“Very unsexy beekeeper.”
“I can still make it work. Remember, Sara… I reached puberty in an age when they still expected people to pay for porn.”
“Keep it up, Baptiste, and you’ll be magically transported back to the era of being a lonely virgin.”
I laughed. “At least being a virgin again will cut back on some of the itching between my thighs.”
Alanna and I never really had much sex. When you’re as busy as we always seemed to be, you tend to look at the person you’re shacked up with as some kind of adversary. If only she’d turned the dishwasher on, or remembered to move the wet clothes into the dryer… then maybe I wouldn’t be so goddamned stressed… and then maybe I’d want to have a little bit of midweek action.
On most days the house was a mess, and as douchey as it was I just didn’t have the energy to do anything about it, and by the time I was ready for bed I was really ready for bed and sex was the last thing on my mind. Well… sex with another person was the last thing on my mind. It’s funny how after a few years sex becomes just a variation on masturbation that’s often more effort than I felt like making. It was so tempting sometimes to just tell her I’m too anxious to sleep or to do anything else, so then I could go rub one off on the living room couch.
I remember the last time we had sex; it was the night before I left for up north, and we were so tired from packing that I think at first it felt more like a chore for both of us. But I started to kiss her neck and run my fingers along the line of her auburn hair, just above her right temple and the little divot from the frame of her glasses, and soon I was back to those days when we were first dating, when we were so horny for each other that we’d rush home and have sex on our lunch breaks, when things were so hot that I sometimes felt like my heart would explode and I’d die right then and there, young but especially happy.
So I kissed her some more and drew one finger down her cheek, and I listened to her breathe until I knew she was ready. I went down on her then, because I had the urge to do it and because she hadn’t asked me to, and I was there with my tongue and my fingers, hearing her moans and feeling her body tighten and contract. On some nights that’s enough to make her climax, and that’s just what happened that night. I moved my body over-top of hers and I entered her, and I looked her in the eyes and told her I loved her, and at that moment I meant it, and after a few minutes I finished… and then we laid together on the bed, both of us satisfied and for the moment, both of us happy with the other.
I think the sex with Alanna was better because of all those times she pissed me off. I think it was hotter because I spent half my time wishing she’d just leave me alone. I don’t think good sex is driven by love; I think it’s fueled by the kind of passion you get from occasionally hating the person closest to you.
I love Sara, but it’s not the same; she still seems too good to be true, so I know we need a little more time for reality to set in. In many ways she’s more sensual than Alanna, more willing to touch and be touched, as long as it’s in the right places.
Back when I was married, the idea of being with someone different and not knowing where to touch them was something I would have given anything to experience again. But when I’m with Sara I think of Alanna, of the way she loved feeling my lips on her neck, the way she loved the tracing of my fingers around the little ridge of her belly button.
One day I’ll probably start to be so accustomed to Sara’s body and bringing her pleasure that there will be nothing left that surprises me. On the one hand I hope that it helps me recapture some of what I had with Alanna, but I also worry that I’ll feel too guilty to enjoy it. It’s funny, but I’ve never felt like I’m cheating on Alanna with Sara. I think I’ll only start feeling that way once the sex really starts to pick up; one day it’ll be the best sex I’ve ever had, and that’s the day I’ll feel like a cheat.
After dinner we gathered in the living room as usual. I would have rather heard another selection from Ant’s diary or played some poker, but I knew that it was time to talk about the problem everyone was hoping would go away.
“I’m concerned about the Tremblays,” I said as I paced around the room.
“They’re not pulling their weight,” Lisa said. “Everyone knows that.”
“Glad I’m not the only one.”
“But what the heck are we going to do about it?” Graham asked. “When those guys aren’t falling behind, they’re crapping on every idea we have.”
“I think you guys are being too hard on them,” Fiona said. “They’ve had a rough time.”
“We’ve all had a rough time,” I said.
“But they came to us because they weren’t going to make it otherwise.”
“That’s true,” Sara said. “They weren’t willing to take any of us in a year ago, so I can’t imagine it felt good for them to show up here begging for help.”
“I’m fine with charity,” I said. “But at some point the charity stops and reality kicks in. There are seven people over there, using up supplies faster than the rest of us and providing very little in return.”
“They know we don’t have any options,” Lisa said.
“What do you mean?”
“They know that you’re too nice to force them out. So they don’t have to work very hard. Hell, if they stopped working tomorrow I’m sure we’d still keep feeding them.”
“And giving them our firewood,” Graham said.
“Indentures aren’t seeming so bad anymore,” Lisa said.
“That’s not funny,” Sara said, almost growling as she spoke.
“I’m not joking… people like the Tremblays wouldn’t last a week in Timmins. They’d have been thrown into a pit mine so that nature could take its course.”
“We’re not even going to discuss that kind of garbage,” I said. “Let’s just put them in a situation where they either have to do the work or they have to admit that they’re not contributing. I seriously doubt they’d just give in and admit that they’re useless. They’ll have to come around.”
“But they already have plenty of work they’re not doing,” Graham said. “You already went through the list with them.”
“It’s too easy for them to half-ass-it when they’re working in their cottage. They could hide in that place all day pretending they’re working and getting fuck all done.” That made me think of weekends on Sackville Street, the todo lists I conveniently misplaced and the mancave I’d built in the basement that was less a workshop and more a masturbatorium. I felt myself smiling. “I know what that’s like,” I said, running my hand on my chin. “I happen to be an expert on that subject. My wife used to call me ‘the invisible husband’.”
Sara glared at me, probably more from surprise than anything else. She gets uneasy when I talk about Alanna, so I don’t do it very often.
“Invisible husband?” Lisa said. “Probably a reference to your missing manhood.”
I was surprised that she beat Kayla to the joke, but then I realized that Kayla wasn’t even paying attention. She and Matt were staring out the window toward the lake. Matt was sulking, still butthurt over what I’d told him half a week ago, but Kayla just seemed vacant, like she’d checked out for the evening. I’d seen her angry; I saw that last night. But this wasn’t something I’d seen from her before.
“So we need to send them out somewhere?” Sara asked.
“Marc and Alain, at least,” I said. “I think they’re the root of the problem. It’s a safe bet that those guys aren’t the ones doing laundry or food prep, either.”
“So we do need to send them with the Porters,” Graham said.