Reasons to be wakeful

Friday 2 am…..

I was awake anyway. The reason is very small and beautiful, with golden curls and makes little sucking sounds while it sleeps. I tried to go back to sleep myself, but disobedient thoughts crowded in, ricocheting around in my head, pushing me out of bed again.

So here I am, laptop on lap, a single lamp to lighten my corner of the room, wondering which path of my crooked tale to talk about.

 I am not sure when it happened, but I feel as though my reasons for continuing with this blog/diary/confession, whatever you want to call it, has changed. Or is it me that’s changed?

I started writing, as a form of catharsis; a way of viewing the entire tableau of my indiscretions, so I could analyse why I so easily took the turn down the murky track of infidelity.

Initially I blamed my fall from grace, on a drunken and drug fueled one-night-stand with a stranger. As if somehow he alone was the catalyst that started the chain reaction that converted me from faithful wife, into a faithless adulterer.

I eventually abandoned that self-delusion and admitted to myself that if it hadn’t been him that night, it might have been someone else, some other night. Another place, another time, another man – the same result.

Of course the question asks itself, was I born bad, or did something happen to turn a nice, roman catholic girl into the cheating blogger you’ve been reading about?

I’ve often speculated that I might have something of the nymphomaniac gene. That too was discounted, since I’ve generally found myself well sated after a good, solid fucking.

It’s difficult to judge oneself – those of us who are given to this type of self analysis, swing from being hyper-critical and inwardly cruel, blaming our genetic makeup (the born to be bad syndrome, if such exists), to being too lenient, blaming circumstance and our treatment at the hands of others.

Who did you wrong lady?
No one….Someone. One man……

Booze, blow, bed, bath

after…… water.……

I have seen Ingrid several times since that afternoon when we shared booze, blow, bed and a bath, but only in company with Christian or other people, never entirely alone. Her blonde hair had been cut short and dyed a red-brown, and she’d had her tongue pierced – two little metal balls sat side by side in the middle, like a pair of silvery eyes.

The last time had been at an engagement party for a lesbian couple Christian had introduced me to the year before. Inga had swooped across the room when I arrived, wrapping me in a welcoming embrace, whispering in my ear, “I was afraid you weren’t coming. I would’ve died if you hadn’t.” Then she’d kissed me on both cheeks and finally on the mouth. Her lips tasted of almonds, her pupils large and there were a few crystals of white powder clinging to her nostrils. She took my hand and dragged me off to talk to the happy couple.

Later that evening I saw her slip away with a slender brunette in a tight leather skirt and knee-length boots. It was half and hour before they reappeared. No one took any notice. She smiled wickedly and nodded at me when our eyes met across the room, telling me that what I imagined was true.

That was more than a year ago.

Christian, who loves to gossip, told me that she has been in relationships with a model, that didn’t end well; a singer who tried to commit suicide; the sister of the owner of a Spanish night club, and a male French banker.

Hot water

……after…..Just Talk…..

Christian’s custom-made bath was deep and wide and the water was very hot. Ingrid sat behind me, her knees open enough for me to sit between them with my back to her, her fingers digging into the tight muscles beneath my shoulder blades.

“The night you and I met, I was at a record low,” she said. “I’d just discovered that my lover was a faithless fucking bitch. I’m not really sure what I was looking for when I found you in the kitchen; I was told you weren’t into women, even though you lied and led me to believe you were a lesbian, but I needed to kiss someone.”

“Who? Anyone?”
“Why me?”
“I don’t know. I suppose it was something Christian said about you being too straight for your own good.” She laughed softly. “You obviously haven’t told him everything.”
“The subject never came up,” I said, flinching slightly as her thumb dug in. “So you kissed me because I was straight and you wanted to see if I’d object. Or was it that you wanted to try to convert me?”

“No, as I said, I just needed to be kissed. Your lips were the closest, looked the softest and you were standing all alone and lost in a house full of the usual sexual deviants. It was a lovely kiss, wasn’t it?”
“Just a little unexpected,” I said. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it lovely. It wasn’t unpleasant either.”
She laughed softly. “Sounds like double talk to me.” Her fingers pressed in hard at the base of my neck. “You didn’t move away and you didn’t slap me, I thought  I felt a little back pressure, and your mouth definitely moved under mine.”

I didn’t retort. When you’re digging yourself into a hole, it’s best to stop digging.

I recalled that her mouth had been soft and her breath had carried a slight aroma of sweet almonds that had transferred to my mouth during the brief encounter. My lips had responded automatically, deepening the contact, on the edge of allowing my tongue to respond to the tongue I felt beginning a slow invasion of my mouth.

