A continuation of
The Kiss That Ended My Marriage
I left Dudley’s room and went to my room down the hall. The lava lamp glowed a blue hue onto the wood paneled walls. My room was the only place I was allowed to keep my lava lamp in our conservative home. Everything in our home was decorated in my husband’s taste of white, brown, burgundy or hunter green. He was a life insurance salesman, one of those men that sat in the little cubicle, wiping the coffee creamer off of his well manicured blonde mustache as he was telling someone how to financially prepare for their family if they were to meet an untimely death while vacationing in the Poconos. It was an unemotional, boring job that fit his personality. The walls of our home were never painted anything other than eggshell white to increase resale value. Each home was temporary. This was our 4th home in 6 years. We were constantly moving up to Dudley’s dream home; buying, fixing up, selling high and on to the next house with a larger mortgage payment. It frustrated me.
In our 2nd home, I had taken over the kitchen painting it red and black with white accents, my favorite kitchen of all time. When it was ready to be sold, the realtor didn’t like my color scheme because it didn’t appeal to the masses and it indeed did turn some buyers away. So I wasn’t allowed to be creative anymore.
Before I had married Dudley my home was wild with huge pillows, beaded lamps, shades of hot pink on the walls, long satin inviting curtains fell from the ceiling encircling my bed, improv art on the fridge in glitter paint and rhinestones to creations with seaglass vases and nude silhouettes on smoky canvass.
I sat on my rattan papasan chair and covered myself with the furry turquoise blanket behind the closed door to my room. I had lost myself here; in this house, in this marriage. Maybe I would find myself somewhere behind one of his many Thomas Kinkade prints hanging on the wall or in between the pages of the bible with the carefully chosen verses in yellow highlighter. Where had I gone? What had happened to me? I realized I had been hiding behind these things willingly, trying so desperately not to be me; a former stripper, college dropout, an unloved child, a good for nothing that brought shame to my family for my eccentricities and open thoughts. What I had been living for the past 6 years wasn’t real. I hid in this shallow world society created, for fear my true self would be burned like a witch at the stake. I was afraid to be selfish, have desire, laugh at the inappropriate or partake in pleasures of the flesh.
Our sex life suffered. When my vibrator would begin to sound like a lawn mower cranking up, Dudley, in lieu of having sex with me would take it and repair it by putting an assortment of rubber bands around the D batteries to keep them from knocking around inside the plastic shaft. When it finally gave out and couldn’t be repaired, Dudley drove me to a sex shop one night on the way home from dinner at his favorite chain restaurant. He waited outside in the station wagon with the kids in their car seats while I went in to purchase a new one. As I walked into the sex store I thought; I must be repulsive to him. I was 27 years old, 5.7’ and 125lbs. I took kickboxing classes and work outs were my weekly routine, my bottom was as hard as a rock. I had long light brown hair and skin that I used sugar scrubs and heavenly scented moisturizers to keep it soft and beautiful. I wore push up bras and matching panties in pinks, black and turquoise under my church dresses. But my husband didn’t want me.
I slept naked. I’ve never been able to stand the feeling of being trapped by clothing while in bed. This bothered him. He explained seeing me naked all the time made it not a special event and compared me to his 1st wife who had slept in long nightgowns and socks. It was special when he saw a bit of her skin as it happened so rarely. He said I wasn’t normal and my sexuality intimidated him. Because I was so sexual, he felt I wasn’t allowing him to be the man. Women aren’t supposed to want sex. That is the man’s job. When I wanted sex, it made him see me as unattractive. Oh, and I wanted it, my thirst was unquenchable and I was left panting for more each time he would allow it. I wanted to be slung over his shoulder and taken to our bed, or pushed up against the wall and fucked hard with him breathing heavy into my ear pulling up my dress and ripping my panties because he couldn’t wait another second to take me. But this never happened.
Dudley treated me like one might treat an drug addict, giving me just enough physical attention to calm me and get me by, but the hits weren’t strong enough and they had become fewer and fewer during the years as he had tried to wean me off my carnal addiction. My teeth had worn from the grinding and clenching of want and desire; a hug, a touch, a connection to another human being.
I woke up the next morning; Dudley acted normal as if I hadn’t just told him I wanted out of our marriage less than 12 hours ago. He got dressed, ate his breakfast and said the normal; “See ya later” on his way out the door to work, peddling life insurance. I took care of the kids and carted them off to school. I came back to the empty house. I called the showroom where Steve was working. I was nervous and stuttered as I asked the woman that had hired me as a temp to have him return my call. He was scheduled to leave this afternoon to head back to California.
My cell rang. I looked at the number, why had I called him? My stomach was in knots as I let it ring 4 times before I whispered a tiny “hello”.
“Hey Patience, I didn’t think I would hear from you again after the other night. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries with you. I’m really sorry.”
“I want to see you Steve. Can we get together today?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes! The rest of the guys are heading back and we have to clear out of the rental home, but I will get a hotel room for this evening. I will be out of here at lunch. And just so you know, when your message was delivered, I was pulled aside and was told you were married by some girl that goes to church with you. I told her that you and I were just friends, but I don’t think she believed me.”
As I drove to the hotel, I looked into the back at the car seats that belonged to my children. I counted down the hours until I had to pick them up. I figured 4 hours would be plenty of time to have lunch and talk. I arrived to the address Steve had given me. It was a one story motel, seedy at that. I parked right in front of the door to his room thinking why he hadn’t chosen a nicer place to stay. I knocked on the brown door as I dabbed sweat from above my top lip. Steve greeted me with a smile and let me in. The room smelled damp and dusty and everything was faded orange. Before I could say a word, Steve kissed me. My knees gave and he lain me down on the end of the bed with the worn floral bedspread as he moved his lips to the nape of my neck. Under normal circumstances, I would have been appalled to lie directly on the bedspread of a motel such as this, but when one is starving of hunger, washing hands is not always a priority.
Each time Steve would touch my skin or try to remove a piece of clothing I would move up closer to the head of the bed out of his touch wide eyed and unsure. He had to coo to me like a scared animal that it was okay. I finally let myself go and allowed myself to feel him as my whole body let out a much needed sigh. I closed my eyes, lay there and forgot everyone and everything, my body still remembering the carnal pleasure. And I rested.
I got up, still not many words. I fumbled to put my clothes back on, my body weak from trembling and my brain jumbled in thoughts. Steve leaned against the dresser. I wrapped my arms around him and wanted to say thank you, but instead these words came out;
“I love you.”
Steve said, “Uh oh”.
I left embarrassed, why did I say that? I didn’t really mean I loved him. I loved things about him I suppose, maybe I just needed to say it, maybe because I hadn’t had this sort of physical connection in so many years it felt natural to say those words, maybe I loved him because he had set me free.
My ex husband would ask me one day sitting on the couch as we talked about what he would keep and that I would take nothing from what we had acquired during our marriage out of guilt for leaving him, “Is there someone else?” and my answer was;
“No, it just wasn’t you.”Disclaimer: You the reader are reading this blog at your own risk. At no time has the writer contacted the reader without their permission in reference to this blog site. If you find the content of this blog offensive you have the right to never visit this site again. The people, location and events have been changed to protect the innocent; any similarities to any persons either living or dead are purely coincidental.