Three Infidelities

"By now the other two speakers on the panel and the moderator have stopped scratching their heads and are trying to defend me--bless them--but that doesn't work. Then a fourth person in the audience jumps up and demands that I define 'woman.' I decided I'd leave out the part about the clitoris and paying your own rent and so forth. So I look him, her, or them in the eye and calmly say, 'an adult female human being.' Bad, bad mistake. That really pisses all four of them off. Now they're really getting angry.

"So then I make the mistake of trying reason on them. I said, look, I teach at a small, little-known, formerly Catholic college. To the best of my knowledge, only one of our students is transgender, and she--which is that person's preferred pronoun--she has never taken any chemistry course and probably never will. If you want a nice sample-size of transgender, genderfluid, transvestite, genderqueer, intersex, questioning, polysexual, nonbinary, and other gender-nonconforming students, forget Magdalene. Try Wesleyan: they're just down Route 9 from us. At that point about five people in the audience started laughing and applauding. They must have been Wesleyan alumni... or maybe faculty. My hecklers were not laughing and applauding, to say the least. Instead they got really nasty. I was really starting to get shaken.

"At that point--about eight minutes ahead of schedule--the panel moderator called a halt to the melee. He suddenly thanked the panel and the audience, turned off the mikes, and sort of stood guard over me until the hecklers had left the room. Laura Reinhardt, from Pitt, was on the panel. She put her arm around me and led me off. Took me to one of the hotel bars and treated. That was very sweet of her. I was so upset I was actually shaking. I had never been viciously, personally attacked before.

"And scientists are problem-solvers, right? It's very hard on a scientist when you find yourself in the midst of a huge problem, and you are absolutely, completely powerless to solve it because you have absolutely no idea what exactly the fucking problem is."

I reached out a hand, caught and squeezed one of hers. She squeezed back. I felt sorry for her. It takes a lot to rattle Kristin, and she obviously got quite rattled at her presentation. She was getting re-rattled now, reliving the experience.

"We can stop now, Kristin. You don't need to go on any further. Why don't we just snuggle on the sofa for a bit."

"Thank you, Gordon," she said. "Let's do go sit on the sofa. And snuggle. But I want to keep talking... want to tell you exactly what happened. Okay?"

"Okay," I said.

************

We adjourned to the sofa, sat, and hugged.

Kristin continued. "So. I'm in a little hotel bar with Laura, and I've calmed down about a third of the way. Probably at that point the sensible thing would be for me to go have an early dinner and then head for my room. But Laura has a ticket for a big reception one of the textbook publishers is holding--John Wiley, maybe it was. I can't remember. Laura says, they'll have good food and an open bar, all free of course, and probably a few people I know. What's not to like? The ticket says 'Admit 1,' but let's see.

"So we take the elevator down and find the small ballroom that Wiley or whoever has reserved. The bouncer--I'm sure that's not what they call him--he looks at the ticket and gives Laura the hairy eyeball. She puts her arm around me, glares into his eyes, and says, 'Surely you wouldn't deny admission to my wife... who, by the way, handles science textbook selection for all of Magdalene College of Hartford!'"

"Do you?" I asked.

"No, and I wouldn't marry Laura without telling you, either. Anyway, it was Open sesame! and in we strode. Laura had been too kind, and I had already taken up a couple hours of her time, so I thanked her and gave her a big hug, and my new wife and I decided to separate. She said she'd keep half an eye out for me while we were both there. So we went our separate ways at the reception.

"Laura was right: I did bump into people I knew, at least three or four. The buffet table was terrific, and the open bar was splendid. Profit margins on textbooks must be as high as everyone suspects. Though I guess they publish other books too. Anyway, the wine selection was great. They had a white Vouvray that was even better than the one we sometimes get. I'm afraid I drank a great deal of that, so I blame everything that followed on the French."

"They do make good movies, though, the French," I offered. "Though perhaps we anglophones shouldn't get involved with that whole nation. 1066 should have been a warning. And look at what happened to poor Julie Baker. Alphonse was more than any woman could handle." I wanted to speed up Kristin's story a little, so I prompted, "Life imitates art, I suppose?"

"Not entirely," Kristin replied. "For one, unlike Julie, I spent the night in my own bed, in my own room."

"Alone?"

