Chapter 22

It has been three weeks since I’ve fucked. Admittedly, the end of last week put us both out of the mood, considering the news about my grandmother. Still, three weeks is a very long time -- especially considering my libido.

When Donna and I first got together, she told me she was a nymphomaniac. She said she wanted to fuck three or four times a day, and I told her I’d see what I could do about that. In fact, when we first got together, we did just that. At least twice a day for a while, though eventually slowing to once a day. That was fine. Passions cool. But then once a day became once a week, and once a week became twice a month. Now its been three weeks, and I’m about ready to go out and find someone just to fuck them. I never thought I’d end up being that kind of person, someone who will do anything to get some pussy, but I have. I would be happy to only sleep with one woman the rest of my life, but Donna is making it hard.

The other day, I told her I was horny, so she came into the bedroom and plopped down on the bed, rolled her eyes, and laid there, looking at the wall above her. I asked her, “What?” and she said, “I’m not horny, Vance,” so I told her to forget it. I don’t want to fuck someone who is unwilling.

Donna’s passion for me has all but evaporated. I can tell, even if she won’t admit it. She says she loves me, but I don’t believe it. Actions verses words.

I just got finished eating. While I was writing this, Donna came in and asked me to go to Qdoba. We talked, or I tried to talk, before I left. She seemed unhappy. I understand. So am I. She said she talked to our friend Maddy, someone she hasn’t talked to much lately because Donna has been mad at her for her tendency to forget when she promises to be places. I asked Donna what was wrong, but she refused to talk to me about it. She said she talked to Maddy about it. She jumps on my case for writing stories about our problems instead of talking to her about them, then talks to Maddy about them and won’t talk to me. I think her refusal to have sex with me is a consequence of everything. She won’t talk to me or touch me or show me she loves me, so what else could the end result be? Donna has always said she separates sex from love, but I don’t believe her any more. I can’t help but think if we decided not to be a couple any more and that she could still stay here as my roommate that our sex life would return to normal, since then she really could separate the two like she says she does. Not that I plan to break up with her to find out. Still, I can’t help but think I’m right.

But we have left Sarah, Michel, and Jackie alone for too long. We can’t forget about them, even if my life is falling apart around me. Their lives, as mine, must go on. I cannot leave them, and you, in continual suspense.

As I’m sure you know, Michel cannot go on having sex with Jackie without Sarah finding out. She already suspects he does -- the question is, how is she going to find out? I say she suspects he is having sex with Jackie, but she is still enough in love to disregard those feelings. How, then, is she going to find out? As her passions cool, the barrier of being in love crumbles, and she begins to trust her senses, the smell of sex on Michel (it’s not just his being horny which makes that smell, but the mixture of his and Jackie’s fluids on him), Jackie always walking around half naked (Sarah came over and saw Jackie completely naked once. Typical female reaction: jealousy -- not directed toward Michel, but at Jackie’s body, with was thin and perfect. How could she not think Michel was fucking someone who looked like that?), the time she came over and Jackie was in a house coat, smelling like she’d just had sex, and she said Michel was in the bathroom and Michel came out in a towel, obviously having not taken a shower yet, though he said he was getting ready to. They argued for hours over that, and her feelings for him waned, but he convinced her (how bad she wanted to be convinced!) she was reading more into the scene than was actually there, that he really was going to take a shower, and that she knew Jackie walked around the apartment half-dressed all the time anyway.

But after a while, being in love can only be so blinding. Truths trickle to the surface. The person you imagined you were in love with turns out to be nothing like the person they really are. When that happens, and it will happen, always happens, you have to decide if this new person who has bubbled to the surface is someone you want to continue being with. Most people do eventually find that person, someone you can love even after the first year of being in love (where the pleasure-producing chemicals secreted by the brain are replaced by pain-killing chemicals, an apt metaphor for any relationship, I think, and one cleverly created by nature). No longer blinded by brain-chemical-induced happiness, you start expecting the one you were in love with to actually make you happy. If they do not (and mine does not. She’s so unhappy, how can she be expected to make me happy?), then you start looking for faults, problems, any excuse to leave.

It didn’t take Sarah a full year to realize Michel was having sex with Jackie. Since she suspected, her barriers were already unsteady. Her brain kept the pain-killing chemicals poised for release, knowing (so to speak) she would need them, even if she was not completely aware of it herself.

Her pain-killing chemicals were finally released when she decided to stop by Michel’s apartment unannounced. She gently knocked on the door, but received no answer. Both Michel’s and Jackie’s cars were out front, so she knew they were home. She tried the door knob. She was surprised to find the door unlocked. Since she was Michel’s girlfriend, she decided she was tacitly invited in. She heard groans and grunts coming from Jackie’s bedroom. Michel was not in the living room. She called out, “Michel!” and the moans and groans stopped. Rustling came from Jackie’s bedroom, then Jackie came out.

“What the hell are you doing in here? Haven’t you heard of knocking?”

“I did. Where’s Michel.”

“He’s not here.”

“Bullshit. I know Michel. He’s too lazy to walk anywhere. You in there fucking him?”

“Fuck you. You’re not going to come barging into my house without being invited in and accusing me...”

“I’m not accusing you. I could care less what you do, bitch. I only care if Michel’s fucking your skanky ass...”

Jackie smacked Sarah across the face. “You’re not going to come into my apartment...”

“He’s in your bedroom, ain’t he?” Sarah shoved Jackie out of the way, sending her to the floor, her housecoat open, exposing her beautiful body, now at ungainly angles. Jackie sprung at Sarah, grabbing her by the hair, and jerked her away from her door before she could go in.

“Damn it, bitch!” Jackie said, dragging Sarah by the hair toward the door. “Now get the fuck out!” She opened the door, ignoring Sarah’s scratching and fists, and pushed Sarah out.

Sarah turned around in time to see Michel standing in the hall, naked. “Michel! Don’t you ever come over again. We’re through. I can’t believe you were fucking this bitch!”

“Sarah, please, let’s talk about this.”

“Not here,” Jackie said, slamming the door on Sarah’s face.

Michel grabbed his shorts and pulled them on and ran out to catch Sarah. She was halfway across the street by the time he was in the door. “Sarah! We need to talk. I’m sorry!”

Sarah turned on the center line. “Fuck you! Fuck you, you goddamn asshole! I can’t believe you’ve been fucking that bitch. There’s no telling what you gave me, what you caught from that slut. I’m sending you the bill for the AIDS test, and then I don’t ever want to see or hear from you again.”

“I’m sorry, Sarah.”

“Like fuck you are. You would have happily kept fucking her if I hadn’t caught you. I should have known better. I knew what you were like, what you thought of women. I’m some kind of feminist, huh? God...!” She turned to finish walking for her car, stepping out of the way of an oncoming pickup.

Michel stared at her, shaking his head. The door opened behind him. “You going to come in here and finish fucking me?” Jackie asked.

“I’m not sure I’m in the mood any more,” Michel said.

“You knew this was going to happen. You expected you could keep fucking us both without her finding out? If you had cared about her, you wouldn’t have asked to start fucking me when you knew you were going to start seeing her.”

“Nothing’s certain.”

“Fucking lame excuse. I’m still horny. I’ll get you back in the mood, just get back in here.”

Michel turned, still shaking his head, and followed Jackie into their house. Who was he going to get to read his novel now?