Caring

Anyway, once she discovered I was away she phoned me every few hours, sometimes more, to check up on me. Frankly, I loved it, I loved her in my life, loved her invasive closeness, her implied implication that as her father I owed her explanations that I found myself all too willing to give. We were playing roles, unfamiliar roles but we were playing them with everything we had. If we were going to be father-daughter, then goddam it, that's what we we going to be.

But on Tuesday she pushed the limits. "Get home. Get home as quickly as you can."

"Why?" She sounded alarmed, yes, but missing a bus could cause her to sound like this.

"It's important, it's the single most important decision I'm ever going to make and I'm not going to make it without you... you can't expect me to."

"What is it?" I asked reasonably but with some concern.

"You can't expect me to answer that over the phone."

Whatever it was I got her to wait. I was supposed to be back on Thursday night. I could make it by Thursday noon, this wasn't good enough: "I thought you were a lot more interested in me than that." But she relented.

She was at the airport grinning so joyously that I thought she had duped me, brought me back early just because she could — I was learning that she probably wasn't above that. But that wasn't it.

She tugged me to a coffee shop, sat me down, got the coffees and the moment she sat across from me she leaned in, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I got accepted."

She had learned by letter on Monday that she had been accepted into med school starting in the fall. She hadn't told anyone, she had lived with the news waiting for me. She had to think about it; she had to discuss it with me; she had to take it "super seriously" because it wasn't just a matter of accepting or not. If she accepted it would have to be an absolute commitment and not just to a career, if she accepted she was going to make an absolute commitment to Helen, too because she wanted her life to be stable. Yes, she was a good student but this was going to take everything she had and she wanted all her ducks in a row; she wanted everyone to be on-side, starting with me.

She sat back in her chair. "Talk me out of it. Start with Helen. Why shouldn't I commit to her."

I took her seriously on this, I probably shouldn't have but I thought it was a totally reasonable question so I hit her with my concerns. She isn't really a lesbian, I didn't see why that wasn't a deal breaker. Helen was so much older than her, she was almost my age... but I didn't get any further. Tears started rolling down her cheeks, snot was building up in her nose. Why didn't I like her? She liked me. She liked me a lot, in fact she loves me. She thought it was great I was learning to be her father. Anyway, she loved her. She couldn't imagine a life without her. She's the reason I applied to med school. Why didn't I like her? It took me a long time to assure her that I thought Helen was the perfect partner for her. And, in fact, I did. She asked me to talk her out of her. I tried. I failed.

That took a half hour, the decision to become a doctor took thirty seconds: Helen wanted it, so she wanted it. That's the way it came out. She had obviously already made up her mind. She was making a commitment to it all.

We talked about the more practical matters in the car, notably, how much it was going to cost. A lot. I would help. We argued about that but not very hard, she expected it, I could tell, it was a parental responsibility that any good father would never shirk.

I took her home and I waited with her for the hour for Helen to get home then I jumped up and down with them when Nancy told her the news... then I took them out to dinner to celebrate.

I didn't actually expect Gloria to be home when I got there, she seldom is but she was, she was sitting at the kitchen table which was covered in what looked like brochures.

If you've reacted the same way to each other for 17 years you don't tend to change even if the relationship was changing. And it was, I could feel it. I spent the entire time away thinking about it. The revelation that it was me who was the major drag took some getting used to; I had always assumed it was her — her intensity, her remoteness, her being her.

She sat back when I came in. "Good trip?"

"Ya, it was, really good. Everything is solid out there, everything looks good. Even great." I think that's the first state of the nation I had ever given her and it felt strange... and promising.

"I've been looking at places downtown like you asked me to. I did the same thing as I did with the porn I got for you, I've got brochures showing the kinds of places available. You can go see what you like, try to match the type of place to the area you want to live in."

I sat down and picked up a brochure and pretended to look at it. Getting me that porn had been a huge jump-shift in the way I thought about her. That had softened me up. "Last Wednesday night... I didn't know we could connect like that." I had no intention of puking out my emotions, you just don't do that with her, but I did.