"I'm coming to that part.... So I'm still rather shaken from that afternoon, but the atmosphere at the reception is soothing, and the food and wine helped, and I did run into some old friends and acquaintances. One of the friends was Jean-Paul Delacroix, a dear friend from graduate school days."

"A Norwegian, eh?" I grumbled. "Or is that name Portuguese?"

Kristin glared at me but otherwise ignored my interpolation. "We were good friends," she continued. "Not lovers. Anyway, it turns out he's now working for Merck somewhere in New Jersey. He had come to my panel today just to see me again. Needless to say, he was extremely sympathetic about what happened at the Q&A. He said he was planning to greet me after the panel, but I suddenly disappeared. He didn't see Laura spirit me off.

"Gordon, after that afternoon, it was so wonderful to be with someone who was not just friendly, like Laura, but someone who really cared about me, someone I really cared about too, and knew for years. Plus all the good food and good wine anyone might want."

"Married?" I asked.

"Yes, we still are, aren't we? What do you say we keep it that way for a while longer?"

"Kristin..."

"He's divorced. Eleven-year-old daughter named Willow. No horror stories about the divorce. Joint custody. Everyone is doing their best to co-parent. Carole and Jean-Paul are still on speaking terms."

"Willow?"

Kristin gave me a look. "I'm sure that name was Carole's idea: Jean-Paul is very sensible. Sensible enough that, about 45 minutes later, he decided that I should not consume another drop of wine and should proceed to my room while I was still capable of contributing to getting myself there. So he took me home." A long pause followed.

"Kristin," I said, "I know this must be painful for you. If you want, you can just skip ahead to Thursday morning, when you kiss him goodbye and say, 'See you next year.'"

She snapped an index finger onto a testicle, just hard enough to get my attention. "I did kiss him goodbye the next morning. As I recall, nobody said, 'See you next year.' I do recall one of us saying, 'Thank you for being here for me when I really, really needed someone, Jean-Paul. You are a good, good friend. Gordon will forgive both of us when he understands the story.'"

"I think I would have preferred a simple 'See you next year,'" I reflected. "I should keep my mouth shut."

"Yes. Now do you want to hear the parts of the story you missed?"

"I'm not sure. Do I?"

"Yes. Near as I can remember, it goes like this. Jean-Paul gets me into my room. He pulls back the duvet and blanket on the bed and helps me lie down on my back. He takes off my shoes, in the process looking up my dress only a couple times, and only briefly. I open my legs just a little. I figure that's the least I could do to repay his kindness. Jean-Paul is the perfect gentleman. He pulls up a chair, sits, and asks what he can get for me.

"At the reception, the social environment kept the pain and shock of this afternoon at bay. But now it was quiet, and I was alone--or almost alone--and it all came closing in on me again. I started breathing heavily and making these short little noises that sound like fear. I begged Jean-Paul to stay with me for a bit and hold me.

"He took off his shoes, suit jacket, and tie and joined me in bed. We hugged. I felt a little better immediately, and I realized what I needed. I looked into his eyes, and I said, 'Jean-Paul, please. Do this for me. I need skin-to-skin contact. Really. Please?'

"We stripped and lay down again, and he held me. Yes, we took our underpants off too: we're all grownups now and can handle things. It was indeed exactly what I needed. My body just shook and trembled, and I cried a little, and he just held me tight all the while. And after about fifteen minutes, the shaking and trembling stopped, and I felt so much better. Like a burden had been lifted from me, and the demons had been removed from my system, and I felt almost at peace. I felt like the fever had broken. I was still weeping a little, but we just looked at each other, and we smiled, and I knew I would be all right."

"And then he took advantage of your vulnerable state and your inebriation, and he fucked you?"

"Don't be absurd. He did nothing of the sort. He was a perfect gentleman--even naked and holding me in his arms. I fucked him. Christ, Gordon, after everything I just told you... what would any normal woman have done?"

I thought for a second. "Given him the best fuck she was capable of," I admitted.

"Thank you. I did. All the while feeling some guilt about being unfaithful, for the first time ever, to the man I love and married. But still feeling I was doing the right thing."

At this point I knew the best thing I could say--but I didn't know how much I believed it. I decided to say it anyway.

"You were," I said. "Doing the right thing."

Kristin was sort of half-smiling, trying not to cry. "Please forgive me?"

