The Moving Finger Writes

The fact was that my plan had worked. We were literally strangers when we got back together. That was the fundamental aim of the separation in the first place. But when people talk about reconciliation, they assume that every attitude resets to that happy time before the split. None of the romantic novels deal with the fact of change.

Neither one of us was the same as we were when I left. Our perceptions were different. I was nowhere near the naïve nerd I had been before this all began. Sal was no longer as breezily comfortable with her sexuality. So, the first six months were a "getting to know you" phase that lacked any of the romantic fog-of-war that clouds the perceptions of new lovers.

Interestingly, we were forced to learn about each other in a manner that ordinarily only happens when you start dating. You usually begin learning the quirks of this strange new person -- and then you decide whether you are a match. Only AFTER they get comfortable with each other do people choose to get married.

While I - on the other hand, was married to somebody I had known so intimately that we were almost one soul. But who -- following nearly a year's separation - might as well have been a complete stranger.

I knew that I didn't understand Sal's thought patterns anymore. And whatever she'd morphed into wasn't the Sal I had grown up with. She had undertaken a long period of soul-searching and was nowhere near as light-hearted as she had been before her fall.

And although we did the usual things together. The easy-going feeling of innocent joy and camaraderie from the first time around was gone. We didn't joke around and tease now -- a profound symptom of disaffection. The lack of happiness was wearing both of us down. And it looked like we were heading for the inevitable end game. Then Sal mustered the courage to bring our troubles to a head.

One beautiful summer evening, we were sitting at the backbar in Cambridge enjoying dinner and a good bottle of pinot. Sal had on one of those classic spaghetti strap dresses that showed off her beautiful shoulders, her luscious breasts, and her incredible muscled legs.

With her perfectly proportioned features and hair down her back in a thick braid, she looked like a woman who had just stepped off the cover of Vogue -- or maybe Playboy. To say the least, every male in the place was checking my wife out, and some were leering. I would have been proud of her in our first go-round. In my new incarnation, I was uneasily noting all the male attention.

I went to the facilities, and a guy was standing next to the table when I returned. He was self-assured, handsome -- almost beautiful in a manly way, expensively dressed, and utterly arrogant. He was determined, and she was flirtatious. I wasn't fond of anything I saw.

I roughly pulled out a chair and sat down. Sal turned to me with mischief in her eyes and said dryly, "This is Will, Dear." I said with irritation, "And what does Will want?"

She said casually, "He was wondering if we would like to come back to his place for an intimate party he's hosting." Really??!! Seriously??!! Did I look like I'd just fallen off the turnip truck??!!

Dickhead was more or less asking my wife out while she was sitting right there with me. It was a condescending play - to say the least. But the dude was that kind of a narcissistic prick, and his egotistical smirk told me he thought Sal would talk me into going along with it.

My heart plummeted like a dropped anvil. I said, making my point clear, "We have absolutely no interest in going to your party... asshole."

The dude might have thought I didn't know what he was up to. So, I needed to make the point. We were both clearly a particular class of guy. I mean, this wasn't a biker bar. Nevertheless, if the fucker found my characterization unacceptable, there was always the parking lot.

Sal jumped in quickly. She said blithely, "Thank you for the offer, Will. But I'm afraid I must decline. My husband and I have a lot of things to talk about."

He stood there for a second like he didn't know what to do next. Maybe he'd never been turned down before? Then he pivoted on his heel and beat a hasty retreat. Sal took a sly sip of wine, turned those fathomless eyes on me, and said, "That was an object lesson. This all ends tonight."

I might have interpreted her statement as an ultimatum. But it was clear that Sal wanted to make a last stand with me. She was telling me that we would either overcome our bedroom problem - or figuratively die trying -- together!!

She added, "What you just witnessed happens to me whenever I go anywhere. Sometimes they even hit on me when I am at work. And I view every one of them as a pest. There is only one man in my life. I made that choice thirteen years ago. I have never regretted it."

She stopped and looked pensive. Then she added, "But we can't keep living like this. I know that I failed you. But I can't un-ring that bell. We've worked hard to get most of what we lost back. We are a couple now. I can feel it. Each day we are more and more at ease with each other."

