Walk Unafraid

 

By

Donna M.

 

A hand covered the lens when the video started.  As the hand pulled away, you could clearly see the wedding band.  It was a man�s hand.  �This is gonna be fun,� said the voice that belonged to the man with the hand, since it was loud from being so close to the camera.  �We�ll watch this again and again,� he said.  �Our own porn.�

A woman�s voice answered with, �Come here quick.  I want you.�

Once he moved away from the camera, he proved to be naked.  He walked to the bed the camera was aimed at.  His cock was semi-erect.  The woman was kneeling on the bed and had her arms outstretched waiting for him to join her.  She had the small, pointed breasts often seen on a supermodel; the ones that naturally look good in a silk blouse and no bra.  The man had a slight pot belly, but otherwise would look fit to the casual observer.

The man offered his cock to her and she sucked it for a while.  No deep-throat, but it looked like she did a credible job nonetheless.

After some lighthearted banter, he lay on his back and she mounted him.  Her sinewy body moved in a fluid, aerobic rhythm.  She went up, rocked forward, slid back down, and rocked her hips backward.  She repeated the motion as if in a ballet.  Up, forward, down, back.  Up, forward, down, back.  No condom was used; his cock glistened from her natural lubrication.

�Oh baby, it feels so good.  I�m not gonna last long like this,� the man said.

It appeared he came before she did.  Her orgasm seemed forced, like maybe she embellished it for the camera. When she fell to her back beside him, the woman asked, �When can we be together again?�

He didn�t answer her, though they kissed for a long time.  She tried but couldn�t get him up again, finally looking toward the camera and smiling sheepishly.  �You want me to turn it off?� she said.  As she walked to the camera, one couldn�t help but admire her body, all cat-like muscle, exuding raw sexuality.

How could I hate him for it?

____________

 

Something was up.  My women�s intuition was seldom proven wrong.  Deep down inside of me I felt it.  I knew something terrible had just happened.  My immediate worry was the kids.  Both were due home from school shortly.  Did something happen on the way home, a bus crash for instance?  No mom is served by this kind of worrying.  I then thought of my mom, who hadn�t been well for a while.  I thought of Drew on his business trip, but that was silly.

When the kids showed up without incident, I chalked it up as foolishness and went about the business of making dinner.  The doorbell ringing an hour later changed everything.

�Are you Mrs. Andrew Pernell?� The older of the two stern-looking gentlemen asked after I answered the door.

�Yes�what can I do for you?�

�May we come in?� 

�Why?�  Then I thought about my earlier sense of dread.  �Something happened, didn�t it?  Drew?�

�Please let us come in and we�ll explain.�  They did, and then I cried forever.

They explained that they were Massachusetts State Police detectives.  My husband had been in a terrible traffic accident outside Hartford and was killed.  I broke.  The kids heard me crying and came to my rescue, and began bawling themselves.

�We�re sorry to have to ask questions at a time like this, Mrs. Pernell, but we need to clear up some loose ends.  Your husband, Andrew�you call him Drew, Ma�am?�was in the Hartford area on business, is that correct?�

�Yes, he�s an Insurance industry executive.�  I told them the name of his company.

�Do you happen to know if he was on this trip alone?�

I shooed the kids away, in their sorrow I didn�t want them to hear any more of the tragic details; and in reality, I didn�t either.  �Of course; why do you ask?  It was a car accident�that�s what you said.�

�Yes Ma�am, it was.  The reason we�re asking these questions is that your husband was not alone in the automobile when it went off the road.  A woman was also in the car, and she is also deceased.�

�A woman?  Who was she?�

�That�s what we�re trying to figure out, Mrs. Pernell.  We were hoping�and I know this may be difficult on top of the heartbreak you�re already suffering�that you may know of this woman, since we could not locate her identification at the scene.  Could your husband�ah�� he stopped and for the first time lost eye contact with me, �could he have been having a relationship with this woman?�

�A relationship?  You mean like an affair?�  That was me, left to tearfully lobbing silly questions back at them.

The second cop spoke up for the first time.  �Ma�am, the way the bodies�er�I�m sorry Ma�am�the way they were found in the wreckage would suggest that she may have been performing�fellatio�on your husband, and perhaps that may have precipitated the�accident.�  Now I knew who played �Bad Cop� with these two.