"Already taken care of," I said. We hugged for a minute, then I spoke again. "I guess I could handle some more details about the event. What was he like? What was doing it like for you?"

"Unfortunately, my memory is not as clear as I wish it were. He has dark, curly hair on his chest--graying a little. Really nice legs--he runs. I suppose you're dying to hear about his penis."

"Not especially."

"It was a little longer than..."

"It's okay: I don't need to..."

"... yours, maybe not as thick."

"We don't have to..."

"Curved to the right a little at the end. Cute little freckle on the glans. Honestly, details of penises are much less important to women than to you men. It was there. It tasted okay. It stayed hard for a reasonable amount of time. What more does a girl want?"

"Woman."

"Whatever. What was it all like? Apart from the occasional pangs of guilt, it was like having sex with my husband... only different in about 25 little ways. Differences are interesting. The basics remain the basics. The sex was good. He came first, which I took as a compliment, but he knew very well how to use his tongue. We were both pretty relaxed by the time we fell asleep. Christ, Gordon, I'm 48 and Jean-Paul is 50! If you don't know how to please a partner by that age, you're hopeless!

An unhappy thought crossed my mind. "Um, I don't suppose there was a condom available?"

"Oh, that's the best part," Kristin said. "Joyce gave me a joke 'going-away present'--a 'nip' sized bottle of scotch and also a three-pack of Trojans tied up in a nice red ribbon and bow. It was a cute little memento from my friend, so I packed it. And on Wednesday night, despite all the wine, I actually remembered I had a pack of condoms in my bag. Joyce will be most surprised when I tell her her joke gift actually contributed to my evening."

"Joyce knew you were going to Chicago that week?"

"Of course. We're best friends. The scotch is still intact, by the way. You can have it if you feel you need it. Anyway, that's pretty much the end of my story. The next morning, Jean-Paul and I got up early, showered together. I treated him to a nice, soapy handjob. He departed with one of the cleaner penises in Chicago... and my breasts and bottom were pretty clean, too. Then I had breakfast with a couple colleagues, made a few phone calls, interviewed three job candidates, came back to my room, and took a long nap. So that's how I became a whore. Now it's time for me to hear your story."

"You're not a whore: don't be ridiculous. Nobody is. Whores are mythical creatures invented by angry young men whose girlfriends have started going out with someone else. Adulteress, maybe; whore, no."

Kristin smiled and kissed my forehead. "That 'maybe' was an awfully generous interpretation of what happened in Chicago," she said.

I smiled back. "L'amour est fou," I said. "And blind. Je t'aime. It's time for a bathroom break. No more stories until afterwards. And I need another cup of coffee first, too."

**********

I sipped some more coffee, set my mug on the coffee table, and began. "It was late afternoon, Friday a week ago. I had just gotten home from work. I was lonely and also horny--you were still nine hundred miles away. I was checking out some erotica, let's call it, on the Internet when the doorbell rang. Fortunately, I was still presentable. It was Joyce, come to pick you up for the Home Show. I invited her in, and we sat on the sofa and talked for a couple minutes.

"I have to say she was looking even lovelier than usual. She had a nicely tailored blouse that didn't do her figure any harm at all, and her trousers fit nicely, too. Hair looking nice, just a little makeup, lipstick. She seemed dismayed to learn that you were in a different time zone at the moment. She had purchased two tickets to the Home Show at the XL Center downtown, and she thought you were coming with her. The show closes at 8, and she really needs someone to accompany her because she's impulsive and really needs a cool head to offer a second opinion, lest she discover she's just committed to purchase nine thousand dollars worth of onyx countertops or something.

"Well, I've got nothing better to do that evening, and as noted I am feeling lonely. And I'm sure you've surmised by now that Joyce has made the occasional appearance in my fantasies. Not that I would ever put the make on my wife's best friend... I think.... Anyway, even though I've been avoiding crowded public spaces, emotion wins out over reason, so I grab a mask, and we head downtown.

"The Home Show was every bit as uninteresting as I had predicted, but I tagged along as Joyce examined all sorts of exotic countertops and induction stoves and Internet-connected curtain rods and exorbitantly expensive bathroom appliances. Including the latest bidet-toilet combination, which costs five thousand dollars plus whatever it takes to install an electrical outlet behind it and probably run a hot water line over. I think I'll cross that one off my Christmas list.

