Only in Novels

Juliet uses the same MO. She tells Bradley she's going to Milford Quarry while he plays golf. Again, another half-truth, and it works. She and Richard decide on Milford, a much shorter distance to drive, which gives them more time together.

*****

"The road to Tahiti via Milford Mill." Juliet laughs as she says this behind the wheel, headed for Milford Mill. It's something for Paige and Kirby to shoot for. They have a long way to go, both in terms of distance traveled and making such a radical change in their lives. The ongoing question: Will she and Richard follow a parallel course?

She pushes that thought aside when she pulls into the parking lot and sees Richard unloading a beach bag from the trunk of his Miata dressed, like her, in shorts and sandals. This time, they hug and kiss before heading to their respective changing rooms.

It's the same old Milford Mill that Juliet knew as a young girl at Camp Louise, a day camp where her parents sent her for six weeks. The quarry, with its cool, green water and the two pools, one outside, the other inside, made for an exciting day trip for kids at several camps in the region. When she learned to swim, she chose the quarry over the pools. Then, as now, you enter the water from a small sandy beach at the shallow end; or you dive in from the wood dock and swim over to one of the two floats. Tarzan rope swings add to the aquatic fun; that is, if you don't mind standing in the long lines that form on weekends.

She changes into her yellow and blue one-piece. No, she hardly looks the same since her bikini days. Her once firm boobs sag, her once smooth skin no longer is and she's about fifteen pounds over the one-hundred and twenty she once carried. They say a woman's legs are the last to go, and Juliet is proof of that. They're fuller now than back in the day but shapely. 'You've got curvy quads, mom," her athletic daughter said recently.

Tying her hair back, she emerges from the changing room to see Richard waiting for her. He's wearing a colorful suit hemmed just below his thick knees and a towel draped over his shoulders. He's not one of those buffed senior men she sometimes sees, a good thing because she'd feel inhibited, if not intimidated if he was. Although far from obese, he's put on a few pounds himself. He still looks in better shape than Bradley. His arms and legs look as if he's put in sweat equity in the gym. Per his own admission, his waist shows the telltale signs of calorie equity at the dinner table.

They grab a couple chaise lounges on the "beach," then begin lathering up with Coppertone. "I love when you used to rub the stuff into my back," Juliet says.

He chuckles at the memory. "It made you horny. How about that time in Ship Bottom when we began dry-humping on the beach and that old couple looked on? Either in horror or envy, I couldn't tell which."

"Ohmygod, yes! How can I forget?" She sits on her chaise, holding her bottle of sunscreen in front of her. She's perfectly still, as if waiting for someone to snap her picture.

"You okay?"

"Yes, just debating if I should ask you to do what we just talked about. Rubbing this stuff on my back, not the humping." She points to the other bathers in close proximity. "Oh, what the hell." She hands him the bottle, then lies on her stomach. Moments later: "Oh, that feels so good, Richard, keep going."

In broad swirls, he rubs more in than he needs to, listening to Juliet's soft moans, her encouragement for him to continue. "Getting horny?"

She picks her head up and giggles. "Um, well...yes. As a matter of fact."

He glances down at the growing bulge between his legs. "I think we're in sync."

She sits up and takes a deep breath. "I think a dip in the quarry is in order."

"Much more appropriate than humping."

"Yes."

Bypassing the shallow end, they walk around to the steps that leads to the dock. Then, with only seconds of hesitation, they dive into the refreshing liquid. After a few moments of treading water, they swim over to the nearest float and grab each side of the ladder. Two bathers are already on the float and another one, a young female teen, makes her way up while Richard and Juliet continue to hold on. Then, submerged up to their shoulders, they begin to get all touchy-feely-kissy. "This was supposed to cool me down," Richard says. "But it's not working."

She feels his crotch. "Oh, my. Just keep your swim suit on."

"For now, you mean."

"Yes, for now. You know, if we were some other place, my own suit might be off by now."

"Dangerous words."

"Yes, I know."

"What we're doing now will go into your novel, I take it."

"Of course. But with a few naughty embellishments."

The embellishments Juliet mentions stay in the realm of fiction. They don't push the envelope too far, stick with light kisses, warm hugs and sunscreen massages for the rest of the afternoon.