"You've never wanted to."

"No, I know, I've been thinking a lot about that... recently... like in the last few days." I waited for her to say something but I knew she wouldn't, I knew she'd just wait for me to get out whatever I had to say; she would wait and look at me in her intense, impassive way that always made me feel like she was listening to a stranger. "I've been too wrapped up in work." (Too wrapped up in making money so you didn't have to work, so you could go off and do whatever it is you do... I didn't say that — I've been thinking it but I didn't say it, but I didn't say anything else, either, there was nothing to say.) I just let my words hang there and went back to the brochure.

"I wasn't sure what you were thinking so I've got them organized by area."

I looked over at her. "Do you like sex?"

"Yes."

"Do you like sex with me?"

"You've the only one I've had sex with."

"Do you want to have sex right now?"

"Yes."

When I stood up, she did, too. "I'd like to shower first, I won't be long."

"Would you like me to get some wine?"

She was already leaving. "If you want."

It had never started this way... it had always been an urgent across the hall visit — nocturnal, necessary, perfunctory and quick. I was nearly paralyzed with expectation; after I got the wine and the glasses I didn't know what to do with myself. I stood there stupidly feeling my lust build, feeling my erection straining, feeling my desire over-come me and allowing the realization to burn through it all: it wasn't sex I wanted but the woman; I wanted her ass, her tits, her pussy, her body but most of all I wanted the woman who got me the porn, the woman who thought I might like pictures of fat naked hairy women and lesbians in thrall and men with breasts or women with pricks and I might like to see them fucking or masturbating or standing proudly or lying sensually. That was the woman I wanted, the permissive, the libertine, the impassioned — the very opposite of the controlled dispassionate pragmatist — I wanted the woman with the ass, not the stare, the woman who would get the brochures, not the one who would put them in organized piles; the woman who would jump to her feet when I did and would leave for the shower in a hurry.

I got a beer from the fridge and sat down. My hand was trembling when I put the can to my mouth and drank half of it. I was back in the airport coffeeshop. Nancy had a decision to make. It was life changing. That's where I was now. I had a decision to make. It would be life changing. I was about to open myself up wide, like I did for Nancy. I was going to allow my wife to walk in. And she was going to, I could feel it. This was going to be our Rubicon. After 17 years together we were going to commit to each other body and soul... not the workaholic to the dispassionate advocate, the man to the woman, the husband to the wife.

I had to bend low to piss through my erection and when I headed up the stairs it seemed like I was climbing a fucking mountain. At the top would be my fate: the woman I wanted to meet up there was as different from the woman I had been living with as the man would be who arrived. I wanted a new start. I wanted to make the same kind of effort with her that I was making with Nancy. And I wanted the same kind of result. I wanted to feel alive, vital, valued, needed. Loved. And I wanted that ass.

When my foot squeaked on the third step from the top my resolved was non-negotiable: we would either find some approximation of what I had with Nancy or I'd climb down the mountain and never climb it again.

She met me at the top of the stairs like she had been waiting for me. She was wearing something white, something that didn't hide the white panties beneath, something that showed lots of cleavage and gave shape to the breasts sagging wonderfully behind. Her eyes were searching mine like she was trying to figure out if I was serious.

It was the eyes that won out, they always did.

When I reached the top steps I said, "It's been me, hasn't it? I've always thought it was you but it's always been me."

"You've been busy. You didn't have time for me."

"You should have said something."

"What? What could I say? I did trick you; I had that guilt; I could see why you didn't want me."

"You could have done something, you didn't need to just be a... victim."

"I kinda did. I brought Angela over. I couldn't get you interested in me. I needed help." She took my hand. "Come on." She walked me down the hall but not to her room, not to mine, she walked me to Nancy's.

"What are you doing?"

"I've seen the way you look at her."

"Come on, Gloria."