�GET OUT!� I screamed, pointing to the door.  �Drew is�was a good man and he would never cheat on me like that, never!�

They left, not before the older one gave me his business card.  �If you think of anything that could help us and the Connecticut State Police clear this up, please give me a call.  We�re sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pernell.�

If he�d added �Have a nice day� I would have slugged him.

All I could do was cry.

____________

 

The day before Drew�s funeral, I called the detective who gave me his card.  �Detective Smithson,� he answered.  �How may I help you?�

�I�m sorry to bother you, Detective.  This is Sarah Pernell.  I was wondering if you found out who the woman was that was in the car with Drew.�

He didn�t answer for a long time, making me wonder if the call had been dropped.  Finally, he said, �Mrs. Pernell�Sarah, you have to move on.�  Another pause.  �The answer to your question is yes, we discovered her identity, but that�s all I�m allowed to tell you.  Please, there�s nothing you can do now.  Bury your husband.  Hug and protect your beautiful children.  Move on.�

I knew he meant well, but I wasn�t sure if I could ever �move on� with the knowledge that my husband had been cheating on me, and the other woman died with him.  I needed to know the whole truth, even if it opened the wounds.

The funeral was a painful event.  Through all the kind and comforting words, I saw it in their eyes.  They all looked at me like damaged goods.  After all, one cannot stop the rumor mill.  I didn�t break down once.  At the cemetery, I spent a few moments alone, having sent the kids along with my sister. 

Under my breath, I said to the casket �How could you do this to me?�

When a voice answered, I nearly fainted.

A man was standing behind me.  The stranger said, �I�m sorry for startling you like that, Mrs. Pernell.  My name is Philip Boudreau.�

�Should I know you, Mr. Boudreau?�

�No, you don�t know me, and it�s obvious the cops never told you, or you would�ve recognized my name.�

�I don�t understand.�

�It was my wife who died in the same accident.�

I stood there speechless.  This poor man was in the same boat I was, probably questioning everything about his marriage�as I was.  Then my sympathy turned to anger.  �Did you know?  Did you know they were screwing around?�

�No, I didn�t.  I was as shocked and hurt as you probably were.�

�Why are you here then?�

�I�m not sure of my motivation, actually.  I guess I just wanted to meet you, offer my condolences, see if you had any more information than I do, but it sounds like you don�t.�

�What was her name?  I need to know that little bit, that�s all.�

�Her name was Alex, short for Alexandria.�

�Do you have any children, Mr. Boudreau?�

�Please call me Phil.  No we don�t, but I saw your two.  They look precious, Mrs. Pernell.  I�m so sorry everything came to this.�

�I�m Sarah.  Yes, my kids are special, and they�re taking the loss of their father very hard.�

�Yes, I can imagine.  Alex never really wanted kids, and it used to bother me, but now I�m glad we never did.  She hurt me tremendously; I�d hate to think about how kids take stuff like this.�  He paused, and then added �Do your kids know�about�you know, him being with my wife?�

�Certainly not.  I�m hurting, but they don�t need to carry that burden like I am.�

�You probably have to go to whatever passes as a bereavement dinner nowadays.  See your kids, family.�  He pulled a business card out of his wallet.  �Please call me sometime, if you need someone to talk to or a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.  I sure wish I had someone,� he said wistfully, before saying goodbye and walking away.

He seemed like a nice man, handsome in a rugged way.  Why would any woman turn away from him for another?  As I walked to my car, I contemplated the same question about me.  I wasn�t a slouch.  I worked at keeping my figure even after two kids.  I gave all of me in bed.  Why did Drew go elsewhere?  What did he find that I couldn�t give him?  I supposed these were the eternal questions of every scorned spouse, and Philip was certainly asking himself these questions too.

As I drove to my sister�s house, I envisioned calling Mr. Boudreau, not for a shoulder to cry on, but to find out more about the affair, since I suspected he knew more about things than I did.

____________

 

I was going through Drew�s stuff, more to pass time rather than anything else, even though I knew sooner or later I�d have to deal with clearing everything out.  The memories were too painful.  I found the untitled DVD under some sweatshirts.  I waited until the kids were out before loading it into the player.  Did I really want to see this? I thought, as my finger hovered over the remote.

