On the surface she led a quiet and conventional life, at least conventional for a woman in the 1980s.  Adding that qualifier meant that her mother disapproved, and that qualifier had been added to more than a few things in her life!

She was divorced, had just turned thirty-six, and shared her suburban townhouse with two cats, Cassidy (frequently called “Mama Cass”) and Jasper, an undemanding, affectionate gray tom.  A sedate dark green Honda Accord sat in the two-stall garage, recently paid off after three years of payments.  Her closet was full of conservative sweaters, blouses, and skirts, emphasizing her role as a serious-minded, gainfully-employed professional.  She was still a practicing Catholic – earning her mother’s approval for at least one thing! – and attended mass on most Sundays.  Her freezer contained a carton of single-serving  cheese pizzas for a quick-to-grab lunch or supper for those remaining Fridays during the current Lenten season.  Until a couple of months ago, she had been a member of a Catholic Singles group which met on Wednesday evenings.  The topic of annulment came up frequently at these functions, the only way a divorced Catholic could marry again and remain in good standing with the Church.  Unless, of course, the ex-spouse had died.  Hers hadn’t, the last she had heard.  But, then again, she hadn’t spoken to the man in better than five years.

Peggy eased herself from underneath the covers and padded softly to the bathroom.  She could sleep in a little this morning since she was not required to be at the clinic until 11:00.  Unfortunately, her bladder didn’t like to sleep in much past 6:00!  Jasper silently jumped off the bed and trotted behind her into the bathroom, knowing that enough weaving between her feet and meowing would probably secure his breakfast before his human companion returned to bed.

This had been part of her unchanging routine for a number of years.  She facilitated a group therapy session every Tuesday evening and had for most of her years as a nurse-psychotherapist at Franklin Behavioral Health Center.  She was almost never home before 10:00 on those evenings, and a later start on Wednesday was compensation for the late night before.

She made a quick trip to the kitchen to pour a cupful of kibble into Jasper’s empty bowl (the one with Psycho Kitty printed on the side, although it had been purchased with “Mama Cass” in mind) and then returned to the bedroom.

 ”‘Morning, love,” Randy murmured, reaching out to her as she slid in beside him.

 It was still dark, wouldn’t be full light outside for almost another two hours, and the house was cool.  The bed was comforting with the warmth of his body next to hers.  She molded herself against him as he drew her close, pressing her buttocks into that perfect “chair” made by his hips and slightly-flexed thighs as they spooned on their sides.  He tightened his embrace as she settled in, and she felt him begin to swell and lengthen, the growing firmness nuzzling her backside.  She knew that this Wednesday morning would begin as so many had in the past: drowsy cuddling and whispers, warm fondling and caresses, his expert knowledge of her body bringing her to several effortless climaxes before he finally allowed his own.

All so conventional.  All so routine.

But just on the surface.

 

 

Her mother didn’t know about Randy in spite of their longstanding relationship, and perhaps never would.  Her pastor had been introduced to him as a “friend” after an Ash Wednesday mass several years earlier, a morning service that they had attended together before departing in separate cars to drive to the same office building to begin their workday.  Randy, in fact, had co-facilitated that Tuesday evening therapy group with her for quite some time, and they functioned well as a team, consulting on cases with each other and acting as co-therapists in family counseling sessions.  Their mutual coworkers realized that they shared a warm friendship, but given the nature of their jobs, that was hardly a surprise.  It was not fodder for clinic gossip, and they were not considered a couple in the personal sense, just a well-tuned and sensitive professional team.

Mainly because Randy was gay.  Openly gay.  Out and proud!  as the saying went.

She had encouraged his honesty when he came to work for the clinic as a young man with the ink still wet on his Master’s thesis.  She respected him for his courage, his intelligence, his insight.  Everyone there had accepted and liked him.

Likewise, he had supported her when she made the decision at about that same time to end her nine-year marriage.  That had been a very tough time, and he had been there for her, with a joke, a funny card tucked in her desk drawer, pieces of her favorite candy planted in her coat pockets.  Sometimes it was just his caring silence and the warmth of his hand in hers that comforted her.  Unlike so many of her friends, he wasn’t afraid to just shut up and be with her!

He was different from the other guys she knew.  He was different from the other friends she had.  A part of her had attributed this difference, this breath of fresh air, to his gayness.  She had never felt so open, so honest, so completely herself as she did when they were debating an issue,  winding down after a late Tuesday night group over a chili-burger and a beer at Hinkel’s Grill, or improvising an upbeat piano duet at a coworker’s holiday party.

A gay man had become her closest friend.  It was as simple as that.

Or was it?

(Continued here but password-protected to prevent sensitive individuals from unwanted exposure to adult situations, nudity, and frank descriptions of sexuality.)