Sunday, March 29, 2009
Apologies for a rather racy post --
Last night I had a dream that Sue and other women were congregating in a parking garage. Each woman was sitting alone in her car, and the cars were not parked close together. It was like a place these women could go to be alone. A place (and a time) that they all knew.
And (now here's the surreal bit) what were they doing? They had all gone there to use their vibrators.
This may seem like some sort of twisted male fantasy, but in the dream, it wasn't erotic at all. Not even vaguely titlating. Nor did I, in my dream, see anything explicit. Just a bunch of cars in a dimly lit parking garage.
I told Sue about it in the morning, and I jokingly asked her if she had been doing that. We had a little laugh about the absurdidty of the idea. And then I wanted to ask her something a bit more. My heart started beating a little harder. I wanted to ask her if... but then one of the kids started screaming and the moment was lost.
Later in the morning Sue went out to get the groceries, and I had a peek to see if her vibrator had moved. It hadn't. It hasn't moved at all in a week or more. I was beginning to wonder whether I imagined the thing moving in the first place. Maybe it was really just me who was moving it when I dug around trying to find it. Maybe the whole thing was one big misunderstanding. My eyes or my memory were playing tricks on me? Or mabe she just used it very rarely. Perhaps when her period was coming. An ex had told me she used to masturbate to alieviate period pain.
I went to the laundry basket and found the dress she was wearing last night when we went out for the first time in three months. I held it up and smelled it. I could smell her perfume on it. It was nice. I got in bed and held it against myself. I put it over my face, and the smell came through. I moved it and I could smell her underarms, her muskiness, her perfume. I held the dress over my face, so it was totally dark. But I held it against my body, so it would feel like her. I rubbed it against me and imagined that she was on top of me, grinding her hips into mine. But she wasn't there. She was buying bananas at Krogers.
This afternoon, I went out to run some errands, and took one of the kids with me. We went to Building Depot and got some odds and ends. We got back late, after three hours of traipsing about. We were late for dinner, and Sue was unimpressed, but it wasn't a drama.
Later, I noticed something on top of the sweaters under which Sue keeps her vibrator had moved. Not by much, but it had definitely moved. I waited for Sue to be busy with the kids, and then I took my chance and had a look. It was in a completely different place! There could be no mistaking it now, not even a little bit. It had been dug out from the bottom of a big pile; taken out; and put back on its end in a different spot. It was thrown in loosely, and not too hidden, which is very unlike Sue. Had she almost been caught and had to hide it in a hurry? Or was she, perhaps, almost wanting me to find it...
I put everything back how it was and moved away.
I didn't want Susan to catch me there.
My heart was beating a bit, and I had some tingling in my fingers. (I have even more now, writing about it!)
I was upset. I didn't really know what to think. Of course I felt betrayed.
Later I snuck back a second time and picked it up. I smelled it to see if it smelled of her. But all I could smell was the sandalwood of the shelf it was on.
Later again I went for a short run.
I thought she might hide it properly while I was out.
I snuck my fourth peek for the day.
Nope. It hadn't moved.
Is she toying with me? Does she know I look? Is she trying to provoke a reaction, a coment, a confession? Perhaps she feels ashamed, but she wants me to find out... to somehow catch her.
The grand irony that did not strike me til now is that here we have an (ostensibly) loving couple. They (we) have been together for 10 years. They have two children. The have a life together. A home. A business. And yet their sexual life has devolved to the irony of them both masturbating on the same day, in the same room at different times a few hours apart. Each in secret from the other. He was thinking of her. She was thinking of... well, only she can tell you that. He hopes it was him. Do women fantasize when they masturbate, the way men do? No idea. I would presume so, but so much about our sexuality is so different.
The irony of a couple... making love to themselves, but not to each other, a loving couple, but an asexual couple. In the same room. In the same afternoon. In ignorance of each other. Each reaching out for physical, sexual, and emotionally intimate needs. But reaching out only to themselves, not to each other. Each hiding their drives and urges, as well as their acations, from each other. The imagery, when I think about it, is overwhelming. It feels so... je ne sais qua. Pinter-esque? Post modern? It feels like it could be a key scene from a late 20th century avant garde play.
The symbolism didn't even strike me until I began writing this post.
Later this evening, I asked her if we could talk.
It was a huge break through, and a huge chance for us to move forward.
But that, my friends, is another post for another time.