Maggie

Meanwhile, Maggie was sitting on the toilet, wadding some toilet paper to wipe herself with when she began to cry, suddenly and without warning; a torrent of tears that she couldn't seem to bring to a halt.

"The fuck?" Maggie said, slightly puzzled over her maudlin situation.

"I know it's him, but why? Could it be he's not like the others?"

Gradually, her tears stopping flowing and it came flooding back to her -- Palo's infidelities and his untimely death. A death that left her with hundreds of unresolved questions -- all forming a gigantic WHY?

"Goddamn them all," she thought, condemning men in general, and that was when she began to cry again, the tears springing out of a livid, stuttering rage that encompassed all the men she'd known. Tears of frustration and pain, mingled with memories of the men she'd loved and almost loved -- all of whom had deceived her, lied to her or cheated on her.

But it all came back to Palo. He was her first true love. She had believed in him more than life itself. After his death she had taken a leave of absence, and her sister had come from Albany and stayed with her for nearly two weeks, during which Maggie had completely isolated her anguish in a dry-eyed silence. She hadn't cried, not a single tear. She simply sat mute, staring out a window at nothing at all for days on end. Her appetite vanished. She lost weight. She got a sore throat that wouldn't go away. It had been a bleak two weeks, a period that seemed in retrospect, hallucinatory.

Then one morning she woke up early, crawled out of bed, and put on a pot of coffee. She drank it alone, her stomach rumbling at the sudden assault of black fluid that somehow signaled the path to a new life. When her sister woke up, Maggie told her to pack her bags because she had booked her on the eleven-thirty flight back to Albany.

That day she began a diet regimen that was intended to rehabilitate her system from its two weeks of fasting and gut-wrenching inner turmoil. She began an exercise program. She called a real estate agent and listed the house that she and Palo had managed to acquire by pooling their salaries. By the end of the week she had moved into the apartment on 44th Street on the East side of Manhattan; her adrenaline-driven recovery owing more to a denial of her emotions than a healing of them. The following Monday she was back at work.

The euphoria of her recovery lasted five weeks, or until she met Palo's best friend, Mark who inadvertently divulged to her that Palo had been seeing at least two other women while living with her. Maggie was more than distraught over this news, but somehow managed to function after that for a month and a half.

Then Maggie met and dated a guy named Ted Rollins. But on the morning after their third date; the date she had decided to sleep with him -- and with his scent still evident on the cotton sheets in her apartment -- she saw him kissing and groping another woman in the park across the street. He had to have left her and flown into the arms of this woman only minutes later.

It was Palo all over again and she curled into a fetal ball and stayed that way for a day and a half. Then, demonstrating that she had more courage than any normal woman, she convinced herself that this was a minor setback to her recovery from Palo and plunged herself into her work.

She avoided contact with her co-workers and returned to her apartment right after work. She ate little and drank more. Left alone, in time she might have taken her own life in despair, but ironically, her need for sex grew stronger with each passing day and finally Maggie succumbed to the call -- only this time it was different -- it was Maggie who did the selecting, stalking the East-side bars for a certain type man -- all of whom bore a striking resemblance to Palo; and fucked them indiscriminately and frantically -- in alleys, doorways, taxi's; under bridges and at their places, but never took them home with her.

That one factor appeared to keep her sanity in check.

She kept a list with their names and numbers, but never called any of them again.

She cut back on her drinking and began to recover her appetite and in time her earlier beauty was restored as her somewhat gaunt features filled out again and her breasts renewed their youthful perkiness and most of all, she began to smile again. And thus Maggie began her slower, sobering, but genuine climb back from her grief.

But nothing was ever the same again.

She began to renew friendships with other women and listened intently to their highs and lows as they spoke guardedly and openly of their own love lives. Always wondering if their lovers were cheating on them and how they were doing it. But she never alluded to these fantasies in their presence, except for the one time with Gwen.

Maggie had been shocked when Gwen revealed to her that her Bernie was only faithful to her in a fashion, but that she accepted his infidelities non-the-less.

When Maggie dared to ask what she meant by this, Gwen told her that Bernie was Bi-sexual and that he loved her and that she was the only woman for him.

"But he goes with men..." Maggie had blurted out before thinking.

"But I'm his woman," Gwen had said. A guy isn't a threat to me. At least I don't see it that way. He uses them and always comes back to me. In fact he tells me about them and I get so hot I have to have him then and there, no matter where we are. We've done it in a booth in a diner in Passaic; in the third row of the movies where dozens of people had to see us; in alleys and on the hood of his car..."

