Authors: Vivienne Harris-Scott
Ethan
smiles and says jokingly,
“
Dr.
Michaellson, I think I need to school you on women
’
s psychology, specifically my wife
’
s!
“
“
Well Ethan, why don
’
t you?
”
The Dr says sheepishly, still
amazed by the news that Ethan and his wife actually have reached a status quo
and they now share physical contacts, - however small-, without her recoiling;
and that against all odds
,
Ethan
’
s
prediction is coming true: his wife is actually on the path to forgiving him
…
((~~!~~))
Session 19.
“
I have this stupid song in my head.
”
Ethan says suddenly as they were talking
about how his week had been since their last session.
“
What does the song say?
”
asks Dr Michaellson, curious to see where
this impromptu thought is leading.
“
I don
’
t sing doctor. And really, do you think
this is the time to talk about a stupid song?
”
Ethan replies, irritated.
”
It
’
s never just a song Ethan.
”
the doctor retorts as he inclines his
head in in cushy chair..
Ethan
sighs,
”
Fine,
”
and starts,
“
I promised you we could have it all
…
You trusted me but I let you fall
…”
“
Who did you let fall?
“
asks his therapist, now smiling.
“
What?
”
asks Ethan really not comprehending the question.
“
Who did you let fall. Your wife?
”
the doctor asks, as he explains,
“…
After what happened, do you think you let
her down?
”
“
It
’
s just a song doctor.
”
Ethan replies feeling crimson reach his
cheeks.
“
Is it Ethan?
”
asks the doctor with a grin.
((~~!~~))
Things were going splendidly for us. At
first, she had been hesitant in accepting any kind gesture on my part even the
most tentative ones were rebuffed; but as weeks went by and she saw my efforts
in being at home almost every spare minute I had, and attentive with her
schedule and the people maintaining her health, she slowly but surely let me
become close to her again. I was grateful for any attention, smile, laugh or
touch she gave me. Things were finally coming around and were as they were supposed
to.
I
’
m not talking about sex here, but just the
simple intimacy that any two people who are married and know each other inside
and out, fall into.
It
made me realize how much I had missed it, how much I had missed us. How much I
had missed her.
The
night our relationship turned another corner took me by surprise. If anyone had
told me that morning, that this is how my evening would end, I would have
laughed. Hysterically. Except, now, it was 10:30
p.m
,
and felling the hot breath of my wife torturing my neck, I wasn
’
t laughing at all.
It
had started innocently enough though. Our evening routine had been quite
established for the past two months. I would come home, greet her, whether she
was in her room, writing, or resting in the lounge or terrace, and spend a few
minutes with her, then would be off to my study to do some work, until Marina
would alert us about dinner. After our meal, I would spend the rest of the
evening with my wife, talking, watching tv, or reading. Reading won hands down
as of late, because Vic loved books,- always had-, and now, she made me read
aloud for our baby
’
s
benefit. I have to say I enjoyed the exercise, as we would usually sit close to
each other, and I would wrap my hand on her knees, or have her head on my lap,
as she would turn the pages. Most of the times she would fall asleep within 30
minutes, I would then kiss her forehead and sometimes her belly, and would
carry her to bed. I was happy just being near her. It was satisfying.
Our
relationship had reached a peaceful status quo, and was the best it
’
s ever been, short of our first two years
together. My wife had become my number one priority. I was present and
supportive, and she was smiling more, talking more, laughing more, our baby was
growing, her cancer was in check, and the icing on the cake: at long last, she
was finally back in the marital bed. That was enough for me.
Falling
asleep holding her with my hands placed on her belly, feeling her warmth was my
new definition of happiness.
I
knew it was better than what I deserved, and was determined not to screw it up.
I simply couldn
’
t
lose her.