�Damn you!� I shouted at the screen, before bawling my eyes out.  At least my tears blurred the images playing on my television.  I forced myself to watch the whole thing.  The sex was hard enough to watch, but their intimacy stung more.  If she weren�t already dead I�d kill her.  Her athletic body was nice, but I didn�t see anything else that made her special.  Of course, that�s the opinion of the scorned wife, I had to admit.  I was as pretty.  I could fuck like that.  I never turned him down.  I bore his children.

I cried even harder as the video ended.

I got up the nerve to call Philip Boudreau.  He sounded genuinely happy to hear my voice, so like me he probably was being unconsciously snubbed by friends, as if widower-hood or extra-marital affairs were diseases to be caught.  He invited me to meet him for coffee and I agreed.

Seated at a corner table of the coffee shop, away from other patrons, I asked the pointed question, �What do you know about the whole thing that I don�t?�

He stared into his coffee cup for a while before answering.  �I don�t think I know anything more than what you do.  I guess your Andrew and my Alex had been having an affair for quite a while.  Evidently, they met at the gym where she worked and he worked out.�  He hesitated, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a bad memory.  �Sparks flew, yadda, yadda,� he said derisively.  �I thought we had a great marriage.  Your husband must have given her something I couldn�t.  Maybe I wasn�t physical enough for her�in bed.  Maybe�ah, shit.�  Tears ran down his cheek.  �I�m sorry, Sarah.  I�m rambling on like I�m the only one who lost something.  You lost more; your children�s father.�

I reached across the table and took his hand in mine.  �That�s okay.  We both lost too much.  Way too much.  I thought about it, and we�re not to blame, either one of us.  I know it.�

�I�m not so sure.  My wife took pride in being this hardbody, working at the gym, having men ogle her all day.  Maybe she felt I didn�t appreciate that part of her enough.  Maybe I kept after her too much about having kids.�

 �Stop all the �maybes,� Phil.  We won�t ever know what drove them together, and away from us.  I�ll throw some �maybes� at you.  Maybe your wife was so vain she wanted to be something other than a wife, and a mother.  Maybe Drew was having one of those proverbial mid-life crises, stupidly proving he was still a man while only proving he was acting like a silly boy.�

He saw my anger, and perhaps realized it fit me better than his gloom fit him, so he remained silent, back to staring into his cooling coffee.   Eventually he said, �The police told me what caused the accident.�

�What caused it?  It was a one-car accident, wasn�t it?�

�They found his pants down and his�you know�out.  She was blowing him.  That�s why they crashed.�

I�d heard it from �Bad Cop� but it still hurt to have it confirmed.  �Why are you telling me this?�

�You said you wanted to know.�  He paused again, like he was summoning courage to continue.   �I demanded to see Alex�s autopsy report.  They found �copious amounts of semen� in her mouth and esophagus.  At least Drew died a happy man.  She liked to brag to men she met that she was a swallower.�

�I guess I can be the one to vent your anger at.  I�m here�convenient.�  It was my turn to cry.

He squeezed my hand.  I�d forgotten all about clutching his.  �I�m sorry, Sarah.  You�re right.  I shouldn�t be venting my anger at you.  It�s just that I never ever wanted anyone but Alex.  I loved her so much.  The thought of cheating on her was inconceivable; as I�m sure you never would have cheated on your husband.�

He was right.  I never did.  I never would have.

____________

 

My daughter always had been the inquisitive one.  �How come Daddy was with that other lady when he crashed?� she asked me one day.  �Kids at school said some bad things.�

�Oh honey, don�t listen to what kids say at school.  Your dad was a good man, and that lady worked with him sometimes, that�s all.�  The white lie wasn�t so white.  I hoped she didn�t see right through me, and I certainly didn�t ask what those �bad things� were.  Thankfully my son asked no questions, though he was brooding a lot.  I think that worried me more.

One night later that week as I was getting ready for bed, everything came crashing down around me.  I looked at the empty bed and thought about how lonely I was, particularly missing sex with Drew.  I always thought our sex life had been great, though he must have found me deficient in some way.  I�d always been an active participant in bed.  Was there something she did that I wouldn�t do?  I�d always been a vocal lover, so when I climaxed he knew it.  Was I too loud, or not loud enough?  I never liked anal sex.  Did she?  Was that it? 

