Caring

I was fascinated, I didn't know this kind of thing happened. "Are you going to go?"

She smirked mischievously. "Do you think I should?"

"I'm not going to touch that."

"Seriously... as an intellectual exercise — I've told you kind of what I'm seeking. Should I go?"

"You're smart enough to weigh the pros and cons and decide... " I hesitated but I couldn't resist, "but probably."

She laughed. "'But probably' about says it."

But she wasn't done. As if it wasn't enough to spring this stuff on me, she had more. "What if I brought Gloria with me? How would you feel about that?"

The thought was absurd. "She'd never go."

"I think she would. I am actually thinking of asking her. It's this Wednesday night. Should I?"

I had a hard enough time creating an image of a bunch of women in a room with their pants down... putting Gloria in there was impossible. "There's not a chance."

"Bet?"

"Are you serious?"

"Bet?"

"Ten grand."

She stuck out her hand. "If she goes I get one command from you, if she doesn't, you get one command from me."

"What's a command."

"Anything you want it to be — that we can actually do... without landing in jail. Deal?"

I took her hand. "Get Helen to teach you not to make dumb bets, they can be expensive."

When my hand went back on the wheel and I thought a bit about it and I said, "Why would you think she would even consider something like that? What am I missing?"

She didn't have to think about it, she answered immediately. "She would consider going because I am considering going; I know my mum would go. We're all alike we Menendez girls, I know that. If I'm inclined to go I'm positive she would be."

She left it at that... left me dangling. I wasn't going to ask but after a few moments I couldn't resist it. "So, are you going to go?"

"I think I had decided not to, it's far too weird even for the new me. But now? Ya, for sure — I'm going to go and I'm going to take Gloria."

She was grinning when she got out of the car and there was a gleam in her eye that I had never seen before, it lit up her whole face. Bland, she was. But not this version. This version can radiate.

I was glad I was busy for the next few days, it kept my mind off the conversation. I'm not a very sexual person, even so, thoughts of a bunch of women masturbating together, never mind my wife and niece among them; two women having sex together... in my house... in a bedroom beside my own; women saucily smelling each other's underwear — it was getting to me.

And, obviously, I was now thinking of my niece in a whole new light. Could she change by being moulded by another woman — was that even possible? I thought a lot about that... little snatches here and there throughout the day. Why not? Behaviour can be learned, especially when you're a willing student, and she seems all of that. And I agreed with her, she should be willing to change and for the reasons she gave. She is an introvert, yes, a wall-flower, yes, and, yes, I would agree with her, she sure seems like a wimp. Maybe she doesn't have to be: maybe she really can get out of herself and create new energy, new desires, new ambitions. Sex can be a powerful motivator — it can make people do crazy things: drive thousands of miles for a kiss, go into enormous debt for a little slap and tickle, take incalculable risks to get laid, it can even make people kill... for the deprivation of the very same things. So why can't the lure of sex make people change? Especially those who really want to change.

But that question inspired an even more perplexing one: does the absence of sex make people stay the same? That was kind of sticking in my head... and guilt was starting to seep in. Was she right when she said I was doing nothing to help Gloria reach her potential? Was that my job? Was Gloria helping me reach mine? This bothered me because to the second question I had to say yes. She looked after me... with never a complaint — sure, I looked after her, too, sort of: I made enough money for us to have a fairly comfortable life but she was right, I don't really give her the time of day, that's all too true.

But that horniness bit? There is no sex in our relationship, none, except what I take. Is that my fault? No, not entirely, but yes, too. Whatever. We've just never connected. That first fuck was over before it began and that's all it was, fast and reluctant, like all the ones that followed — sex between two autotoms, fast, perfunctory and remote. Sexually, we just aren't engaged and never have been — did I lift a finger to change it? No, but she didn't either.

So, try though I did, I couldn't imagine Gloria with the sex drive Nancy claims she has. I've never seen it, even a glimpse of it, even a hint of it. Never. If I close my eyes and imagine Gloria I would probably see her in the kitchen, cooking. She seems to love it and she's good at it — controlled, organized, efficient. She's not very talented at it, she doesn't seem very talented at anything — the food is always well prepared but it's never very tasty — she doesn't spices it up or go off the recipe, it's always bang-on, prepared for the blandest of pallets.

