Chapter 6

--- Mark ---

After dinner I went back to the piano, pounding out Gorecki’s Symphony of Sorrowful Songs. It was still very difficult for me but I was determined to get through several of the Songs. I listened to the whole piece again on YouTube, reading along with the translation of the Polish text. It was so simple and yet there were complexities in it that defied my playing. There were no cries for retribution or revenge in the lyrics, just forgiveness and understanding.

I couldn’t reach that point yet.

I browsed through a site that said there were seven stages of grief once you’re been hit with a loss. I thought the common wisdom said there were five stages. Who was the ‘they’ that said that anyhow? Who invented the two others? The new list was: 1. Disbelief / Shock; 2. Denial; 3. Guilt / Pain; 4. Bargaining; 5. Anger; 6. Depression; 7. Acceptance. Okay, so the old list didn’t have 1. and 3. Maybe I was relying too much on the wisdom of the Internet.

You know ... it was like the people who used the Internet to diagnose themselves into having lots of strange diseases. I know of one white woman who was convinced she had Sickle Cell Anemia, because she had ‘all’ the symptoms. She claimed to be the first Caucasian victim. Sickle Cell is a disease exclusively associated with the Negroid race. It is a racial disease, not associated with skin color, that’s why I used ‘Negroid’ – that term describes a race, whereas ‘black’ or ‘AfroAmerican’ do not. For that matter, neither do any of the more pejorative terms.

Maybe there should be an 8^th stage of grief: 8. Avoidance. If I needed to trick myself into talking about anything else, like nattering on about irrelevant subjects. Or playing the piano, for that matter. That’s a way of dealing with grief.

I shut off the desktop computer. There wasn’t a lot for me to learn about my problem on the Internet.

I was tired. This time it was that I needed some sleep. Not exhaustion from the mental strain of dealing with the bitch-Kathy. Frankly, I was scared to get into the bed with b-K. Suppose she got me hard in the middle of the night and just climbed on? I wasn’t kidding about getting HIV or even AIDS from Lucas – or Camine, for that matter. So what if I hadn’t contracted it – yet.

I’d get a couple of pairs of pajamas tomorrow. Maybe I should consider a chastity belt for myself. That would be a good nightly ritual. Go to bed nude. Apply the condom. Fuck b-K. Climb off. Snap on a chastity belt. Go to sleep. Suppose she poured super glue over it while I was asleep, so I couldn’t unlock it in the morning?

Maybe there should be a 9^th level of dealing with grief. 9. Go crazy. I was already there.

--- Kathy ---

I took a shower, as I often did, before going to bed. I judged that there wasn’t much chance of getting Mark to brush out my hair, as he often did. I put a touch of perfume on my pussy and between my breasts. Maybe a little touch of sensory memory would entice him back.

I slipped between the sheets and tried to stay awake until Mark came in. We didn’t often go to bed at different times. How could we fuck together if we weren’t in bed at the same time? Hmm? Tonight I just wanted him to cave-man me: him on top, holding my ankles spread as wide as possible, him just jackhammering me.

I waited and waited.

I woke in the darkness, the clock on my bedside table showed 2:17. Mark was asleep, back turned to me. So he was still mad. I curled on my side, and slid over to him. He snored lightly, so I knew he wasn’t comfortable. I snaked a hand to his hip and found a pair of workout shorts!

For a decade and a half he’d slept nude. Now he wore shorts. I guess he DID notice the blowjob I gave him last night. And he didn’t want a repeat performance.

DAMN! I was horny. I was used to several fucks a day. Well, at least one. This was ... let’s see, today was Monday night, then Sunday night. And Lucas did me on Sunday afternoon. Almost a day and a half. Well, not counting the 2 ½ dildo.

I carefully sneaked out of bed, and went to the bathroom. I sat on the toilet and rubbed my clit. It wasn’t the same. I had to rub on myself, and fantasize on Carlos’s tongue. It seemed like it took a long time.

...

I didn’t notice Mark leaving in the morning. He must have been very quiet. I woke up at 7:20 and started to go around the bedroom, still naked, but now a little determined to see what Mark was doing. He was doing SOMETHING, I was sure. He hadn’t talked about it – ‘it’ being Lucas and me – except to ask about my goddam test for STDs.