She pushed me onto the bed. "I know you don't love me... I know I will need help for that but we can get there, Mike, I know we can... but I can't compete... and I don't want to. You can have your fantasies... I'll go through them with you — you need to find out who you are and I have to find me. This is her bed, Mike, I'm wearing her underwear. It's OK to imagine."

I pushed her away. "It's not like that. This isn't how I think of her." I got off the bed and reached down for her hand and helped her up. "Take them off."

She did, without comment; I lead her to her room and we got on the bed.

She snuggled into me, half on, half off me and held on, seeking what? Reassurance? Contact? I tried for a moment to think it through but remembered why I was there and didn't care. You want my fantasies? My hand went down to her ass and the moment I touched it I let myself go.

I man-handled her: pushed her away, turned her around and pressed my face into her ass like it was something reasonable, not a depraved act, then every shred of decency left me. I grabbed her by the hips and pulled hard as I pushed my face into her cheeks as she had pushed her face into mine that night, my mouth seeking her anus as her's did mine. I could feel her squirming against me, pushing back at me then she was jack-knifing and I was pushing my face between her cheeks, my tongue searching and finding and her cries started, sweet reassuring cries and my frantic assault suddenly mellowed and I licked and sucked and bit and revelled in the intimacy, the purring, the audacity. I reached out and ran my fingers down her arm to her hand and I directed it between her legs.

She went willingly, I could feel her legs opening, I sense her fingers slide into her as I took my cock in my hand. Time stopped, a single moment of desire and lust and maybe even love stretched like an elastic until it consumed minutes, languid minutes when the intimacy was growing as the orgasm built. I could feel my groans vibrating in my ears but they were dulled by her cries, high-pitched at first, a primordial ecstatic release that gradually dissipated to moans and then sighs as I shot onto the sheets and sank into instant fatigue.

She didn't move and I didn't, not for the longest time then I licked and bit my way out of her, licked and bit my way all around her ass then I turned her over and pressed my face into her wet centre and just rested there as her fingers played in my hair.

I came down the stairs and into the kitchen just like I had for countless mornings but she wasn't at her usual station with her back to the room, she was facing me, her arms folded across her chest, her intensity focussed on me, searching. I didn't go in and sit down like I had every other time. Instead I walked up to her.

"I don't want to go back, Mike. I want what we can have."

"You'll come with us. I'll pick you up at around 3."

"You're sure it will be OK with them."

"They asked me to ask you." I leaned in and gave her a peck on the lips, she kissed me back and I went and sat down.

We had had a long talk last night after we recovered, a long talk about nothing really: our probable move; where we might like to live; the kind of place; what we should do with our home before we sell it, and what we might discard. It was nervous talk, neutral, neither of us wanting to get into the verbal equivalent of what we had just completed physically.

I did tell her about Nancy's acceptance into medical school and the celebratory dinner we had had — and how the camping thing was a celebration of sorts. She was happy for Nancy, of course but concerned about the tuition. Then she asked about their relationship, how strong did I think it was? Very, I said, and I thought it was, I might be surprised but I thought they were both very mature about what they wanted and each fit into the other's needs perfectly.

Then I did something I probably shouldn't have: I told her that I had seen them together... physically and that they were utterly convincing. I think I wanted to shock her but I also wanted to illustrate how close I had become to them — I was proud of that, really proud of it but she didn't bite. We fell into a long silence until she climbed on me and started kissing me like she was a teenager.

They all were packed and in the car by 4:03 for a 4:00 call, a testimony to how excited everyone was. Nancy was up front with me, the other two in the back where Helen was bubbling over with thanks to Gloria for arranging the specialist; she knew how hard getting that kind of appointment is... even for someone who works in a hospital. And how important.

For a girl who spent six years with us as a near mute, Nancy, in the past few weeks, was making up for it. She talked nearly non-stop during the two and a half hour drive north, every syllable excited.

We stopped for supper and to buy food so we made it to the campsite just before 8.

"Where's the other tent?" It wasn't in the trunk.

They were sitting on a log, watching me get everything out of the car. "What other tent?" Helen asked.

I knew better then to trust them. "There are four of us... you know, two couples."

