Quiet Desperation

The rain held off until we reached the Sheetz store, mile twenty-five. The fastest group was just leaving when we arrived. Rain or no rain, they were going. We left our bikes against the side of the building, then went inside to use the rest rooms and to refill our water bottles with sports drink. Tim suggested we also purchase a couple energy bars. "We could be stuck here for who knows how long," he said. I concurred, watching what began as a drizzle turn into a downpour.

Customers came and went as we stood by the large front window, grim-faced and restless, watching the heavy rain plaster the parking lot. This was another form of quiet desperation, I thought. We were at the mercy of Mother Nature whose plans had rudely conflicted with ours. Tim and I talked about calling our spouses to pick us up if conditions didn't improve. We were about to when the rain lapsed into a misting, and we decided to go for it. A little water wasn't going to stop me from completing this ride. The four others with us chose to wait longer.

We tucked our fogged-up sunglasses into our jerseys and plowed ahead, cranking over wet roads through the mist. Our rear tires spewed jets of water from the road surface, soaking our rear saddlebags and, our rears. This potentially romantic situation wasn't lost on me, and I couldn't help but wonder if Tim might be thinking the same thing. How I so wanted to cuddle up to him, especially now that the temperature had dropped and goose bumps covered my arms. At least I wasn't cramping, thanks to my improved conditioning.

Just before mile forty-five, it began to rain hard once again. "Let's wait it out in there," Tim said, pointing to an open shed of corrugated metal that stood on the edge of a farmer's field.

We wheeled our bikes inside, drenched to the bone. For weeks, I had been avoiding running into this man, and now here I was, alone with him in a rusted, six by ten-foot shed. As the rain pounded hard against the flimsy roof, I wrapped my arms tightly against my body, shivering.

"You look cold," Tim said. "Can I help?" Before I could answer, he pulled me against him. "Are you okay with this?"

"I am so okay with this," I reassured him. It didn't take long before I was nestling my face against his strong chest. "This feels nice, you're warming me already."

He began to rub my back, turning the heat up even more—in more ways than one. I felt myself slipping fast, losing control. Looking up at him I said, "If you're trying to seduce me into doing something I shouldn't, we shouldn't, you're succeeding."

"I'm not trying to do anything. Something's happening here that seems to be taking us to a place we know to stay clear of but somehow can't."

The rain continued its pounding in a loosely discerning rhythm. There wasn't much to do but stand there, hoping it would soon let up. Had I been there with someone else, a girlfriend or a male friend that didn't light a fire under me, that's all I'd be doing. But, as Tim said, there was that place, wickedly opportunistic given our circumstances, now calling me in, drawing me in.

When his lips met mine, I barely heard the rain. I barely heard anything, including those inner voices, shrill and excoriating, ordering me to stop. Other senses picked up—my sense of smell, breathing in his unique masculine scent mixed with rainwater and the nerve endings firing somewhere in my solar plexus. Perhaps this wasn't "true" love, but it WAS something special and it felt too good to pull away, even when he zipped down my pink jersey and began fondling my breasts, first with his fingers, then with his tongue. Arching back, I closed my eyes, letting him continue, tangled in my ambivalence of hoping for more while at the same time dreading more. Minus the guilt, I was more than ready. I gleaned the same from his end while pressed tightly against his spandex shorts.

Pulling back, he grinned and said, "By now, you might have the impression I like you. An awful lot, I might add."

"The thought did enter my mind," I said, keeping with his glibness. "And if you're wondering if I feel the same about you, don't, because I do."

"But we're married."

"Yes."

"So this isn't easy."

"No."

"So what do we do?"

Noticing that the rain had died down, I said, "Well, we get back on our bikes and finish off the last five miles. Then we'll see."

Fortunately, the weather held during our ride back, still misting but no more downpours. Wet and cold, we secured our bikes and then snuggled and talked in the backseat of my car with the heater on.

"I loathe the idea of cheating," Tim said. "It would make me feel cheap."

"We're on the same page there," I said. "It would make it very difficult for me to face my husband every day. It would keep me up at night."

"Speaking of night," Tim said, "I'd love to one day hold you in the peaceful darkness of a room somewhere."

I snuggled closer. "That would be nice. I can just imagine..." Given our restrictive circumstances, voicing what I began to say seemed absurd.

"You can just imagine...what?"

"No, it'll never happen anyway." My eyes misted over—and it wasn't because of the weather.

He caressed my face with his thumb, then peppered me with light kisses. "Come on, Addie, tell me," he prodded.

"Only that I can just imagine how wonderful it would be to make love with you," I said, finally giving in.

"Looks like we're on the same page again, Addie."

Our mutual passion took over: smooching, fondling, tender thoughts whispered in tender phrases. Things got wild, intense. At one point, I found myself topless on his lap, dry humping his bulging sex while he tongued my nipples. The crotch of my shorts, soaked from rain, got even more soaked from something else. My car became a vacuum of wanton desire, silent except for the hum of my heater and our heavy breathing. My car windows, thick with fog, formed a convenient shield against the potentially prying eyes of the few riders that still hung around the parking lot.

Somehow, I managed enough self-restraint to keep my shorts on. I was ready, both physically and emotionally. But, I still had a husband to think about. Tim, feeling the same way about his wife, didn't force the issue.

We zipped up and then stood by my car. "Damn it, Tim," I cried out, "living life in quiet desperation can be so incredibly difficult. I never dreamed I'd be living it post age fifty facing the biggest moral dilemma of my life."

"Or me at age sixty." He chuckled. "Just one of life's unexpected twists and turns, to navigate as one sees fit."

"And how, pray tell, do we navigate our way through this?"

"We keep riding together, see where the roads take us. We don't need a road map or a GPS, just our instincts, our innate sense of direction. Pardon my metaphors, but that's the best I can come up with."

That was good enough for me. After a farewell smooch, I drove for home. My quads ached from fatigue and my heart beat fast with the anticipation of navigating those roads, with all their twists and turns. And, there was something else—a loving husband to face.