NAVEL GAZING: excessive absorption in self-analysis or focus on a single issue

PART II. TRANSITION: A Blissful High

I moved out — During the transition I stayed at Nina's apartment. I loved how feminine and maternal she was, as I watched her interact with her daughters. She adored those little girls and enjoyed being a doting Mom. They were a happy little trio, and my guilty pleasure.  Guilty, because time spent with them, was time not spent with my own kids. I was in the middle of a failed attempt to honor Samantha's wish that I wait six months before introducing Nina, and her girls, to our boys. In contrast to the organization of our home, Nina's apartment was a muddled display of toys, clothes, dishes and cats. She was more dedicated to being a Mother and student, and not interested in housekeeping.  The remainder of her time was spent on us, and I was happy to be there.

Her two girls, a toddler and a preschooler, were an adorable combination of headstrong determination and heart-melting affection. Often shirtless, they walked around the apartment with exposed chubby little bodies. I loved watching the three of them—mom and daughters—as they worked together on projects. They liked to bake cookies and always took longer than expected, which became a universal rule for any activity that involved the girls. Nina exercised great patience with them; her joy seemingly indelible. We'd gather in the flour-dusted kitchen together to enjoy the evening snack. They ate cookies and precariously balanced much-too-full glasses of milk. They were quickly bored and abandoned the snack to climb along the kitchen countertops with a feline-like curiosity. Nina and I surrounded them in an attempt to protect. We laughed and poked fun at each other's milk mustaches.

Amidst the painful repercussions of my choices, Nina became my refuge. She embodied my ideal partner: caring and nurturing with the children, present, athletic, and engaged in activities with me. I felt alive, awakened after years of the slow, melancholic pace of a failing marriage. With Nina, I experienced being desired again.

Late each weeknight, after class, we drove back to her apartment. I carefully moved the sleeping girls from their mom's bed to their own, as Nina talked with the babysitter. I looked forward to what became a nightly routine that started with us together in the small master bathroom. I watched Nina pin back her long-blond bangs, wash her face, and then brush her teeth. After completing my regimen, I joined her on the bed where she sat waiting, cross-legged and unashamedly naked. We quickly became engrossed in whatever topic of conversation, enjoying our time alone, knowing eventually we'd make love.

My own physical pleasure took a distant 2nd to the feeling of power experienced, as I assisted Nina in achieving her own. She was unguarded, and nothing was taboo with her. Never before had I felt such a need to have someone.

[She was like a drug, and I was addicted.]

To describe Nina's hold over me as the result of sexual desire would be too simple. I would be remiss though, if not admitting that our sex life had a profound effect.

Long weekend mornings were spent enjoying each other in bed. I discovered how she liked to be touched, using my hand at first, and then mouth. In my marriage oral sex was not performed often, and selfishly I was even less attentive to the giving end of the deal. With Nina, I was consumed by it. She wasn't embarrassed to make noise. Her legs bent and torso tense as she pushed herself against me. The comforter lay tangled between us, sheets wrinkled and damp from her clenched hands.

When I was young, I struggled with bouts of sexual anxiety. In time, I moved past it, and for years, my marriage was fine—at least when it came to sex. But as the marriage began to fail, intimacy disappeared, and sex with my wife became devoid of desire.
Now, with renewed interest, I felt more passionate than ever before. Nina gave me the confidence to explore new experiences. She revealed how her arousal drew a distinction between fantasy and reality, and in doing so, allowed me to explore my own thoughts freely.

Together, we purchased toys and videos from Centerfolds Superstore, an impressive warehouse-sized venue that specialized in adult entertainment. When viewing online porn, she often queried the term 'group sex' in the search engine. She grew impatient with the fluffy scenes of soft porn, and though playfully phrased, she would pointedly state, 'Let's get to the fucking.' It aroused her to watch explicit scenes of penetration, her excitement evident as the camera captured a woman's face, tense with furrowed brows, gritting through the not evidently pleasurable ordeal. My focus, rather than on the scene where partners engaged in choreographed sex, was often instead on Nina. This one time as I watched her, the expression on her face seemed ambivalent. "She just lays there and takes it," I remember her saying. What became suspect to me later, I couldn't see then. I was consumed by desire and saw only what I wanted at that time.

I found myself more turned on by her and what excited her above all else. A favorite method of foreplay was when she'd fantasize aloud to me. I'd lay there with her wrapped in my arms, and with a dream-like quality, she'd begin. Speaking slowly at first and with a soft voice, she'd weave a tale, "There was a young girl...." I had heard other versions before and knew exactly where it led, and eagerly listened while she filled in with spontaneous detail. She described her appearance, thoughts, and whereabouts. At a party, on a college campus, or perhaps in her home; within each story, though, the same theme followed, and soon she was surprised by the presence of another:

Nina's voice is hypnotic as I lay there, listening with anticipation and enjoying each soft-spoken word. Her pace quickens as the story evolves, and characters begin to act on the shared attraction. The climax of the story approaches, and Nina's breathing becomes shallow and sporadic. I'm unsure if she's taken with passion or embellishing for my benefit, but it doesn't matter—I want to be lost in the fantasy.

[No other words of mine ring truer or better describe my state of mind back then.]

I remain riveted by her fast words and images conjured. She vividly describes the scene: the girl's mixture of fear and excitement over the man's erection. He draws her down and she takes him in her mouth. Eventually he moves lower, and as he prepares to enter her, fear turns into desire, and she fucks him.

I know, a cliché...generic porn material; regardless, the thoughts inspired by those words, that were given life as spoken from her mouth, overwhelmed me more than any film ever did. With everything now known, I feel guilty for being turned on by the memory of those X-rated bedtime stories. But back then, I didn't fully understand the relevance and complicated undercurrent fueling her fantasies. Back then, I coveted those moments, listening to her whisper evocative details, knowing what awaits the girl in the fantasy, and afterward for me, in our bed:

As the end of the story nears, and the girl's fear is replaced by desire, Nina touches me.
Without making the connection, I imagine her as the girl.
[it always turns me on]
Nina moves to face me, interlaces her fingers within mine, and slowly outstretches our arms as she bends forward. She takes me in her mouth, her head slowly rocks back and forth—

[The soft, nearly inaudible murmurs of pleasure that she makes are more erotic to me than the act itself.]

—I close my eyes and surrender to those images that play out in my mind, where she's the one who takes it. She's the one fucking an unknown partner.
Our arms remain extended and hands continue to squeeze and writhe together until the act is finished.

Early each morning I left to pick up my boys and take them to school.  I'd work through the afternoon at a friend's accounting office, and then gathered the boy's from school to deliver them back to their house.  Nina and I met a few hours later at class, where once finished, we'd return to her apartment and all began again. It was unsustainable, and after a short time living together signs of trouble appeared; but by then I was hooked, and like an addict, I spent the rest of my time with her chasing an elusive high.