"It's big enough for all of us... it's called a four person tent for a reason."

The smirk, I've seen it more recently, ever since she started calling me dad, like the whole thing is a charade. "Then you two better behave."

"Ya, ya, ya, ya, ya..."

Now the other two were smirking, too.

I laid it out then put it up, Nancy helped but even so it took a long time of trial and error, but we finally got it up and I started in on the fire while keeping an eye on them putting in the bedding.

They put the pads down properly, how could you mess that up? But they put one of the comforters down on the pads, a sheet over it, another sheet over that and then the other comforter meaning that we would all not only be sleeping in the same tent but, in effect, in the same bed. I told them to pull it apart and make two 'beds' but they wouldn't.

Like the girls, Gloria has never been camping before — and I hadn't since I was a kid. But Gloria is organized, competent, efficient and focussed, all the things the others aren't, at least about this. She does things well, not with any flare or enthusiasm, she just does things without question when things look like they need to be done. So with mainly her help I got us all set-up and was drinking a beer and they were sipping wine by the time dusk settled in. It would be almost a full moon.

We didn't have enough room in the car for chairs — or anything else but the basics, so we were sitting on the sandy ground, still warm from the late-afternoon sun, leaning back against a large log. It was rustically awkward but somehow neat to be in contact with the earth as nightfall descended. And it was neat to gaze into a fire, to become mesmerized, not only by the flickering flames but by the whole experience: we all felt as never before, one with nature.

I stayed up a lot later then I should have. The two girls peeled off relatively early, Gloria left with a peck to my cheek and a squeeze to my arm some time later and I continued sucking them back for another couple of hours watching the flame and trying to make sense out of the sky while running through my life.

I am 37; I have worked my ass off building my company into an unqualified success — way past my most optimistic expectations, not that I ever had the time to think that far ahead. And I had a daughter now, a girl I wanted to adore. And I was feeling close to her very... ah, interesting partner. And last night I had pierced through the steel exterior of my putative wife... to find a warm body, open, willing and needy and a mind that seemed to desperately want me. How good can it get?

It got better with every can but when I stumbled to bed I tripped over a tent peg and learned the next morning that I had a painfully sprained wrist and a big enough cut on my forehead to allowed me to cover my pillow in an alarming amount of blood.

So there was lots of drama in the morning: three women in full panic, dressed in nothing but breast giggling t-shirts, attending to me, which would have been fun were it not for the various pains, trumped by a pounding hang-over.

But it was a gorgeous morning, the Tylenol worked and we were off on our hike at 9, right on time. And right on time the complaints started. Neither of the two girls knew the first thing about hiking, never mind doing it over roots, rocks, stumps and on a trail that undulated, sometimes precipitously. At first the bitching was about the footing, then the slopes, then the bugs, then the aches, then the pains until I lost it and yelled at the lop of my lungs, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" They did, or they tried to but only if I agreed to take breaks about ever 15 minutes.

But, there is something about the combination of fresh air and fatigue that can leave you satisfied in ways nothing else can. When we got back we passed out on the ground for about an hour, then took a swim so we were physically and emotionally refreshed during a dinner of hot dogs and chips.

I went for a stroll after dinner while the girls cleaned up. Coming back I saw Gloria sitting alone on a rise looking at the lake. I watched her from a distance for a long time, maybe five minutes. She looked anything but vulnerable. She looked strong, contained, a natural part of the scene like she grew out of it, not like she had just been plunked down into it.

And she looked like a stranger, she always looks like a stranger to me — except in front of the stove, I am always kind of surprised when she appears in my life. I often wondered why she doesn't just move on; what is there to stay for? I thought the condo move could have been her excuse; I had expected her to take it, instead, I got brochures and ideas... and confusion.

When I sat down beside her she took my arm and leaned into me. "It's perfect, Mike, absolutely perfect. Why don't we do this all the time."

"What do you want, Gloria? I've been standing back there looking at you. I have no idea. I haven't a fucking clue what you want."