Chapter Five
Chapter Five
“Where did you go? When you were out of touch for that long weekend last year?”
May has almost arrived and Oliver and I drift in a canoe in the middle of a crystal blue lake.
“Fourth of July? You know where I was.” We’ve paddled far from the shore and now we’re lying on our backs, our heads at opposite ends of the canoe. It isn’t a large boat, so our feet reach the other person’s hip.
“I don’t know. Not really.”
“I was with someone.”
“Jasper?”
He can’t see me nod, but he already knows the answer.
“What kind of name is that?”
“Oliver.”
“Sorry. It’s a fine name. If we’d had a son, I absolutely would have named him Jasper.”
I give his hip a gentle shove with my foot.
“Seriously, tell me about him.”
“Why?” I prop myself onto my forearms so I can read his expression, which is gentle and genuine.
“I’m curious. I don’t know him at all.”
“He was an old friend.” I lie back down. “From New Mexico.”
“You dated him back then?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you break up?”
I hesitate. How much does he want to know? I was in love with Jasper and when he left Santa Fe I was heartbroken.
“He wasn’t ready to commit,” I say.
“But you wanted to. Commit.”
“I thought I did. The truth is, it was easy for me to be so sure because I always kind of knew he wasn’t ready. So there was no reason for me to worry about the commitment.”
“So he broke up with you?”
Above us, the sky is turning from orange to a purple gray, and I worry it’ll grow dark faster than we think. “Yeah. He broke up with me. In a vague kind of way that only Jasper can manage.”
“Were you upset?”
“Devastated. But I was young and I had never been in love before. It was before I met you.”
“Did you ever think about him? After we married?”
All the time. Especially during the last few years. Sometimes I would imagine it was Jasper I was making love to.
“Why are you asking me all this?”
“I want to know. He seems like he was a big part of your life and you never told me about him.”
“What about the women you dated?”
“What about them? I’ll tell you anything.”
“Do you still think about any of them?”
“No.”
“Not even Katherine?”
“Sometimes. But not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Why not?”
“I think of other things. She was kind. And funny. And there was an ease to her.”
“New relationships are always easy.” I can’t help it. “Sorry. I asked. Go on.”
“Emmy and Taylor got along, so it was easy for all of us to be together. Some of the women I dated when you and I first separated were younger and didn’t have kids so they liked to go out a lot.
I didn’t have to stay up all night with Katherine.
We could do things like order pizza and take it to the park. ”
“I get it.” I try to find shapes in the clouds so I don’t have to picture their picnics in the park.
“And I liked her body.”
“Oh.” A sensation takes me by surprise—not jealousy, maybe, but longing. My own body comes alive. Pays attention.
“What about her body?”
Oliver sits up and begins to paddle. I think he’s trying to change the subject until I realize he’s rowing us to a more secluded part of the lake.
“Why aren’t you answering?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“I do. I want to know.”
As the words leave my lips a reckless charge runs through us both. We’re both sitting at attention, facing each other.
“She had a nice ass. She did this thing where she would wrap her legs around me when we had sex. I liked that.”
My pulse quickens. “What else?”
“I could make her come. And she was really loud when she came. She didn’t care. Even when she would talk dirty. It was…unexpected. And I realized how much I liked it.”
“What did she say? When she spoke dirty?”
“Come on, Diana. Why are we talking about this?” The smile in his voice tells me he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
“I just want to know. I told you about Jasper.”
“She’d say, ‘spread me open.’ She’d tell me she needed me inside her.”
I feel a warmth between my legs, and my breath catches in my throat. “How did you make her come?”
Oliver tilts his head up to the sky, as if trying to remember all the various ways. “She would kind of melt into me. And let me try things.”
“Like what?”
“Different positions. She liked anal sex.”
“Really?”
“I liked it too.”
He watches for my reaction. Our knees our touching now, and I want so badly to reach for him.
“Jasper knew exactly how to make me orgasm.”
Oliver swallows. His casualness is forced. I don’t have to look to know he’s growing hard. “He did?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Do I tell him all the ways? His fingers, his mouth, his words…
“It was a position. A certain position.”
“Which one?” Oliver rests his fingers on my thigh, just below the drape of my skirt. A shiver runs through my body.