She went on, "But I want it all. I want you to be my husband in every sense of the word. My body aches for you. And until we can lead a normal sex life, we will never be fully together as husband and wife. So that is my opening proposition. What do you have to say about that?"

I said, "It's simple, really. When you and I are intimate, I see the picture of you writhing in ecstasy, totally abandoned to that man. And it puts too many thoughts in my head."

I grimaced and said, "So rather than just doing what comes naturally I start thinking about every noise and movement you make. Then that builds to a critical mass of uncertainty. So, rather than enjoying your amazing sexuality, it is almost like I am standing in the room with you and Pullerman, taking notes on your performance."

Sal looked both understanding and determined. She said, "Thank you for telling me that. As for me, I realize that you're thinking about me being with that awful man. And my dominant emotions are disgust with myself and guilt about what I did - not sexual hunger and desire for you."

She looked at me with an intensity I could almost touch and said, "We are both very smart. I know we can overcome this. That is if we set our minds to it. I want to go back, turn off our brains, and fuck. We both overthink."

And that is precisely what we did. I was lying on the bed in my pajama bottoms when Sal emerged from the bathroom. My wife was wearing nothing but an enigmatic smile. She was heart-stoppingly beautiful.

You could see the power in her lower body. Sal has exceptionally muscular hips, flanks, and legs. Her torso and arms are less powerful, but they are perfectly proportioned in relation to those womanly hips. And they radiate grace and exquisite balance -- like the ballerina she once was. Her breasts are full and round, without the slightest sag, even in her mid-30s. Her pink nipples are puffy, like little acorns.

But her glory is her exceptional face framed by that wealth of hair. At present, that face has the same expression as a starving lioness. And then in one explosive burst, she ran across the space between us -- and made a feline pounce. I actually went, "whooomph!!!"

As she landed, Sal was already frantically kissing my neck and shoulders. It was a brilliant move on her part. And characteristic of her exceptional intelligence. It took me by surprise. And so, I didn't have the time to think.

She was kissing and nipping and moaning frantically. I could feel her hunger as she writhed on top of me. And in that instant, the proverbial dam burst. Suddenly I wasn't THINKING. I was FEELING. And my lizard brain knew that whatever my wife had done with Pullerman was a drop in the bucket compared to her everlasting hunger for me.

The pent-up pain, regret, and anger just drained out of me like water down a drain, and I lost myself in her infinite passion. She was on top of me, moaning loudly and frantically humping the bulge restrained in my jammies. I rolled her violently over on her back as I slid my Pajama pants down -- wondering why I had EVER worn them in the first place.

She gazed at me with the most intense "Fuck Me!!" stare. Looking into those huge luminous eyes I could see that they were wild with the need for me. It was like she was willing me to knock down every psychic barrier between us. Then those gorgeous eyes rolled totally up in her head and stayed there.

The heat and the smell overwhelmed me, and I transmogrified into the Hulk -- "Fuck puny human woman!!!" I grabbed each of her knees and spread her wide. She gave a deep-throated growl of sheer satisfaction. That changed to a groan from the depths of her soul as I plunged into the hottest, wettest three centimeters of heaven mortal man will ever visit.

That penetration started Sal out on an ecstasy of yowling. It was an animal growl that was equal parts sensation and redemption. Her hips turned into a blur, and her breathing sounded like she was hyperventilating. She was clearly building to a once-in-a-lifetime orgasm that had been almost fourteen months in the making.

When it hit, she shot her legs straight up in the air and as wide as she could and began to writhe. Her passage clamped on me with violent vaginal flutters and quivers, accompanied by a sense that a river of red-hot lava was running through it.

Then Sal arched herself into an almost perfect arc and started to violently fuck back against me. Her heels and shoulders were the only things touching the bed, but she continued violently throwing herself onto my cock. Her body was communicating that she was totally spent on one level and utterly aroused on another.

While doing that, she grabbed the back of my neck in both exquisite little hands, opened her eyes, and stared into mine. She was totally and entirely THERE in the moment with me. The clapping sound of our driving together sounded like applause, and applause it should have been. This was one for the ages.

