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Beware of a Hug

Ray Shoop

    After three marriages, none of which were short term, I wondered if I had ever been in love. What was the difference in loving someone or being in love with someone? I married my high school sweetheart; a have to situation and we both dropped out of school to support our unexpected family. Four kids and eighteen years later, we decided we weren’t meant for each other.
    My second wife, Marge introduced me to her cousin, Beth just after we returned from our honeymoon. I was struck by Beth’s beauty, youth, and exuberance. She looked like a high school cheerleader, and I was surprised to learn she was married with two school-age children.
    Fifteen years from the first time I met Beth; we became reacquainted after she divorced her second husband, a Miami lawyer, and moved back to to live with her aging mother. My marriage to Marge had failed, and we were in the process of getting a divorce while making a big show of still being happily married. Marge was big on show as most hypocrites are. We lacked agreement on dividing the property, the same old story; she wanted it all and I only wanted my fair share. My second marriage produced no children, thank God, and I was determined not to lose another fortune to an ex-wife. So proceedings were bogged down.
    I came home one evening after a grueling day at the shop and a one and a half hour traffic-jammed commute to find no dinner waiting; all a normal part of a daily routine.
    “Are we eating out, again?” I said, adding more hostility to my tone than I intended. “Can’t we have a meal at home, once in awhile?”
    “Not tonight!” Marge said. “Aunt Elma invited us to dinner. I told you that the other day.”
    “I really don’t feel—”
    “Beth is back from Florida and Aunt Elma wants us to come and welcome her home.” She cut me off, but then, I was used to being cut off, in more ways than one. I didn’t feel like spending an evening with them no matter who was returning home. I had a hard day and looked forward to spending a peaceful evening with my big screen. The only thing in the house I didn’t mind spending an evening with.
    “When did you find this out?” I asked, adding a touch of interest in my tone, trying to make up for my hostility.
    “Last week. I told you that, too. What’s wrong with you, you have your head in the sand, or someplace else?” Her attitude didn’t sound any better. Why did I bother?
    “I’ve had a lot on my mind. It’s been a hectic week at the shop; I just forgot.” I headed for the shower. It was true, and it pacified her; she didn’t follow me to the bathroom to continue her diarrhea of the mouth.

* * *

    Beth greeted us at the door. She looked as I remembered her from fifteen years ago, lost her baby fat but hadn’t aged a day. She hugged and pressed cheeks with my wife.
    “You remember my husband, don’t you, Beth?” Marge said.
    “Why of course I do. Rodger, it’s been a long time.” Beth replied and beamed a smile. She embraced me and squeezed me tightly. I felt a little uneasy. Marge had always been intolerant of any females getting close to me, even family members, and I felt uncomfortable embracing her, keenly aware of her young body pressed against me, but I matched her exuberance. There was a difference of about eleven years in age between us. It seemed like more because of her youthful looks, and I thought of her as a young mother even though her children were married and had kids of their own. The hug seemed to me more than a familial greeting. But then, it had been a long time since I felt the softness of a woman pressed into me; maybe I read more into it than I should have. I glanced at Marge. As usual, her mouth ran on.

* * *

    “Well, I’m surprised your eyes are still in your head,” Marge said. She smiled sweetly and waved goodbye to our hosts as we drove away.
    “What?” My standard answer when I didn’t have a clue what the woman referred to. It could have been something that happened a week ago, and she expected me to know right off what she meant. Besides, I still contemplated Beth’s goodbye hug. It too, felt more intimate than appropriate. If anyone had watched, they might have noticed it lasted a tad longer than it should have, and that we both caressed each other’s back. We stood in the shadows of the porch, so maybe they didn’t notice. I still felt her lingering warmth as we drove off.
    “They have been bugging out all evening. You couldn’t keep them off Beth.”
    “They have not!” I truthfully couldn’t remember that I ogled Beth. I looked at her only when she talked.
    “You embarrassed me. What will Aunt Elma think?”
    “She shouldn’t think anything. For crying out loud, I admit I was engrossed in Beth’s stories. You have to agree she is articulate and comical.”
    “Well, she certainly held your attention.”
    I kept quiet. I suffered enough stomach cramps over the years arguing with her. I didn’t know why at the time, but I felt too good to get into an argument over something so mundane.
    During the following weeks, Beth and Marge kept company on a daily basis; shopped, went to breakfast, or did lunch. Marge brought her by the shop several times on their way to and from somewhere. Of course, I got hugs, with Marge looking on. I still felt there was more to them than a warm greeting between family members, or maybe it was hopeful thinking on my part. I began to feel like a school kid in heat and about as bashful. I reminded myself repeatedly to enjoy it and keep my over active imagination at bay.