I searched and found an old vibrator.  The batteries were still good.  Coming up with the only way to bring my husband back into our marital bed, I slipped the DVD into the bedroom player and turned on the television.  I watched him and pretended it was me he was fucking.  The vibrator worked wonders along with my visually-supplemented imagination.  I exploded with the first orgasm I�d had in a long time, my legs and hips writhing wildly, stifling my screams as best I could so the kids wouldn�t hear me.

And then I cried; something I was doing quite a bit of.  It was a long while before I fell asleep.

In the morning, I took stock of where I was in my grief.  I guess I�d passed through the �shock and denial� stage and maybe the �guilt� stage as well.  If I remembered the seven stages well enough the next was �anger.�  Yes, I was pissed at what was taken from me and my kids.  �Why me?� was a steady lamentation.  Yet with all my anger and despair, I still wondered about Philip Boudreau and how he was coping.  Wasn�t �bargaining� part of the third stage of grief?

I called Phil the following day.  After some awkward small talk I asked him to meet me for another coffee.  He suggested lunch instead.

We met at a small deli across from his office.  �I hope you don�t mind me saying it, but you�re looking good�better somehow.  I wish I could say the same for myself.�

�Philip, I�d say you�re probably fooling everyone like I am.�

�I don�t feel like I�m fooling anyone, except maybe myself.�

While we ate, he wanted to know how my kids were doing.  I explained, at least from my meager observations, how I thought they were coping.  �My daughter said there are some rumors floating around her school.  Kids can be pretty mean.�

�I wouldn�t know,� he said.

There it was, his pain wrapped up in what could have been, not what had been lost.  He didn�t have kids to worry about.  He�s questioning if he ever would.  I thought about the DVD.  I now wondered if the video had been her idea, not Drew�s; a vanity I was beginning to comprehend from his third person accounts.  Her body was her temple, blah-blah-blah.  Children would change her body in ways she couldn�t accept; therefore, no children.  I wouldn�t have liked her much, even ignoring the fact she was screwing around with my husband.  My thoughts returned to the DVD.  Should I offer it to him?  Was that perhaps too sadistic, too cruel?  On the other hand, did he have one too?  Did I need to be cruel to myself and watch it, if he did?

�Phil, I found a DVD hidden under Drew�s clothes.  It was them.�

�A DVD?  You mean a video of them?  Have you watched it?�  He must have recognized the look on my face, because before I could answer, he blurted out, �You mean a sex video, don�t you.�

�Yes, that�s what I mean, and yes, I watched it.�

�Why torture yourself?�

�That�s a silly question.  I bet even now you�re curious enough to watch it; so you can get some to all your �why� questions, even though you won�t find any, let me tell you that.�

�I admire you, Sarah.  You�re a lot stronger than I am.  I�ve been thinking about how messed up I am, and then thinking about what I�d be like if we�d had kids.�

I sighed, �I�m not sure how strong I really am, but I�m trying.  You know, in some strange way watching their little home movie has helped.  I guess in seeing them�maybe�I�understand a little more about why they�clicked, you know what I mean?�

�It didn�t hurt to watch it?� he asked.

�Of course it did the first time, but like I said, it�s helping me understand things, put everything in perspective.�

He chuckled a bit.  �It�s not for me to delve into your reasons for watching it more than once, though it sounds the same as when people slow down to gawk at a car crash.�  He saw my gaping expression, for he quickly added, �I�m sorry for using that simile.  That was a stupid, careless slip.�

 �But I got your point anyway,� I said after a pause.  �I viewed it as therapy, to sort of get by all my �why� questions.�

�And now you want to know if I�ll watch it, right?�  He watched me nod, then said, �Okay, I�ll torture myself more than I have been, but if you�re strong enough then I have to be strong too.�

If he was surprised when I pulled the DVD from my purse, he didn�t show it.  I told him about thinking of the Seven Stages of Grief.  �I think I�m in the fourth stage, reflection, now.  I passed anger and despair a while ago.�

�You�re quite a woman, Sarah.  Why Drew felt he needed someone else is beyond me.�

�Maybe the basic �why� questions are unanswerable, Phil.  Like that one.�

�I believe I�m still in the anger stage, but I also vaguely remember the fourth stage as also being isolation, depression.  Don�t let that happen to you, Sarah.  Maybe we can help each other.�

I put my hand on his again.  I said, �Maybe we can.�

____________

 

Contrary to Philip�s belief on how strong I was, I was having a tough time moving forward.  Every friend, every relative threw advice at me like confetti at a parade.  No matter their encouraging words, all that was accomplished was me feeling more isolated, more alone every passing day.  I tried to keep up a brave face for the kids, but they were seeing the cracks in the foundation.  Hell, they were stronger than I ever could be.

