EARLY AUGUST. DESTINATION: THE HAMPTONS.
Leaving Manhattan feels like inhaling a canister of fresh new oxygen that’s pumping stale dark air from my lungs so that I can finally breathe.
Jack and I take turns trying to make each other laugh as he drives us down Highway 495 in my dad’s steel-blue ’70s-model Jaguar that he gave to me a couple of years ago and that Jack had a new more economical engine put into last year. The open windows allow the feisty wind to send my hair flying and wake us up after a long and muggy New York July. We can’t help but beam as we drive into Suffolk County, past thickets of pitch pines adorned with shimmery moss, and lush fields of gold and green.
We stayed in the Hamptons last summer, though this time it’s going to be a very different affair. Last year we ended up spending three-quarters of our time hobnobbing with important Wall Street types that could be good for business. Jack’s done more than enough of that this year and we both need a well-deserved breather. Stella, Kevin and my parents will all be around, as well as a couple of Jack’s friends, and apart from one undoubtedly opulent soirée tonight that we can’t get out of, the plan is to spend our time reconnecting with close friends and each other. And nothing’s going to mess that up.
After stopping off at a charity thrift store along the way to drop off some clothes and shoes that I bagged up this morning, we turn south and then east onto Sunrise highway, stopping at a quaint village bordered by a riverside restaurant owned by my godmother Barbara and her nutty husband Frank. It’s almost 2 p.m. when we pull into the parking lot of their restaurant. As I get out of the car, I see Barbara hot-footing it towards me, apron wrapped around her like a second skin and wooden spoon sashaying wildly. I grin at the sight and run over to the big bubbly brunette whose make-up-free face and grey roots add to her awesome earthy charm. Within seconds I’m lost in her gloriously ample frame as she bestows a crushing hug on me and kisses me on the lips.
“How are you, darling? Oh, I’ve missed you!” she squeals.
“Babs! I’m so happy to see you! And to get the hell out of the city. You have no idea how good it is to get away from that place!”
She cups my face in her rough, hard-working hands. “Jesus, girl, you look more and more beautiful every day. What the hell is your secret?”
I look down at my ripped second-hand Levis, worn sandals and the tatty fair-trade T-shirt I’ve had for years and give her a look of incredulity as I brush messy wisps of hair out of my face and tuck them behind my ears. My large diamond engagement ring next to my white-gold wedding band—both of which Jack hates me taking off—is the only sign that I’m not headed to a commune somewhere. “You’re kidding, right? I look a mess!”
“You look like an angel, baby. And there he is…” She runs over to Jack who strides towards her confidently, gifting her a warm, open smile.
Jack can take or leave the über-chatty Barbara and her eccentric husband, but for my benefit, he’ll be the most charming man they’ve ever known. As he leans down to embrace her, she plants a big kiss on his lips before hugging him tightly. Jack glances over her shoulder at me with an Oh boy expression on his face that makes me grin from ear to ear.
“Oh, come on! Is it legal to be as good looking as you two?” she jokes as she grabs his chin with her hand.
“Hey, that’s enough. Put him down!” I jest playfully, locking arms with her as we amble to the back door of the restaurant.
“You can’t blame me, kiddo. At my age, this is about the only thrill I’m gonna get.”
I laugh. “I don’t blame you at all.”
As we polish off our meal of mushroom ragout, sweet potatoes and green beans with Babs and Frank on the wooden deck of the restaurant, I look out onto the sluggish, shimmery river meandering through fragrant pines, maples and elms, and soak in the pristine air and the grace of the ethereal nature around me. Manhattan already feels like a distant memory—a place I can chase away from my mind if I only try hard enough.
Barbara’s husband, a skinny grey-haired master carpenter by trade who is as eccentric as my godmother, holds court, making Jack laugh out loud with his stories of game-hunting with the locals and growing his own marijuana that he hands out to others “for medicinal purposes,” he says.
“You want to try some, Jack?” he asks. “It’s good stuff.”
“Maybe some other time,” Jack responds with a smile. “I can’t risk it when I’m transporting such precious cargo.” He gestures towards me with a tip of his head. “Next time we come, we’ll stay for a couple of nights and try some of the goods.”
Jack is humoring Frank. He’s not the type that likes to be out of control taking mind-altering substances. In fact, Jack craves control in almost every aspect of his life, whether it’s his body, his work, me… or sex.
“You don’t know what you’re missing, handsome,” tut tuts Barbara.
“Well, I get high enough just looking at your goddaughter,” he grins, flashing his teeth adorably.
I roll my eyes. “Oh God, stop it! You’re gonna make them throw up.”
Barbara jabs me with her fork. “Hey kiddo, make the most of the googly-eyed phase. It doesn’t last forever, believe me.” A note of mock irritation and a disappointed nod of the head towards her protesting husband leave me in fits of giggles.
“I have a feeling we may be the exception,” Jack says, addressing me directly, his voice soft.
“Aww,” sighs Barbara. “Now that’s what I call a man.”
“Now I think I’m gonna be sick,” moans Frank, patting a smiling Jack on the shoulder as he gets up to tend to a young family of four who have just entered the restaurant. Babs follows him, cooing over the children and showing them to their seats at the opposite end of the deck.