Then she abruptly rolled out from underneath me - turned and presented those magnificent, muscled buns. She looked back over her shoulder with a smolderingly visceral female challenge. I plunged back in her, and she shrieked again.

That started my wife out on a wild, ass-rotating frenzy -- head hanging down, face hidden by her hair, and her shoulders working with effort as she pushed back against me. I grabbed the nipple of her right breast rolled it and pulled.

She began a frantic play-by-play, "Oh God -- so good -- It's been so long -- oh fuck me don't-stop-don't-stop-don't-EVER stop -- AHHHHHHHH!!!" And she collapsed face first onto the bed with me still pounding her ass. I was a man possessed, but I couldn't cum. I think it was because I didn't want it to end.

And yet, the inevitable eventually occurred. Sal was making weak little grunts as she tried to elevate her butt. She was exhausted, her face was buried in the pillow, and drool was running out of the corner of her mouth. But she was offering herself, nonetheless.

Her last brave effort to please me pushed me over the edge and words like "came like the Midnight Express" do not begin to describe what happened next. I must have shot two full years of pent-up desire into her while she made deep satisfied moans, still weakly moving the cheeks of her ass -- she was giving her all to me.

Lubricated by our mutual sweat, I collapsed on her muscular back and slid off onto the bed. She lay as she was when I pulled out of her, that gorgeous rear end still slightly raised. Then it slowly settled down into a stillness like she had passed out.

I sat up shakily and sat next to her on the bed. Sal was still shaking with the little aftershocks from her trip to never-neverland. She was lying face-down in a puddle of drool. But I could see that one corner of her mouth was turned up.

I said, "That exorcised a lot of demons."

She muttered sarcastically, "Ya think?"

I wish I could tell you that what happened that night made us immediately whole again, and we began to fuck like little fuzzy bunny rabbits. But this is the real world. We continued to have our moments. But we patiently worked through them because we loved each other. And when the overweight ghost of past misadventures reared its ugly head, we played whack-a-mole until he went away.

Ours was a mature love now. And the certainty of our togetherness made whatever we had sacrificed to get there seem worth the price. In the end, maybe happiness just takes knowing what you want and the perseverance to get it? I can't honestly answer that question. But I DO know that our life was infinitely better because we endured and persevered together.

EPILOG

Dogs have to be leashed in the Public Gardens, especially a dog like Buster. I almost had to get my old buddy a Green Card to get him into the country - Customs tends to frown on 120-pound French strays who like to roll in things disgusting. But Buster was with me as I strolled along the path next to the Lagoon. If I'd put a mane on him, it would've looked like I was walking a lion.

I was carrying my little angel strapped into one of those front baby carriers. She was fascinated by the ducklings at the Boylston entrance. She would squeal "ducks!" every time I carried her past them. I didn't have the heart to tell her they were bronze statues. Maybe I'd read her "Make Way for Ducklings" too many times.

Jane Austen Bryant was quite an unwelcome surprise for a couple of confirmed DINKS. Neither Sal nor I knew that the pill's failure rate was a fairly consistent eight percent. I mean seriously... what does ANY guy know about female technology -- the plumbing is incomprehensible. Hence, we were both astounded when destiny plopped one last surprise in our lap. Ahh, fate -- you're a real bitch!

Sally started to regularly deposit her morning muesli in the john. We, of course, had no idea what was wrong with her. So, we rushed her to Mass General's E-Room. There, the doc merrily informed us that ... rather than being struck down by some dread disease, Sal was anticipating the arrival of the stork.

Our double income put us in that rarified set of wealthy yuppies who infest the fern bars of the greater Boston area. We'd go everywhere, and we did everything. Since we had no real impediments, we could indulge in whatever whim caught our fancy -- trips, events, fashion. Consequently, the news that the baby would make three was greeted with dismay, not joy.

We even considered abortion. But Sal was thirty-six. So, it was now or never. Plus, there is always something primal going on between the mother and the fetus that argues on the baby's behalf. We talked it through, as we always do, and we finally concluded that we'd beaten infidelity. So, what's so hard about babies?