I thought of the old phrase, misery loves company.  With no one else to turn to, I figured I�d cry on Philip Boudreau�s shoulder.  I called him.

He invited me to his house this time.  I wasn�t sure if I could enter the place where -she- lived, but I sucked it up and went.  Unlike my sister, who kept insisting I was losing too much weight, and my neighbor, who said I looked tired and wondered openly if I was sleeping enough, Phil said the opposite, telling me I looked well.  He didn�t use words like �radiant� or �dazzling� or �glowing� yet him saying �well� was good enough for me.

On the other hand, he looked like shit.

�You were right, but I sort of knew that before watching the DVD.  Alex was always the exhibitionist.  I mean, she was so damned proud of her body, and maybe I didn�t acknowledge it enough,� he said after fixing me a drink.  �Yeah, there was some intimacy between them in the video, but that�s what the sex looked like to me�her showing off.�

I took a sip of my drink, and then said, �I had the same impression.�

He continued, �I beat myself up badly watching that thing, it was like torture.  All the self-reproach on why I didn�t tell her how great she looked more often, or why I didn�t spend more time in the gym.  See, more �whys.��

I laughed a little.  �Don�t beat yourself up over the gym part.  Drew may have frequented the gym but he was no Adonis, that�s for sure.  I think I�m in better shape than he ever was.�

�And that�s what bothers you the most, isn�t it?  You worked hard to stay in shape for him even after having two kids and he screws around with the gym instructor.�

He was right, but of course that wasn�t all of it.  �The sex itself hurt.�  I felt tears forming, but I had to say it aloud.  �He had no reason to cheat on me!  I wasn�t some frigid wife.  I love sex.  I never turned him down, whatever he wanted, because I LOVED it all!  And the bastard still wasn�t satisfied!�  My tears fell unashamedly.

He came to me and hugged me.  �Maybe you�re not so far along in your grief stages as you think you are,� he whispered.

I sensed something in the hug that was more than consolation.  I delicately pulled away before the inevitable.  �Maybe you�re right, Phil.  Maybe I do need to grieve a while longer.�  We went back to our drinks, silently lost in our own thoughts.  Eventually it was time for me to leave.  He asked if I wanted the DVD back.  I said, �Destroy it, burn it, jerk-off to it, do whatever you want but I don�t want it back.�

I�d hurt him, and I�d confirmed what he said about my progress through the stages.  As I left his door, he said, �It won�t mean anything, but if I had been your husband, I never would have cheated on you.�

He was wrong though.  Even said in such a pathetic manner, it did mean something to me.

____________

 

My family, especially my sister kept making nagging suggestions that I had to �carry on� with my life, which in their vernacular meant find another man.  I wanted to kill them all.  However, they may have been reading my mind on both parts. 

On the �kill them all� part, they pretty much began leaving me alone, like I was a leper.  Ever since the funeral, my husband�s family hadn�t any contact with me at all.  I�d heard they blamed me, of course.  So be it.

On the �another man� part, they must have sensed something before they abandoned me.  Since my college years I�d never gone this long with getting laid.  I splurged and bought myself some exotic sex toys, masturbating constantly.  Thinking of Drew and Alex�s video still had some power, and I brought myself to some pretty powerful orgasms.  But it wasn�t sex.  It wasn�t with the intimacy and warmth a loving bed partner could provide.

That�s not what I needed.  I needed my old life back.  I needed to go back to a time my kids were innocent and had fun.  I needed to go back to a time when I didn�t feel so alone.  I needed normal, whatever the fuck that was.  I had to face facts, though.  Normal wasn�t walking through that door anytime soon.  Drew stole it from me.