That's kind of her: a good, efficient worker who lacks imagination. That's even how she appears. She's trim enough — naturally trim, she doesn't work-out as far as I know but there's nothing remotely sexy about her; there could be but she just doesn't act or dress that way — she's in control, organized and efficient even with her choice of clothes — you'd never see a hint of cleavage, never a bra strap, never a bit of belly. She is buttoned-down, that's what she is: buttoned-down, organized and efficient — she runs a good house but I never look for anything imaginative or creative from her. There are no flowers, for instance, or flaring colours or personal mementoes or even personal pictures, just lots of tans and twill. She has playlists of Yani and Barry Manilow.

And now I'm suppose to imagine this woman on someone's living room floor, naked with her legs open, frigging herself along with a bunch of strangers. Huh?

Is it possible to live with a woman for 17 years and not know her? I'm not talking about knowing her quirks and peccadilloes, I'm talking about not knowing the fundamental person. And if that's what's happening here what would that say about me? So no, I can't believe it's possible. I did know her enough to know there was no chance, not a scintilla of a chance that she would show up with her niece to a masturbatory session with strangers. If I was wrong about that I'd have to admit I simply didn't know the woman at all and I would be wrong about everything about her.

Anyway, I wasn't doubting myself, not when the thought was first forced into my head and not in the ensuing days, not even on Tuesday night, the first time I had seen Nancy since I drove her to school. But her smirk on Wednesday morning got to me; that's when I started to doubt myself... just a tiny bit. Ever so slightly I opened myself up to the possibility that my entirely risk-averse wife could do it. But it was far too disorienting to process.

Beyond that grin Nancy gave me nothing. And nor did Gloria. I looked for tells — tense nervousness, liberating gaiety — nothing. If Nancy had asked Gloria to the party, nothing about her body language let on.

But I had to admit to myself that beyond the titillating talk and my lewd imaginings, something was deeply disturbing about all of this. What does it say about me? If Nancy was right and Gloria would even consider such a thing, how could I not know her desires? And that got to this even more disturbing question: was I failing her? Like Nancy did with Helen, did Gloria need someone to encourage her to get out of her tightly controlled self? Was that my responsibility? And if I wasn't doing it, did she need to find someone who would?

My supper was ready for the microwave when I got home, not a surprise, it was always ready, she was always out. Where? I never knew, I had long since stopped asking, stopped caring.

I had a beer as I toyed with my dinner and then another and another — something I never do, and then I found myself in her bedroom, the first time I had ever been in it when she wasn't there. I sat on her bed and tried to imagine her in here all alone, as she was in life, all alone in a room without character, without sentiment, clean, tidy and as soulless as a laboratory.

After a few minutes of trying to push my mind to where it just couldn't go, I lay down and smelled her pillow, smelled a faint trace of skin and sweat, then I imagined her coming in each night. She would undress without consciousness, perfunctorily, one set of clothes changed for another. I looked around. There was no mirror in the room, nothing to reflect was is, what was, what might be. She only is.

It's always dark when I come to her; I always have an erection; I'm always wearing a condom. I slide in the same way every time, lift the covers, slide in, wait a fraction for her to turn on her left side then I wrap my arm around her, grasp her right breast and push myself between her legs. It never lasts long — I'm nearly ready when I arrive, that's why I come. When it's over I always give her a squeeze in thanks then peel the evidence into the garbage and wipe myself with toilet paper before I go back to bed. I sleep well.

What if I were to linger with her afterwards? What could happen? I've always assumed nothing, but what if Nancy was right and she really does have a pulse, what might happen if I tried to search for it? I am not a prick; I haven't always just taken her, I've tried to make it about her in the past but she's never shown the least interest, she always turns on her side when I come in and allows me in, even encouraged me by moving into me — but when it's over for me, it's over for her; duty done.

But what if?

I undid my pants. What if I was here on her bed when she came in at night. What if I was here with my cock in my hand? What if I was here to stroke as she took off her clothes? What if I told her how pretty she is, what a nice body she has, how much I appreciate her?