"I've done it in an alley," Maggie said dully and then made some excuse in order to leave Gwen and go home to her apartment.

As a result of that conversation, Palo's infidelities began to haunt her dreams again. Penetrating her sleep with unbidden images of women whose faces she could never see, but whose naked bodies were all too clearly visible in her minds-eye. She dreamed of his tenderness and how he used the same ways of touching to undress the herd of women her imagination created.

Each morning she would awake crying, her eyes matted and crusted with her tears.

And yet, when the alarm woke her that one particular morning; the morning of which her friend Gwen would call and fix her up with a blind date. She awoke disoriented because she had failed to dream of Palo's many women. And with her heart suddenly pounding, she'd wrenched herself off the sheets and stood, unsteady, her champagne colored hair disheveled; and tried to clear her head. Finally she fixed her eyes on a pair of birds flying in a familiar mating ritual just outside her window, and hoped that this was not just a new day, but a new beginning.

She laughed silently and philosophically reflected that if nothing else, she still had hope. Hope was alive in her once more and that was extremely meaningful to her. But trust... trust was another matter entirely.

Of course the date itself was a disaster. But it had gotten off to a good start -- he was handsome and athletic looking; and amusing to talk too. But he got drunk quickly. Usually they lasted until just before they took her home with them -- that is, if they bothered waiting that long. But while he'd behaved badly, he hadn't really offended her; in fact she had been slightly amused when he started kicking over the trash cans, like a little boy having a temper tantrum. Then too, he hadn't brought her to his place at all -- he had taken her home! Not a single one of the many vague men of her memory had done that. He was different! She tried but failed to recall exactly when she'd first noticed that very salient fact.

And of course the next day when he'd called to apologize; his voice had turned her on so fast she was masturbating by the third sentence.

Maggie smiled demurely as she recalled the moment. His voice so husky and sexy... and then she was coming hard and straining to hear his next words as she tried not to give herself away. But she had; and had invited him over, and it had been wonderful, absolutely wonderful. He had exhibited nothing to indicate he was of the same ilk as the others.

"So why did I set that thing up with Leslie?" She asked herself aloud.

"Was I testing him?" She bit her fingernail and frowned. So, why did I do it?"

And as she contemplated her reasons, she replayed the events of the night before and that morning.

They were still frolicking in her bed when Leslie called. 'I just had to tell her how endowed he was. I must have known that would get Leslie hot and bothered. And then I told her how good he was in the sack, and by then poor Leslie was so horny she was jillin' off.'

'Let's see, ' Maggie thought about what had actually transpired. 'By then he was more than interested in our conversation and grabbed the phone from me and started talking to her. What was it he said?'

"Do you want to come to my voice?" 'That was it, ' she said to herself. 'I was the one who told him how sexy his voice was. I was the one told him she was jillin' off over there. And I laughed after he spoke to her; and when he told her he was going to use his dick to slap her breasts he was watching me masturbating, of course I had gotten him so fucking hot he had to say something to her. But he didn't tell her what I was doing... he took a different approach to her, and kept my actions secret.'

In her minds eye, she saw him once again, his mouth close to the receiver, staring at my fingers as they strummed my clitoris and what had he said?

"Shall I have her over to join us?"

'He asked my permission. How many guys would do that?' She thought and mulled it over for a minute or so before reaching a conclusion -- none that she knew.

'And what did I do? I went into a dither, couldn't speak; barely managed to shake my head from side-to-side.

And still in a panic mode, when I found my voice, I didn't tell him to get off the fucking phone and back into bed. No, I had to blab that she lived across the street and he could see her fucking window if he wanted too.

If he wanted too, for fuck's sake, what virile male wouldn't want to look?

And why wouldn't Leslie scurry, like the fucking minx she is, right over to the window to show her body off to him?

Maggie spoke aloud. "Don't forget, you were enjoying the show as much as he was. Hadn't I told him it was sensational? And that I never thought Leslie would put her pussy; her shaven pussy at that, against the window for half of Manhattan to see?"

"And when the poor bastard asked if Leslie could come over and join us, what did I say? That I wouldn't share her with him, that's what."

After a moment's reflection, she thought, 'And with no argument he'd screwed my brains out. And he'd lasted forever too. So what did little Miss Self-Destruct do then? Why... '

A tear rolled down her cheek as she recalled what she'd said. 'I goaded him, that's what, telling him if he didn't finish soon I call her over to finish the job. That did it; he came about as much as I ever saw a guy come.'