And yes... I can hear all of you parents laughing your ass off at us.

The pregnancy was routine... Meaning psychotic mood swings, weird cravings, and the need to pee ten or twelve times a day. Sal said it felt like she had a dump truck parked on her bladder. You could almost guess the birth would be easy. Sal's body is ideal for the most fundamental of all female functions -- wide hips, powerful butt and legs, and big jugs.

Toward the end, my gorgeous wife was waddling around like an obese duck. But she was still going to work every day and never lost her sense of humor. The trip to the hospital was naturally in the middle of the night. But the labor was relatively short and mild. And little Janey was a tiny perfect human.

I had been in the room with Sal as she called me some very hurtful things, the mildest of which being "rapist," while crushing my hand. My God!! The woman was seriously strong!! After the birth, I wandered over to the table where the nurse midwife was cleaning up our little bundle of joy.

Janey was telling the universe that she was not amused at being yanked out of a place where the temperature was perfect and the groceries were uninterrupted. I said, "Welcome to the world, little one."

I swear she immediately ceased proclaiming that she was mad as hell and focused her huge brown eyes on me. Then she solemnly reached up to take my finger and went back to criticizing the quality of the help and service.

I looked at that angelic little creature holding my finger in her perfect little hand like a lifeline to the future, and I thought, "THIS I would die for." The bond was absolute, instantaneous, and for life. There was no decision process involved. I knew that fact from the bottom of my soul. I marveled, "So that's what fatherhood feels like."

Now you had two self-indulgent DINKS trying to learn how to be parents. The first three months were like the Bataan Death March without any of its fun times. It almost seemed like they were finishing the wiring in Jane's little brain. Sleep was a concept that both Sal and I lost track of. The only thing that kept me from zonking out at work was the fact that I was standing up at a podium.

Sal was a brick throughout. She took care of little Janey with all the fierce determination she had formerly poured into her career. I wonder whether the programming is hardwired into the female psyche or that my wife decided to excel at motherhood, just as she had with everything else that she'd ever tried. But my wife was dedicated and she was loving, and she was the center of our existence.

Sal's actions were an extraordinary juxtaposition of natural determination and intelligence applied to a different goal. It was proof of one simple fact. Which is that intelligent and caring people will evolve as the circumstances in their life change. There was no more substantial evidence than Sal's insistence that we immediately have another child.

The last thing we wanted was for Janey to grow up a "lonely only." So as soon as Sal got back into fighting shape, we began trying for another baby. It was enjoyable work, which was why I was taking my precious angel to see the swan boats. I wanted to relieve some of the pressure back home, where Sal and her mom were battling house-to-house with newborn Elizabeth Barrett Bryant.

If you are minimally self-aware, you will understand that parenting involves two people, not just the mother. And the payoff is that you have a tiny companion who thinks you're the most amazing entity in God's universe. My little Janey was just two years old this past Friday. But she was already turning into an endless source of joy and entertainment for her old man.

Kids are remarkably portable if you exercise a little common sense. And watching Janey react to her new world made me want to take her everywhere - simply to experience the wonder through her eyes. She was already talking and walking, and her strength of character and independence was more than faintly reminiscent of somebody I loved more than life itself.

So, if you're wondering what the moral of this story is? Yes... my wife betrayed me one dark night in the Berkshires. And yes... we arrived at that infamous fork in the road, not knowing where either choice led. It could be to the lush fields of life-long love or the bitter landscape of anger and misery. But we made a choice, and we made it work... TOGETHER! That's all that matters.

The thing that I learned from this was that you can never underestimate fortune's willingness to write a new and better chapter. And a person's elemental character will ultimately give them the ending they deserve. Sal and I were two decent people who only wanted the best for each other... and we earned happiness. God!!! I love that woman.

Author's Note:

You may've wondered why all the nerd speak. Well... I've received messages -- all likely catfishing -- leading me to believe that I'm being read by the inhabitants of the dark web. On the off chance that might be true, I buried a few Easter eggs for their entertainment. As for you muggles, please note that if any of you think this is a "how to" manual ... remember, you STILL gotta know the territory. It's always fun, my friends.