She wouldn't ask me to leave, I know she wouldn't do that. My guess is that she would undress in the same way she always undresses, put on the nighty that was hanging on a hook behind her closet door like she always does, get into the bed and lie on her left side waiting for me.

It was a huge turn-off; I could feel my cock going limp. I pulled up my underwear and pants, got up and was about to leave in defeat when I saw the basket in the corner. They were there on top, light grey, with a crusty light grey stain. I picked them up and did what Helen had done with Nancy's, did what I knew I would do at the first opportunity when Nancy told me about it: I picked them out, I sniffed them, I licked them and then I lay back down and took my time, took a long time, trying to memorize the smell, memorize the taste and commit to memory a feeling of sexual abandoned I'd never felt before.

I was thinking of her when I was cleaning up, when I was squeezing the last of my orgasm into the underwear, wet with my saliva. I wanted her to be at that party and I wanted Nancy to be at that party — I wanted both on them to seek liberation, I wanted that for them as much as I wanted it for myself.

She came in at 11:23. I strained to hear a nuance, something that would indicate excitement, fatigue, impatience — anything out of the ordinary. Nothing. She rummaged around in the kitchen, as usual, poured herself a glass of water from the kitchen tap, a nightly ritual, toured the downstairs turning off the lights, as she always did, then she made her way up the stairs, creaking the step third from the top. The rest, but for the flushing of the toilet, was always all but inaudible.

I turned over and tried to imagine a bunch of women naked on a living room floor, each straining at her fingers wanting more from her body, wanting more from her life.

The goodbye in the morning is always as perfunctory as the breakfast, and about as nourishing.

I wallowed in my disappointment during my drive to work. I hadn't fully realized how badly I wanted it to happen, how badly I wanted her reckless abandon, the monumental jump-shift of the party and the ensuing escape from the morass of her cocoon-like comfort zone — I hadn't expected it, not for a second, but I wanted it to happen, I wanted to be surprised, shocked, amazed by her. And I wanted human nature to have a capacity to jump-shift into the kind of thing Nancy talked about, but I knew it was a pipe dream. I knew it wasn't ever going to happen for her and it was a flat-out impossibility for a wife who had not changed a fraction since the day I met her.

I was in a meeting at 10:24 when the letter marked 'personal and urgent' was handed to me. It was unusual, slightly scary. All eyes were on me when I opened it. "I command you to take your wife to the Hyatt, buy her a sexy negligee and talk to her and fuck her all weekend. Do this. You totally lost the bet!"

"Is something wrong?" The woman across from me looked really concerned.

"No, no, nothing."

"Looks like you've seen a ghost."

Nancy called me late in the afternoon — she was obviously excited, nearly breathless. "Can we meet after work? I need to talk."

She had never called me at work, never asked me to meet her anywhere, never asked me to talk. "Sure. Where? When?"

We agreed on a time and place and when I got there she was already sitting with two mugs of coffee on the table. "I knew you'd be on time so I got you one."

She was sporting an enormous grin, not her normal look. I knew why, of course, but pretended not to. "What's up?"

The grin got even larger. She leaned in, there weren't any people within ear-shot but she whispered conspiratorially anyway. "I got laid today, twice — by two different guys. I was a virgin... blood and all. And I hurt."

I was totally shocked by this of course, but pretended not to be. "But I'm guessing there is no pain now." I chuckled nervously and thought back to when I imagined this was happening in her room... I still thought it would be good for her. Some people just need to get laid, particularly those who are uncertain about their orientation.

She laughed. "None."

"And?" Why should I know this, except to find her more adventuresome, something she was pushing hard for.

"And, I loved it... I totally love cock... I thought I would... if nothing else, I'm my mother's daughter."

I was trying to follow the logic. "So is that it for Helen?"

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about... oh, I also wanted to tell you all about my coming of age, too — I have no one else to brag to about it. Let's drink our coffees then go sit in the car. I don't want to have to whisper."

I sipped my coffee unsure of my role in all of this. "So it was good?"

"Excellent," she beamed.