* * *

    Again, Marge surprised me when she announced at the last minute we were taking Beth out to dinner. I think my heart raced a little. I watched Marge to see if she noticed my gusto. It appeared she hadn’t.
    They decided on something Italian, and I knew of a little family restaurant tucked away on a back street. One of the three sons meandered among the tables and sang Italian love sonnets. We sipped red wine and sampled each other’s food. They talked of childhood days and I slipped in my usual one-liners every so often. Under Marge’s scrutiny, I tried to remain obscure, but Beth’s voice lulled me into a peaceful almost hypnotic state. I nearly forgot there were three of us at the table. Beth’s smile radiated with warmth that lit up our little corner.
    Throughout the evening Beth and my knees touched under the table concealed by the tablecloth. Not wanting to appear crude I pulled back, but after our third bottle of wine I lost my timidity. We both became bolder, and carried on a serious game of kneesies. Of course this left no doubt in my mind she was serious about her flirtation.
    As Beth and I did our little goodbye hug in the shadows of our driveway, we stumbled or staggered and I fell back against the car. She leaned into me. We held to each other a little longer and pressed a little closer. Her pelvis unmistakably pressed firmly into mine. The wine rushed through my veins as I pushed my thigh between hers. She dug her nails into my back. This all took about a second and a half, no more than two. Marge had her back to us.
    I still felt her warmth against me as she steered her little red Volvo onto the street. I walked into the house misted in her fragrance. Then, I felt it, an arousal I haven’t felt in many a year, a tingling sensation, a rush of blood I had long ago given up hope of ever experiencing again.
    As I relaxed in my recliner, in front of my big screen, a buzzing startled me from my daydreams.
    “She’s my cousin for God’s sake. Can’t you control yourself?”
    “What are you going on about now?”
    “You know what I’m talking about. Your ogling Beth all evening. It made me feel terrible.”
    “Well, excuse me all to hell! I hardly said two words all evening.”
    “You didn’t have to say anything. Your eyes said enough.”
    “So what, Marge. Our divorce is almost final. Why are you so upset over me, making eyes, as you put it, at some woman?”
    “She’s not some woman. She’s my cousin! And as for our divorce, it’s not final yet. Remember that! We still have unresolved issues, mister.”
    “And would it make a difference if she wasn’t your cousin?”
    “Of course not. After we’re divorced, if we do divorce, I don’t care what you do. Until then I expect you to act accordingly, and that doesn’t mean carrying on a covert relationship with Beth, or anyone else.”
    “I am not carrying on a covert relationship, or overt, or any other kind of vert, with Beth or anyone else.” My stomach knotted and I suddenly became sleepy. Arguing with the woman was lunacy. I went to bed, my own. We still slept together most of the time, separated by a wide space, in our king sized bed. But when she upset me, I went to the guest room. That happened with an ever increasing frequency.
    For five years our sex went on a downhill spiral. The first year, it was once a month. Then once every three months. For the last three years it didn’t exist. I suspected impotency. We tried a few times, nothing. I lacked interest in seeing a doctor. That night put that hypothesis to rest. I had definitely been awakened down there.

* * *

    The following weekend was Easter Sunday. Marge invited Beth to sunrise services and breakfast after. I only went to church on special occasions; dinner on the ground, singings and such, mainly to keep Marge off my back. This was a special occasion, so I didn’t hesitate when Beth asked if I was going, I said sure. As that day slowly approached, I became more apprehensive. I couldn’t get that last evening with Beth out of my mind.
    It finally arrived. Between pacing around the kitchen and looking out the window, I sipped coffee at the counter. The doorbell chimed. I jumped spilling my coffee. Marge answered it.
    I stood in the kitchen doorway, looked across the living room as Beth entered. She wore a stunning pink outfit with a vest and jacket. Her beautiful blonde hair was piled elegantly on top of her head. A new look I hadn’t experienced, a sophisticated look. Propped against the door jamb, I paused hoping Marge didn’t take all day to finish her greeting. She talked forever, I could wait no longer. I sauntered over and took my turn while Marge went to the bedroom to get her hat. Having grown used to our familiar greetings, I now looked forward to it, lavished in it, I nuzzled my face against her neck. She was a tall woman, and with heels on, she stood as tall as I. Her fragrance hypnotized and lingered on me all morning.
    In the church yard during the service, I listened to the preacher preach; I listened to the birds chirp; I watched the wind bow tree branches; I watched the clouds scurry across the early morning sky. Never once did I look at Beth. I hoped it made Marge proud. On the way to the restaurant though, my gaze wandered only slightly from my rearview mirror which perfectly framed Beth’s pretty face. I smelled her perfume as it drifted from the rear seat. Once, Marge raised her hand toward the mirror as if to reposition it to check her lipstick, but quickly withdrew her hand. I never flinched and continued watching Beth as she and Marge talked. Her eyes were watching each time I looked in the mirror.
    Beth had the most captivating smile, and every time she caught me watching, her smile grew and her eyes slowly blinked. It made me feel like a teenager on his first date. Marge seemed to take no notice, but I knew better. Later, I felt the wrath of her scorn. I pretended Marge wasn’t there.
    Several days later I literally bumped into Beth at the bank. I fiddled with my deposit not watching where I was going. She just left the teller’s window and we brushed shoulders. “Excuse me young lady. I’m . . .” I looked up and was speechless for a second.
    “Hey, Roger.” She said with a big smile.
    We talked as I walked her to her car. It was the first time we were alone together and I wanted to declare my feelings for her, but hesitated. I was sure she also felt something for me. We came to her car. I opened the door for her, still uncertain. I knew I was going to make a fool of myself. Suddenly, I blurted out. “I guess you know I’ve fallen for you in a big way.” Right away I knew I had screwed up. The look on her face was vague. She looked up at me squinting as the sun bathed over her lovely face. I took her smile as being matter-of-fact, as in, no I didn’t. That’s just what she said, but her smile softened. I stepped to the side to block the sun from her sweet blue eyes. I saw nothing new in them.
    I had really screwed up, and didn’t know what to say. I thought of all those hugs and wondered how I could have considered them to be anything other than what they were; a friendly greeting. “I’m sorry, Beth. I misread you. Forget what I said.” I shut her door, turned and walked away. I felt like the old fool I was.

