ON A CELL PHONE, THE ADDED FEATURES (PLATFORMS, SHORT STORIES, YEAR AHEAD, ETC.) CAN BE ACCESSED FROM THE TOP LEFT HAND CORNER (STACKED LINES). ALSO, THE ‘TRANSLATE’ & WORLD CLOCK WILL APPEAR AT THE BOTTOM.
在手機上，添加的功能（平臺，短篇小說，提前一年等） 可以從左上角訪問（堆疊線）。
*** All times / dates: Please remember that all time references (e.g., “dawn”) are PDT – Pacific DAYLIGHT Time zone. You can refer to the World Clock in the sidebar for more listings or Google ‘time zone converter’.
Email: suningem@gmail.com
Tim’s YouTube links: Unveiling Astrology
Unveiling Astrology Part 2)
START NOTHING: (ALL TIMES ARE PACIFIC DAYLIGHT): 4:06 am to 6:35 am Tues., 2:48 pm Wed. to 6:07 pm Thurs., and after 7:58 am Sat.
PREAMBLE:
ALL SIGNS: Thursday brings the end of the following warning:
Start no new projects, relationships nor big purchases before July 23 (3:58 pm PDT). Stick with the ongoing, or reprise past projects, connections.
***
No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. — Desiderata
***
This week my story, “Fat Lover,” might seem terribly un-woke and steeped in old biases (fat woman, etc.) but it actually shows the sexy — and cruel — side of “fat” — and the sensitive, idealistic side. It’s after the Afteramble below.
***
Those lefty fools — a few years ago, they couldn’t say anything about men without inserting the words “toxic masculinity.” Now, lost elections later, they are trying to present themselves as “manly men” — their phrase, a phrase a homosexual man would use.
WEEKLY FORECAST:
ARIES: March 21-April 19
Midweek (Wed.) you start a month of romance, creativity, beauty, pleasure, sports and games, Aries. Oddly, this comes after three days of relationship developments, great ones Sunday, crippled ones Monday, and deep, consequential stuff Wed. Thursday also brings finances, sexual desire, lifestyle changes, perhaps illness. But Thursday suppertime (PDT) onward through Saturday highlights romantic feelings. If you’re unattached, chase someone! (Yes, you’ll be a bit more shy, hesitant than usual — but also much more intuitive — for the next 13 years.) In general, end things the first half of this week, and start things the second half. The year ahead blesses you with great luck in romance, travel, and friendships. You will be more conservative than usual, but this may actually help you in love areas.
TAURUS: April 20-May 20
Midweek — Wed. — ends a month of pleasure, popularity and optimism, Taurus, and starts a month of contemplation, quietude, rest and planning. (Look skeptically on any plans you formed in the last three weeks — they’re likely flawed.) Seek advice, liaise with gov’t and management types, and be charitable. A promotion to management might await you over the next 12 months. These months will also tend to be fairly good times to invest. Tackle chores Sunday to dawn Tuesday (PDT). Eat, dress sensibly. Relationships arise Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday. Expect opportunities, good ones — but some opposition or obstacle Tuesday afternoon. Sexy stuff, big finances, valuable knowledge, medical decisions — these come Thursday suppertime through Sat. Good luck rides with you here — except Saturday morning.
GEMINI: May 21-June 20
The year ahead will be filled with errands, short trips, reports, calls and messages, applications and other paperwork, Gemini. This will both expand and utilize your natural talents, and just might bring a partner of sorts to unattached Geminis. It will certainly bring opportunities – they will sparkle at the edge of conversations and paperwork. All this/these will be highlighted from Wednesday to August 22. Sunday to dawn Tuesday (PDT) is deeply romantic, creative, and pleasure-oriented. Sunday is great, may even give you a glance of a future mate, but Monday has a few obstacles. Act accordingly. Tackle chores Tuesday Dawn two Thursday supper time. Tuesday’s a bit messy, but you’ll succeed the other two days. Thursday eve through Saturday brings relationships, opportunities and opposition, perhaps a public appearance, perhaps thoughts about relocation. Good luck Thurs./Fri., but take care Saturday morning — argument possible.