"They were gentlemen?"

"Total gentlemen. The first guy was just reading on a bench. I walked up to him and asked him if he lived nearby. He pointed behind. I sat down and told him I was a virgin and really wanted to have sex with him."

Her enthusiasm was infectious, it made this all sound sort of normal. "You didn't know him?"

She grinned. "Never seen him before."

"You're proud of yourself."

"Totally proud of myself. Are you proud of me?"

"What happened last night?"

She blackened. "Do you want to hear about this or not? I'm proud of this."

I sat back and looked at her. "I don't know if I do. I have some responsibility for you, you know. You may be 20 but you're living in our house... that, and..." I searched for the right words for my emotion.

"You love me like you're supposed to love a niece who's living with you, I get that, I've always felt you want what's best for me." She kicked me under the table. "I think of you as my dad. I forced myself to when I moved in then you made it really easy for me. I feel really close to you — that's how screwed up we Menendez girls are — we feel close to people who don't even know it. Anyway, there, I've said it, I think of you as my dad, what do you say to that?"

I felt like pulling her into my arms and squeezing her. "I say I love you all the more for it, and I'm thrilled you feel you can talk to me, I don't know if I can be any help to you but this means a lot to me — I don't know what I'm doing but..."

She reached over took my hand and squeezed it. "So do you want to hear more?"

"Ya, sure but go easy on me, this kind of thing is really new to me." We got up and went to the car.

"The second guy was bigger than the first guy in every way," she started in the moment we sat down. "More of the stud type, the type of guy who knew what he was doing, the other guy didn't, he was probably a virgin, too. I met this one, the second guy, going out of the dorm, he was going in. I held up a condom, told him the truth, told him I wanted to have sex for the experience, to see what it did to me, was he interested?"

She was holding my hand, playing with my fingers, an erection was threatening to grow, I had to concentrate to keep it down.

"This one took a lot longer, I wanted more from the experience. I sucked him — he was big, I couldn't imagine how the thing was going to fit in me, it barely fit in my mouth. I didn't know what I was doing, of course — I raked his cock with my teeth; he immediately pushed me away... hard. We laughed about it, he told me how to do it... it's actually not something I really enjoyed... I'd do it but I don't know that I'd ever actually enjoy it. Is Gloria any good at it?"

It should have been a decision — whether to be honest with her; whether I wanted to open up to her; whether I wanted to be the confident or the father, but it wasn't a decision, I just told her — honesty was in the air. "She's never done it."

She stiffened, her eyes shot up to mine as if I had been caught in some relationship-ending lie. "Never?"

"Never."

She slumped into the seat and thought for a moment. "That says something, doesn't it? That totally shocks me. Mum was blowing guys... I never actually saw her but I knew she did, the guys were there for sex and they were always coming back." She looked up at me again. "Do you eat her?"

"No."

"Have you ever?"

"No."

"So you don't know what it's like, cock sucking and pussy eating?"

"I'm having an affair." It just came out, I knew it would, I knew I couldn't wait to tell her and I thought I knew why: I wanted to show her that I knew something about adventure, too.

She let my fingers go and this time when her eyes locked on mine it really did feel like I was caught in a relationship-ending lie. "Ah, that sucks." She looked away. "That really fucking sucks."

I was shocked by her reaction, I thought she might understand, even be happy for me so it was disorienting, all the energy went out of the conversations, all the intimacy fled: it was two against one now and we both knew I was in the wrong.

"You're going to split, aren't you?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. You want out."

"There isn't anything there, Nancy. We're just not two people who should be together. She isn't happy and neither am I."

"So get happy, she will give you anything you want"

I smiled, wanly. "It isn't that easy."

"No, I know it isn't that easy but... ah, fuck, I thought you had more character than that, I thought... ah, fuck, I knew it wasn't great but it worked — she's happy, you know... does she know?"

"No. It just started, a few weeks ago... a woman from work... it just happened... I never did anything like this before."

"So it's her pussy you're eating, she's the one giving you blow jobs. Do you love her?"

"No. Actually, I don't even much like her. It's just the sex... she's married, happily married, I think."