There
hadn
’
t
been any sexual contact between us since the night of our anniversary but after
6 weeks of returning from the hospital, she allowed me to actually touch her
without wincing anytime I was close to her body. In the following weeks, I
would massage whichever part of her body ached when she couldn
’
t be bothered to call the masseuse. I was
running errands for her with a foolish grin on my face as well as dealing with
her weirdest mood changes. As of late, she allowed me caress her belly without
me having to ask for permission anymore, and even let me get away with kissing
her lightly on the forehead or nuzzling against her on days when I returned
from work, exhausted and needing comfort.
Vic
had embraced the pregnancy full steam and it made her as happy as I ever had
seen her. This pregnancy was my saving grace, and while the idea of a sexless
marriage had been incongruous and unbearable months before; I was now content
and couldn
’
t
picture the slightest change in our routine. My wife no longer hated me, and
soon I would have a child.
That
was enough.
What
was happening tonight was different, though. I was totally taken off guard, and
truth be told, didn
’
t
know how to react.
We
were sitting on the corner of one of the sectionals in our lounge, Miles Davis
’
s trumpet was humming in the background,
and I had been reading to her for a mere 10 minutes when I felt it.
Her
buttock cheeks on my manhood: she had moved.
She
had nuzzled her face against my neck, and I felt her hot breath creating a
tingle on my spine.
I
didn
’
t
dare to look at her, so I continued to read, the book in one hand, caressing
her belly with the other. It was warm, smooth and soft. Her breath was getting
ragged as minutes went by and it was distracting me. I froze for a little
while, afraid to make a move. I silently prayed she wouldn
’
t notice I was getting aroused. I simply
couldn
’
t
afford to have her angry or worse fearful, because once again, I couldn
’
t control my sexual urges. We had come too
far.
After
adjusting myself, pushing my back into the sectional to create any sort of
space between ours bodies, I resumed reading, still moving my free hand in
small circles on her belly. I felt her exhale loudly, almost moaning. The sound
startled me. I had to stop reading.
I
looked down at her.
She
returned my gaze. Her head up, inches from mine, she licked and bit her bottom
lip while I could see her eyes focusing on my own lips.
I
felt my throat go dry. I slowly put the book away next to me, and again, looked
at her face.
I
knew that look, but couldn
’
t
quite believe her expression.
Desire.
It
was unmistakable.
It
had been so long I had seen her showing me any sexual interest; I blinked a few
times.
She
lowered her head and touched her belly.
In
a strangled voice, I gently asked,
“
Baby, look at me
…
please,
”
I
lifted her chin, so our eyes would meet again, and yes, there it was: lust and
shame. I could see both in her green eyes, clear as day.
I
cleared my throat and said in a hoarse low voice,
“
It
’
s okay. Please don
’
t feel ashamed.
”
Her eyes became darker, as I tentatively
pursued,
“
Let
me do this for you
…
Please
…
I
…”
My voice was shaky; as I knew, what I was
asking was preposterous.
After
all, how many rapists do you know ask permission to make love to their wives?
((~~!~~))
She was wearing a two white pieces
matching ensemble. The top was a baby doll camisole made of white cotton and
French lace, falling mid-thigh, and a pair of low-rise
shorts.
The baby doll
’
s balcony bra
delineated
her smooth round breasts and
held them in place but it also had a slit
at the front which while covering her belly entirely, allowed it to breathe,
and us to have easy access to touch it.
A pair of
long, thigh high, winter socks completed her attire for the night.
It wasn
’
t the first time she had been wearing this
ensemble, or the only one she had. She
’
s had quite a collection of long camisoles
and negligees and shorts. In fact, she had been showcasing them almost every
evening since her belly had been round and showing. I still recall the first
night she showed me all the shopping bags delivered from David Jones, as she
went on to explain she had found the most comfortable evening and nightwear for
the months to come after she had lifted the large black shirt she had been
wearing, and revealed to me her belly, that seems to have popped out overnight
at week 17. The barely noticeable bump that had been there from week 11 and
settled ever since had been unequivocally replaced by a truly round belly, the
size of a basketball.
I had
fallen on my knees that night, tears cascading down my cheeks as I kissed it
for the first time.