CANCER: June 21-July 22
Wednesday starts a month of “money” for you, Cancer. Your energy and charisma remain high, especially the first half of this week. But you tend to mellow out over the month ahead, which in a way is an introduction to 12 months of very lucky monetary dealings. You might make more in the stock market, you might get a pay raise or loads of overtime, you might acquire something that you’ve wanted for a long time. Remain wary of dark places and belligerent individual individuals. Your home and family draw you Sunday to dawn Tuesday (PDT). Sunday is great, but be a little cautious after that: make sure family plans are workable. Romance raises its beautiful head Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday, PDT. This is also an interval of creativity, sports/games, and charming children. Tuesday isn’t so great, but then things run very well after. Tackle chores, Thursday eve through Saturday. You’ll get a lot done, but be cautious Saturday morning when accidents or cuts or disagreements can occur.
LEO: July 23-Aug. 22
Midweek marks the end of tiredness, and of feeling ignored in life, Leo, and starts a month of charisma, energy, wit, effectiveness and clout. And this month is merely the first of 12 that will bring uncanny luck to you. Plan on doing the biggest, best thing you have ever wanted to do. This its a time of success — in business and practical affairs, but much more so in creative, dramatic, sports, games, romance, creativity — you’ll be riding a winning streak! Tackle paperwork, necessary errands, and communications Sunday to dawn Tuesday. Sunday is best. Monday. Monday confronts you with what might turn out to be a major choice. Turn to home for rest Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday. Hug the family, sit in a chair and think…. Because one of the most important years of your life is about to begin, and it would be good if you had some kind of game plan. In any case, this days are good for rest, as they are followed by (Thursday eve through Saturday) an interval of romance, et al.
VIRGO: Aug. 23-Sept. 22
Midweek ends a month of socializing, Virgo, and starts a month of rest and solitude (relatively, of course — Venus in your sign gives you “love’s hope” if nothing else). Be alert and aware, look around you with curiosity, for the next four weeks. You are starting to deal more with gov’t, head office, or management types — here is where good fortune lies for you until August next year. (You can include spas, hospitals, all institutions, as sources of luck.) For now, be diplomatic with a higher-up. Chase money, buy/sell, hug a sometime lover, read to learn, Sunday to dawn Tuesday. (Read PREAMBLE for “All Signs”.) Sunday’s best, the other days have snags. Paperwork, stores, communications, errands and casual acquaintances — these fill Tues. morning to suppertime Thurs. (PDT). Tuesday isn’t so easy, but Wed./Thurs. are smooth, easy. Head for home, at least in your heart, Thursday eve through Saturday. This is a nice interval – a good time for instance, to paint the house or take the kids on an adventure. Saturday morning needs some caution though.
LIBRA: Sept. 23-Oct. 22
You probably won’t notice it, Libra, but on Wednesday you switch from ambition to friendliness. The month ahead will be social, optimistic, flirty, entertaining, and happy. Your career can still succeed, but it will do so more on the social side now. (Schmooze the boss.) But that’s not all – this area of friendship and socializing will be very active and very beneficial for the next 12 months. I urge you to join at least one or two groups – you’ll find that they are valuable in later years. If you’re single, this year ahead will bring at least one serious but “friendly” romantic opportunity. Even now, between June 29 just passed and August 11 to come, some Librans will wed; others might meet their future mate. Your energy and charisma are high Sunday to pre-dawn Tuesday, but only Sunday offers you a smooth ride. You might have to make a momentous decision about love and about what kind of love you want. Handle money Tuesday morning to Thursday supper time — buy/sell, pay bills, but don’t buy anything important — it’s a little too early. Thursday eve through Saturday brings casual friends, communications, errands, and short trips, paperwork – a pretty good time to contact friends.
SCORPIO: Oct. 23-Nov. 21
Your days of thinking and judging, of a mellow mood and tolerance, of understanding, come to a close Wednesday, Scorpio. That day starts a month of ambition, career, prestige relations and worldly standing. At the same time, lucky Jupiter blesses this area now — and for the next 12 months. You could be promoted, known further afield, start a thriving business, etc. Be restful, quiet, contemplative, and charitable Sunday to dawn Tuesday (PDT). Sunday flows very well, but Monday/Tuesday are a bit more difficult. You might have to make a choice between security and ambition, or between home and the outside world. In some cases, you might have to decide between a father and a mother. Your energy and charisma surge upward Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday. Tuesday is a bit difficult, but everything smooths out after that day. Thursday eve through Saturday, buy/sell, pay bills and collect money, hug a sometime, lover, maybe learn something that’s new to you but not to the world. All’s well, but be cautious Saturday morning.