Once home, Juliet wastes little time in going to work on her novel. She works on her personal desktop which only she can access. Bradley couldn't get into it to snoop even if he wanted to. She's careful to save her work on her Dell PC, then backs it up on a thumb drive. Her fantasies involving Richard flow from her imagination onto the screen. This is great fun, having Paige Pollack and Kirby Scott do anything she wants them to do, that Juliet herself would love to do. In fact, she's starting to envy her characters' freedom to indulge their desires. She adopts Paige, the frustrated wife of the controlling Henry Pollack, as her alter ego. For years, Paige put up with Henry's controlling ways that bordered on abuse. She took it, stayed in the marriage for her now grown kids' sake, and continued to stay because she lapsed into a kind of inertia. Like Juliet, Paige is far from happy in her marriage, yet not miserable enough to take the initiative and leave it. Then, as what recently happened in Juliet's life, Paige reunites with a boyfriend from her youth, Kirby Scott, who's own marital issues temps him to seek gratification elsewhere; specifically, with Paige.

Juliet has little doubt where her characters will eventually end up, where she wants them to end up. But what end game can she expect from this crazy thing with Richard Edison? Things are escalating, no question about it. She feels herself wading deeper into this vast ocean of possibility, exciting but fraught with danger and complication. So escalate, Juliet tells herself, only do it in the "safe" confines of your writing room. Let your characters speak for you. Let them take the risks.

In a burst of inspiration, she sketches out a scene set at a fictional swim club, one that resembles Milford Mill. But Paige and Kirby do more than trade kisses and lather each other with sunscreen. After leaving the swim club, they spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening holed up in a motel room, covered by specious explanations to their spouses. "Ohmygod," Juliet cries out, "just writing this stuff is driving me crazy." She pictures herself atop Richard's lap, bouncing up and down on his hard cock. Then she begins to touch herself, shoving a hand under her blouse, then inside her shorts. If her fantasies feel this good, she can only imagine what the reality might be.

And speaking of reality, she hears Bradley come through the front door and then head for her study. Time to put her hands where he can see them and her work where he can't. She scrolls down to a blank page, then swivels around on her chair just as he enters. "Hi Brad, how was your game."

"Much better than last time," he says, standing there wearing a maroon sport shirt over baggy off-white slacks, with his golf bag leaning against his leg. How was Milford Mill? See anyone you know?"

She gets a hot flash, but it doesn't feel like the flashes she felt during menopause. This one comes with a feeling of dread attached. Hands in her lap, she stiffens into a guarded position. Does he know something? Suspect something? "No, why do you ask?"

"Just wondered. I mean, you were there by yourself, and it might have been nice if you had some company."

"No, it was just me. I go to Milford to relax, get some sun and swim a little. Company not required."

He nods, then looks beyond her to the blank screen. "Hard at work on that novel, huh?"

"Just finishing up another scene."

He leans his golf bag against the bookshelf that takes up one wall. "Mind if I take a look?"

"Well, I was just—"

He's at her desk before she can fully answer. "Come on, let me see what you've written. I won't critique it. Promise." His right arms shoots up.

"Okay, but wait until I—" He grabs the mouse. She grabs his wrist. "Nothing like barging in. You can be so damn rude, Bradley. You know that?"

"Look, I'm just curious. You ought to be glad I take an interest in your work."

She gives up after a few seconds of struggling. "Sure, go ahead. Why the fuck not?" She wheels her chair away from the screen as he bends over her writing desk, scrolling to the previous page. Scowling, she keeps seated, hands folded tightly against her chest while he reads.

"Pretty graphic stuff, Julie. And this Paige and Kirby. They're married to other people, doing this shit in a motel room?"

She exhales, angry and exasperated. She's pissed for his intrusion and also for barging in while she had been working her way up to a possible climax. "Yes, Bradley. If you're so offended by it, and it appears you are, maybe you should stop reading."

He backs away and straightens up. "Aren't YOU offended by it?" he asks with a decidedly condescending tone. "If I was Paige's husband, I'd kill them both if I caught them."

She wheels back to her desk and closes the file. "Well, maybe that's what'll happen. Who knows? Like I said, these characters take on a life of their own."

"Not the kind of life I'd want for myself," he huffs. He glares at her for a few seconds, then grabs his bag and leaves the room.