If there could be a silver lining to this storm cloud, it was that I spent more time with the kids.  Unlike their mom, who tried to hide the pain, they were like open books.  I supposed that was a good thing, since when they were particularly troubled I saw it right away and could help, at least a little.  But nobody was there to help me.  The lightning in the storm cloud was all the well-meaning but senseless friends who tried to hook me up with someone.  Damn it, it was too soon; the cuts hadn�t healed yet, if they ever would.  That damned fourth stage of grief.  I wondered if I�d ever get beyond the loneliness, the depression.  

When Christopher Marlowe coined the phrase �misery loves company� he knew what he was talking about.  Pathetically, the only person I could relate to was Philip Boudreau, and he wasn�t doing any better in the grief department than I was.  What could be worse than two sad, lonely people pitifully crying on each other�s shoulder?

That�s what we did on our next �date.�  We both cried.  I had to admit he looked better than the last time I saw him.  He seemed to be more accepting of things, though he was still deeply grieving as I was.  This meeting was a little more awkward since we were at my house and I introduced him to my kids.  I could see it in their faces, all the questions, all the uncertainties, and I knew I�d have a lot to explain later.

�I�m glad we could get together and talk,� he said.  �I�ve been trying to get moving again; that�s the best way to describe it I think.  Get moving.  I�ve been going to the gym myself, a different one than where Alex worked, and trying to be more active, you know, move on with my life.�

All I could think was that he�d slipped back into denial.  Listening to him reminded me of when I loaded myself with busy-work to keep me from facing my pain.  �Stop, Phil, stop,� I said, cutting him off.  �That�s not �moving on,� that�s hiding.  I know.  I�ve been there.�

Just then he reminded me of an injured puppy, cute and absolutely begging for care and affection.  �I thought you�d understand,� he said.

�The one thing I�ve come to understand is that we can�t keep on being this �Mutual Commiseration Society.�   I like you, Phil, and I�m not sure if I�ve ever told you this but you deserved someone better than Alex, You�re too good a man to sacrifice yourself to be married to someone so self-centered as she must have been.�

�Don�t say that!  She was a good woman.�

�I�m sorry.  I didn�t mean to hurt you, but look what she did to you.  If she was screwing around with Drew she had to have been screwing around with other men too.  You had to have had those thoughts, right?"

I thought he was going to cry, but instead he soberly said, �Have you�are you seeing someone?�

�Ah, no,� I answered.  Was he going to take this where I thought it would go?

�Me neither, but I feel so alone, dammit.  Nights have been especially tough.�

He�s telling ME?!  I�ve been making love to my vibrator almost every night.  �Mine too,� I said.

�But like you said, Sarah, no more �Mutual Commiseration Society� here.  We�ll both survive this.  We will.�

�Yes, we will.�  I wasn�t quite sure of myself, but what else could I say?

�You�re a special lady, Sarah.  I�d like to get to know you better.�  Was he blushing?

�I appreciate you saying that.  You�re sweet, but based on what we were just talking about I don�t think that�s a good idea.  Getting to know me better sounds too much like romance and frankly neither one of us is ready for that yet.�

�You�re probably right,� he said dejectedly. 

It was right there on his face.  He had been thinking of romance.  With me.  I admit I had some feelings for the guy, feelings besides pity for him being in the same position I was.  He was a handsome man, and he seemed so kind and gentle, which was exactly what I needed.  I�d had idle thoughts recently, wondering what kind of lover he�d be.  I wondered if �kind and gentle� would translate well in bed.  Drew had sometimes been a disinterested lover, and in retrospect I should have seen the signs of narcissism long ago in how he approached sex.  However, Drew�s physicality always did things to me.  I sensed that Phil would be different, but whether that difference would be a plus or a minus I couldn�t guess.

So much for my reservations.  I surrendered to my basest needs, moved toward him and we kissed.  He responded just like I knew he would�as any man would.  I felt the bulge in his pants.  I enjoyed the kiss, the feel of his probing tongue, the warmth of him, but when he cupped my breast, even outside my blouse, I freaked and pulled away.

�It�s not time, Phil.  It�s not time yet.�

I would have rather seen a look of disappointment or frustration on his face instead of what looked like sad resignation.  I was right; it wasn�t yet time for this intimacy for either of us.

