my senses. Numbly, I retrieve my coat and purse and, with one last look at the clock blinking on the desk, I exit the office into the driving rain of the parking lot.

Initially, I think I have procrastinated too long and a feeling of relief courses thought my body immediately followed by a deep feeling of disappointment. Squinting my eyes, to look into the wind, I cannot see Stephanie's old maroon Chevy. Before either elation or depression can set in, a small dark car stops in front of me. The passenger door squeaks open. Quickly I slide in and stare directly ahead as I fasten my seat belt.

"Hard Decision?" Stephanie asks, in a low, comforting voice.

My head moves up and down of its own volition.

"Call home, Janie?"

"Yes."

"Scared?"

"Yes."

"Wondering if you are making the right decision?"

"Oh, yes, big time." A trace of my old confidence returns for the first time in a couple of hours.

"Guess what?" I turn, and meet her eye, for the first time since the whole nightmare started almost two hours ago.

"What," I respond?

"All the questions, worries, running through your mind," she says leaving the sentence unfinished.

"Yes?"

"Well, there all running through my mind as well Janie. The only difference is that they are probably different ones than yours, not more important, not less important, just different."

Stephanie pulls out of the parking lot and almost instantly pulls into the next parking lot down the street. The garish neon sign of The Elm Tree Inn beckons, promising liquid solace to my jangled nerves and turbulent emotions. One of the benefits of working next door is that we are both well known regulars at Joe and Curly’s, the local watering hole, located in back of the ground floor of the inn looking out on the pool. Surprisingly, the pool has been filled since our last visit. The seasonal accoutrements have not yet been installed and even the usual compliment of children, in with their parents for the weekend shopping package, are absent. Only a polar bear would brave the elements for a dip tonight.

Seated, at a table for two by the closed patio doors, two Coronas are placed before us by the regular bar tender. "Enjoy ladies. Long week followed by a miserable weekend."

The bar reeks of class, of money, but for some strange reason it is sparsely occupied. Undoubtedly, the inhospitable New Hampshire weather has something to do with it. Any friends we have among the regulars are conspicuous by their absence to night and, under the circumstances, that is a godsend.

"Janie?"

"Yes, Stephanie,” I respond with raising my eyes from the table.

"Look at me please."

My eyes continue to wander for a few seconds but finally, reluctantly, they are drawn to Stephanie by the tone of her voice.

"That's better. I'm nervous, uptight and apprehensive about what might happen tonight too," Stephanie responds.

"How did you know, how did you ever know," I ask? "Did I give it away? Did I do something, say something?"

"No, Janie, you didn’t give it away."

“Does anyone else know,” I ask, both hopeful and fearful at the same time.

"No, Janie, our secret is safe."

"Then how did you know Stephanie?"

"I simply guessed Janie. It was an intuitive guess, a stab in the dark. I think deep, deep in me I wanted it to be true and that you gave me keener insight, but yes, I just guessed."

A secret thrill of admiration runs through me. "I knew you were smart, Stephanie, but I never suspected that you were capable of such far reaching flashes of intuitive brilliance," I respond as I smile at her for the first time. “Even I didn’t know, at least in my conscious mind, until this afternoon. I never, ever saw myself even in the recesses of my mind, as a lesbian or is it bi-sexual before. I like good fucking too much.” My hand comes to my mouth, not believing that I actually said such a coarse thing. “I’m sorry, that was not a nice thing to say.”

Reaching across the table, I caress Stephanie’s fingers in an intimate way before quickly withdrawing my hand for fear of discovery. Then it strikes me with full force, the phrase she uttered that didn't fully register, "I wanted it to be true." Encouraged, my comfort level rising, I ask, "Stephanie, what did you mean, 'I wanted it to be true'?"

Stephanie says nothing for the longest time. Her eyes sweep the room and find nothing of interest. Finally she returns to the table and reaches for a cigarette. As she lights it I can see her fingers shaking ever so slightly.

Encouraged even further I smile, "Your just as nervous as I am in spite of your bravado, aren't you?"

"Yes," she responds, in a voice so low it is barely audible.

"Why Steph, you seem so sure of yourself, so self confident?"