There had been something vulnerable and pained in her eyes as we’d gazed at one another afterward. When she’d walked away to find another woman and “…..lick her till she screams…” I was conscious of a vague feeling of regret, confusion and a queasy feeling in my belly.

Later when I saw her with her legs spread wide and that other woman licking her and driving her fingers upward into her vagina, I had felt and anger, shame and yes…. envy.
I’d wanted to pull the other woman’s hair out by the roots. I’d wanted save Ingrid – to protect her from the harpies who used her. And yes, for a split second, I’d wanted to be the one who made her scream as she came in my mouth.
But there was no way she could’ve seen that on my face? Could she?

“Did my sex-ploit confessions shock you today?” she asked, breaking into my thoughts.
“No… not really,” I said. “It’s a bit like being at university; in the first months there were boys and girls whose only reason for being there was simply to bang as many bodies as they could. The condom manufacturers probably have a huge spike in sales from September to December every year.”

Ingrid laughed softly. “Somehow I can’t see you hopping from bed to bed.”
“I didn’t. But I wasn’t a shy retiring virgin either. I had my moments.”

I almost told her about the gross of condoms Anna and I had bought, but I managed to swallow the words as they climbed out of the back of my throat.

“What about you husband – The Beast as Christian calls him.”
I had to laugh. “He’s not as bad as all that. I admit he’s only slightly civilized – I like him that way. A lot of women like the brute in their men. But he’s also gentle and kind and romantic. I keep the beast enslaved with a lot of sex.”
“Do you love him?”
“Of course I do.”
“Do you trust him?”
“He’s never given me any reason not to.”

“Have you ever cheated on him, other than just now with me, I mean?”
“Why not?”
“That’s an odd question.”
“Sorry. What I suppose I mean is, why did you do it with me?”
I turned around and faced her, our knees pressed together. “I don’t know. I haven’t worked that out yet.”

“Well I’m glad you did and I’m glad you are happy too. Though I’m not sure you belong among Christian’s group of acquaintances.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He’s a good friend, someone who would hold your hand while you jumped off a bridge, but he attracts corrupted, unstable, slightly broken people like me. You are different; you are….. normal.”

Ingrid’s word played in my mind over and over as I sat in the taxi that evening – He’s a good friend, someone who would hold your hand while you jumped off a bridge, but he attracts corrupted, unstable, slightly broken people like me. You’re different…..normal.

 When I left, she was wrapped in one of Christian’s black, silk kimonos covered in white butterflies, red roses and blue hummingbirds, a glass of vodka in one hand and a lit joint in the other. There had been a look on her face which begged the question she was unwilling to ask – which I was unwilling to answer. “Are we going to see each other again?”

Once is not a relationship, I told myself, as I watched the evening traffic through the cabs window. Once was dangerous enough, because I’d seen the look, the hope in her eyes, as we stood on the white tiled floor, drying each other off with fluffy pale blue towels .
I was heading back to my normal life, battling the feeling that I might have made a huge mistake.

Just talk

after…. Crumpled sheets…..

naked womanThe silent seconds ticked by, then, unaccountably I started to giggle, I couldn’t help myself. A moment later she was laughing too.

“That wasn’t your first time, was it?” she said, when the laughter eventually subsided.
“How could you tell?”

She rolled onto her side, reached out and traced a fingernail from between my breasts down the centre of my torso to my navel, and then to the top of my mound of Venus, raking gently through my damp, sticky pubic hair.

“You knew what you were doing. Not many women know about that last position. That sort of thing takes practice. Did your husband teach you that one, or was it as I suspect another woman?”
“A very lovely woman, a long time before I married.”

She laughed softly. “I’m glad you’ve had some experience, though I suspect you haven’t indulged in lady-play for a long time.”

“It’s been more than ten years since I……..”
“You must have been very young. Were you in love with her?”

It took a second or two for my memory to settle on the face of the first woman I’d had sex with. It was a long time ago. But I could recall the touch of her lips and fingers, and the taste and the smell of her.

“Yes, I loved her yes,” I replied, “but we weren’t in love with each other. The first time it just sort of happened. It didn’t last long. I was at university – she was between boyfriends, and mine was…well he wasn’t around much. We were in bed together for company and warmth. I don’t really recall who started it. I tell myself that it was down to the vodka and the whiskey and the weed, which when I think about it is the start a lot of strange things in my life. But I can’t be certain it wouldn’t have happened anyway.”

Ingrid’s finger had started brushing my clit gently as I spoke. Then there was no need for words.