Of Rivers and Religion Ch. 02

I had never considered myself a particularly demanding person. And I certainly wasn't greedy or voracious in any way, except perhaps when it came to reading. I'd cum three times already that morning, and Dave had had two huge orgasms of his own. That made seven for me, and three for him since last night, but now I was an insatiable slut, and I couldn't get enough of Dave's cock.

I turned my head around as far as could, so that Dave could see my face and the passion it could not hide. And then twice I ran my tongue in a full counterclockwise circle around my lips -- which was, I guess, the sluttiest thing that I knew how to do, and then I said sarcastically, but with a perfectly slutty pout, "I don't want breakfast to be over! I'm still hungry!" He smiled and shook his head.

We didn't leave Dave's bedroom until the early afternoon. He took me in practically every imaginable position, and made me cum in every one. Then just before noon, he knelt on the bed while I lie back with my legs spread wide, my knees bent, and my feet resting flat on his thighs, so that he was supporting my butt with his hands, and I was lying back on a steep slant, licking my tits that were falling in my face, while I looked up the length of my torso to watch Dave eating my pussy with great delight and bringing me to one more earth-shattering climax with his mouth again. In all, I came 13 times that weekend.

We stopped, showered together, and then walked down to the pharmacy, and I got the Morning After pill, except that now it was the Afternoon After pill! Whatever it was, it worked its magic, and the next week I saw my OB/GYN and started taking the pill.

And for the next five years, Dave and I carried on our affair. We were judicious, I thought, careful not to let on to anyone about our relationship. We didn't go out together in public, unless it was a university function that made our being together understandable and, therefore, acceptable.

And that wasn't the only way we showed restraint. Though I'm sure that in some undeniable and unavoidable way I loved him, loved him with a passion that far exceeded platonic friendship and suspected that he felt similarly about me, we behaved as if we were just lovers and not in love.

I think that in some strange way, we respected each other too much for our relationship to turn into romance. I don't know why I say that, because I think that two people have to have complete and total respect for each other in order to be in a successfully romantic relationship, but ours was just such a mutually beneficial association that romantic love somehow, someway seemed to be kept at bay.

We talked about it, but we were both so satisfied being sexual partners that neither of us wanted to risk losing that so that we could replace it with something else. Besides, the impediments were just too great.

I realized that Dave was right when he said that he was far too old to be my "boyfriend," and I was far too young to be his "girl." It was just too impractical to think that he could introduce me to his family or colleagues as his significant other, and I felt the same way about introducing him to my parents and siblings. He was ten years older than my father, for god's sakes! Instead, we just had sex, and, when we weren't having sex, discussed literature and criticism together.

I had him for two more classes, and he helped me get four other articles published in the university's Literary Review, and when I graduated, three years after I first met him, Dave got me a position as a grad assistant, working for him while I was studying for my doctorate.

And we were there for each other in emotional ways as well. In the spring of my second year in grad school, just before I was about to defend my dissertation, Dave's mother died. She was quite old -- into her 90s when she passed -- and she'd been ill for a few months right before, so it wasn't as if it was some kind of shock for him to lose her, but I know it hurt nonetheless, and so I was there for him and happily joined him on a trip back to St. Cloud, Minnesota, his hometown, to attend the funeral.

I was his grad assistant, so I suppose it wasn't too outrageous that I was there, attending the funeral of an old, Catholic woman, the mother of the man that I worked for. But I felt strange being there with him nonetheless.

I knew that it was an opportunity to explore his roots, and I determined that knowing where he had come from might help me to understand him even better, but the entire time I was there, I felt like I was on display somehow, a little like some insect pinned to a piece of foam board in some crude entomological exhibit at a Sixth Grade science fair.

And that trip did teach me a great deal about Dave Heard. I understood after going that he couldn't have ever asked me to marry him or even to be his significant other, not with a family as conservative and devout as Dave's people. They were kind and all, polite to a fault, but there was no way that any of them could have understood, much less accepted, his dating or, god forbid, marrying a young woman 42 years his junior.