"Well, I'm not," she almost barks at me. "Sorry, Janie. I guess I'm just as nervous as you are. Look, this is the way I see it. We’re both sitting here and we both know why. We’re each nervous, apprehensive about carrying through with what is on our minds. Are we safe from discovery? Can each trust the other? Will it affect our working relationship, right?”

I make no response sensing that the question is rhetorical.

"Do you want to get up and leave, forget this ever happened? Everything returns to the way it was at 3:30:00 P.M." Stephanie persists in her line of thinking.

The silence is pregnant.

"No," I respond, surprised at the forcefulness in my voice. "What about you, Stephanie? "Do you want to forget it?"

She answers immediately, without hesitation. "No, I want to go forward, to experiment, but I want you to know one thing."

"What is that, Stephanie," I inquire, wondering what she is about to say.

"I have never done anything like this in my life. Never! Not anything even close!" The vehemence in her voice is disconcerting and I look around the room seeing if anyone has overheard us.

"Well Stephanie, guess what?" Her eyes look at me questioningly. "In spite of my age and sexual history, neither have I. We will be initiating each other. Stephanie, I'm here because I love Gerald but he doesn't sexually satisfy me anymore. Why are you here? You're young, attractive and you have a fantastic personality. Any normal guy would be drooling to slip your panties down and get your ankles around his ears."

The sheer graphic description seems to shock her. She takes a deep drag on her cigarette before she answers. I think, Janie, therein lies my problem."

"How is that," I respond, truly puzzled at where she might be leading.

"I've told you a lot about how I grew up, the nights out with my mom drinking and partying and the need to be on my own, to see, to try and make it, to have a better life. I could see where I would end up if I stayed at home. The image scared me. The thought of failing and having to go back, my tail between my legs terrifies me. There is a lot I didn't tell you, and I am not prepared to talk about it to you, at least not yet. Maybe later that will change." A shadow of a smile touches the corner of her mouth, just enough to take the hurt, the sting out of the comment. "Janie, you’re a take charge woman, at least around the office, you know what you want and how to get it. You’re a doer, not a talker, and a dreamer. Why does your sex life suck? Why don't you just take charge and solve it? Are you saying there is a role reversal in your sex life, that once inside the bedroom door Gerald is in charge?"

An embarrassed smile crosses my face as I look down at the table and start to fidget with the package of cigarettes. Several seconds pass and I still do not answer the staccato series of questions that Stephanie has put to me.

"Cat got your tongue, Janie? The way I see it, we are two sleek felines sitting here in the bar on a rainy Friday night. We're both in heat and we are eyeing each other with that special look that only females have. It doesn't seem to me to be the time to be shy, to hold back, does it to you?"

"Yes, Stephanie, when you put it that way, I guess not. When the bedroom door closes Gerald is in charge and therein lies the problem. I love him, I truly love him, and he’s a good husband and a great father. He is hardworking, faithful, dependable."

“I sense the ‘but’ coming, Janie,” her eyes rise quizzically.

"The ‘but’ is that our sex life sucks. He is in charge and our sex life absolutely sucks. He has no imagination, no desire to experiment and, contrary to what you hear, quantity does not make up for quality." Once the initial ice is broken I find it easier and easier to talk on the subject. "I am finding it harder and harder to get off with Gerald. More and more I find I have to resort to my imagination, to fantasize even, to get close to an orgasm while he is pounding away in me."

"Have you tried talking to Gerald about this?" Stephanie asks giving every appearance of being genuinely interested.

I look away for a moment as if I don't want to answer the question but quickly come back as if I am hesitant but don't want to break off the discussion. "Yes, but either he is not hearing me or he is not interested in changing. I just don't think he is all that interested any more, quite frankly."

"What makes you think that?"

I hesitate to answer but then I mentally decide to push forward. Stephanie senses it and once again our fingers touch just for a brief instant. "You know the sex shop a couple of miles down the street?"

Stephanie simply nods.

"I went there and bought a vibrator, a lilac colored one, the other day."

Again she nods as if encouraging me to go on.

"Last week I was so horny one night I went to bed early after dropping a few, not too subtle hints, as to what I had in mind. Gerald didn't come to bed, so I took out the vibrator. I was just getting warmed up when he came into the room."

"Boy, that must have got his motor jump started, Janie!" she says with a grin.