SAGITTARIUS: Nov. 22-Dec. 21
Though it’s a subtle shift, Sage, Wednesday ends a month of secrecy, lust, and major finances, and starts a month of travel, intellectual expansion, love, law, life, philosophy, higher learning, and media. Not only will the month ahead favour these things – the entire 12 months ahead favour them in the most fortunate way. Many Sagittarians might wed in the next 12 months. Meanwhile, even at present and until August 11, relationships can be volatile yet powerful. Sunday to dawn Tuesday encourages wishful thinking, optimism, popularity, and happiness. Sunday’s best. Maybe a decision regarding do you go long or short? Might refer to travel. And almost every case long is better than short. Retreat from the crowd, rest and think, seek advice and be charitable Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday. Tuesday hold some glitches, but Wednesday and Thursday flow nicely. (Do routine chores Thursday.) Your energy, charisma, and clout soar Thursday eve through Saturday. Your luck is high, so get out there and state your case, grab a lover, or whatever!
CAPRICORN: Dec. 22-Jan. 20
You’re working hard, Cap, but don’t work too hard. Make sure your physical comfort is fine. Wednesday ends a few weeks — and in some senses a whole year — of relationships, contracts, litigation, opportunities, and opposition. This day starts a month — and to a certain degree a whole year — of good Fortune in financial, investment, investigation and research, sex, pregnancy, medical, and lifestyle zones. Your financial good fortune could be a life changer. Think hard and deeply, and then make an optimistic move. Be ambitious Sunday to dawn Tuesday. Sunday is best. You might need to make a major decision between easy or daily money, e.g. a paycheck, and investment or asset money or running your own business, etc. Your hopes rise, as does your popularity and sociability, Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday. Tuesday has a couple glitches, but Wed./Thurs. flow well. You will be happy! Retreat from the hustling crowd Thursday eve through Saturday. Rest, recharge your batteries, contemplate and plan. Liaise with government or management. Give to charity.
AQUARIUS: Jan. 21-Feb. 18
Wednesday ends a month — and in some ways a year — of “big work” or duties or health concerns — and starts a month — and a whole 12 months — of grand luck in relationships, relocation, partnerships (business and marriage) agreements/contracts, public appearances and opportunities (and possible argument, opposition if you talk about politics or religion). A great, great year faces you, Aquarius — it could re-shape your life. Sunday to predawn Tuesday brings intellectual expansion, profound thoughts, travel, higher learning, philosophy, law and social rituals. Sunday’s best — a conversation could open a big door — use your imagination, ask questions. After Sunday, a few glitches — you must decide between jumping on another’s bandwagon, or keeping to your own. Independence will give you what you’ve got — nothing more. (Hint, hint.) Be ambitious Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday — Tuesday needs “intuitive caution,” but Wed. offers success. Happiness arrives Thursday eve through Saturday — your popularity rises, optimism floods your being, and social, entertainment and flirting episodes occur. A buoyant interval, but be ordinarily cautious Sat. morning.
PISCES: Feb. 19-March 20
Hey, Pisces. Midweek pivots from a month (and year) of romance, creativity, charming kids, pleasure, beauty — to a month (and a whole lucky year) of work, minor health concerns, duties to dependents, and machinery/tools. You could earn a lot of money in the 12 months ahead due to overtime or rewards for hard work. If it applies to your trade, this will be an excellent year ahead to buy or upgrade machinery. Also a great year to find employment if you need it. Sunday to dawn Tuesday is mysterious and contains valuable information if you dig deep enough. This information can help you invest well, or can lead you to other more gritty areas such as lust for sex or power. Sunday is fine, even contains a fortunate doorway to a better job or work environment. But Monday is fairly useless — don’t invest this day. You might have to make a big choice between hands-on work and management or delegating. Despite your natural inclination, hands-on work will be much more fortunate this year ahead. Your intellect awakens to profound ideas Tuesday morning to suppertime Thursday. Travel, law, higher learning, media and gentle love are all good directions – although Tuesday is a bit difficult to late afternoon (PDT) the rest of this interval flows fairly well. Be ambitious Thursday eve through Saturday – Thursday/Friday are very favourable — ask for a raise, or show the boss, your talents. But be aware of accident an argument potential Saturday morning.
THE END.
AFTERAMBLE:
Here is what Trump faces for the year ahead: happy, lucky Jupiter is in Leo, his rising sign. So his popularity should rise, and he will be very optimistic in most regards, this August to next.