“When I was on top. Or on my side while he was touching me.”
“Where did he touch you?”
I keep my eyes locked on his as I pull my skirt up my leg, higher and higher. Then I let my legs fall open, showing him my white cotton underwear. “Here.” I touch myself over the fabric.
“Do you still think about him?”
“Not in a way that should worry you.”
“Did you love him?” He hasn’t taken his eyes off mine.
“Yes. At different times in my life.”
Oliver smiles, warm and playful. He takes us over the cliff with his grin. He leans into me and places his hand over mine, between my legs.
My heart pounds. I want Oliver to keep touching me, to press harder, to rub his fingers against me. “Do you still think about Katherine?”
“Sometimes. She wanted me so badly. It felt good. It made me feel good.”
I like the idea of another woman desiring my husband.
Like he’s a celebrity, universally adored by women.
I let the fantasy wash over me, looking up at the darkening sky, from our nowhere place in the middle of the lake.
With Oliver, sweet, handsome, and deceptively strong.
He looks like a 1950s movie star. A beach-blanket, dazzling boyfriend of Gidget’s, with sparkling green eyes, rosy lips, and a perfect smile.
I throw my head back and bite my lip in anticipation of more—more of his touch, the feeling of him inside me.
What’s your fantasy? I close my eyes and I imagine Oliver striding out of the ocean with a surfboard under one arm and taking his cheery, bikinied girlfriend under a towel and fucking her from behind on the sand.
He pulls his hand away. “I couldn’t get enough.”
I open my eyes, but he won’t meet my gaze. “Couldn’t get enough of what?” I ask.
“You know.”
“Show me.”
“Diana.” He tries to warn me, but his breathing is jagged.
“We don’t have to touch…Just show me.”
Oliver slowly unzips his pants. His cock is so hard it nearly bursts through his boxers. “Diana…” He’s lost in desire, his cheeks flushed with it. I can see how badly he wants to touch me. The canoe rocks gently, small waves lapping against it.
“It’s okay,” I whisper.
“What if someone sees us?”
But we’re too far gone to care, both of us lightheaded with want.
“There’s no one out here,” I say. “It’s just us.”
“What would Miriam think?”
“I don’t want to think about Miriam right now.”
“I want to feel you again.”
I slide closer until I’m in his lap, straddling his hips.
The canoe rocks, and for a moment I freeze.
I grab onto Oliver’s shoulders and he steadies us both.
We stay still. Perfectly still until the water calms again.
I lift my hips slowly and lower them onto him.
His erection presses against me. He runs his hand through my hair then pulls my face to his.
As soon as his mouth touches mine, I want to devour him.
His clean taste, his full lips, his muscular arms.
“I love you, Diana,” he whispers. “It never went away. Even when I told you it had.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and sit up straighter so that I can sink deeper into his lap, feeling him grow harder against the thin, wet fabric of my underwear. I want so badly to pull them aside so I can feel his skin against mine. But the temptation will be too great if we take off our clothes.
I kiss the base of his neck, then along his jaw.
I gently tug on his earlobe with my teeth and whisper, “Remember the beginning, before we had sex…” Oliver smiles, remembering the times we made out for hours in his bedroom like teenagers.
We move against each other now, harder and faster, feeling the heat of our bodies and never wanting to stop.
The friction builds—of our clothes, of our skin—until nothing matters.
Not getting caught. Not tipping over completely.
Nothing matters but the heat between us.
“Oliver,” I moan and he kisses me, hard, our tongues moving in circles.
Then he pulls away, my face in his hands.
“Wait. We can’t. Our first time can’t happen in a canoe. ”
“Our first time?” It echoes across the lake and we both laugh—then quickly stop when we almost tip. We steady ourselves and lock eyes—us, a canoe, fully clothed, and scared to tip over—and we crack up all over again.
I’m at the Sydney Opera House watching La Traviata next to a handsome stranger.
We have our own Juliet balcony. I studied opera in college, by the way.
I appreciate it. Honestly. And let’s just say the bel canto makes me incredibly excited.
So during a particularly hurried aria, I move toward the stranger’s seat, pull up my black sparkling gown, and straddle him.
The vocals flow through me as I slowly ride him and the coloratura scores our secret climax like it was written for us.