Flushing, I break eye contact and gaze around the room. This time Stephanie doesn't prompt me. It is my decision and mine alone to decide whether or not to continue. Just one more of a whole series of turning points today it would seem. "No," I continue in a subdued voice. "It started nothing. He apologized for interrupting me and said he would go and watch the news until I was finished."

"Wow, I'm sorry, Janie."

I continue as if I haven’t heard her words of consolation. "I know there is no one else. I just know, but he doesn't seem to have any sexual interest in me any more or, more precisely, any imagination that can re-kindle our sex life. I love him and he loves me, I know that. I'm not looking to have an affair. I've done that in the past. I don't want to run the danger of hurting him and the kids."

"But," Stephanie prompts?

"Sexually, I am starting to crawl the walls," I blurt out.

"Well, Janie, I understand. It makes sense to me but I have one question. "Why me? Why am I the center of your sexual fantasies?"

"Good question, I'm not sure I can properly articulate my answer and I'm not sure it is something you want to hear, but I will try. The bottom line of what I am going to say is that I think it might be me. I've seduced my share of men in my life. Men think they seduce us but you and I know that is not the case. There was a time when just the suggestion that I was in a receptive mood, that I was in heat, would drive Gerald crazy. He would be beside himself to get my panties off and drive his pole into me. Now, that's gone. I'd like to have it back only because of the power it gave me over him. Sounds awful, doesn't it?"

Stephanie says nothing prompting me to continue.

"The real issue is I am beginning to wonder if whether I am really interested in the sexual gratification a man can give me. Physiologically, I think I have moved beyond that. More and more I find my mind dwelling on other women lately, and you specifically. Can I excite you, can I bring you sexual gratification, and can you do the same for me? This isn't about love and commitment; it's about physical gratification. Can you, another woman, scratch my itch? Can you sexually gratify me? There, I've said it. I'm sorry, but it is now out in the open between us."

Dead silence follows my revelations. Stephanie says nothing. No empty, simpering words of understanding, no indignant words of condemnation, no expression of moral outrage, cross her lips. She doesn't stand up and throw the remnants of her beer in my face. She says nothing, and she does nothing. Her eyes glaze over and she stares into the distance as if mesmerized by the sheets of rain beating against the patio windows. Psychologically exposed, the urge to babble on is overwhelming. I resist, and with nervous fingers, fumble for a fresh cigarette in the pack in front of me. Several minutes pass and she says nothing. As my mind races, I cannot help fear for all the possible negative consequences that can arise from exposing myself so recklessly. Better that I had kept the closet door closed on my secret sexual urges.

"Stephanie, I'm…"

"Shush, Janie."

The silence continues.

Finally, Stephanie's mind returns to her body. She lights a fresh cigarette and looks me in the eye. "Have you ever read any of the works of Rudyard Kipling?"

Totally disconcerted, I utter, "No, I don't think so, I'm sure I haven't, why?"

"No reason, just wondering."

Stephanie continues as if it is totally irrelevant whether I have ever heard of him or not. "He was a nineteenth century British writer. He wrote a lot about the British Empire, India, Africa, and places like that.”

"Oh, no, I am sure I haven't, not my taste," I smile.

"Is that so," she responds. "I thought your tastes were the subject of out conversation?"

My heart and eyes compete with each other in their plunge to the floor. My mind races trying to recall the nearest exit.

"I'm sorry, Janie, that was a thoughtless way to put it. It didn't come out the way I meant it. I'm struggling too." Her hand snakes across the table and squeezes my fingers hesitantly but just a fraction too long for a friendly gesture, before returning to her side of the table. "Kipling, among other things, wrote about the rogue tiger who developed a taste for human flesh and had to be hunted down and killed. It was a very dangerous job for the hunters but it had to be done."

The comment is totally off the wall, totally meaningless in the context of the conversation that we are having, or so it seems. Just as suddenly she returns to the topic at hand. “You know that Jeff and I broke up a month ago. I told you we had a very active sex life but he was always putting me down telling me I was useless, good for nothing. I told you that, on more than one occasion, he would pound me half way through the mattress and, when I came back from the bathroom after cleaning his semen out of me, he would be laying on the bed masturbating to a porno flick."

The look of distress on her face is clear evidence of how devastating this experience has been on her. All I can feebly add is “Yes, I imagine that would be physchologically devastating. He sounds like a perverted asshole. You were wise to get him out of your life."