By the time I was born, Dave already had three grown children and had been married to Catherine for almost 20 years. I was in First Grade when they all died. How could he explain our relationship to the rest of his family?

And then I came to another illuminating revelation. I discovered that scholarly work: literature, criticism, the whole university scene was, for Dave, an escape -- a way out. He couldn't have lived in St. Cloud, Minnesota, even if St. Cloud was, in fact, a cloud, which it clearly wasn't. He knew that by having the job that he did, his family could be proud of his cultured learning and his academic accomplishments, without them even being aware of his iconoclastic and non-conformist lifestyle, his abhorrence of their conservative and doctrinal values.

Catherine's family had come from somewhere near Chicago, and they had been married there, so the only time that Dave's relatives had ever come to Madison to see him was for the memorial service that was held for his dead wife and children.

He had brought his wife and children back to St. Cloud with him plenty of times, but other than that one trip his mother and siblings made to Madison, Dave must have been a complete and utter mystery to them. He had projected an image of conventionalism -- a wife, three children, a good job at an elite university -- even while he rejected so much of that conventionalism.

We went to the funeral, and Dave, along with his brother and two sisters, spoke about their mother. His was a moving tribute, a touching story of his childhood and how his mother had proven herself to be patient and loving to him, even without ever really being patient and loving, as that was not really the style of times. He went on to discuss how her long, long life stood as symbol of her perseverance, her love for life, and her faith. When he was done, there wasn't a dry eye in the church.

Afterward we went to a reception in the parish hall, but I knew right away that it was too much for him. After we talked to some people, and nibbled at some sandwiches and some macaroni and fruit salad, Dave asked me if I wanted to go for a walk. He said that he wanted to talk to me privately. I was more than happy to get out, so we left and began walking west, toward the river, just on the edge of downtown St. Cloud.

St. Cloud, Minnesota, is a pretty mundane place. It was so unremarkable, so unbelievably modest in its very existence and in the existences of the people that lived in it, and I now understood that Dave wanted me to see that this was where he was from, that he had been raised by those unremarkable people in that modest place -- that he wasn't some hot shit professor, destined for some Ivy League college and born and bred in the high and mighty halls of some elite prep school to be a literary scholar.

Within a couple of minutes, we got to an old, rusty railroad bridge over the Mississippi. It was no longer in use, having been replaced by a new bridge to the north, but it afforded a beautiful vantage point from which to view the river, and so we walked until we were halfway across it, suspended thirty feet above the water, and then Dave stopped, and we leaned on the steel railings looking out over the Upper Mississippi.

"Well, there it is, Lily. Huck's river!" He paused. "I guess it's my river too; I spent a lot of time on this bridge when I was younger. It was a good place to think."

"What did you think about when you were here, Dave?"

He didn't answer right away. I knew that he was thinking, remembering. "God, I guess. I always saw this old river as a symbol of something, freedom probably, but also something timeless, nurturing, and honest. As I saw it, it was always a place far removed from man's influence -- his cruelty, hypocrisy, and destruction -- all the things that I saw happening when I went to church or school or read a newspaper or watched television. Just like Huck! I think that's why that first article of yours made such an impression on me, because you captured those emotions so eloquently when you wrote."

"Yeah, but I didn't live it -- you did!" I paused for a long time, and he didn't say anything, so I stared at the swiftly moving water, before continuing, "That was a long time ago, wasn't it? Has it changed any?"

"Not really, and neither has that church or the schools I went to or the people in them." Again, he didn't say anything for a long time, and I knew that he was going to get to something else entirely. I guess he just needed time -- something that I sensed he believed was in short supply.

And then he was out with it. "Lily, I think it's time for you to move on from me. You are a young, beautiful, and vibrant woman, and I'm an old man -- Ol' Man River, I guess! And it's time for me to move on, too."

