Friends with some very special benefits, I thought.
* * * * *
Over the last year my friendship with Milla had deteriorated, her endless complaining about William growing repetitive and wearying. Now our friendship was reborn; Milla was upbeat, optimistic, energetic, joyful, and vibrant. The primary source of her misery had not only morphed into a source of support, but was satiating her most fundamental need. And believe me, I knew the frustration that came when that went unsatisfied.
I joined Milla at the gym that day, started doing so regularly. We’d go out for lunch or to shop or for a cup of coffee and, while I didn’t peep into her windows at night, I checked out the two of them in their backyard or coming out the front door. They took evident joy in each other’s company, listened to each other, offered each other affectionate and respectful courtesies, and, most nights, the lights were turned off early.
I probed, mentioning the men at the gym who hit on her.
“I guess if Mr. Right came along that would be great, but the fact is I don’t believe in Mr. Right anymore; is there really a man who will complete us, do we need a man to complete us? I’m in a good place; I like my job, getting back to the gym has done wonders with how I feel, I have good friends, and with William and I having worked things out, my biggest stressor has become my biggest pleasure. Yeah, I’d like a companion who knew his way between the sheets, but let’s face it, men our age are chasing twenty-something tale, older guys are interested but can’t perform, and while most twenty-something guys have serious MILF fantasies, they can’t trust them to keep their mouths shut.”
I noted, but did not mention, that she’d left out twenty-somethings who could.
I saw her point. While frustrated with my husband, I liked my life; I wasn’t interested in blowing up my marriage and I certainly didn’t imagine Mr. Perfect swooping in to replace him. But I did need to be wanted, fucked, cuddled.
* * * * *
Todd, if not my husband, noticed Milla’s increased presence in my life. I’d get home from the gym and he’d say, “Looking good Mom. You and Ms. Jovanovic hanging again?”
“Yeah, she’s got me working out regularly. What do you think?”
“As I said Mom, looking great.”
* * * * *
I decided to make a new effort with my husband; I dressed up, pampered him, played the seductress, even watched wrestling. Still, our love-making remained scattered and intermittent; his interest and performance quick, perfunctory, and cursory, and when done he’d roll over and turn on the television.
I kept my vow not to spy on Milla and William making love, although I thought about it constantly and kept tabs. They usually slept in her bedroom; visits to his old bedroom were special occasions.
And then one Wednesday evening when my husband and I were watching a movie on television, something sweet and romantic, something I hoped would put him in the mood, Todd popped in, said he had a big assignment, double-checked to make sure he had his phone, headed upstairs. He was way too excited to be doing homework. It was not the first time I’d seen this behavior, not the first time I figured he was watching Milla and William. When my husband asked me to get him a beer I ducked outside to check the window, Todd’s was dark, William’s lit and blinds open.