The Book of Ruth: Eating Out

Much of Jocelyn's visit was spent three-abed. That was the fun part. The medical briefing was not so pleasant.

-----

The aide showed us into the comfortable office of Dr Szonja Szûcs, our distinguished and diminutive fertility specialist, top in her field. We huddled together uneasily on the expansive loveseat. Doc Szonja, as she insisted on being called, nodded her silver head and smiled thinly.

"I'm sorry it's been so long since we subjected you to all those tests and exams. I examined the results very closely and consulted with a dozen of my colleagues around the world. That took time. We agree on our evaluation."

She eased a fat red binder from her oak desk and dropped it gently.

"All the technical jargon and gobbledegook is in here. What it boils down to is a perfect storm. A storm of disaster. To be blunt, Ruth, you will likely never be a biological mother. I am sorry."

Ruth stopped breathing. I squeezed her, hard. She gasped.

Doc Szonja smiled softly, wistfully.

"The gods have been very unkind to you, Ruth. Your womb's chemistry would resist implantation of a fertilized embryo. Even if it did not, you have certain hormone levels so high that the drugs used to stimulate the ovaries during IVF fertility treatment would not work. Even if the levels were low enough, your ovaries just seem incapable of producing viable ova."

The specialist shook her head.

"And as if that wwere not enough, childhood appendicitis has infected, scarred, and blocked your fallopian tubes. Even if you could produce ova, and if you had a healthy womb, those ova could still not reach your womb for fertilization. Like I said, a perfect storm of disaster."

Ruth seemed frozen. Doc Szonja leaned forward. "You can always adopt."

Ruth cried into my shoulder. She continued crying as I half-carried her to our car. She was cried-out by the time we returned home. Cried-out, and regaining determination.

-----

Jocelyn took one look a Ruth after we came through the front door and started to drag her away.

"No, no," Ruth pulled back, "Ran comes too." She kicked off her sneakers and stripped off her clothes. "You two, get naked. Come to bed. Now."

We showered first. Long, slow, wet, warm, tenderly desperate. It's a good thing Portland, Oregon water is too cheap to meter.

Our three-abed time was spent more in talking than fucking. Well yes, we did fuck first. Then we talked.

"I'll leave it up to you, Ruth. Adopt or not?" I cuddled my wife.

"Thanks, buster." Ruth scowled unhappily.

"But it's your choice." Jocelyn was realistic. "You're no slave."

"We own each other, but not that way," I said.

"Yeah, I know," Ruth sighed. "I'm no slave. I'm a free woman. And freedom's just another word..."

Just another word for nothing left to lose.

My cousin cuddled my wife. "But what have you got to lose?"

"I know, I said." Ruth pouted and then grimaced. "I want kids, Ran. I want your kids, our kids. Damn, everybody else has your kids -- why can't I?"

Nobody answered.

"And the pregnancy and motherhood thing? All these years, Ran -- all these years, I've wanted you, and I've wanted to have your kids, our kids, to raise those kids -- when we're ready. And now we're ready but I can't bear your kids. My plumbing's all rotten and broken. Shit. Shit. Shit."

Ruth stared into space. "I guess if it was easy, if we just fucked and I just popped'em out, that would be, I dunno, pretty normal. Even with all the body changes."

She squeezed Jocelyn. "Umm, Joss, I don't suppose there's any chance we could adopt Ron and your..."

Jocelyn's lips formed the faintest of smiles. Ruth shook her head. "No, of course not. Maybe you could be the host-mother? Have our babies for us." Another faint smile. "Fuck, so I'm just going to have to do this the hard way, right? No easy outs, right?" Jocelyn nodded.

I hugged Ruth as tight as I could. Jocelyn joined me. We all kissed, and groped, and slurped, and fucked again and again. No, Ruth would not get fertilized this way, but it seemed like good practice, fuck yes.

.

-- May Day 1994 --

Jocelyn returned to Omaha alone in mid-April. Ruth moped for the rest of the month. Then she disappeared.

I had urgent, unavoidable business in the state capitol Salem an hour's drive away. Ruth begged-off accompanying me. The legal consult dragged on much too long. I do not know how I avoided speeding tickets as I raced back to the Sellwood. I had a bad feeling.

I pulled into our carriage-house slash garage and parked my blue Lexus SC 400 next to Ruth's red SC 300. I jogged into the house.

"Honey, I'm home," I yelled, dropping my briefcase on the entry table.

No reply.

I ran through her office, workshop, and gallery. Empty. I ran upstairs to our master bedroom. Empty, as were all the other rooms. I stumbled down to the kitchen and saw the white legal envelope taped to the refrigerator door.