She thinks it might be a blessing in disguise that he read this. Now maybe he'll leave her alone, let her write without demanding to see more. She shuts off her computer, then stays put in her desk chair, thinking how much she misses Richard, how much she yearns to turn her fiction into reality. She thinks back to what he said when they met for ice cream, about both of them being "too practical" to run off together. He was right, at least then. Now? Well, maybe she's ready to get IMPRACTICAL, not to the extent that she'd run off to Tahiti, but perhaps to take another step. Okay, a giant leap. The part of her that nags to go someplace with Richard, someplace where they can once again snuggle as in days of yore, keeps nagging. So daring. So scary. So not her. Yet people can change. Can't they? With that in mind, she types out a text to Richard.

*****

People CAN change, Richard thinks, having just read Juliet's text while parked on the lot of a local Royal Farms store. Yes, they can change, at least when it comes to making potentially life-altering decisions. She used pet phrases like 'you only live once,' 'we're not getting any younger' and 'carpe diem.' All clichés, but all true and pointing to one thing: Julie appears ready to take what she describes as a 'giant leap.' He hesitates before responding. Is HE ready? Yes, as far as desire. Perhaps not when it comes to paying the price. Technically, he's already committed adultery. Sleeping with her would make him a full-blown (no pun intended) adulterer. His life as he's known it for decades could be permanently wrecked. Robyn would get half his pension, perhaps more, and his kids would hate him. When the dust clears, he'd be living in a one-room apartment, barely able to support himself, forever indebted to lawyers, his and Robyn's both. He knows what he should do. He knows he should break things off with Juliet now before he gets in too deep. He knows that's the "right" thing to do, what the rational side of his brain is saying, while the emotional side is telling him to go further. From what Julie tells him, her marriage appears more precarious than his; therefore she's got more incentive to stray, less to lose. He doesn't dislike Robyn; in fact, he still loves her. He's simply enamored with the idea of re-connecting with an old flame. Julie, on the other hand, resents Bradley, resents the tight reign he tries to impose on her.

Still, the hope of recapturing at least some of the magic he once shared with Julie in their youth is tugging him in a dangerous direction, egging him on. Forget holing up in some seedy motel for an afternoon delight. There's nothing romantic about that. What he longs for is twenty-four hours, twenty-four uninterrupted hours with the former Juliet Zeboskey. In Virginia Beach. Perhaps in the Big Apple. Perhaps doing what they did In New York years ago, strolling in Central Park, touring Rockefeller Center, seeing a Broadway show: they had seen a revival of The Boyfriend, as he recalls. But where could he tell Robyn he was going? New York, overnight by himself? Riiiiight... 'Kind of you to ask me, Richard,' she'd say sarcastically. It wouldn't work. He laughs to himself knowing that it would take half that time to travel to Tahiti. He laughs harder picturing himself telling Robyn the truth. 'Sorry, dear, but I'm going with an old girlfriend. But don't fret, I'll make it up to you.'

Still laughing, he answers Julie's text: 'If you can find a way where we could spend twenty-four hours away together—without arousing suspicion—I'd love to hear it. Is New York possible? I know you didn't forget those wonderful times we spent there.

*****

Juliet, never without her phone, sits with her husband Bradley at the dinner table, trying to stifle her giddy laugh, but hardly succeeding. She just read Richard's text, welcome, even if it is poor timing. Hand over her mouth, she giggles, then shuts her phone off and shakes her head.

It catches Bradley's attention. "Care to let me in on the joke?" He's about to fork into the shrimp cocktail that sits before him, grinning in anticipation of perhaps laughing too.

"Oh, it's nothing," Juliet insists, waving her hand. "Just something my friend Kathy wrote. You've met her before." He nods. "She wants to know if I'd like to spend a day or so in New York with her and Judy, a co-worker of hers." She looks him in the eye. "Would you mind? We'd just be spending the day there, perhaps overnight."

Bradley nods, rolling his tongue inside his mouth. "Kathy's divorced, isn't she?"

"Yes."

"And this Judy?"

"Divorced also. Why, is that a problem?"

"What would you do there?" His dark eyes stay glued to hers as he dips a shrimp into the red cocktail sauce, then shoves it into his mouth.

"Are you kidding? Brad, there's more to do and see in New York than I have time to list. We've been there, you should know." She can't get mad at Brad for what she knows are his suspicions about his wife going away with two single women—even though, like her, they're both middle-aged.

Brad finishes chewing his shrimp. Then: "When are you planning to go?"

"Ri—I mean Kathy didn't say." She grits her teeth, then relaxes when Bradley appears to have missed what could have been a major faux pas.