"After an hour Joyce has had enough, and she invites me back to her house for dinner. She says she has some leftover braised beef she can heat up, so dinner is no problem at all. Of course I said yes.

"So we're in her living room. Would I care for a drink before dinner? Sure. She goes down to the basement and comes up with a bottle of what proves to be extremely good Bordeaux--Chateau Leoville-Barton it was. I forget the vintage, but it was a good one. Wonderful wine. After a couple of glasses apiece--still without any dinner--we were feeling very mellow and very close, and the conversation was getting quite personal. Apparently I had played a role in her fantasies too, and wouldn't a threesome be lovely some day? I confess: by this point a little fondling was involved, and soon came some rather hesitant but genuine kissing."

"Genuine kissing?" Kristin broke in. "Is there artificial kissing?"

I did unto her as she had done unto me. I shot her a look and ignored her. Unfortunately, she didn't have a testicle I could snap a finger on.

"Then, well, the kissing became less hesitant," I continued, "and hands started wandering a little more. About the time my erection became too obvious to ignore, Joyce looked me in the eye, licked her lips, and said, 'Gordon, Kristin owes me a lot of favors, some of them big ones. Probably she owes you the same. I am 100 percent, totally confident that she will forgive and forget what is going to happen next.'

"That line was so graceful, I was stunned. I just sat there for a minute and marvelled at her deft control of language. No one had ever used so graceful a pickup line on me. By the time I snapped back to reality, my shirt was off, my pants were lowered, and Joyce was enacting a racist stereotype. The one attributing incredible oral skills to Jewish girls."

"According to the same racist stereotype," Kristin advised, "those skills are said to vanish at the altar."

"Thank you for the heads-up," I replied. "I'll take care not to marry her. Anyway, as tends to happen, one thing led to another...."

"You had sex with my best friend," Kristin shrewdly concluded.

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"And how is she in bed?"

"I have no idea. We never got close to a bed."

"All right. How is she on her living room carpet?"

"Not better than you."

"I asked you a question, Gordon."

"Marvellous. Exquisite. Impressive. A fast learner, too. Not to mention her physical beauty. Those beautiful breasts, with those thick, brown nipples. That slim waist, beautifully curved bottom..."

"Don't forget that thick patch of dark, curly pubic hair. With an increasing amount of natural gray mixed in."

"Meow!" I said. "How do you know about that, anyway?"

"Gordon, Joyce and I are best friends."

"I understand the literal meaning of the term," I said. "I'm still working on understanding all the implications. Look, technically, I do not know how Joyce is in bed. If I wanted to find out the answer, would the simplest way be just to ask you?"

"That would save you some time and trouble, yes."

"How is she in bed?"

"Wonderful. Just like she is on the carpet."

"You put her up to this, didn't you? Seducing me last Friday."

"'Seducing' implies more effort than apparently it took."

I gave her a scowl. "I perceive a question being dodged."

Kristin sighed. "The short answer is yes. I was worried Thursday, not to mention feeling guilty about Jean-Paul. The spouse always finds out about infidelity, eventually, and I knew the absolute best way for you to find out would be to hear of it first from me, and sooner rather than later.

"I wasn't sure of how badly you would react, couldn't predict how hurt you might be. I thought it might go easier--thought you might be more understanding and more forgiving--if you too had had the experience of straying. Maybe that was silly of me. I think I underestimated your love for me and your ability to forgive people you love. But Thursday morning I still wasn't thinking very clearly. I feel sorry for the three job candidates I interviewed.

"Joyce told it to you backwards," Kristin continued. "She's the one who owes me a whole pot of favors, including a few big ones. So I called her Thursday morning and asked for a big one in return. It didn't take much persuasion to get her to sign on. I think you've appeared in her fantasies, too, from time to time, so she probably wasn't lying when she told you that. I left it to Joyce to work out the details. The Home Show tickets were pretty darn clever, I think. I'm sure Joyce doesn't want a five-thousand-dollar bidet any more than you do. When did you catch on to the plot?"

"Just this morning," I said. "When you told me about the condoms. After making and attaching a ribbon bow to a joke going-away present, then giving it to you, Joyce could hardly be surprised to hear you were out of town. That doesn't prove that you were the mastermind, but I could now see something fishy in the preliminaries to my seduction. Of course, this could have been all Joyce's doing, behind your back. In any case, it worked splendidly."