Chapter 3

Damn, I got too complacent, and now I’m late. I booked the reservation for 7pm, but it’s nearly that time already and I’m still at home hunting for my keys.

Tracking them down at last, I shoot Mike a garbled text (‘Late I n my way leqvjngnnow’), grab the overnight bag I packed yesterday, and sprint out the door.

As I hurtle toward the restaurant, I do some breathing exercises I found online—trying to let go of the stress of the day so I can focus on creating the right atmosphere for tonight.

Then after a bit, when I’m snared by an inopportune red-light, I hike my dress up around my hips, moisten a couple of fingers in my mouth, and work them gently into my slit. Might as well take advantage of ditching my panties.

I keep my face casual as I go on touching myself, pivoting my head to peek at the neighboring cars. I’m pretty sure no one actually has a line-of-sight on my bare crotch. I mean, I’m not a geometry guru, but they’d have to be in some huge jacked-up truck or something, right? Still, it sends an illicit tingle of excitement through my pelvis to imagine someone might be watching, and have an idea what I’m doing.

Truthfully, none of the rush-hour stragglers appear to have much interest in me. They’re in a hurry to get home and start in on the weekend. But I keep on pleasuring myself once we get moving again, enjoying the sensations, feeling myself dampen and loosen up, looking forward to being with Mike this evening. Now that I’ve got my groove back, I’ve really been missing that physical closeness.

When I try to understand this hangup Mike’s dealing with, the one thwarting my efforts to reignite the flame between us, I think the whole point of it must be to get me frustrated. Perhaps not at a conscious level; but subliminally, I suspect he wants me to suffer the same kind of hurt and rejection that he experienced. I can get that. But I’m confident that this time, we’ll manage to push past it. Surely the link between us is strong enough to overcome the stresses of parenthood and a rough stretch in the sack.

Recalling those first few years we were together, they appear to me now bathed in a golden sunrise glow. Back then, everything was new and special, our own private secret. And exploring sex was a big part of it. We already knew the basic mechanics of mating, of course, from the internet and books and media. But there’s a big gap between theory and practice—between the fake, market-driven hype our society produces, and the intimate reality of coupling between two people passionately in love. All of the latter we learned and explored together, for the very first time.

Even amid my nostalgia, I will admit there were moments of discomfort, awkwardness, miscommunication. But Mike was tender and I was receptive and we got better and it became more magical. A magic only for us, only between us. Surely that’s a foundation we can build on in trying to rediscover our romantic selves again.

Lurching into a parking space, I unbuckle my seatbelt and pull my skirt down demurely. Then, still feeling flushed, I tug on my high heels and wobble as quickly as I can inside the restaurant.

Mike is waiting there. He’s got a bottle of something red open on the table, and it looks like he’s already made some inroads on it. He rises when he sees me, and I try to make out his expression. Is he annoyed I’m late? Glad I’m there? I can’t tell, he’s too veiled.

He looks good, though. He’s matched a well-fitting dark blazer and dress-shirt, with a pair of slacks I bought him for his birthday. The latter, as I correctly estimated, are pleasingly form-fitting.

I was attracted to Mike pretty much from our first meeting. Drawn to his deep eyes, strong chin. He’s older now too, of course, but men wear age infuriatingly well. The slight lines and crags that have begun creeping into his face just make him look more mature and capable—and I can confidently predict I will still enjoy looking at him decades from now. He’s sensitive about how quickly his sandy hair is receding, but honestly that doesn’t bother me at all. I think it just makes him seem, I don’t know... ‘intellectual.’

Jeez, I really must be horny.

He pulls out my chair and pours some wine into my glass before sitting. We engage in chit-chat for a while: ‘how was your day,’ ‘guess what the gymnastics teacher said,’ ‘the washing machine is making that clunking noise again, did you call the repair man yet, why not,’ etc.

Eventually the waiter comes, and we order a plate of oysters as an appetizer.

Running low on topics, I ask about the code review, trying to make it sound like genuine interest rather than a backhanded rebuke. It went ‘fine,’ apparently.

I sip my wine.

Damn, this isn’t going right at all. Mike isn’t rebuffing me, exactly, but I’m the one doing all the lifting. It’s as if he’s preoccupied by something. Withdrawn.

Taking the bull by the horns, I lean in and lock eyes with him, reaching out to grasp his hand. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I steered the conversation wrong. Tonight isn’t supposed to be about kids and chores and work. We do that every day. Tonight should be about us. And the thing is, I ... well, lately it’s seemed like a barrier has grown up between us. A distance, or a sort of disengagement. So, I hoped this getaway might give us the chance to talk about that. Maybe move past it. Because I really want us to be close again, like we used to be.”

His glance wavers, as if he’s dying to escape eye-contact with me but doesn’t dare to look away. “Yeah, I want that too.” He’s on the verge of saying something else, but clams up instead.

Okay, that’s a start. I squeeze his hand tighter, dive in even deeper. “A lot of this is probably my fault, Mike, I get that. Desire is just ... mm, I can’t just turn it off and on, you know? I think it’s different for men, maybe. But these last few years, with the kids and everything, those feelings dried up for a while. Kit and Jemma took so much from me there wasn’t anything left. I didn’t choose for it to be that way, though. I didn’t want to hurt you, and never, ever stopped loving you. And now—now that my sexuality has finally started coming back, you ... you just haven’t seemed ... Have your feelings changed? Do you not want me like that anymore?”

He pulls his hand away and looks down, working his jaw. His voice is hoarse. “It’s not that...”

“What is it? You can tell me. We can take it slow. Or fast. Or whatever. I just need to know what you’re thinking.”

Mike meets my gaze again and his eyes look so sad. His lip is trembling and he chokes out the words fitfully. “Before, when it seemed like you were just going through the motions, out of duty, I could do that too. It was like, impersonal. But since you’ve been acting like you want me, and, like, you’re really into us again, I, I can’t ... I haven’t been...”

I’m beyond perplexed. I answer low and slow, trying not to scare him back into his shell. “You don’t want me to want you? I don’t understand.”