The Bondage of Marriage Ch. 02

***Formerly "The Bondage of Marriage"***

"It's better than this place I guess," said Victoria. She was sitting on the couch - one of the few items left after sorting out their possessions in the hasty separation. Kenneth nodded. He had long ago given up on trying to find a way to make this ok. It was all his fault, he knew, and yet he told himself it was hers. She was the one who had stopped wanting him.

In his unwilling marital abstinence, he would grow more dour week after week until she would have sex with him. They had sex about once a month, and the whole time in between Kenneth had climbed the walls. He had resorted to bondage porn, which he wasn't particularly ashamed of. It was hot, but it was never as good as real sex. He resented having to resort to it, and he blamed her for this divorce.

She was moving to Bayview St. in East York. But right now she simply sat, staring at their apartment on Bloor, stripped of most of the furniture and cool artsy things they had bought at Homesense & Winners. She had come in to grab one of her purses, and an old-fashioned photo album her grandmother had compiled for her, two items Kenneth had extracted from the small messes that had made up his contribution to the decor. They were the last two things that belonged to Victoria. And now she was just sitting here. There wasn't anything else to say. And he was surprised by just how little had been said since he had broken the news to her a month and a half ago that he had been unfaithful.

He was ashamed of course. He did not understand why it had taken marriage's ultimate transgression to end things. On some level, he understood that he had played his own part in Victoria's disinterest, and so, too, in the denoument of this sorrowful sojourn of a relationship, but he didn't know how to face that.

"Well, you won't have to worry about Reginald," he said, trying to lighten the mood. Usually mention of the socially awkward upstairs neighbour was enough to bring at least a chuckle, but of course Victoria just smiled sardonically and let out a small gust through her nose instead of laughing.

"Who knows what I'll have to deal with..."

"Well you won't have to deal with me."

"Thank God," she said. Then, as if waking up from a daydream, without looking at Kenneth, she gathered her purse and her grandmother's photo album and made to leave. He took in her beautiful curls and her long-legged sexiness with one last pang of regretful longing and said "Vic, I'm sorry,"

"I don't care," came her reply, in monotone, as she crossed the threshold into the hallway and out of Kenneth's life.

- - -

Bloor St. was alive, as ever, with its morning frenzy. It was cold this morning, summer just turning to fall, but it was quickly warming. The air, though crisp, was stale with hydrocarbons and for once Kenneth could let himself feel grateful that the restaurant where he cooked only took him two city blocks away from the apartment. He downed a glass of water.

It had been a few weeks since Vic had left, and the weight of his marriage was beginning to lift. The guilt he had felt was now mostly gone, and it was giving way to a giddy freedom. He had about three months of runway to live in downtown Toronto.

The aroma of something baking, maybe croissants, struggled to assert itself into the harsh mixture of city smells. His mouth watered, and he left the balcony, quickly rolling a joint of Summer Simmer, (was he becoming addicted to the stuff?) and tucking it behind his ear as he made his way through the apartment gathering up necessaries.

He opened his door at the same time as Jennifer. "Good morning," he said, smiling at her.

"Morning," she said with a small smile. Warm, but only just. She had given him that look each time he had seen her since their one-night-stand, and he guessed she felt guilty, like he did. She looked incredible today, he found, and couldn't help glancing at her bottom, wrapped in a pair of blue jeans like a present---or like a vanilla cake in a denim fondant.

It lead his mind to the memory of their night together. He recalled in particular her knees pinned to her chest, her arms wrapping her legs, her wrists bound by his hands, and her body writhing at the whim of his lips and his tongue as she moaned in the most arousing alto. They had been more than intimate. She had wanted to be dominated in exactly the way he wanted to dominate. Thinking of it now excited him. What was more, he liked her a lot. He resolved that it would not be a one-night stand. If it was possible, he was going to find his way around this awkwardness and into Jennifer's bedroom. Of course it was possible.

"I'm going to 'The Dessert Lady', wanna come?" he said.

"No thanks. On my way to work," she said. He noticed she was not dressed for waitressing today, but sported a tank top and a gym bag.

"New Job?"

"New habit."

"Ah. So if you're going to the gym..." he said, adding what he thought to be a comedic pause, "you probably don't want to have an americano and some pastries."

"Nope," she said, looking aloof but at least not impatient. Of course she knew what he wanted. The question was did she still want it from him, and was there a way to find out whether she did without crossing any kind of a line? They watched the elevator lights blink down from 16, 15, 14, stopping one floor above theirs. "They're pretty good pastries, by the way" he said, "Me, I like a frosted croissant with a nice strip of chocolate down the middle, OR they serve a sampler tray," he said, emphasizing "sampler tray" as Jennifer stared blankly ahead. "You can get eclairs, a couple of millefeuilles, a couple of flavours of those little German butterfly thinggies..." He struggled to find a joke in this monologue, but one was not forthcoming.

He was interrupted by the elevator chime. As the elevator opened, he thought he heard Jennifer gasp. The doors slid graciously aside to reveal the gorgeous British woman from one of the floors above. She stood in the middle of the elevator, somehow radiating in the small chamber's struggling fluorescent light. She wore a business formal gray top with vertical stripes that detoured significantly around her bosom. The cut fit her perfectly. Her lipstick was lurid, but not glossy, her brown eyes framed dramatically by luxurious waves of dark brown hair. She did not have the look of a fashion model but her features came together strikingly.