____________

 

When we take out insurance, I don�t believe we really anticipate collecting on it.  We don�t buy car insurance imagining our car totaled.  We don�t buy homeowners� insurance picturing our house afire.  We don�t buy life insurance with the anticipation of sudden death.  When I got the call from our insurance carrier, I was taken aback when a figure was mentioned; I had a lot of money coming my way, since Drew�s term policy had been a large one.  He had life insurance coverage from work on top of that, and since the accident had happened while he was on company business, they paid double.  I felt at least one weight lift from my shoulders.  The kids had a college fund.

Dealing with the insurance companies had me wondering if Phil had anything coming in from Alex�s passing.  Strange how some things go through your mind.  See, I knew I cared for the guy somehow.

When I went back to work, I sensed a new normalcy.  The fifth stage of grief is that upward turn; the adjustment to things as they are, not as we wish them to be or as they were in the past.  Along with these new feelings of adjustment, I was feeling better physically.  Many of my various aches and pains vanished as if they were (and may actually have been) psychosomatic.  Another change was that I was hornier than ever.  Bedtime masturbation became a nightly ritual.  One day I even looked up male escorts on the web but found no ads (at least not for straight men) in my area.

I wasn�t sure if it was good timing or bad, but Phil Boudreau chose that time to call me.  �I wanted to check to see how you were doing,� was his intro.  We talked for a while on the phone.  I asked him the same question he asked me, and he replied that he was doing better than expected.  Regardless of his words, he still sounded lonely and depressed.  Finally he got around to what I suspected was the real reason for the call�asking me out on a date.

Weighing all my needs and emotions, I decided to say yes.  His baggage would be a burden (the same baggage I was learning to lose) but a man�s company would be a welcome change.

He took me to one of the finer restaurants, thankfully one Drew and I never frequented.  Through dinner, I thought of my kids at home with a babysitter.  They weren�t happy that I was going out on a date with a man that wasn�t their Daddy.  I knew they hadn�t reconciled his death.  Their �moving on� would be much different than mine, and I�d have to be cognizant of that difference so I wouldn�t hurt them.  Nonetheless, I was on a date.

Dinner was superb, and I had to admit he was sunny and charming throughout.  I didn�t know where this thought put me within the Seven Stages, but tonight I didn�t care if anyone thought poorly of me for it; if he wanted me for dessert, I�d let him have me.  We went to a lounge afterwards and danced to some slow numbers.  Being in the arms of a man again reminded me of how long it had been.  I felt his heat, and I was sure he felt mine.

When we got to his house, he was fidgety and as nervous as hell.  I waited for him to make the first move.  When he didn�t, I went to him and began unbuttoning his shirt.  With his shirt off, I let my dress fall to the floor, and my bra soon followed it.  Maybe the sight of my bare breasts was the shock to bring him back to reality, for only then did he come to me.  We kissed long and deeply; Phil probably as lost in melancholy thought as I was on how long it had been since either of us kissed another.  While we continued, I unfastened his belt and undid his slacks, pushing them down.  The fact that something hard was stressing the waistband of his boxers wasn�t lost on me.  I laughed at another of life�s ironies.  His late wife, the narcissistic lover, had cheated with a man who was several inches shorter in a key department than her husband.  Now the question would be: did he know what to do with its size?

He kicked his pants aside as he bent down and kissed first one then the other of my nipples.  They stiffened immediately.  �I wanted this moment to occur maybe since the first time I met you, but I wasn�t sure of my motivation.�

�Are you sure now?� I asked, as he went back to kissing my breasts and I began sliding his boxers off.

�Oh yes!� he replied.

My panties were now the only thing either one of us had on.   I whispered to him as we walked to the bed, �I�m only going to say her name once and then she won�t be mentioned again.  Alex looked like she was aggressive in bed, but you haven�t seen anything yet.�

You might say I raped him after I slipped off my panties.  I didn�t bother with a condom (I figured he was safe, and frankly I didn�t even think of pregnancy) as I sucked him for a while and then mounted him cowgirl.  I liked it doggie better, but today I wanted to be �on top��in charge of things, and I pushed the psychological reason why out of my mind..  When I found myself mimicking Alex�s movements I�d seen in the video, I changed the rhythm of my humping.  He was mesmerized by my swaying and bouncing breasts.  Silly to admit it, but I was proud of my breasts; after two kids they were still as big and firm as they�d ever been.