However, lurking in the back of his mind will be a suspicion or a doubt, wondering if he’s doing the right thing – playing the right role. From this August to about January or February 2028, he needs to be very careful that he’s doing the right thing morally. During these 18 months he should solicit and absorb advice from almost anyone except a Sagittarius or another Leo.
I don’t refer only to moral advice, but also to practical, political and war advice. He will need to watch his ego; where it is mixed with humour, it succeeds and everybody forgives his self praise. Basically, his humour is self deprecating, so it’s the perfect balance to the self praise. This is very Gemini (Trump’s sun sign) – members of this sign often have two opposed leanings or personalities – gentle and angry, selfish in person, but generous and charitable in public (or vice-versa) crude and well mannered and – like Trump, – bragging one moment and critiquing has own flaws the next, etc. This is the Gemini “twin” you always hear about.
Back to Trump’s 12 months ahead: he needs to be sure that he is as good as his word, that he is reliable, and that he consults with others. He might face delays or difficulties in non-romantic relationships, including agreements, contracts, truces, and dealing with enemies and allies alike. In these dealings, if he seems almost unconsciously to delay them, it’s a signal that something might be wrong with the agreement, and it should be further studied or negotiated. It might be his own performance or production, or that of his nation or his party, that is the real flaw underlying the delay, rather than the other parties’ actions.
So he faces a year of buoyant optimism, which will decline to pessimism from next summer to early 28. He needs to avoid over optimism now forward. Trump has shown a new maturity lately in his self-jabs, so I feel cautiously optimistic that he will come through these 18 months ahead a wise man. He will also be “repaid” for any sins in the past — e.g., his “Trump university” scandal.
***
I wonder if Lindsey Graham was poisoned when he was in Ukraine.
***
Now that Mars is in Gemini, Trump will continue to wage war until about August 11.
***
FAT LOVER
A Story by Tim
Jim Marcus was addicted to fear. He feared love, and he feared being alone.
In his 20s and 30s, he had often convinced himself that he was in love, or certainly might be soon. But even his most passionate relationships ended in boredom and despondency. He was often willing to hang on (for he didn’t mind boredom) but the woman, dissatisfied, let go. Perhaps he picked the wrong women. But by his 40’s, Jim realized the fault was his: he could not stay in love.
So he spent much of his 40’s and 50’s focusing on his work. But at night, lying watching the ceiling, he sometimes wondered Why can’t I love anyone enough? What’s the secret? And he asked God to bring him a woman who could keep him.
At fifty-four he joined a new property and contract law firm as associate. He had few major ambitions. During the first year at his new workplace, he sometimes watched a young obese woman, a paralegal. It wasn’t that he felt any warmth toward her, but he kept noticing her. Something “announced” her every time she was near his desk, or in sight. He would jerk his head around, and she was there, down the hall. He guessed 300 pounds, as she looked at least twice his volume. Her buttocks swung as she walked, as if she wore a truck tire below her waist. She wore voluminous satiny or polyester flowered blouses, and dresses that fell low, to her ankles. There was something soft and fuzzy about her neck, and cheeks, and her plump arms. He wondered if she felt hot to the touch. But he also thought: How could you even dance with such a person?
At work, just as a game (yet his heart pounding a warning) he began secretly leaving small items on her desk. It was usually clean and bare, so even his smallest “gifts” — really “announcements” — stood alone and obvious. One day he left a single Purdy’s chocolate. Then, the next week, a little dollar-store pack of barrettes. Then, two Mondays later, a single pathetic flower he had picked outside the office and stuffed in his briefcase. And a hair pin, a pack of Ritz lunch-bites, a tiny “emerald” ring, to fit a small girl’s hand. Then another chocolate. He did all this surreptitiously — If the powers that be, or the other lawyers knew, he would be shamed right out of the firm. Though, when he contemplated being caught delivering his gifts, he would rather she caught him, than any of the other staff.
He would watch curiously (head bent down) to see how she reacted when there was one more new, unexplained item on her paralegal’s desk. But he saw nothing noteworthy. Each time, she threw the item in her desk drawer. The severe, resentful expression that habitually clothed her pink, fuzzy cheeks and half-buried eyes, did not change. He got an impish pleasure from his secret antics.
Sometimes he dreamed of her at night. Sipping a Coke on the balcony in the warm spring breeze, he wondered what it would be like, her sitting there, the breeze gently tugging at her dress, rippling around her huge legs, waffling the gauzy blue folds to caress her thick arms.…
Finally, after eleven months, he took a huge risk. Frowning to hide his embarrassment, he bought a huge pair of red lacy women’s underpants at Walmart. The biggest they had. His heart pounding, face red, he delivered the lacy underpants, turning to secretly drop them behind his back onto her bare desk.
