Civil Unrest
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Thirty-one year old Catherine Roberts set down the drink on the apron of the pool and pushed back into the water to do another lap. She wasn't really all that fond of swimming but it was good exercise. Besides, it gave her time to think as her lithe, trim body slipped through the clear, cascading liquid.
Thinking was something she had been doing a lot of for the past few months. It wasn't that she didn't love Manny any more. In all honesty he was a good husband, she thought. For the most part he was thoughtful and considerate. He was certainly an adequate provider. Owner of a successful plumbing contracting business, he had purchased the more than modest home only three years ago. They might not be rich, but they were definitely upper middle class. No, she thought, she could never fault him for not providing for her.
The sex could be better, she thought, much better. They, like all newly weds, screwed like minxes the first six months or so of their marriage. Then gradually the sex tailed off in intensity and frequency, especially after Manny's business began to take off.
It was the usual story. As the business grew and prospered he devoted more and more time to it and that meant less and less time for Catherine. Not that he didn't try to make things up to her. There had been some vacations, some romantic dinners, even a weekend getaway or two. His lovemaking was certainly adequate if unspectacular, conventional but enthusiastic.
They had talked about kids, but both had, at first, agreed to wait until Manny could get the business on its feet. Later, with that accomplished, they had repeatedly tried to have a child without success. A checkup made it clear why. Manny's sperm count was extremely low. He was not completely sterile but they were advised that the chances of his getting her pregnant would be in the "small miracle" category. Catherine, though bitterly disappointed, accepted their fate and found other means to occupy her time. She was into charity work for the homeless, a volunteer at the hospital and was director of fundraising for the local MS society.
Yet with all that she felt a restlessness she could not explain. She wanted more -- more ... what? Excitement? Yes, that was it. She wanted excitement in her life. Hers and Manny's marriage was a good one but, in her mind, completely devoid of excitement. Yes, as all wives do at one time or another, she had toyed with the idea of an affair. Her tennis coach at the club had let it be known he was interested and the new English teacher at the local high school had cornered her one day at the supermarket and had let his wishes be known.
Yet she had said no to both. Frightened of her own desires as much as being found out, she retreated into her own little fantasy world. There her affairs were numerous and more than once, because of Manny's near sterility, she had, in her flight of fancy, accompanied a complete stranger to a motel room where he not only ravished her but impregnated her as well. Keeping the child's father a secret, she imagined her pregnancy, her swollen belly, the delivery and even raising the child, never telling Manny the truth. Yet these and other fantasies remained just that, fantasies.
But the restlessness would not go away and, in fact, her undefined need grew stronger as time passed. When a two week rafting trip down the Colorado River failed to satisfy her need for excitement, she realized that it was not a physical but rather a sensual need that was responsible for her lack of fulfillment. It wasn't that Manny was a bad lover, but from the start there had never been the earth shaking fireworks, the eroticism and wild orgasms she had imagined would accompany their bedroom adventures. There was no eroticism, very little foreplay and her own orgasms were now more infrequent and milder in potency.
She touched the pool apron completing her current lap and shoved off to begin another. As her strong curvaceous legs propelled her she wondered if Rhonda could help.
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It was their five years anniversary and he had planned a special surprise for her. The room was full of candles and so was they’re bathroom, both rooms filled with the sweet scent of roses. The bath filled with hot water and soap and the bed made with new satin sheets. On the bed were laid out a few items he had chosen for her. When she came home he met her at the door and lifted her in his strong arms. ‘Happy anniversary’, she chirped. ‘Happy anniversary darling’, he whispered in her ear. ...
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.a{fill:none;stroke:gray;stroke-linecap:round;stroke-linejoin:round;stroke-width:3px;} Bottom P. Fogg: A MEMOIRPart 15Copyright© 2004 by Paris Waterman
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