He merely shrugs. "Well, I guess it's all right. Just let me know when."

Hours later, Juliet emails Richard, tells him that it's possible on her end: 'I'm so excited about going away with you that I can hardly sleep! Can't wait! Give me an idea of when you can get away. Safely, of course. lol.'

*****

It's late at night, and Richard sits on the sofa in his PJs holding his smart phone, reading Julie's email for the umpteenth time. He's a mess of ambiguity. Yes, he's excited as well. However, he's been feeling twinges of guilt already and can just imagine how he might feel after this proposed tryst in New York. Assuming they'd have a fabulous time, then what? Where would they go from there? To stray or not to stray...that is the question...to suffer the slings and arrows of the aforementioned repercussions gives him pause. Could he even relax enough to enjoy such a trip knowing the music he might have to face upon his return? It could be a major regret. On the other hand, at the end of his life, he might look back and say, 'I should have done that, I should have gone to New York with Juliet. On the other hand...

He shakes his head, caught in the vice of indecision. He's always heard that moral dilemmas can be the most frustrating dilemmas of all. And now, perhaps for the first time in his life that he's been faced with one, he couldn't agree more.

He clicks out of his email screen when he hears Robyn's bare feet padding down the carpeted hallway. She enters the living room wearing a pink robe wrapped around her short blue nightie. She runs a hand through her wavy, shoulder-length, graying blond hair. "Can't sleep?" He shakes his head. "You look worried."

"No, just restless," he says. "Blame it on pent-up energy." He knows she won't buy it, but that's the best thing he can come up with right now. She could always read him like a book in large print.

She sits on the edge of the sofa. "Pent-up energy, huh? And what gave you that? Something on the web?" She looks at his phone.

He shrugs.

She nods. "Pent-up energy. Well, could that mean pent-up SEXUAL energy? Maybe you're just horny. Could that be it? Because I sure as hell am. It's been a long time, Richard, too damn long." She rubs his knee.

He looks at her, once so pretty, and still not bad for a woman entering her sixties. Yes, she's got wrinkles around her mouth and eyes and her once firm boobs have drifted south. But her chin remains remarkably taught—no turkey gobbler there—and her blue eyes, still blue and beautiful and seductive. Her legs ain't bad either. Other than a minimal amount of cellulite and a few purple spider veins, they remain firm and slender. "You're right," he says, "it's been too damn long."

She opens her robe. "I don't exactly look like the woman you married, Richard. I know that. But my natural juices still flow—I don't need those jells many women my age need. And besides, no offense, but you don't exactly look like the guy I married either." She pinches a roll of fat on his belly and chuckles.

He nods. "You're right on both accounts."

She slips off her robe, lets it fall to the floor. "More important, I still love you, still want you. All of you." He begins to tear up, rubs his eyes. She reaches for his hand. "Why are you upset? Is that a bad thing?"

He shakes his head, blinks back the tears. "Of course not. I still love you, too."

"You've been distant lately, withdrawn, like you're, I don't know, hiding something. Are you hiding something from me?" When he looks down and doesn't answer, she says, "You are, aren't you?"

He's got to get past this, do something that will make her drop her line of questioning. Confessing what's been going on with Julie is out of the question. This is his opportunity to make things right, to forgo what might be an exhilarating experience with an old flame and thereby keep his marriage. Tenderly, he kisses her on the mouth and squeezes her hand. "If I'm hiding anything it's my angst regarding my own mortality. I didn't want to worry you about it. Seventy is just around the corner. It's depressing to think about, and when you're depressed, you tend to withdraw. I'm sorry."

She lets her jaw hang the way it does when she's filled with skepticism, the way her tongue slides along her lower teeth. He expected that. He's a bad liar and an equally bad actor. But she doesn't argue when he slides a hand under her nightie and then runs it up her smooth thighs. "But I'm not too depressed to make love to you. In fact, it's just what I need, what we both need."

"Now you're talking!" She opens her legs, lets him flip her panties aside and then stab a finger into her pussy. Wet. Naturally wet. No jells. She slips off the sofa to her knees, grabs the ends of his PJs and pulls them off. Then she pulls off his Hanes briefs and goes to work on his cock. She always gave good blow jobs, wrapping her full lips around it, keeping her abrading teeth at bay. She alternates mouth and hand, working him up. He can still get it up, way up; just not as fast.