A note on the fridge -- does this sound like a fucking cliché?

I was hyperventilating. I forced myself to calm, controlled my breathing, silently chanted mantras, and gathered myself together. I stepped forward.

RAN was printed on the envelope in blue magic marker. It was not sealed. I pulled out a single sheet of office paper bearing a scrawled message in black felt-tip. Her printing was only barely legible. Tear stains marked the sheet.

I love you so much, Ran. But I can't give you what a wife is supposed to give her husband, a family. I don't want to adopt. I want to give birth and I can't. I thought about this. I can't stay here like this. I have somewhere I can go safely. Don't try to look for me -- you'll find me when I'm ready. I know I'll see you again some day. I love you so much.

The note was not signed.

Not look for her? Fuck that! I still had security people on retainer. I was on the cordless phone to them within a minute.

"Find her," I shouted.

"Yes, sir," I heard.

I climbed back to our bedroom and scanned her closets and chests. A duffel was missing, and a few of her clothes, and her best jewelry. The bathroom cabinet showed vacant spots where medicine bottles had been. The small framed picture of us no longer decorated her nightstand. She was gone.

I did not grow despondent nor enraged nor bitter. I tried not to blame myself -- fuck, why did I HAVE to go to Salem today!? But if not now it would have been some other day, some time I was out of the house for even an hour.

I did get worried, real worried. I did drink too much. I was frazzled.

It turns out I need not have called my snoops. Revelation came soon, on the Fifth of May, Cinco de Mayo.

Revelation came pounding on my solid front door.

I was only slightly hungover as I staggered downstairs from the bedroom. I tied the black bathrobe tight and peered out the door's spy lens. Lupe!

Guadelupe Viscanzo Moreland, Loopy to her friends, was the lovely lanky Chicana wife of my old best-college-buddy, best-man-at-my-wedding, the honorable David X Moreland, a tall sly black man, formerly a State Senator representing a Chicano-heavy district near San Diego on the border next to Tijuana. He lost his last re-election campaign but delivered enough political favors in the right places to be named the USA's senior trade representative to Mexico -- not quite an ambassadorship but pretty damn close. A plum job.

The Morelands were ensconced in Mexico City, D.F., el Distrito Federál. What was Lupe doing in Oregon?

Her pounding ratcheted-up my morning hangover headache only a bit. (Right!) I flipped the latch, twisted the knob, and stood aside as the lovely Lupe burst through the door.

"Ran, Ran, oh fuck Ran, it's all muy chingado, everything's so fucked up, oh Ran," she wept. She threw her arms around my neck and cried into my shoulder. I felt her delicious breasts press into my chest through the sapphire-blue sun dress that nicely displayed her curves and toned legs.

I saw two suitcases on my front porch. A taxi pulled away from the curb.

"Lu, honey, what is it? What's wrong? Why are you here?"

I did not try to disengage from her tight grasp. I did not really want to. Lupe and I had flirted harmlessly for many years. The Morelands and the van Ronks had visited nude beaches together but never swapped, never strayed. We valued our friendships too much to risk betrayal.

Or so I thought.

I had not been this close to Lupe for a long time. She felt good, damn good, even crying, even obviously heartbroken and forlorn.

Her reddened tear-stained face turned up to mine. Her deep-rose lips parted. And she destroyed me.

"Ran, it's Ruth! She's in D.F. -- with Dave! He kicked me out for her!"

I froze. What? I shook my head. I cannot quite remember thoughts swirling through my stunned mind -- a whirlwind nightmare, a monstrous fog, a maze.

My attention expanded from the distraught friend clutching me. We were visible to passersby through the open door.

I pushed Lupe back, just a little, and cradled her almond face in my hands.

"Lu, you've got to tell me everything. Let me get your bags."

I leaned forward and kissed her cheek, then reluctantly released her, brought her suitcases inside, and pushed the door shut.

I maneuvered the lamenting Lupe toward the kitchen.

"Wait," I said, "I just got up. I need to wake up and clean up and dress up and, y'know, the usual. Could you...?"

She visibly pulled herself together.

"Sure, Ran. You need coffee and pan dulces or something, right? I can find the stuff." She sniffed. "Yeah boy, you could use a shower. Come back clean, sí?" She waved me away. "Go now."

Twenty-five hazy minutes later I was shat, shaved, showered, shined, and decently dressed in off-white Columbia casuals and red Nike sneakers. Lupe had worked fast -- an apple fritter from yesterday's bakery box was nicely toasted and eggs were scrambled with bits of tomato and scallions topped with shredded cheddar cheese and a splat of salsa picante. One place was set at the breakfast nook.