The sun’s hazy early-afternoon rays bounce off the water, turning the insects, fish and birds darting around into little golden missiles.
I take a deep lungful of fresh air. “Shit, I seriously miss getting high in the woods with these two.” I beam at Jack and find him staring down at my mouth.
“God, I get hard just looking at you smile,” he says, his tone low.
I glance around to check that no one is within earshot and shake my head in mock-admonishment. “Shhh. This is a family place, Wilder. This isn’t the time or place for your particular brand of filth.”
“Do you remember when we came here last year? That walk that we took…” He reaches a hand under the table and cups the back of my knee.
I blush slightly and lower my eyes, swallowing hard before looking back at him. Last year after a hearty lunch with my godmother and Frank, Jack and I went for a stroll along the river and found ourselves in a secluded clearing. It was at a time when I was so hot for the demi-god sitting opposite me that just watching his rugged body lead me through the woods made me want him. I think back to us kissing under tree canopies and Jack ending up with his back against the rough shaft of an ancient cedar as I fell to my knees, unzipped his jeans and put my plump lips over the head of his throbbing erection, in nirvana as I sucked purposefully, licking his long shaft from base to tip. A deep tingling ache teases my sex as I remember slowly savoring the rock-hard erection of my adoring man, a man wanted by so many women who loved me so obsessively. He groaned and panted and grabbed my hair to keep me in place so I could continue to blow him like a good wife while he instructed me on what he wanted. My eyes close as I picture running my hand up and down his shaft before taking him in my mouth again, licking the rigid column as he watched my eyes fiercely. His orgasm nearly had me climaxing. The pleasure of making my husband—the sexiest, most protective, most mind-blowing man I’d ever met—come so easily was out of this world.
That carefree time of easy lovemaking feels like it belongs to another dimension, like there has been some shift in reality that will forever stop me from getting back there again.
As Jack’s yearning eyes devour mine, I know that he is recalling that memory too. So much has changed since then. Although we’ve made love a few times since the night he brought me back from Sean’s, I can’t let go like I used to. I’m still turned on by him, but my body now tenses up so much when he touches me that he almost has to force himself into me in order to fit. Our lovemaking, once a mutual giving and sharing of heady pleasure, has now transformed into something much more akin to a dominant–submissive relationship where Jack does whatever he can to coax me into allowing him inside me, telling me that we have to get past this barrier before it takes us down. He seems to savor the almost impenetrable tightness of my sex and relish making his newly timid wife give in to his wicked will, his motives seemingly torn between trying to fix our broken relationship and seeking the pleasure that the challenge of my reticent, unavailable body gives him.
I can no longer relax and take pleasure like I always used to and sex now often leaves me in pain for the first time since my late teens. It doesn’t help that every time he touches me, I feel an instinctive need to pull his hands off my body. Despite his attempts at talking me into it, I haven’t been able to perform fellatio on him since I found out about his affairs. Every time I try, the picture I saw of Lydia doing the same thing cannonballs into my mind and I just can’t.
Therapy has helped somewhat and the anger and pain I feel has dampened compared to when I first found out, but I’m still finding that stupid little things can spark memories that leave me paralyzed for hours afterwards. Jack has told me that he’ll wait as long as it takes, but I fear that he’s turned on by my new-found reluctance and takes pleasure in trying to make me rediscover his body and his virility, in having my lips opened by his fingers and my sex invaded by his. The intimidating manhood that I once knew and enjoyed so intimately suddenly seems like a hostile, threatening symbol of invasion and domination.
It’s obvious Jack is restraining himself every day as he tries to get me to submit to him, only succeeding a few times a month. On the days that I do allow him inside me, there are times that I’ve cried as he enters me, tears streaming down my cheeks as he puts his face to mine, watching my watery eyes keenly as he groans while spearing the head of his cock inside my tight opening before sliding deep inside me and thrusting until it hurts my tense body so much that I have to implore him to stop and feel him explode inside me with unreciprocated pleasure.
Although he can be dominant when I waver too much, he never crosses the line. If I struggle or tell him no when he asks if he can continue, he always stops, reassuring me softly that he will wait as long as it takes and that he understands. I’m scared that the challenge is an aphrodisiac to him and that he sees me differently than before, like some sort of inexperienced, frigid girl that it’s his job to warm up and corrupt.
I’m desperate to get back the power I used to have—the will to unabashedly get down and dirty with my hot-ass husband whenever I want, like I used to do; to wake him up by licking his cock before climbing on top of his half-asleep body and sliding his erection inside me; to stroke him while he is trying to watch a game, teasing him until he has to abandon it and tend to me instead; or to have him jump on me while in the shower, giving my body to him at a moment’s notice.
My forehead contracts into a frown as I peer at him across the table. I know full well what he’s thinking about. I’m irritated at myself that almost two months after deciding to move past the affairs, part of me still feels like I’m being violated when he touches me—something that seems to turn him wild judging from the constant erection he has whenever his body is close to mine. I hate the new dynamics in our sex life and resent the power I’ve lost because of his behavior. I also know I have to work through this, to forgive him completely and let him in so that I can reclaim my right to enjoy sex at the tender age of twenty-four.