'And then that bitch Leslie called around six and dumb me handed him the phone. And after letting them to talk shit for a few minutes, I took in his morning erection and told Leslie to come over. What the fuck was I thinking?'

With a wry smile on her face, she answered her own question. 'What I was thinking was we were going to have a ménage a trois and I was all for it.'

She remembered the deliciously sensual feeling that seemed to surge from her pussy to the very tips of her suddenly engorged nipples.

'And it was me who made her take off the damn coat. I knew she wore nothing underneath it. We had fooled around that one night after a few drinks, there had been five girls, all drunk and giddy with horniness, who had acted out how they would seduce their boyfriends that weekend. And Leslie had donned her coat, with only a garter belt and black stockings under it.'

Maggie punched her thigh and silently swore. 'And, ' she recalled with a vivid clarity, 'when Leslie removed the coat to reveal her nudity, who told the two of them to take it into the bedroom and get started? Don't answer that, Mag, you'll only incriminate yourself.'

But as the memory played itself out, Maggie had to smile again. 'And what did that handsome lug do? Did he carry Leslie into the bedroom and fuck her silly? Nope, at least not then, to his credit -- mark that down, Maggie, my girl, to his everlasting credit, he gave you an out. "Are you sure?" he'd asked.'

Speaking aloud, Maggie said, "And I smiled and said something inane, like "I'll be in there by and by."

"Sure, and then when he's putting his salami into her and I walk in and sit down to watch them."

"Fuck!" Maggie punched the arm of the chair she was sitting in and then quickly began rubbing her bruised fist and thinking, 'My damn thigh will have a nasty bruise on it later. Maybe I'll tell him he did it... that is, if he asks.'

Maggie foraged through her dresser, looking for a cigarette and finally found the last one partially broken off at the end, but lit it and took a deep drag.

'And to think he still wanted out of it, but I had to kiss Leslie then and when he tried to talk me out of it I told him, not to fall in love with me.' She bit her nail and frowned.

'Why the fuck would I do that? I didn't know then and I don't know now. I wonder if I should call my old shrink and ask her?'

Still trying to think through her actions, she realized that it had not taken very long after that for Leslie and her to get it on.

'And we really got it on. I'm amazed she went for it. I never suspected either of us was bi. But I took to it like a duck to water and "old Lezlie, why she did pretty good for a first time too -- if it was her first time. Well maybe it was. Give her some credit. We did work well as a team, both of us licking and sucking on his dick like a couple of pros. Poor guy didn't know what to make of us.'

Maggie laughed at that and stuffed the cigarette out in her glass; got up and rinsed the glass out; dried it and put it away.

"And Leslie... she tasted so good. I know we'll do that a few more times in the future. Probably get better at it too."

She had to laugh at herself and then thought, 'And he handled all that very well. Sharing the both of us -- no petty jealousies, no provoking one or the other of us; just loving us both as much as he possibly could.'

Maggie sighed, recalling the feel of him inside her. 'Simply gorgeous, his cock was, simply gorgeous. And it went in so far... and then he'd taken my ass... and it was especially good, never even hurt me back there.'

She giggled, "Well I wasn't feeling any pain then either," she said, her voice a faint whisper as she visualized the moment. Leslie toying with her breast -- sucking and nipping at it as he ploughed a furrow into her rectum.

"Girl you sure came that time!" Maggie said to no one in particular; then hoped no one heard her, for the apartment walls were notoriously thin.

'And hadn't Leslie put him back into her when he'd fallen out? She sure had.'

She recalled telling him he was a stud. "A fucking stud," she'd said, then reflected, 'well I was still coming and was babbling as a girl will do under stress like that.'

She smiled as she remembered telling him that, "You've got me and Leslie coming and going."

And with Leslie panting on all fours, hoping he'd ride her to kingdom come, I had to say it, "But don't, please don't fall in love with me. Just because I come so readily doesn't mean I'm in love with you for Christ's sake. It's just something my body does, okay?" and that seemed to confuse the hell out of him. Of course I dummied up right away, and made everything worse.

She stuck her fingers in her mouth and worried her nails, hoping that this time they guy would see through her defensive shield, for that's what it was, she was convinced of it, and that he'd call her and act like nothing unusual had happened at all. "Yes," she told herself, "that's what he'll do."

Then Maggie began to sob again and a minute later she was crying like the day Palo died.