(je suis toi)

I had a hard time sleeping last night. Sexual thoughts of Annie. In college Annie and my wife Laura were sorority sisters. I’d dated Annie a couple of times but we’d never slept together, in fact, I’d never even kissed her, though I’d badly wanted to. Back then, for a week or two I couldn’t think of much else but Annie’s wild red hair and wide eyes and well-behaved little breasts. We were both shy people, but I went so far as to think we had a future together. When Annie phoned to break our last date I was crest-fallen. “Can I ask how come?” I’d said. “I don’t know,” she’d said, “Maybe we’re too much alike. But my roommate Laura thinks you’re a cute guy. I bet you’d like her, too.” I did. That was five years ago.

Now Annie was visiting us, staying for a few days. She’d broken up with her husband, Laura told me, and she was traveling around the country to rub off the hurt.

Annie didn’t seem too hurt to me, but we didn’t talk much. Mostly she talked to Laura, sometimes seriously, sometimes giggly, sometimes whispers. I think they wanted to talk about the horrible man, and maybe I made them nervous.

“He was...” Annie started to say, and then she looked at me, and then she said, “Awful,” and then she giggled and spilled her after dinner wine in the lap of her dress.

“Now see what you’ve done,” Laura accused me. “Why don’t you go in the study before anything else happens.”

I went to the library and sat at my grandfather’s big desk and wrote in my journal and thought about Annie taking off her wine-stained dress. An hour or two later Annie came in with a cup of tea. “This is for you,” she said, and she handed me the steaming cup. It seemed to me her fingers were trembling. I thought about asking her to stay for a moment, but I didn’t know how to put it.

“Won’t you have a cup?” I said.

“Oh no,” she said. “I’d surely spill,” and she giggled and touched the front of the tight gray jogging pants. “I wouldn’t want to soil your wife’s clothing.” I suddenly had the feeling she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I blushed.

Turning from my chair, Annie stopped at the edge of the desk and picked up the glass paperweight. I couldn’t help but be aware of the smooth curve of her hip a few inches from my arms. I tried to remember if maybe that paperweight was something Annie had given Laura and me as a wedding gift.

“It’s nice,” I said foolishly.

“Yes,” she said. Then she put down the paperweight and picked up my journal.

“That’s, uh, my journal,” I said quickly.

“Oh,” Annie said half-turning towards me, “Is it private?”

“Well, uh...”

“Can I read it? I promise to be careful with it.”

The journal has some intimate thoughts, things I hadn’t even shared with Laura. I don’t know why I didn’t say no. Clutching the journal to her breast, Annie quickly left the room.

That night I dreamt Laura and I were driving to Arizona. We stopped in a cheap but not uncomfortable motel, and an ivory light smoothed her moon-silvery skin. I was on my back, my phallus gleaming with the wet of her sex, but when I awoke in the middle of the night I couldn’t actually remember having made love.

I wondered if Annie were awake in the guest room reading my journal.

When I fell back to sleep I dreamt of cars and trucks cruising a desert highway, their headlights skimming the lonely asphalt. Soon Laura’s fingers trembled across my back.

“What do you think it would feel like falling asleep inside of Annie?” she asked as she continued her stroking. I pressed myself into the bed, and her soft voice merged with the sounds of night traffic. “Do you wonder what kind of moans she makes when she comes? Or how her cunt feels when it clenches? How especially snug it is? Do you wonder whether she ever cries when she fucks, or if she laughs, or what sex words she uses?”