It was just a fling

It was just a fling. Only it went on and on and on. The first time there was no asking. There was no talking. It was written in her eyes. I had to walk her home. Something told me it was not a wise thing to do. Anyway, I had to. She’d stayed late at our place. I am not sure it was not deliberate. They were great friends, you know. But there was that mischievous look lurking in her eye. She never said anything.

It is the things she did that let me in on her intentions. Maybe I should say the things she never did. She would wait until I had full view before drawing her skirt level with the knee. Then she would look me straight in the eye for effect. Usually, I looked away. The faintest of smiles swept across her lips. I don’t know if my mind played games on me or it was real. Anyway, I grew to fear her. She could make me do anything she wished. Somehow, she knew it.

Then she timed her stay to force me to accompany her in the dark. When she tripped, she landed heavily against me before going down. I hadn’t the speed or breath to stop her landing on the ground. I helped her up. She was limping badly. I had to support her all the way. She was breathing heavily. By the time we got to her place, I was panting too. She asked me in. I should have turned back right then. I did not.

It started with a kiss.  Then the first hug followed. It was a couple of hugs really. I took a deep breath after the first, took another look at her, and then launched into her again. I was trembling. She was so calm. Later, I thought she must have planned it all. I did not have to say anything. I literally ran out confused.

It was just a fling

When we had our first clandestine date, the sex was not as good as expected. She tried to please too much. It was not natural. There was too much noise, too much eagerness.  Months went before the second time. This time I was hooked.

We never talked about ourselves. Most times we just listened to the radio. There was hardly time anyway. Just the half hour or so for a cup of tea after the evening tryst. The chat would be about happenings around or in the country. I would look around then excuse myself.

Sometimes I passed money for groceries or brought something along. Usually it was the meat. I felt so guilty about the whole thing. On my way home I stopped for a beer. It was the only way I could explain the two or three hours’ absence after work- I was just having a drink with my mates. Surprisingly, most of my mates appeared at the local for a quick drink just about the same time- minutes before Seven O’clock news or just after. They’d only be enough time for a beer or two.

Then the mind and heart numbed. This unexplained thing became a part of me- the tryst and the beer. I was staying longer in the bar. I was drinking more. I wish I had stuck with the sex alone. Then I would only have to carry my guilt along. But the beer was something else. My wife could not stand it. And there was no way I was going back to her house without the beer. The guilt would kill me.

I was drinking seven nights a week. I worked weekends and never missed the football. Anything to keep me from home was welcome. I was not having a relationship. It was a situation. It drove me -not me it. I never paused to explain it to myself. Instead I drowned in beer. Then I discovered many of my buddies were having their own little secrets too. That explained it- it was normal! Except they did not have a wife like mine. I was a hopeless sinner in her gaze. There was only the beer between me and that piercing gaze of hers. When she discovered it was all over between us.

Then I could not keep up with the trysts after the break up. I moved. It was only much later that my illicit friend declared her love for me. I had not felt anything really. It was only a fling. Only it went on to destroy my marriage. I was startled by her assertion. There was no future between us. She was my wife’s best friend… Damn!