I knew it would come sooner or later. It was inevitable. The impediments to us being together were simply too great, and if we couldn't be together for the long haul, then there was going to come a time, when we would have to part. I knew that; I'd known it for a long time, but I guess I always thought it would probably be me saying these words, not Dave. Still, like Marvell's mistress, I played coy,

"What do you mean, Dave? What are you saying?"

"I've got a plan, Lily. As soon as you defend your dissertation, you're going to have your doctorate, and then you can start teaching. I've already had some discussions with Dean Kurimay and some of the other administrators. They want you, Lily! They want you to teach and to research and to write, and they're going to need to find a new professor for the fall term. You're in an ideal position to take that job, and you're perfect for it too! I've done a little cursory research -- do you know that you'd be the youngest professor ever to accept an associate position at the university? 23 years old, Jesus!"

"Whoa, slow down, Dave. Why does the university need to find a new professor for the fall term?" I knew there was something else, something he hadn't yet told me.

"Because I'm retiring! I'm taking down my shingle, Lily! And, more importantly, you're going to be hanging yours up in its place!"

"What are you talking about, Dave? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm quitting, Lily, and you're going to take my place. It has all been arranged. The university wants you, and I will only submit my resignation on the condition that you be hired as my replacement. Those are my terms, and amazingly, the university is willing to accept those terms, because they know what a star you are!"

"And then, Lily, you're going to start dating men your own age, and because you are stunningly beautiful, brilliant, wonderfully loving and generous, and one of the most desirable young women in all of Madison, you're going to attract a million suitors, and you're going to pick out the one that will enrich your life and your destiny, and you, Lily, are going to live happily ever after with all your dreams fulfilled! I've planned it all out!" He laughed.

At first, I thought that Dave's intention was to teach me how to fly solo, to release the fledgling, so to speak, but now I realized that his purpose was much more complicated, and I marveled at how impressively he had contrived his "plan." It was bribery of sorts -- bribery that involved not only me, but the university as well. I realized that I, of course, was the beneficiary of that bribe, but he was bribing me nonetheless.

The payoff for setting myself free from him was my own career, and he had determined that the lure of being offered that career, something I had realized I wanted since the day I first saw Dave Heard in White Hall five years ago, was possibly even more powerful than the affection that I had for him, considering that both of us knew that we couldn't stay together anyway.

He smiled, and laughed again at his joke, but I was crestfallen. I started sobbing, not because Dave was insisting on me living my own life, but because he was giving himself up for me. "But I don't want to move on from you, and I don't want to deny the thousands of people that need you to do what no one else can do, not me, not anyone else!"

"Oh, you're wrong about that, Lily! You're definitely wrong on that count. Do you remember me telling you and the other undergrads some time ago that I would know that I had done my job and done it well when one of my students took that job away from me? Well, Lily, that time has come, and you've already surpassed me!"

"All of my students already know that, Lily! All of the people that run the university know that, Lily! The only person who doesn't know it is you! Besides, I'm not going anywhere! Just not back to work! I'll still be here. Right where I've always been! "I'm 65 years old, Lily; I've been in a university setting for nearly 50 years now!" He paused, and I continued to cry. I couldn't say anything.

"Lily, will you do something for me, please?" He didn't wait for me to answer. He was staring almost straight down, looking at the river. "Pick out a drop of water, somewhere in the midst of all that movement beneath us. One drop, just one drop, and then try to imagine, where that drop of water will be 50 years from now. And then try to imagine, where it would have traveled, what it would have seen in that span of time."

It was a provocative thought, and when I did what he asked, a million images and thoughts came to mind.

"I'm out to sea, Lily. I'm already floating somewhere, in some paradise. I'm floating, someplace where everyone is joyous, where people don't work! Maybe the South Pacific! I thought that was going to be paradise once. It wasn't, but you know, someplace like that -- heaven maybe."

