of Joy and Madness

"Not too inviting, huh?" Ben said, his eyes pleading.

I hated to disappoint him, but this place gave me the willies. I looked around for other possibilities. Each room had drawbacks and all were filthy. I gazed out the kitchen window at a field of high grass.

"How about outside?" I asked tentatively.

Ben came up and peered over my shoulder. "Great! That’s even better." His whole face brightened. He kissed my cheek. "Julie Larson, you are my kind of woman."

We picked our way over the glass strewn floor to the open back doorway. The yard was overgrown, but beautiful in its wildness. Clumps of yellow eyed daisies created bouquets. "Daisies, my favorite," I said, picking one and putting it behind my ear.

We waded through the tall grass casually checking the flat areas for lumps with our feet. When we found a likely spot, we dropped down on all fours, then flopped over on our backs to feel if it would be comfortable. We discovered the perfect spot under a tree. Ben spread the sleeping bag and opened the picnic sack he’d brought, which contained fruit, bread and cheese. He stared in the bag for a moment, then blurted out, "Forget the food. I can’t eat right now."

I fell back, laughing.

"What did I do now?" he asked, his smile a touch uncertain.

"You’re so uncool."

"I yam what I yam," he said, his dimples deepening. When he smiled, I thought him one of the handsomest men I’d ever seen, even better looking than Jason. "Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Not for food," I admitted.

"Good. I can’t wait," he said, tossing the bag of food off the blanket.

"I love the way you are," I said. "I’m so sick of complicated people."

"Then I should suit you perfectly," he said, nuzzling my neck. "I already love you more than I have ever loved anyone."

Any answer I might have given was drowned in giggles as his nuzzling triggered nerves in my neck that made me as ticklish as an infant.

"Ah, ticklish."

"First time ever," I gasped, "and you just discovered it."

A feathery fence of tall seeded grass nested our opened sleeping bag, creating a private bower. Above us glared the hot sun now dappled and softened by broad maple leaves; below, a thick flannel bed cradled us. Rustling breezes strummed our grass fence and caressed our naked bodies. Ben’s approach to lovemaking mirrored his seduction. He went straight for the gold. My starved body gladly skipped the foreplay. We came together in a primitive, forceful, melding of rhythm and movement, our coupling as unselfconscious as that of animals. I forgot my worries about being frigid the way I’d been with George and had no trouble moving quickly to a strong orgasm that left my body tingling, my hair curly and my face all smiles.

Afterward, lying side by side, finger-tips touching, Ben said, wrapping a curl around his finger, "You look like Shirley Temple."

"You did it," I answered. "Good loving makes my hair curl."

Staff meeting at Veritas passed in a blur. My body sang through it. When it was over, I smiled warmly at Margot and gave Bruce a hug, without a twinge.

That first day of lovemaking with Ben began a summer of pleasure, different from the one I’d shared with Jason, but just as beautiful. Love-making with Jason had been mystical, as much spiritual as it was physical, even though we celebrated it with our bodies. With Bruce it had been mental and emotional, rarely physical, and certainly not spiritual, even though we talked a lot about religion. Now with Ben, lovemaking was earthbound, physical, concrete, without facade.

During working hours we were best friends, relaxed, easy with one another. But it took only a touch to ignite us. Then we exploded the way an arc of electricity jumps between poles of attraction. With Jason and Bruce, I often initiated lovemaking. But Ben, always ready and willing, forced me to be more cautious. Once started, there was no stopping him.

I enjoyed his easygoing ways. He truly seemed a simple man, yet also capable of deep feelings. Most of the men I’d met these past few years, especially the new-age, open to feelings, kind of men, reminded me of onions; with layer after layer one could peel back, but no solid core one could count on. Ben was no onion; he was solid mahogany. The deeper I went, the more true he seemed.

The only doubt I had about him was his desire to please me. Because of George, I knew what a reservoir of unexpressed anger all that accommodating could build. When Ben came back from his two week summer vacation in August sporting a beard, because I’d said I liked beards, my concern increased, though I had to admit I loved the beard. He was gorgeous. It seemed hard to believe that such a handsome man could be so unspoiled.

Because of treatment changes at Veritas we had uninterrupted blocks of time together The weather cooperated, too. Most days were perfect, with brilliant, blue skies and hot sun. With Bruce I’d had a winter love, our Thursdays had been as dark and icy as our relationship. Spring best depicted my time with Jason, a new love blessed by sudden showers, rainbows, and the faint perfume of wild flowers. Now with Ben I had a summer love; a time of freedom and play, like the summers of childhood. We didn’t worry about where it was heading, any more than school kids think of classes starting in the fall.

As the summer deepened, soft, downy beds of matted grass dotted our secret place like a checkerboard. The early June daisies that covered our field were followed by bushes full of scarlet trumpets containing long, yellow tongues that waggled furiously in the breeze. This untouched, unkempt spot became our summer home. Here we were unmarried, had no children. We were simply Ben and Julie in love.

During working hours at Curtwood we often discussed our marriages. We were both disappointed and wondered aloud if something deeper and richer were possible, or if the institution of marriage itself were to blame, because, as Matthew had claimed, proximity and constancy bred boredom.