Hardly has he entered me but he expels an anguished cry of elation. With the single thrust of penetration, the act was over. Just as I had feared. Just as he had feared.
– Kill me!
He hides his face. Insuperable shame. Hatred.
– Please, just kill me…
I run my hand along his spine, my eyes closed. My body, likewise. My mind searching for what to say in response, and deciding upon silence, for some requests are not amenable to a positive answer.
A day later, we make love again. He is sitting on the edge of the bed as I straddle him. He lasts three or four thrusts. Wait awhile, he breathes-lessly into my face. We’ll do it a second time. He thrusts and thrusts, but there is no force behind it. Wait awhile. I need to get a little bit harder…
I don’t like the position and tell him such. Down on all fours, I spread my legs. Raise my ass…
But his soft willy won’t stay anywhere. He stuffs himself into me. Slips out. Stuffs himself in again.
Wait awhile, he breathes like a man performing hard work, his hips chiselling away at me, but I feel hollow inside.
I pull away.
I will not wait! You fix that hard-on, then, maybe, we’ll try again.
Okay, he husks, rubbing, rubbing himself.
I won’t look, but I can hear it, the slosh of his semen, dabbling with my juice.
– Just wait a little bit. Just a little bit longer…
He talks to himself, to his penis, like a coach to his team before the match. It doesn’t take long for me to detect that change in the quality of his voice. I seize the opportunity to stop his hand, gently, with my own, before, or as it seems to me, he rubs himself raw. There is no recrimination in the language of my touch. It simply lets him know that I know:
– Tell me something?
– You said you always have at least two women, right?
– So, there must have been another woman apart from your wife before you met me, right?
– Where is she now? What happened to her?
– I saw her yesterday, we went flying and then for a meal…
– You don’t sleep with her anymore?
– And you expect me to believe that?
– Yep. I’ll show you a picture of her. (He shows her a photo of her in his cell-phone) and there’s her… (a different photo) and her… and she’s nice… and I really like this one…
– How do you manage?
– To juggle so many women?
– Piece a cake.
– God, you don’t mind admitting all of this to me?
– Why should I?
– Does your wife know?
– Why should She?
I, Tatar, am faithful of the heart, if not of the body. Don’t try to change me. It is my only weakness.
– I don’t want to get involved in your private affairs, but you’ve pulled me in so I’ll speak my mind. Have you told You Know straight to the face that he’s a lousy lay? You should’ve told him from day one that he was lousy. He might have made more of an effort.
– He’s making an effort now…
– Too late. He’s lost you.
– I’m inclined to think that there’s a woman out there, somewhere, who wants exactly what He’s giving. But that woman sure as hell ain’t me.
– Then get out of it!
– You’re not just with someone for the sex!
– What else?
– Well, for the companionship, etc…
– Get yourself a dog. Companionship, fair enough, but without the sex, your relationship is dead. It’s just friendship. Sooner or later you’ll leave him. And he knows it. I made the mistake of telling my wives about my mistresses, you know, in a moment of trust, like this one now. It spoilt everything afterwards and they always threw it back in my face. Don’t ever tell You Know about me. Ever. Maybe he’s keeping a mistress, too. Or he should. That way you get to save your life together and enjoy those bits of your relationship which do you good. If he lets you know or you let him know, then the trust is out the door. You need trust if a relationship is going to work. Trust is more important than honesty.
(adapted from The Red Room)