He watched, surreptitiously but intently. He couldn’t do his work until she discovered them. But when she returned to her desk, he could see nothing. Her broad backside faced him. He could not see her expression. When she walked away, the red lace was gone. And all the while he knew how stupid and ridiculous — and dangerous for his career — this strange excitement had become. Suppose she guessed, what would he do then? Run? What if she brought it to HR? He could be fired, which, he considered, might be the best solution. What if, astoundingly, they became an item in the office, how would he face the surprise — and smiling condemnation — among the other lawyers and staff?
The afternoon of the panty drop, as he trundled home, an idea came. He coddled it and mulled it, knowing it was unrealistic — and unusual — but maybe…even so… to pay her $100,000, maybe $200,000, just to live with him and — some agreement to share his bed for 10 years…He would pay all living expenses, give her a car and spending allowance, etc. The idea fascinated him; for weeks he mulled it over, like a child sucking on a favourite candy..
But he could never bring himself to utter the offer. Not because it was big (he could easily afford the 100) nor because she might take the hundred thousand and after one night either he or she didn’t want more. A hundred grand for one night of sex. He thought it was a fair price, to solve the mystery of her and him rutting. He didn’t realize that it would be an insult, the assumption that she would sell herself. He was just afraid he would be rejected.
One June Monday twilight, feeling fresh and vigorous, Jim decided to see, first, if he could be with the fat lady as a human friend, without any ulterior motives. With or without any sexual bonding or understanding. Just buy her a coffee in the downstairs cafe. Armed with the courage these good morals gave him, he returned to work Tuesday, a new, clean man, good to all.
But he could not push himself over that line. Instead, when he saw her in the office he had nothing to say. He fantasized about her wearing a peek-a-boo negligee, her huge white bulk in nylons and panties, sitting at a kitchen table, her breasts scooping up the morning sunshine, or leaning over a couch, her wide white thighs ….
Two weeks after his surreptitious panty-drop on her desk, she confronted him as he tried to enter the photocopy room. She was in the doorway, blocking his entry with her lumpy girth. She put her hands on her hips and said, seriously, slightly vexed, “You can’t keep your eyes off my butt, can you?”
Is it obvious? he thought, but said nothing, caught in embarrassment.
“If you really wanted it you wouldn’t be such a shy pervert.” Her eyes narrowed.
He said nothing.
“Would you?”
She stared at him with a dominating, steady eye. “Obviously I can’t get rid of you. Every rejection will probably fan your un-wise flames.” It was an odd phrase that made him see her, suddenly, as inexperienced, naive, speaking in “poetry.”
He started to speak, but she spoke quickly: “Yes, unwise flames.” (He would learn later that she was cynical in ordinary talk, but in romantic areas she slipped into fantasy, and sometimes talked like a Harlequin writer.)
“Then let me get burned,” he said. It popped out, free of him. He felt proud of his bold, clever reply and was surprised by the sudden astonishing fact that he had crossed the line. He gaped at her, feeling, but not caring, that his life was hurtling into something inescapable. Should he touch her? Act? Deny and escape?
She turned and left, her knuckles “accidentally” grazing, then tapping the front of his pants as she went. He stepped into the photocopy room and stood there for a minute, waiting for his erection to subside.
The first night they made love there was blood, so little he didn’t notice it until the morning revealed a spot on the sheet. He didn’t know what to think — a virgin? She was very small down there, which made his cock stiff with anticipation, and, once in, sing with ecstasy. He assumed her tightness was obesity’s result.
They had a flaming affair. Whenever he appeared to cool or pull back a little, she said to him, like a school teacher: okay, I’m giving you four days. And for those days she would make no approach to him. She would not talk. When he touched her fanny in his or her kitchen, she pushed his hand away. Then, on Day Five she would pursue him in her lumbering way, teasing and punching his sensitive parts until he leapt on her and pumped his throbbing into her hot, big belly.
But love?
Sometimes she was flirty and shy, or giggled. Was that love?
He treated her tenderly, without thinking of it.
“Do you know why I eat so much?” she asked one August night, the Moon in its bed of clouds, coating their bare arms with silver.
“No.”
“Because I’m tired of love. I eat because I find no one acceptable. I’ve shut myself out.”