"Only one plate? You aren't...?"

"No, I'm not hungry. Eat. Drink. Wake up. Then we'll talk."

A pot of fresh-ground Chiapas coffee and a bottle of Mitla mezcal sat beside two tall ceramic mugs. I remembered when Ruth picked out that tableware in San Francisco. I shook my head and sat down. Lupe poured coffee and fat splashes of mezcal into the cups; she paced, holding hers, muttering.

"That black bastard. All this time, I thought it was only him and me, just us against the world. That fucking cabrón, shit-eating asshole..."

I watched Lupe's perfect body move under her draping but what I saw was a raging battle of emotions and tensions and craziness. I demolished the eggs and fritter and spiked coffee. I rinsed my service in the sink.

Lupe pushed me down on the breakfast dinette's cushioned bench and squeezed beside me. She refilled both cups, heavy on the mezcal. She leaned into me. I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She slugged her coffee.

"Oh fuck Ran, it's such a nightmare. Please just let me tell what happened."

I nodded. "You have the floor, Lu." I squeezed her gently. She sighed.

"Yesterday morning, just before Dave was going to leave for the Embassy, the security guy in our condo's lobby rang us that we had a visitor. It was Ruth, all alone, carrying a sports duffel. I told Carlos not to search her but just send her up. I was amazed. What was she doing back in Mexico City after what happened to her here?

"Dave let her in our place. She wore slacks and a light sweater and sandals. She grabbed him and held him tight. 'Dave,' she croaked, 'we've got to talk. In private.' She glanced at me. 'Hey there, Loopy. Lo siento, I'm sorry, I've got to take Dave.' She tugged at him. 'Come on, lover.'

"Lover? She called him lover? Dave's face was neutral as they walked to his office with arms around each other's waists. He closed the door behind them.

"I was really confused and conflicted. What the fuck was going on? I tried the trick of using a water glass like a stethoscope against the door to try to hear them talk but I couldn't make out anything. I tried monitoring on the intercom from the kitchen but Dave must have switched it off.

"They came out of the office only a couple of minutes later, holding hands. Dave held the cordless phone in his other hand against his head. 'Yeah, tell the driver to cool it. I won't be in this morning. Real important personal stuff, and you've got nothing critical for me there. Yeah, I'll call when I need it. Right. Sure thing. Hey, that's the shakes. Hasta whenever.'

"Dave discarded the phone. He moved behind Ruth and crossed his arms in front of her to hold her breasts. Her breasts! He squeezed those big boobs of hers and smirked at me. I stood still, silent, shocked.

"'Well babe, it's been fun, but it's over now.' He slipped one hand under her sweater and, I could see, under her bra, and his other hand moved over her crotch and rubbed between her legs. 'Me and Ruth have had a thing for a long time and new she's ready to go full-time.' The lower hand slid inside her slacks and panties. I could see his fingers at her pussy. Ruth gasped and grinned. 'Yeah, we finally won't have to sneak around on you anymore.'

"Dave let go of her tit but kept his hand at her cunt. Her cunt! He looked at his watch and pointed a long dark finger at me. 'Okay, get out. You have exactly one hour to pack up and boogie. I'll call Carlos in an hour to escort you down to the street. He'll even have a cab waiting. You can go anywhere you want. But you'll be gone in an hour.' His cunt-finger twitched again and so did Ruth.

"My voice came back to me and so did my temper. 'Get out! What the fuck! You try to get rid of me like this-'

"Dave pulled his hand from Ruth's pants and slapped his palms together loudly. 'Bitch and yell and scream all you want, babe. The clock's running. You're down to fifty-nine minutes. You should be able to pack enough good shit in that time. Now, if you'll excuse us, Ruth and I need to talk some more. In private. Real private, yeah. Adios babe. Have a good life.' He slid a hand inside the back of Ruth's pants and squeezed her bubbly ass. His office door closed behind them again.

"I screamed some shit at them and pounded on the door. The intercom zipped on. 'Fifty-eight minutes and counting, babe. Carlos is a strong guy and he follows orders. Remember who pays him. It ain't you. Hey, don't worry about the divorce, I'll pay for it. Fifty-seven minutes. Mmmm, that's nice, Ruth.'

"I shook in rage. Then I calmed down. The bastard was serious! He really was kicking me out! I drank the last of my coffee and started packing.

"Carlos was right on time. He was very polite. I offered no resistance. You've heard that 'resistance is futile' shit? I knew Dave could be an immovable object. And I'm just not an irresistible force, I guess.

