Dealing Flesh

by Birgit Waldschmidt

  Ken leaves the house right after we make love this morning. I believe he is headed for one of the many jobs that I can no longer keep track of. I, too, go about my day, but return in the afternoon. An instant vehement pining comes over me, intensified by Fantasia showing me all the mouth-watering things my honey and I can do to each other at the time of his arrival.

  Lustania: Who knows when the heck that will be? I need that scrump-tilicious feeling now.

  Unable to further concentrate on anything but the intense rush of an orgasm, I bring out Mister V once more, lie down on the bed, and masturbate. During a brief moment of awareness in-between sprawling exaltation, my gaze falls onto the cracked bedroom door. I startle because through the gap I spot Ken’s prying eyes, voraciously following my every move.

  Blushetta: How embarrassing.

  Fantasia: Bull… It’s hot as hell.

  Lustania: I’m gonna make him wild.

  Romy: I hope he hasn’t lost respect for me?

  I pleasure myself even more ambitiously now that I know he is watching. This moment, the door opens all the way and in he walks, approaching the bed in brisk strides. He hurriedly strips off his clothes and hops in next to me, instantaneously taking me onto the ride of my life.

  Lustania: Gimme more of that brown sugar smack.

  The Trillion-Dollar Card

  Ken grants me full permission to sort through any and all of his belongings in order to give the place my personal touch and make it a home.

  After he leaves this morning, I sift through several boxes of his paperwork and other items. In one of the bins, I run across a note pad that says, “Do NOT Read!” on the front cover.

  Romy: That won’t apply to me. We are already married at heart. Anything he owns, I own, and vice versa.

  I instantly flip the journal open and dive into the words. Hearing Ken express thoughts and feelings about many of the women that he encountered while living a bachelor life in Chicago makes me cringe. The last sentence on the entire pad says, “I hope to someday attain peace and find someone I truly care about.”

  Romy: That’s me. I’m the one he truly cares about. We are soul mates, and I am going to make him the happiest man alive.

  Continuing with the de-cluttering mission, I stumble upon a small stack of love letters. A strange feeling befalls me as my eyes glide across the passionate words of Ken’s former lovers.

  Enviola: They all sound so enmeshed. There’s reason to believe that one or more of these bygoners may still mean a lot to him.

  When Ken gets in tonight, I drop a couple of names in his face, but he assures me they are all old hats, that I have nothing to be concerned about.

  “If that’s the case, then why don’t you toss them?”

  Abundantly saddened, as he refuses to do so, I let the issue resurface several weeks later. This time, he takes the letters and shreds them in front of me.

  Enviola: That oughta do it.

  Spring comes, and I secure a full-time job as a secretary at an insurance company in Thousand Oaks. It pays more than I made in any of the so-called “normal” occupations I held since I have been in America. Athirst to contribute to our life together, I offer to chip in toward rent and utilities, but inquire about the possibility of a two months grace period to build up momentum.

  “Of course, baby. Take your time. There is no hurry,” Ken assures me.

  ~~~

  Valentine’s Day arrives. Candles lit, Ken and I sit on the couch, relaxing after supper. He hands me a nicely wrapped gift and an envelope. I look at the present first. It’s a thoughtfully selected handbag that I adore. I open the card. It depicts two lit red candles standing side-by-side, one taller than the other on the front. Golden letters read, “Happy Valentine’s Day.” On the inside the same two candles show up again. Below them, it reads…

  Knowing love of no name, two hearts burst into flames. To my lover, my soul mate, my friend,

  I am looking forward to spending the rest of my life with you.

  Love always and true,

  Ken xoxoxo

  I tear up, reading over each word several more times.

  Romy: This is better than a trillion dollars.

  Blushetta: He is the gem of gems.

  Enviola: He sure is. But I do admit…sometimes I do get concerned, especially when an attractive woman comes around us.

  That brings to mind the scenario last week when this good-looking gal walked right by us and I immediately tensed up inside. I do not know how Ken knew, but he immediately disarmed my fears, saying, “Honey, I know you think I find her attractive because she is beautiful, but let me assure you, I don’t.”

  Romy: I know, I have nothing to worry about, especially not when looking at the overwhelming evidence – Ken bombards me with affection in public, he never shies away from showing the world we are an item, and he brings me along whenever possible.

  We make love for an extraordinary long time this evening.

  Morning comes. Ken appears asleep when I open my eyes. About to leap into the bathroom to erase possible signs of morning breath, I suddenly feel his arms tackle me. He pulls me towards him and presses his lips onto mine with such stronghold that I cannot get a word in. As soon as I get the opportunity to speak, I let him in on my apprehensions.

  “Honey Lamb,” he says, “I want to kiss you even if your breath is less than perfect. You’re my sweetheart, and there is nothing you can do about it. So come here and give me that sweet mouth of yours. And remind me to thank your parents.”

  Romy: Ohhh-myyy-god?

  Blushetta: He’s sooo special and never brings up race or color lines.

  Romy: I will never ever betray him, not even if our sexual relations should seize to exist. I can’t…I love his heart…never loved another’s heart before. And I love him for loving mine.

  Whip Cracker: It does not matter how faithful you stay, or how hard you work on yourself. He eventually is going to betray you.

  Scaredy Cat: What if he really does happen to catch a roaming eye or loses interest from one day to the next?

  Hot Shot: Not if I morph into Super Woman, he won’t.

  That being said, I instantly increase my weekly regimen to six vigorous training sessions at the gym, up my Tai-Bo-style kickboxing classes, jog for an hour twice a week, ride horses almost daily, make crazy love to Ken every chance I get, clean, shop and cook before and after my regular work schedule at the office, and even sneak in daily situps on my lunch break in a quiet carpeted area of the office building’s emergency staircase. All that hard work turns my stomach area into a gladiator-like six-pack region, making a long time dream come true.

  While sitting behind the wheel today driving back home, I find myself touching the rock hard bumps under my T-shirt several times.

  Fantasia: Damn girl. You sizzle. Have you any idea how much Ken is going to appreciate this?

  Miss Vanity: Someone better enjoy it. Otherwise what’s the point of working that hard? By the way, there is another thing you can do to make Ken crave you even more.

  Hot Shot: What’s that?

  Miss Vanity: Shave off all those little hairs on your forearms; make your skin as smooth as possible. Remember he told you he loves smooth skin?

  Hot Shot: Great idea—anything to make him want me twenty four seven.

  During my next shower, I razor off any and all hairs I can find except the ones in my pubic area and on my head.