“I want you to do that again,” Jack says, his pupils dilating. “I need to be inside your mouth again. That’s how it should be between a woman and her husband.” Jack was always the type of man who could be extremely blunt about sex. I never used to mind much before.
I glance around to make sure that no one can hear our conversation. “Jack—”
“I want you looking into my eyes while you’re on your knees, sucking my cock slowly, like you used to.”
The intensity of his stare leaves me squirming in my seat, my skin suddenly scorched. “I don’t want to talk about this now. I’m here to see my godmother, not discuss bad porn with the guy who castrated my libido. Jesus, is there any place that’s sacred for you?”
For a split second, his eyes seem to betray a smile before a shadow darkens his face. He leans forward, speaking softly. “I know it’s hard, Jessa, but we have to get through this. I need you to trust me again. I need you to use my body whenever you want to, like you used to. I need you to feel safe with me again.”
“We used to have all that, all the things that you say you want, and it wasn’t enough for you.” My face is grim, a reflection of the fact that I hate having to constantly confront the still-open wounds that lie like bloodstains on the battlefield of our marriage.
He puts his head in his hands, shoving his fingers through his thick golden hair, his elbows leaning heavily against the exquisite cedar table. His arms flex revealing indecently sculpted pecs under his light-blue T-shirt. His broad, angular face is pained, and his breathtaking aqua eyes suddenly look fearful and pale—so divorced from the powerful, predatory stare that he shows to the rest of the world. His rugged, animalistic beauty is mesmerizing even with suffering etched on his face. His cheekbones look like they could cut stone. The fierce heat in his haunted eyes sends shock waves through me.
So clearly my heart still aches at the very sight of the man. Part of me wants to jump over the table and kiss him passionately, to have him take me right there, to run my tongue up his thick neck and along his lips, to feel his glorious package and devour it with my mouth. But my heart, my mind, my soul, they are not there yet. Not even close. And I hate feeling like this; feeling like a prisoner of the demons that haunt my memories and torment my mind, leaving me pacing frantically and unable to sleep or just be; feeling like one of those bitter, betrayed women who allow their cheating husband’s actions to eat away at them until there’s nothing left of the fearless girls they once were but the decrepit shell of a person.
Stretching over the table, he runs his thumb across my cheek and holds the side of my face, jolting it lightly. “Look at me.”
I comply, feeling like I could drown in the mesmerizing pools of his eyes.
“No more walls between us. I need you to trust me. I love you more than life itself. I would die for you. Kill for you. I would fuck up anyone who hurts you. Destroy them.” He inhales sharply. “And because we have to fix this, I need to see you want me like before, to see you give me head like you used to do, to use my cock whenever you—”
“Stop!” I snap. “I don’t want to hear the word cock anymore while the woman who used to play Barbies with me is in the same room. I need more time. If you can’t handle that, then you’ve got your little coven of soulless groupies. Just let me know so that I can move on with my life.”
I hate being this angry, bitter person.
“That is not going to happen. Ever. I told you I’ll wait as long as it takes and I meant it. As fucking irresistible as you are, baby, as much as I want to be inside you every minute of the day, I can control myself as long as you need me to. But we have to get through this. And you’re going to want me like you used to, and give yourself to me like you used to.”
He says the words firmly as though willing me to believe they are true and I close my eyes, trying to absorb the reassuring strength of his protective male hand against my face.
Outside in the parking lot, we say our goodbyes to Barbara and Frank, promising to come back again more often and putting the food and drinks they’ve kindly gifted us in the trunk before driving off.
This part of the drive is more strained than the first part as Jack’s words pinball around my mind. He tries to make conversation, but I don’t really take the bait until we arrive at our destination, East Hampton Village.
After picking up the key to the house we’re staying at from the property rental guy, we drive down the ever-quaint Main Street past perfectly preserved nineteenth-century shop fronts with awnings in a kaleidoscope of colors, past manicured lawns adorned with noble trees standing guard over some of the most spectacular houses I’ve ever seen. I spot the old general store where dad took me and my brother for sneaky ice creams when my mom wasn’t around one summer when we were kids—the only time we ever visited the Hamptons during my childhood. Jack drives us past the Hook Windmill and a beautiful seventeenth-century farm before pulling up at the same house we rented last year: a gorgeous but modest two-bedroom early twentieth-century house with cedar shingles lining the exterior walls and cream-colored pillars holding up a small gable veranda. Seeing it gives me pangs of nostalgia about the blissfully ignorant time before our relationship was chewed up and spat back out.
As Jack parks the car, I’m aware that my body is still flooded with adrenalin, like I’m in a state of perpetual high alert, constantly expecting to see a set of headlights come careening towards me at any moment. Maybe it’s because despite all the effort Jack has gone to in the last couple of months to reassure me, I still feel paranoid every time he works late, every time he goes to the gym, every time he comes home at night and jumps straight in the shower.
As we unload our bags and carry them into the freshly cleaned house, I make up my mind that I will use this week to move on, to escape the insidious memories stalking me, and to rebuild the foundations of a life with Jack.
