The plan was for life to bring her my way; and somehow, it did, that magic of love or the frisson of unresolved desires, or the mystical ephemera of fleeting perfection where you thought she was the perfect one for you, how could that have been without even knowing anything at all? When it came down to it (orienting my life to maybe run into her), I was ready to go, almost socio-pathically so. She once joked about being a serial killer (and I half take her seriously) and that being as it may, I can’t explain, but we share a sense of humor and that’s so rare to find. Brim escalation. I keep showing up with crazier and crazier hats with higher and higher brims, hence the brimsmanship… She got it, I got it, we both got it and that was it except she had it bad before then and I didn’t really know about what she knew about me and her relative fidelity to the stalker motif and our war and everything that could have gone wrong, going wrong and still being in love with her in a weird, non-binding kind of way, like I’m going out of my way to avoid doing anything positive to get this person and lo and behold, she’s there in the orbit (doubtlessly) and I’m going to see her at some point and more importantly, she’s going to see me. She’s going to see me now, she’s going to see me following thru doing what I said I would do, she will see something else too, the gardens we are planning, and my partner (Marina is her name, Marina is my partner, I have to say this so I can believe it because she is something else on her own, that’s the whole travesty of this thing). Marina. Omg, Marina, where do you start with that one? Marina is older than her, the one with the fairly common given name and doubtlessly wedded with children and safely ensconced in suburbia, tucked into her duplex with her pets and safe career until remote work came and there were rumbles about the past and I said to myself, will I ever see her? I know she sees me, I can feel it when she’s been around, or I think she has been around. I don’t trust it; I think I see her from behind, her petite form and perfect bob hair, think Legally Blonde if you will for a second, Elle Woods is a role model and I can appreciate being looked at as something less than for having delicate features. I wanted to take my pot pills and trip out on her all day (provoking three shades of purple to rush to her temples; the girl blushed and I sighed, poor dear) and I’m still a little remiss that I don’t do just that, that we can’t be together, that there was some imaginary prohibition that she instituted over her own heart. That I would be her hearts desire if she could only let it happen that way. And of course, how is it with Marina? I once went into the deli to get something and Marina was holding a child. She called out to me from where she was, spontaneously, half off the beat as if to show me something, her holding a child looking abashed and glowing, concupiscent as can be and apparently oblivious to the implied suggestion of agency that I dared not prolong in case it turned out to be a bridge too far into the full catastrophe of my philosophy on life. I wanted life to bring us into proximity and it did. When the pandemic hit I went back to work at the deli to help Marina and I agreed to let her fall in love with me as long as I was able to return to my place of worship for this other soul. She knows who it is but she won’t say. Right from the start, she won’t say anything about her, they know each other, they are both Polish, it’s not that. She just won’t have it as a possibility, tenacious, radical and besotted and also cold, calm in control and very nearly homicidal in her remonstrance. That close and that far, and a devil in the house if you will. I’m the devil. We have a bit of a volcanic relationship and I mind my vowels when I’m around her, making sure everything I say is well thought out and succinct and only carries the requisite amount of information as she says, I grudgingly inform her of my whereabouts and wherefores and then she asks me if I need money. Do you need money I should ask her, but she’s actually fine even if some of her tenants aren’t paying her rent right now. She says she can understand it but at some point she’s just going to change the fucking locks. It has to go for a while, I said, before that happens. Oh for sure, she said. But you know how it is, you let people take advantage of you…
I can relate to that. And I get that we used to fight. I once showed up to pick up some kosher salt and she was on the phone with someone and said “he’s here” and I was like, oh shit, my reputation precedes me. Somehow, someway, it all got turned around over the years and I ended up working for her, and even though she fired me for good reason, the work environment was toxic. Now, with the pandemic still lurking, she is watching her life flash before her eyes and somehow needs to fulfill her most rational desire, which is to have a kid. With someone whom she admires the genetic material. That is her choice. I don’t necessarily get to to choose in this, if you know what women are like. I remember thinking about her, the other one, not Marina, that I would like to impregnate her and she is one of only a very few number of women I could imagine having a baby with. I’m just not that kind of guy to have a family even if most of my friends turned into family men at some juncture of their time away from the adolescent home. We were at war and then the pandemic came and she needed me and she apologized in her own way by hitting on me and telling me that, like every other serious relationship I have ever had, it was just going to happen like she said it was. That’s how women are with me or they can be. I went thru a long time of not having that, of having no women choose to be with me because they weren’t allowed to be with me for whatever reason the prohibition on theirs hearts was mandated by some secret provenance of destiny that chose to denial over requited desire. It was surprising that she actually made the play but like I said, her life was flashing and her biological clock said fuck yeah and so we fucked on the floor and I came inside her like she wanted me to and she got what she wanted up front, or maybe, she did, I don’t know because that was two months ago and she’s not showing. I have to be a sleuth and look at her panty line in the morning to see if she’s wearing a tampon. I try not to fuck her although I love going down on her, it’s so much fun to do and yes, we enjoy the sex but somehow don’t trust each other with it, it’s too potent for us right now. She’s scorched after a long time away from the flame. I know the feeling. I try not to think of the Other one such as she is an other in our conjugal home, the pre-nup looming or at least, our common-nup because I’m not marrying the girl, I refuse to get married, but a simple and affectionate common law ceremony would be fine. And then of course there is the family that is a little aghast at what she’s doing. It’s one of things when you are on the line, and it’s an existential threat, you don’t see danger in the same terms any more. In the past she would have seen and been like, sure but no fucking way man, and now it’s like, perfect deal because she gets where I’ve been wasted for my life and just need that little bit of space to perform romantic courtesies and amicable companionship with plenty of space built in. I just have a heart that is partially occupied, not all of it willingly, either. I don’t even try to shake my obsession with this other girl. I can’t not love her. It’s not possible. But what is the nature of that love and how should it be expressed? I’m not trying to kill it anymore (the love that is), and neither is she, because she’s moved on. I just want to think the inevitable jogging of her senses will be worth it. And of course, being with Marina her jaw will drop, to actually see us getting along as equals as peers and me as probably not wearing the pants not grudgingly as in we work it out.