"I was thinking as I packed. What would I do? Where would I go? It came to me: reciprocity. Ruth came to Dave. So I had to come to you. I had time to call the airport and book flights to here. I only landed a couple hours ago.

"And now I'm here. Can I stay here awhile, Ran? You've always been a great friend and a real gentleman to me. You never tried to fuck me when you had the chance. Oh, I know you're no saint, and neither am I. But can I take refuge here? Just for a while? Please?"

Lovely Lupe had leaned against me during her recitation. Her eyes sometimes touched mine and sometimes stared into space. Now she looked intently into my soul. Her eyes pled for mercy and bled pain. How could I refuse?

I kissed her sweet forehead. "Of course you can stay as long as you want."

Lupe sat up and gripped my jaw with a long strong hand. "And now you're going to tell me just what the fuck is going on with Ruth!"

I told her of Ruth's total un-fix-able infertility. Lupe's mouth tightened.

"That shitweasel! Dave never wanted babies. Said they would intrude in our life. Always made sure I was on The Pill. And now he has Ruth who CAN'T have babies! That slime! He said they've been fucking for a long time. Did you suspect anything?"

"Not a clue. Ruth always demanded total exclusivity." Except with Jocelyn, but I did not mention her. "I thought she'd been monomaniacal about me since she was twelve. I am just fucking gobsmacked."

I could not run to Mexico City to seek revenge. Been there, done that, fled already. I had killed the scum who raped Ruth there two-and-a-half years before. That turd had been politically connected. His protector was gone now and nobody in power cared enough to have me hunted down but I surely could never openly return to Mexico. Dave and Ruth were perfectly safe, the shits!

My loving, cheating wife. My loyal, cuckolding best pal. Burn in Hell, guys.

-----

Lupe had packed her valuables but not many clothes or other necessities. We spent that day driving over Portland, shopping, snacking, talking, and plotting. I walked her around my quaint Sellwood neighborhood late in the afternoon. She admired it and noted the possibilities.

"Hey, clean this area up a little and move in some kewl stuff and it'll be a real trip! You think you're going to stay here, even without Ruth?"

"Ruth gets pretty determined. I don't think she'll be back. Yeah, I'll stay. The college and shops and joints here, downtown not too far away, all sorts of new enterprises starting. It's a whole different life than I had before."

Lupe unpacked and settled into the downstairs guest room. I called for a pizza delivery and a growler from a local brewpub -- the pizza guy brought the beer for us. We drank hot cocoa and mezcal for dessert, smoked a joint or two, lounged on the couch before the fireplace, and talked and talked.

Midnight struck. "It's been a day," I said sleepily. "More tomorrow, okay?"

"More tomorrow, sure." Her kiss brushed my lips. "Peasant dreams."

We adjourned to our separate beds and dreamt our separate dreams. Until oh-dark-thirty, anyway. That is when I drowsily noted steps and door squeaking, and my mattress shifting.

"I don't want to be alone. I never sleep alone. Can I just hold you?"

Warm arms reached around me. A warm naked body snuggled against my bare back. I slept.

I had dreams. Warm, fuzzy dreams. Warmer, moist dreams. I dreamt that my cock was in someone's mouth. I dreamt that warm fingers stroked my nipples. I dreamt that a married woman was in my bed, sucking my dick, making me cum.

I was not dreaming.

.

-- Hallowe'en 1994 --

We lasted six months. A grand and glorious six months, to be sure, with many excursions to the coast and nearby mountains, even to Mt St Helens volcano. Many excursions outside Greater Portland too; we traveled to beauty spots and metropoli and clothing-optional resorts and sin palaces but we only fucked each other. We had great fun, even if Lupe would not do girls.

A courier slapped my door less than a week after Lupe arrived. Final Mexican divorce papers; she was free, or at least legally cut loose from Dave. No papers came from Ruth and I was not about to start any proceedings. Her betrayal was not my idea; whatever she wanted was up to her to work out.

So I only fucked this married woman for a week. How long had still-my-wife Ruth cheated on me with Dave and how many others? I was a cuckold. But I had fucked many married women before, making cuckolds. Was it cosmic payback?

Lupe was just as passionate as Ruth but in slightly different directions and with different flavors and overtones. Both loved to 69 atop me; Ruth liked me to wiggle a finger inside her vagina while Lupe preferred it in her ass. Lupe loved harder pinching of nipples and biting of clit. Lupe was great at sucking my balls while she stroked me. Ruth could be blindfolded; Lupe could be tied down but she wanted to see everything!