* * *

    Her car was parked in our driveway when I got home. I parked and went to the back door. I touched her car as I walked past it. Why? I couldn’t rightly say. They sat in the living room talking. Beth reclined in my lounge chair and looked frazzled and worn out. I greeted Beth not bothering with the hug thing; she looked too relaxed. I kept going to the bedroom to shower and change clothes. My big screen waited. A while later Marge called telling me to come say goodbye to Beth. I put my slippers on and followed them out to her car. They hugged and I gave Beth a brotherly hug. I wasn’t paying too much attention to what they talked about. The last thing I heard Beth say was. “No. I better not. I’ve already hurt someone’s feelings today.” Marge didn’t have time to ask who, because Beth took off. I knew she said that for my benefit, but why?
    For the next couple weeks, it went as before; with the familiar greetings and goodbyes, the dinners out or just visiting. I looked forward to her daily visits and I knew now I wasn’t reading more into the way we hugged at the dinners when we played kneesies, the walks through the mall brushing against each other every chance we got. It wasn’t easy. Marge never left us alone for more than a minute and always in the company of others. Finally Marge and I had a blow out fight that lasted all day.
    Our first discussion went calmly and I thought it was resolved, but like an ambitious bulldog, she would not release something until it lay in rags at her feet. We had four discussions, each more heated and more scaring than the last. I finally admitted I had feelings for Beth, but there was no way I could convince her that Beth and I were not having a full blown relationship. I gave up. I had never won an argument with Marge. I gathered a few belongings and moved into a small apartment a couple of blocks from my business.

* * *

    Three long years later, tired, weary and on the verge of losing my sanity, I surrendered to the shrew and bought myself out of bondage.
    The divorce part of the three years was pure hell. If it hadn’t been for Beth I don’t think I would have made it. We had an almost blissful relationship nearly to the end. I was head over heels in love with Beth and it grew, on my part. She didn’t have the deep feelings for me that I had for her, and for some reason, I couldn’t accept that. We discussed it often. She admitted she loved me, but? After our third little breakup near the end, I knew we weren’t destined for the long and happy life I first thought we were headed for.
    With divorce papers in hand, I gathered my meager belongings and headed south, saying goodbye to neither ex-wife nor her cousin. Marge got the house and property, the business and property, all debt free, but she had no one to operate the business, because I was the business; such a small victory. I managed to salvage a small pension I had from serving my country. I survived with my sanity intact, and my health improving. It was an expensive but enlightening experience.
    I had a wonderful two and a half years filled with passion and longing with Beth. Did I learn anything? You bet. I experienced falling in love. It was both scary and exhilarating, something I treasured. It was also frustrating and often exasperating. How does that old saying go? You can lead a horse to water but you can’t make it love you. I’m not an intelligent man, but after three failed marriages I know that a lopsided love relationship hardly ever lasts. I learned the difference between just ‘love’ and being ‘in love’. The latter never fades. If she wanted me back on equal footing I’d be there in a minute.
    Did I apply what I had learned? No, I’m afraid not. Three months after I had gone south, I met, wooed and married my third wife. Hey! I wasn’t impotent.

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This appears in a pre-2010 issue of cc&d magazine. Saddle-stitched issues are no longer printed, but you can requesting it “re-released” through amazon sale as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book! Email us for re-release to order.

This appears in a pre-2010 issue
of cc&d magazine.
Saddle-stitched issues are no longer
printed, but you can requesting it
“re-released” through amazon sale
as a 6" x 9" ISBN# book!
Email us for re-release to order.