"Lily, I'm convinced that the most important thing that anyone can learn in his or her life is how to be empathetic, to be able to look someone else in the eyes and then "stand in his shoes and walk around in them" -- you know, Harper Lee -- ol' Atticus Finch, and all."

"I'm trying to get you to see this from my perspective, because even if you won't see it from your own, even if you don't see what everyone else sees, even if you won't acknowledge that everyone else has already taken a walk in your shoes and discovered that those shoes will take them much farther than they could ever get on their own, much farther than I could ever take them, then maybe you'll put yourself in my shoes and see this world from the places where I've been walking."

"That's why I brought you here, Lily -- thought if you could see me in my ol' stompin' grounds, so to speak, you would understand. Lily, I've gone as far as I can go; now, I've got to hand the keys to someone who can drive the BMW out of the garage!" Then, he winked at me! He winked at me! That blew me away!

How did he do that shit? How the hell did he do it? How did he waltz so gracefully past every discussion of every disgustingly unfair thing that fate had shoved down his throat, and somehow bring it all back to a joke, another self-deprecating joke? How did he so effortlessly get himself out of every impossibly horrible situation that life, his fucking life, had thrown at him, and act like it was someone else's accomplishment, not his?

And how could he have understood from the very moment that he first touched my timid, white hand, that his fate was to teach something to me, something that no one else in this world could ever have taught me, all the while knowing that my fate was to teach him something that one else in this world could ever have taught him? How did he see that far down the river?

He was right. I understood it now, understood that what he was proposing was probably for the best, for everyone's best. I was astonished at how he had woven this incredibly fortuitous set of circumstances together, whereby he got what he wanted by coercing me, essentially extorting me with kindness, while at the same time, seeing the situation from this incredibly expansive perspective in which he understood what was best for everyone, including himself.

It was a little like his line in bed that morning after our first night together -- the "Morning After" morning, as we had come to call it! -- when he told me that my sleeping with him was good for his physical and psychological health and, considering that, that I should, by all rights, feel guilty if I didn't do so!

He knew what was best for me long before I did. He knew that our relationship was mutually beneficial, and that by getting what he wanted, he forced me to get what I needed. And he somehow managed all of that while maintaining this unbelievable humility, modesty, and unpretentiousness. I realized he had a lot more in common with Huck Finn, than he did Tom Sawyer. He was still just a boy from St. Cloud, who spent his time staring at a river, dreaming.

I just shook my head. I really couldn't talk, but I reached for him, buried my face in his chest, and as the cool spring breeze from the northwest blew across the chill waters of the Mississippi, we stood there on that rusty bridge hugging each other.

We drove back to Madison. I successfully defended my dissertation in early May and graduated a few weeks later. My parents drove over from Cedarburg, and I did the whole silly cap and gown thing, just as I had two years earlier, and I went out for dinner with them, my siblings and Dave.

But the next night, Dave hosted his own graduation party for me at his house. Like the party he held for the publication of that first scholarly article, and each subsequent party for every milestone in my academic career, I was his only guest.

I joined him, as always, in that den/study of his. He poured us each a glass of wine, just had he had that first night, and then he walked over to his stereo to put on some music.

"You know, Lily, I have always regarded music as a superior way to express the subtlety of feelings and emotions that I'm too inarticulate to put into words myself, which is ironic, since I've spent most of my life pretending that I knew and understood words." He took a drink of his wine.

"I don't think that anyone ever really does. Words, like time itself, are ephemeral, they both betray us, and so at the very moments when we need them the most, they're gone, and most of us don't appreciate either one, except maybe, as Thorton Wilder put it, the 'Saints and poets.'"

"But songs are different. I find them to be much more timeless. I've always thought that they capture moments for me, and that sometimes it is easier to piece together the events of my life and the lives of those that I care about with songs, rather than with any other vehicle. So, anyway, that's why I picked one out for this occasion, Lily. I think it's perfect -- my dedication to you and your future."