However, if my life were truly that boring, I wouldn’t be writing a book. So, as the story goes, Kay leaned over me to shake me awake while her daughter slept above us. There was a deep breath of shock as I was suddenly pulled from the beginning of my slumber before I asked, “What happened? What’s the matter?” and rubbed my eyes.
“Nothing, I just wanted you to know that I had so much fun today,” she whispered as she knelt next to the bed.
"Yeah, me too. Damn, you scared me. I totally fell asleep.” I twisted a bit to face her in case there was more she needed to say, but, frankly, I was tired.
“Emma. Kiss me.”
I twisted my back tighter as I tried to whisper as loudly as I could without waking her daughter. “What? No.” Before I could say any more, she leaned in to kiss me. Her hair was wet and I was overwhelmed with the smell of shampoo as strands of her dark locks fell onto my face.
She pulled away, saying, “Come to the bathroom.” As she stood up, she gently tugged at my arm.
“No, your kid is going to wake up. What about Tim? Didn't you say he doesn’t want an Arizona repeat?”
“He had to work early. He’s gone. We are alone. Come to the bathroom. I want you.”
“Kay, I am going to bed. You are fucking nuts.” I rolled over to face the wall. “Go to bed, Kay.” I pulled my arm free and tucked it to my chest.
She grabbed my shoulder and twisted me toward her. “Please,” she begged.
“God dammit,” I said as I flipped the covers off and let her guide me to the bathroom in nothing but a towel, which dropped to the floor the moment it was shut. “This is so wrong,” I said moments before I fucked her right where she stood.
How quick it was. Rather than sex, it felt like a feverish race to see who could fingerbang the other first. The experience was lustful, even with sensual kisses that tasted like toothpaste and blood from a recent tooth extraction.
Of our rekindled night of passion, it’s sad that the taste of dental work is more prominent than what actually happened. But, I said it once and I’ll say it again: “It’s the before and after we all sit on the edge of our seats for.” The climatic part wasn’t the sex; it was the ring she gave me the next morning before I drove home. Kay dramatically pulled me into the bedroom and put a plain gold band in my hand and curled my fingers around it.
“I want you to have this. It was my grandmother’s, but I want you to have it because I love you and I want you to think of me every time you wear it. It will be like you are mine and I am yours. Our little secret, okay?”
I tried to explain that I couldn’t accept such a gift. After she insisted, my hand reluctantly held firm as she slid it on my finger. I left her place feeling extremely awkward on my long journey home.
It was a two-hour drive on the German Autobahn. Plenty of time to think about Kay and the ring she gave me. I glanced at it on my finger, twisted it around with my thumb, tried to shine it against my shirt, and finally took it off for a while. Silver is my passion, so the gold felt wrong to wear.
After tossing it into the cup holder of Doug’s immaculate car, the ring scraped from side to side around each curve of the road. It made me feel guilty, so I pushed it back on my finger. How could she possibly love me? The meaning in her words seemed far too profound for a girl she barely knew and slept with twice. Was she a woman obsessed? I cared for her but certainly did not love her.
Rationalizing these things in my mind, I pitied her.
CHAPTER 9
After arriving home, the ring disappeared into a pocket in my jewelry box. The meaning and special moment were lost forever because feelings for Kay were not shared. My heart belonged to Doug. My marriage and my life continued to be the most wonderful relationship in existence.
My sex life, however, was beginning to be something of a constant compromise. Douglas was bothered by the fact that we only had sex once a week, and he became very vocal about it. “This isn’t normal. I need more snatch, woman!” Sadly, this was his chief complaint. So, in order to make things right, we joked at the dinner table about it and bartered for quality pussy time.
“I don't know. Why don’t you kiss me or something, Doug? You can’t just say get naked and expect me to be turned on, ya fucker. Jesus, why don’t you take my clothes off?” I laughed, then shoveled a pile of food into my mouth.
“Listen, woman, you give me twenty minutes. I ain’t got time to fuck around with your bras and buckles and shit.” He leaned back against his chair and sipped ice water as he referred to my stipulation, which came about years earlier after many marathon sex sessions.
My complaint was that it took too long and was actually uncomfortable, not to mention painful, when he stuck it in without being fully aroused. This in itself was a problem because I didn’t get exceptionally wet to begin with. At some point, when he asked for sex, I started tapping my left wrist where a watch would be worn to let him know that the clock was ticking. On more than one occasion, I explained that if he couldn’t do what he had to in twenty minutes, something was wrong and my vagina would shrivel up and fall out if he kept pounding away without lubrication. This stipulation worked for Doug. He took it seriously and maintained the lube drawer, which was always well stocked.
Seventy-five percent of our foreplay went quite literally like this:
“Hey, baby. Do you want to do it?”
Then I would say yes or no, depending on what was cooking on the stove and if it could cook unattended or not. If the answer was yes, he would say, “Okay, baby, get naked.” Then I’d tap my wrist and he would go running for the K-Y Jelly. He would put a little on me, put a little on himself, and shove it in. Badda-boom, badda-bing, intercourse was over, and I could either masturbate to get off or stir my Spanish rice that was probably boiling over.
Since his principal complaint was about the amount of sex we had, we questioned how much sex was considered normal for an average married couple without kids. We couldn’t ask our neighbors. They were apparently worse than rabbits in breeding season. And we really didn’t want to know how many times the neighbors’ fat military housewives sucked their husband’s cocks on a weekly basis.
He just wanted more sex from his wife, whom he was in love with; was that too much to ask? It wasn’t like he was a beast! Doug was a good-looking fellow with big brown eyes, thick Spanish hair that was always well groomed, and the cutest dimples when he smiled. The thing is, if more sex was the biggest problem we faced as a couple, we were doing pretty well.
At the end of 2000, while watching television, I saw a commercial recruiting soldiers for the Army Soldier Show. The show consisted of selected soldiers placed on temporary duty to entertain troops across the United States, including one overseas assignment.
Soldiers auditioned for a spot in the show and would also be trained as their own technicians and roadies if they made the cut. Some say it’s a soldier spin-off of the Bob Hope USO tours he used to do for the troops in Vietnam. The soldier show motto was, “Entertainment for the soldiers, by the soldiers.” High school drama club and summer teen theater had nothing on the fifteen minutes of fame that the soldier show offered. It was bigger, more elaborate, required extensive planning, and had a healthy budget.
The tour was eight months long, so a person who wanted to do the show would have to get permission from their unit before they could audition. I spoke with Ed about my desire to do the show, and he agreed to support me with my potentially achievable dream. After gathering all of the necessary paperwork, I sent it to the entertainment installation along with a video of a karaoke performance and my letter of release. Two months later, I flew to the United States for the official audition.