"Hello again," she said, nodding to Jennifer, "Hello again," she said nodding to Kenneth. Was she Scottish? Her accent was less audible than he remembered. It seemed she was assuming the crisp lilt of the Canuck. A pity, though it did nothing to diminish her allure.

"Hello again," replied Kenneth, resolving to sound unaffected.

"Hello Gail," said Jennifer as they entered the elevator. Kenneth thought she sounded nervous, or at least affected.

The two stood just in front of Gail, and descended in a relatively comfortable silence, but Kenneth could feel the woman's presence behind him as he might feel the heat from a bonfire. Then he remembered his monologue about the pastries. He hesitated. It might be funny to continue his monologue now or it might not. He opted to continue. He looked at Jennifer, she seemed tense. Maybe she would crack a smile under the pressure of whatever tension possessed her now. "They also have bread bowls and usually an incredible soup of the day..."

The look on Jennifer’s face stopped him. Her expression was calm, but her eyes flared murderously. “Alright,” he said just before the elevator reached the ground floor, “I’ll just go to ‘The Dessert Lady by myself.”

“I’ll walk you. I’m going that way,” came the voice from behind. Now there was a surprise. Kenneth felt thrill and some alarm as he turned around.

“Uh, thanks, Gail?”

“Yes,” said Gail, briefly darting a glance at Jennifer as she did. Was there a challenge in that look? He wished he had seen Jennifer’s answering look.

The two women exchanged one more private look as the trio walked out onto Bloor Street East. Again, Kenneth noticed but didn’t quite catch the drift of the exchange.

They parted in front of 85 Bloor without a word, Kenneth and Gail toward Sultan Street, and Jennifer off toward wherever she was headed with her tank top and gym bag.

---

He admired Gail's lips while she sipped her latte. She did not meet his eye but he was sure she knew he was watching. He looked down at his own cup, an americano, and took a sip.

On the walk to 'The Dessert Lady" she had asked Kenneth about his work and he had spoken more volubly than was quite necessary about his two jobs, content writing and working in a kitchen. He had so far done all of the talking. Walking next to her on the street had given him a strange pride. Here at the cafe, he still felt it. His blue jeans and tee-shirt of almost-but-not-quite the same shade of blue made him self-conscious. This would look like a client meeting, not a date. Still, for her company alone, he felt himself a greater man. An honour he should perhaps have reserved for someone he knew better. A feeling he should have felt with Victoria. He chocked it up to Gail's charisma. Maybe there was nothing wrong with it.

"What in God's name is behind your ear?" she said just as he was deciding to ask her about her work. His eyes widened in shock for a second, then he remembered it was his joint of fake weed, and he composed himself.

He gingerly whisked it out of his ear and sparked it up. "Summer Simmer," he said as he puffed it to life. He inhaled and attempted to cough as little as possible as he exhaled.

"It's not marijuana," she said, then she plucked it from his hand, and took a sizable drag. She leaned back, crossed her legs, and opened her mouth for the sexiest French inhale Kenneth had ever seen. He was bewildered that she could manage it with the Summer Simmer and not plunge into a coughing fit.

Her opened mouth with white smoke seeping up into her nose was overwhelmingly erotic. It conjured a vivid image of she and Jennifer kissing while Kenneth held Jennifer's arms behind her body. Gail's hands caressed Jennifer's breasts, gliding around to cup her ass. He was startled by the fantasy. His mind skipped ahead. Images of a struggling Jennifer helplessly yielding her womanhood to the lash of a flogger, then to Gail's smothering mouth. He was instantly aroused. He felt grateful for the privacy offered by the wooden table. "It's got blue lotus in it," she said passing it back to him.

He accepted it, coming out of his unbidden fantasy somewhat dazed. "Yes, it does," he said, taking another drag and managing to exhale with some dignity.

"How do you know Jennifer?" he asked.

"We're seeing each other," said Gail.

Kenneth stared for a moment, and he was sure that Gail could read the expressions crossing his face. The first would have been shock, then confusion, then disappointment; he was working out what the fourth might be when she said "You like her."

"Yes, I do," he said. He did not want to volunteer anything that might betray Jennifer, such as the fact that she had recently had sex with him. Gail eyed him attentively.

"Why do you like her?" That surprised him.

"Uh, I don't know. I just do," he very much enjoyed having sex with Jennifer, but of course he couldn't say that.

"She's a lovely partner, there are a lot of reasons to be fond of her," Gail said with a matter-of-fact sort of affection.

"Well, I would not presume to harass your partner, even though I like her," he said.

"Oh I know," said Gail arching an eyebrow. "You're a nice man."

I don't know about that, thought Kenneth. Then as briskly as she had invited herself, Gail ended their conversation, saying "Well take care, we'll talk again I expect," taking her coffee with her.

Kenneth found she had taken all the energy with her, too. The event was over. It was with disappointment that he received his pastry sampler platter from the glib waitress (not the original Dessert Lady, as it happened), bit into a butterfly all by himself, sending flakes spraying.