A fly buzzed in the fragrant night, the patio doors open to the dappled darkness of trees and leaves.
“So are you eating less now?”
“You mean ‘cause you’re fucking me?”
“Sort of.”
“Maybe you don’t satisfy me enough.”
“Or too much,” he said.
One day he asked, “Do you find me acceptable?” It was an odd thing to ask, considering. She laughed, a big derisive belly laugh. Then suddenly her small blue eyes softened, and she was silent, gazing at him. “I do love the way you tickle my button, and the way your finger slides into my — ass hole.” After some long seconds of staring at him, she said, “I do love you.”
He stared back at her, shocked by the admission.
“What’s the matter?” She said. “You’re indecisive.” She leaned and frowned into his eyes. “You won’t commit to me, will you? I hardly care.”
He couldn’t find an answer.
In one of their bedtime conversations, she told him she had never had a boyfriend. In kindergarten she had adored a boy, and put her arms around him once in the playground. The boy cried and the teacher said no. Since then, no one. She stated it firmly, not sadly.
“We’re getting noticed in the office,” she said.
“Nance, we’re yesterday’s news. We’ve been noticed for weeks.” He was now, in the third month of their affair, very aware of the looks he and Nancy received. He was embarrassed, but also secretly pleased. And the security of her bulk blunted any worries.
“I don’t believe it,” she said.
“Believe it.”
After those words, for two weeks she would not look at him at work, nor answer him, nor let him catch her eye. She seemed stressed, sweaty and irked. They did not have sex. She would not even have a meal with him after work. So they slept at their own apartments. He was astonished that she was more protective of her reputation than he, who had much more to lose. Then he realized that if he lost his job, he had a million to fall back on; she had, probably, a few months rent and food, then nothing.
One day he caught her in the marbled lobby of their office building.
“Nancy, why do you treat me like this? Everyone knows, and what does that mean for you? Only good things! If we lived together, isn’t that a good thing?”
“I’m late for work.”
“Please.”
“Come at eight. No sooner.” She waddled proudly away.
That night, he brushed her long, brown hair. He loved to sit behind her, naked, running the brush through her glossy hair. It always made him erect.
“I want to be with you forever,” he said. He meant it. But he knew in a small way that he might not mean it in a year or month or decade.
Her words whistled slightly, caused by her bulk. “The way into my heart is by code,” she said. “And if you get lost, if you can’t understand, welcome. To my shitty world.”
“You’re not shitty. You’re a flower in this world. A beautiful flower, when you open to me.”
“Oh, fuck off with your lies.”
He thought for a moment.
“They aren’t lies. You are everything beautiful to me. I love you.”
“Don’t say that word, asshole. Do you mean it? And don’t be an asshole to me!”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm. So finally, weeks after I say the word, you condescend to say it to me?”
“Yes. I love you.”
“Damn you,” she said.
There were certain things they couldn’t do, such as share a bathtub. But they could fit in his shower together, though so tightly they slid together. She made such a depression in the bed that he always rolled into her, and her body was so hot he jerked the covers off, and lay only half covered. He began to sleep with his back to her. Otherwise he would suffocate. He often woke, fighting in his half-sleep to get out of this gravity trap.
He fantasized about being as obese as her. About them living together as a fat couple. They’d been “lovers” for 5 months, and he had already gained 25 pounds. His belly trembled when he walked. It was as he had taken on part of her personality. And he was constantly aware now that she might have the same problem as he did with love and loyalty. She told him she could not love anyone for long. He assumed her statement was self-protection, so he did’t argue the point. Maybe she was right, she couldn’t love anyone because she’d been rejected — or afraid of rejection — for so long.
Yet he didn’t love her totally. He felt a slow, creeping doubt, a fear of her personality, of being the object of her obsession, of having the responsibility to hold in his hands someone else’s lifetime dream (for he considered he was that to her — beyond her gruffness and rude cruelties, he was the plucker of her virginity, her first and only lover) — and to have to treat her cruelly as he fell out of love — He couldn’t think about it. And now he’d picked the worst person in the world to disappoint, the most vulnerable, the one almost certain not to recover after what he assumed would be his eventual betrayal. Or maybe she would just lumber on in her obese stoicism, that sober and disapproving expression permanent on her face. Still, he would be the coward, the deceiver.