�Oh�Jesus�oh�� he groaned.  Okay, so maybe he was cumming before I could get off; I�d give him another chance.

I wanted my favorite position, so when I was able to coax him hard again I got on my hands and knees.  He slid into my cum-filled vagina easily enough and went at me like a madman.  I loved it.  His longer and thicker cock hit places Drew never did.

It was my turn.  �Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh,� I bellowed as a long-needed, sensational contraction overwhelmed me.

He was ebullient in the aftermath of our sex.  I was exhausted.  He dominated the post-coital conversation.  As he talked, I realized my mistake.  Because we were at different points in our grieving, he was stuck at �bargaining��like his attraction to me was a trade of sorts within his own emotions, and that colored his view of what we just did.  I�d turned a corner and looked at our lovemaking as simply what it was�a working through of my unmet needs.  If I had thought it a �pity fuck� or some escape from grief then I would have run the other way.  He was the one looking to escape his despair.

He wanted to shower with me but I said no.  I knew he was confused about the whole evening but there wasn�t much I could do but try to let him down as easily as I could.  Our kiss at my door was almost chaste, and wholly my doing.

____________

 

Phil called me incessantly in the weeks after our date.  I created excuse after excuse not to see him.  I liked the guy, and my feelings for him went beyond pity or transference.

I had a large support network of family and friends, though sometimes it seemed the network was out to short-circuit my recovery.  They meant well, I knew, but they weren�t helping.  I needed to help myself with the reconstruction of my life.  My kids were my rocks, showing a much greater resiliency than I had, so they were my real support.

Phil didn�t have a network.  I wanted to blame him for that, but was it fair?  He was so insecure now, and maybe always had been.  That didn�t mean he was less of a man, and it certainly didn�t excuse his wife�s cheating.  It simply meant he wasn�t the fit for me.

One thing I did do was have him return the DVD.

I watched the video regularly, not as self-punishment anymore, nor even for sexual jollies.  I watched it because it was the best captured glimpse of who Drew was.  When I watched the video, I didn�t see a cheater, I saw the man I loved, in many ways a boy in a man�s body who was constantly in awe of life.  I never wanted to lose the memories of our love in the fog of his last sin.  I wanted our kids to remember a father who loved and nurtured them, not the man who abandoned them so abruptly, and I was the filter through which the memories would flow. 

I watched the video secure in my sensuality.  She may have been a lithe gym rat, but she wasn�t any better a lover than I was and still am.  I watched the video, inevitably masturbating to a superb climax; Drew�s face my focus, nothing else.

Phil Boudreau and I kept in touch.  He still pined for me, not moving beyond the night of our sweet coupling.  I worried about him, but I wouldn�t push him through the stages of his grief like so many tried with me.  I knew some day he�d work things through.  Almost all of us do.

Stage Seven wasn�t �Victory� or �Back to life.�   It was Hope.  It was recognizing the light at the end of the tunnel wasn�t the other train about to hit you.  Early on in grief, as I learned the hard way, one can never regain what was lost.  One can never return to a carefree state again.  Nostalgia has no place in real recovery.  We can only hope for the future as we always did in the past, before our loss.  It�s not about being �happy� again (like so many try to tell you) but it�s about accepting that which has changed your life, and moving on from it�with hope, not gloom.

One day my youngest asked me, �Will Eric be our new Daddy?�

I�d begun dating a nice man I met at church.  (We didn�t really click in the end, but remained friends.)  �Nobody will ever be your new Daddy,� I said to my baby.  �Daddy will always be right here,� pointing to each of our hearts, �and no matter if Mommy likes a man and we spend time together, he�ll never replace your Daddy, ever.�

Later I was listening to an R.E.M. CD called �Up� while fixing dinner.  When the track �Walk Unafraid� played, I thought to myself, that�s it, that�s the way to be back among the living; break away from those constraints, whether self-imposed or otherwise, walking unafraid into the future.

 

�Say "keep within the boundaries if you want to play"
Say "contradiction only makes it harder"
How can I be
What I want to be?
When all I want to do is strip away
These stilled constraints
And crush this charade
Shred this sad masquerade
I don't need no persuading
I'll trip, fall, pick myself up and

 

(Chorus) Walk unafraid�

 

 

Donna M.

© 2011

 

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