tagLetters & TranscriptsThe Way We Met

The Way We Met


My Darling,

It has been three days now since I laid with you in my arms. I keep thinking about your passion, trembling as we shared a soul kiss, Chantal nuzzling your bottom. I could occasionally feel her tongue grazing the helmut of my erection as she sought to please you. It seems that I am always priapic when we make love to you. Chantal feels the same way. She looks forward just as I do to those times when your husband is away...not often enough!

I told you some time ago that I would tell you how Chantal and I met...I think that time has come.

My first wife, Marie, was with me for fifteen years. We truly were soul mates. We did everything together and never tired of each others company. She was a wonderful mother, a loving friend, a passionate lover. She was always there for me. Nothing was ever so pressing that she couldn't stop to listen to a problem or giggle at a joke. There was never anything that I asked of her that she refused me. She was so accommodating that I had to be careful not to overload her because she consistently took on too much.

It was a bit of a shock when the doctors told me she had cancer but I recovered quickly. We had always overcome whatever obstacles we ran into and this was no different. We would fight this thing together and as always we would win. Even when she finally had to be admitted to the hospital I wasn't too discouraged. I knew that there had to be a few bumps in the road to recovery. This was just one and probably not the last.

I went to the hospital every day with flowers, candy, fruit and most importantly a perennial optimism because I could sense that she wasn't as sure as I was that we had this monster under control. I never wavered in my belief that Marie would recover; after all I needed her! She knew that!

Often when I went the same young nurse was in her room, sometimes in uniform, sometimes in street clothes. I asked Marie who she was and was told that her name was Chantal. She had spent several weeks of her training on Marie's ward and had been mentored by my wife. She was always discrete, leaving after a quick hello and a smile.

I could see that Marie had lost a lot of weight. We had to expect that, it was a tough battle. No problem though; when she was released my cooking would fatten her up.

Reality only hit the day before she died. Chantal had lingered a little longer, fluffing up her pillows, making small talk with me. When Chantal left, I was holding Marie's hand. She looked me in the eye and said "She would be good for you."

And I knew.

I dropped my head to the pillow and the tears started. I only cried for a minute, Marie's cheek against my hair. When finally I had overcome my slip and raised my head she was asleep. I stayed with her for another hour watching her pained breathing, waiting for some sign that she would waken again. At last I rose and kissed her on the forehead. I washed my face. With all the dignity I could muster I straightened up threw my shoulders back and walked with a confident stride to the elevators.

As the doors opened I looked over to the nurse's station. Chantal stood with one hand over her mouth, tears in her eyes and the most pained expression of pity on her face. I tore my glance away and stepped onto the elevator just as the doors closed. Fortunately I was alone. I pressed the stop button and collapsed to the floor. The tears flowed; my body was wracked by great heaving sobs. I cried like a baby.

Three days later at the funeral home Chantal approached me with tears in her eyes. She said "I loved her too" then turned and left.

In the following weeks Chantal came over almost every day, bringing a casserole or a pie. She would help the boys with their homework, do laundry, iron shirts. She never asked my permission or sought my approval. She just took it for granted that she was doing what she was supposed to be doing. And as I started to come out of my lethargy I realized that she was.

Three months later Chantal moved in. That winter we were married.

I never felt guilt towards Marie. Some how I knew that this was all as it should be. I missed her terribly but Chantal understood and shared my grief. She told me that she often sensed Marie's presence. When we made love she said that she could feel Marie sometimes holding her hand and smiling at her

Life with Chantal was neither more nor less than what it had been with Marie...it was different. It had its own passion, its own dignity and always it celebrated the wonder of Marie.

Shakespeare in his play Othello at one point had the hero, speaking of his love for Desdemona, declaim,

"She loved me for the troubles I had suffered and I her because she did pity them"

I think I fell in love with Chantal at the nurse's station when I saw that look of profound compassion on her face.

I still love her and that is exactly the way I have come to feel about you.


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