Long ago while he was still surreptitiously dropping items on her desk, he had daydreamed of avoiding this whole “love” conundrum by paying her $ 100,000, maybe $ 200,000, to stay with him for ten — well, maybe five years. Sex, bought and captured; this would free him to be what he was, including the part women didn’t like, the part where he drifted off in his own mind and ignored them. But he’d been too ashamed to propose such a payment to her in the early days, and now he couldn’t; it would be too huge an insult, it would testify that he DIDN’T love her. But if he could pay her and say it was just to make up for his inattention, which he assumed, knew, would come soon…and, deep down in a delicious place, it meant he could — she was —
His mind turned once again, and he saw himself offering her the payment out of love and gentleness. A gift…and his imagination saw those big red panties.
It never occurred to him simply to give it to her, and say, “I never want you to worry about money.” To give it to her as a husband, so to speak, rather than a scheming lover.
One Saturday morning, as an early snow drifted down outside, he took the plunge.
“Nance,” he said, “I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars to give me sex whenever I want it, for the next ten — okay, five — years, but without demanding anything from me.” It wasn’t what he planned to say at all. His mind had immediately gone to the first, crude, buying her idea. He immediately knew it was bad.
“Oh, so this is your way of breaking up with me.”
“No — no, not at all.” But he swallowed. He waited to see her reaction.
“Okay,” she said, poker-faced, “Give me the check.”
He went, wrote the check, and gave it to her. On the subject line he’d written, “Five Years.”
“Thank you,” she said. She ripped the check into 4 pieces, and opened her fingers to let them dance to the floor.
“If you really want me, write a check for two hundred thousand. And don’t put “five years” on it.
He looked at her a long few seconds. Then he wrote the check and gave it to her.
Several days later, it was deducted from his account.
He came up to her in the office, close, from behind. “The check cashed,” he said softly.
She turned and said, out loud, “Oh? Good I guess?” And she walked away and would not catch his eye the rest of the day. Nor the rest of the week.
Then what he saw astounded, horrified, repulsed, and lastly fascinated him. He realized, with a sick feeling, that she had started hitting other lawyers’ pant fronts with her knuckles. He saw three co-workers on separate occasions standing near her, motionless, waiting for her casual, covert knuckle-tap, after which he detected a swelling. It astounded and enraged him, yet fascinated and pulled him, also. And only a week apart!
He decided to leave her an angry note, saying they were through. He’d leave it at her place, where he hadn’t been for a week.
Angrily (for he had keys) he started to open her apartment door.
She opened it, stood blocking his entry.
“What do you want, sex?” she said.
It seemed awkward, ridiculous.
He sensed that if he said yes, sex, she would turn him away. He began to realize he’d been a fool. But he didn’t begrudge her the 200 grand. He was paying for this experience. Really paying.
“I just wanted to come and say Hi, just to have a cup of tea.”
“Listen,” she stared at him severely, “You can come in and respect me for the next ten years, twenty years, or you can go away. Forever. — And you’ll have to get another job. I can’t have you around me in the office. So it’s me or that office, either one. ”
“That’s so you can do your little knuckle dance on any penis around the office without me watching?”
She didn’t answer.
“You have no heart?”
“I have a huge heart,” she said. “If you come in, you come in permanently. And if you come in, you come here, not there. Here you have no ties to Albert, Long and Quincy.”
“Yes,” he nodded, frowning in thought. She shifted her body slightly, away from blocking the door. After a moment he stepped in, feeling the heat from her arm as he passed.
“Don’t touch me,” she said angrily, swatting his stray hand away. He was walking into a world where he had to give up control. It fascinated him. Now he understood why he could not love or could not sustain it. He was looking in the wrong place.
“Sit down, Jim.” Her voice was friendly but professional, like a nurse’s or lawyer’s. “This is how it’s going to be.”
He listened carefully, apprehensive at first that she would demand demeaning and harmful things from him, which he suspected he would acquiesce to, and wasn’t he already here? Would he acquiesce? Was this part of the loss? — for loss had started to fascinate him — but, a major surprise: her laying down the law only concerned where to stack dishes, how she wanted the bathroom towels folded, etc., and he was to clean the bathroom, and do dishes, vacuum, clean the stove and keep the windows clean — she, she said, did enough. She would make the grocery list and order it on the phone but with his visa. And there were to be schedules for this and that. And so on. Not one mention of bed, sex, love, romance, perversion — nothing. It was strange, her new ordinariness, it made him more relaxed, more sure of himself. He didn’t mind seeing her like this, like an ordinary woman with only practical things on her mind. This gave him the courage to leap up from his chair, bound across the room into the kitchen, turn the tap at the small sink, wet his hands, and, back at the slowly reacting Nancy, slid his cool wet hands under her blouse and down her hot, sweaty shoulders. She gasped, then sighed with relief.