  ~~~

  Strange things are happening to my body. Aside from being late on my period, the texture of my hair appears coarser than usual, and I notice that I put on five pounds in seven days. My breasts feel tender, and I crave pickles with ketchup.

  Romy (gleaming of sheer radiance): I’m pregnant.

  Telling Ken about my suspicion, he too, joins my elation.

  A week later, I sit impatiently on the bed waiting for the test strip to reveal my fate—one minute…two minutes… “Aww, negative. I so wanted to be a mother,” I tell Ken with tears in
my eyes.

  “You should be one, babe. I promise we’ll try it again in July like we initially planned,” he reassures me, affectionately rubbing my head.

  ~~~

  I am sitting on the tan colored carpet in the living room after a delicious evening meal, Ken laying flat right next to me.

  “Schatz…there is something I wanna tell you. After all you gonna be my husband soon, and I want there to be no secrets between us, ya’ know?

  “What is it, babe?” says Ken with a slightly perturbed look on his face.

  “Promise, you’ll still love me the same, if I tell you?”

  “Naturally.”

  “I spent some time in the sex industry, stripping for a few years, and there was a period of working as a high class call girl in Germany.”

  “Uhhhmmm…?”

  “Believe me…not a chance I’ll ever go back to that. I’m one hundred ten percent done with that kind of life…not to worry.”

  He stares at me with a blank look on his face, letting out another string of “Uhhhmms” as I wrap up the story. I fold my arms around his neck, planting kisses all over his face.

  Scaredy Cat: I’m so glad that all skeletons are out of the closet.

  CHAPTER 18

  Black Rain in Paradise

  “I used to easily smoke a pack a day during my bartending days at the German nightclub I worked at,” I tell Ken while my head rests on his upper thigh, him sitting on the couch, playing with strands of my long blond highlighted hair.

  “Did you ever smoke in your life, Schatzi?”

  “Not cigarettes.”

  “What do you mean? Cigars?”

  “No…pot.”

  “When did you last smoke that?” I ask, knowing I avoided people connected to drugs like the plague for as long as I can think back.

  “I still do once in a while.”

  Scaredy Cat: What did he just say?

  Doubt Cloud: Fuck, I can’t believe, I fell for an addict. He’s probably a con man.

  Romy (sniveling): Me…in love with a pothead? Tell me it isn’t so, that I’m dreaming, and I am going to wake up any minute now.

  It’s not that I have not smoked a joint before. I have, one time, during the relationship with Raymond. It showed me then that weed and I do not mix.

  Scaredy Cat: He tricked me.

  My request for Ken to give up his smoking habit for the sake of the relationship falls onto deaf ears. But he does commit to smoke only outside the flat from now on.

  Doubt Cloud: People who use drugs can’t be trusted. And they certainly can’t be present for anything being that they are under the influence of a mind-altering substance.

  Miss Vanity (crying): Am I that unappetizing that he’s got to get loaded to be intimate with me?

  Romy: How am I ever going to make love to him again if he chooses to be under a reality altering substance while we sleep together?

  Ken leaves around ten this morning. At once, I comb through all accessible nooks and crannies of the house trying to find his stash of weed. I do, but it makes the question of ‘is he or is he not stoned, and how can I tell’ consume me even more.