Or maybe we don’t because she is such a fucking bitch.
I love bitchy women but holy fuck, the art of giving space and getting the space you need is paramount in this life. I know the stress is hard but she’s on another level of demagoguery when it comes to doling out punishment for relative and innocuous sins of provenance. Yes, there was water that landed on the pristine counter top, and it stained, hmmm, maybe get a filter? Marina, relax, calm down, I did it, get a filter because there is hard water in the pipes; it’s the minerals that are staining it, not me.
Kiss kiss, relax, have a glass of wine. I could argue with you all night.
We are going to lay down later on?
Yes, and what are you doing right now? Chores I gave you or are you doing reading for your podcast?
I’m reading for the podcast I said daintily, dabbing at my chin with a napkin and then giving in and having a slug of wine. I have to talk professionally about what I’m doing for harm reduction and psychedelic therapy and all the excursions and pardon me, the incursions we make into people’s trauma.
I find you interesting, she said. I wouldn’t have you around me if I wasn’t a little curious as to how you got to be the way you are.
Who is saying that you even know that?
I know more than you will give me credit for, I think.
I kissed Marina’s toe and then her feet and her ankles, trailing fingers on her calves, darting up her thighs, looking her straight in the eye, waiting for when her pupils narrowed to slits and she flicked her head like a concubine and gave that almost panting half comic come hither sigh an almost sibilant exhortation of want, slavering naturally over what was to come. We have an inane courtship, it’s completely telematically overshadowed by the fact that I’m someone that people fixated on and now she has me up close and personal and likes to set all the limits to suit her own personal taste. Or what she thought were her limits (taste is personal, as they say) because a little bit of molly or a line of that good blow I can get her to be nuclear powered in her solar plexus and her pink yoni, on her back moaning while I suck her clitoris and gently finger her with my mouth on her nipples. After the first near miss I haven’t penetrated her and I am happy to suffer from ED for the sake of getting pills that I know will work but somehow, sadly, only with a condom on. She’s going to have to come out with it and say it. I want you to put a fucking baby in me for gods sake, can you just do that? I want to hear her scream that before I even contemplate an attempt at having a child with this woman. I can see it and I forget about asking the Other girl to marry me online, on my blog, briefly, and of course, how completely insane it is to live in these crosswinds because I’m so close to losing her to her evil friends that are so cloying when they are with me and then cut me to ribbons afterwards. She stands up for me, after a fashion, but likely she won’t after a while, and they will win, and I will lose her and that’s me admitting that I like her, which I don’t want to do. So I have to fight with her about getting her pregnant because after the first time when I came inside her, there was no way I was consciously taking that risk again. I just did it because I knew that’s what she wanted and she didn’t say otherwise. This girl, she is so crafty and so vulnerable and I don’t want to interfere with her relationship to a child, given that I have noticed that new mothers, don’t really want men near their kids necessarily speaking. It’s not negative, although it could be; it’s that they are involved with something that is made of them and it was crazy to even get it out of her body. Not as much fun as getting it in, but at the same time, child birth can be like the most ecstatic thing that ever happens to you, given the level of dilation and pain that comes with giving birth. I give her head and then I leave her alone. She sucks my dick and I give her more head, this time, more adventurous head than before and that gets an okay to lick her asshole. Maybe we can roleplay or she can peg me. She’s knows she has it, the key, the mode, the relationship, the handle, and she’s just praying to keep it up in the air for a little longer until she can figure out how to settle it out. Always be closing, honey.