“Come,” he said. He led her by the hand to the apartment’s kitchen, where she sat in a large wooden captain’s chair at the table.
He filled a glass with cold water, then threw it on her face, blouse, stomach and crotch.
She gasped; he laughed, then suddenly sat in her wet lap, squirming into her.
“Okay? Comfy?” He teased.
“U-hunh.” She was rubbing her wet face.
“Cools you off. Hah!”
Then, curled up on her lap, he asked, “Why aren’t you with any of those other lawyers? The ones you, you know, tapped their cocks. You want me to change firms so you can slut your way around the office? But you aren’t with any of them. Only here, wth me.” He had extricated one large breast from its saddle, and he twirled the unexpectedly small nipple.
“Exactly so.” She pouted her grey moustached pink lips at him thoughtfully. “On all counts.”
“You know you’ll be fired if you continue.”
“Will you get me a glass of milk?”
He went to the fridge.
“They’ve already called me upstairs.”
“OH? Did you survive?”
“Better.”
He put the glass of milk on the table, and once more lowered himself into her lap.
“I had to be careful.”
“I bet,” he said
“I made sure I had him alone, away from everybody. Then I towered over him – he’s a rotten little prick – I looked him in the eye and I said if they tried to do any thing about it I would complain to the labour relations board that I’d been sexually harassed by an organized gang of lawyers in this firm. Then I’d get my own lawyer to sue the firm, maybe walk away with a million.”
She gazed out the window. “Then I said I would like to apologize and we made all nicey and I said I am going to behave, strictly no sexual activity, provocation or expression in the courtroom or out, yer ‘onor. Then I said, Isn’t the chance that I might win, that punishing a working slug like me might cost you a million plus, isn’t that worth a little leniency? And by a little, your honour, l mean total. I’m not your honour, he said.
“So to irritate him — not a good idea, but sometimes I can’t resist. And I said, Your Honour what’s the flip side of this? You have three lawyers who are spending their billable time diddling with a lovely paralegal. Oops I meant lowly.”
She put her magnificent arms around Jim, forearms on the table. It, the table, subtly shifted her way.
“I’m the only one here, you know,” he said. “These other lawyers, they aren’t here because you were only a distraction to them, a sexual curiosity, briefly exciting because you’re a divergent species. A brief species, you know, like a butterfly.” (He could have said an obese butterfly wallowing through the air, but he would not — could not, it would pull on a sickening knot in his stomach to call her fat, or obese, or wadding, or fat ass; he would never hurt her like that. He didn’t realize this was love of a sort.) “Because you weren’t anything else to them. That’s why they aren’t here and why you’re letting me be here, because I’m the man that wants you, and the one who will be with you. You’re…” he wondered if he should say it, “my Cleopatra.”
“Sure.”
“Can I stay in your lap still?”
“If you give me $100.”
“No.”
At that, she wiggled and heaved upright, dumping him. He sat on the floor.
‘You’re such a tool. You don’t even deserve to touch me, so how do you rate sitting on my lap?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Yes.”
“Stop it!”
“Can I call you mother?”
“No. That’s disgusting.You’re disgusting. From now on, we only fuck missionary style. That’s all you’re worth. That’s all you’ll ever get.”
“Yes. Okay.”
As the weeks passed, he began surveying for other solicitor positions. Love-wise, he found that being restricted to one missionary type of sex with her actually increased his lust, led to indescribable impressions and sensations. The simplicity bred more and more complex reactions in him.
After four or five weeks he asked her again, again in the kitchen:
“Can I call you mother?”
She watched him, suspicious. “Maybe.”
“Punish me when I’m bad?”
“You’d better believe it, Jim.” She squinted at him and pursed her small lips. She had small, cupid-bow lips. And, oddly, small hands.
“Oh, yes.” He slid up against her body, his hands cupping one large heavy watermelon breast. She slowly sank into the large captain’s chair, and he squirmed onto her lap, her thighs.
He curled into her mass.
She said nothing.
“Mommy?”
“You disgusting pervert.”
“Mommy, can I suck your nipple?”
“Pig,” she said, as she adjusted her big thighs. Her eyes shone.