  ~~~

  “I wanna get high.”

  Ken looks at me with a surprised, but beguiling smirk on his face.

  “Seriously?”

  “Ja. Have ya’ got some?”

  Romy: I’m dying to find out what he sees in that stuff. Maybe that will bond us more?

  The last thing I remember is sitting beside him on the living room sofa, watching him crack up over the strong hits I’m taking off of the joint he rolled for us. The next time I gain awareness of the fact that I am even amongst the living is when I come to inside the bedroom, having crazy sex with Ken who hovers over me, staring into my eyes with ardent devotion. One second, I feel myself residing inside my body, and the next I don’t. During the times of consciousness, I laugh, cry, panic, and babble nonstop. I hold Ken’s face in my hands this moment.

  “Baby, I love you. Promise me, you are a good guy. Promise me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Promise you’ll never leave me.”

  “Promise.”

  “I love you soooo much.”

  “I love you back, honey.”

  Ken appears fairly entertained seeing me this out of it. When attempting to walk to the bathroom, I fall down on the carpet missing the window by only inches. He jumps to my rescue, lifting me up off the floor. I try walking once more, but instantly fail. Ken scoops me up and carries me over to the toilet. He places me onto the seat. I am not sure what happens to the rest of the night, but this morning I wake up having bits and pieces of last night’s memory trickle in.

  Hot Shot: How in the hell am I supposed to go to work feeling like shit?

  Romy: Yeah. Let’s stay in and play all day, rest, make love…

  Scaredy Cat: I better show up for my responsibilities.

  Lustania: Quack, quack, quack.

  Bitching and moaning, cursing the day, I manage to get dressed and show up at the office at the regular hour.

  Miss Vanity: One thing I know for sure. I’m not ever going to touch that devilish stuff again.

  Scaredy Cat: Yeah, it’s frightening to lose that much control.

  ~~~

  It’s 8:00 p.m., and I rush home to spend the rest of the night with Ken, just having signed up for a membership at a health club.

  Romy: I miss my baby so much. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of him.

  He is already home, standing in the hallway by the bedroom when I enter. I approach him with loving eyes, hug him like I always do, but he rapidly leaves my embrace after a brief pucker up.

  Romy: He looks kinda irritated?

  “Where were you?” he asks.

  “I bought a membership at a gym, honey, like I told you a while ago—my old one ran out.”

  “You’ve flirted with the sales rep, didn’t you?”

  Romy: What’s with him? Doesn’t he know that no one can hold a candle to him?

  “Say what?” I say, looking extremely baffled and confused. “You really are trippin’. What’s with you?”

  “I can see it in your face. He flirted with you, and you went for it.”

  “Ken, I don’t understand what’s gotten into you. I don’t desire to even look at other men. What more proof do you need that you are the only one I want forever and ever, that I love you more than anything? I can’t believe this.”

  Thankfully he calms down as the evening progresses, leaving the rest of the night to continue slightly more harmoniously.

  ~~~

  A couple of Ready To Eat meals in the passenger seat, I hurry home again tonight after work, every bone in my body longing to spend quality time with Ken. I put the items onto a dinner plate and place it in front of him on the table. His face forms an expression that seems foreign…like he hates me, or something.

  “What the hell possessed you to serve me such fucked up crap?” he shouts. A few other profanities follow.

  Scaredy Cat: I’m in the wrong movie. Who is that man sitting there?

  The contents of my head turn to midnight. Waves of poignant agony clash together above me, making my head super fuzzy. I dizzily struggle to regain my footing while groping around in the twirling darkness. I feel nauseous.

  “Why are you doing this? You are ruining everything, Ken? Why? Whhyyy…? You know what? Why don’t you take a gun and blow my brains out right now? Seriously because you are the last station for me,” I whimper through my tears.

  “I get like that when my blood sugar plummets. It has to do with my hypoglycemia condition,” he says with a tad of regret in his voice.

  “Is it gonna help if I get you something else to eat then?”

  “Sure, if you want.”

  I get on the road within minutes, returning half an hour later with a freshly made meal from a restaurant. After Ken finishes eating, we lie down in bed.

  Romy: Yeah…make-up cuddle time.

&
nbsp; I see him turn to the wall, instantly dosing off. Drowning in utter sadness, Romy implores me to drive over to the gas station a few blocks away. I noiselessly slip into my sweat suit and leave the house as quietly as possible. Sitting inside the car, wailing from the depth of my soul, I guzzle down a large can of bitter Red Bull brew. The pain remains, but it drops a few notches of intensity now that I am buzzed. Coming back to the apartment, I find Ken deep asleep.

  Romy: I don’t see how I can lie next to someone who has fallen out of love with me.

  I spend the remainder of the night on the futon sofa in the living room…hurting…aching…with eternal heart bleeding, searching my brain for a good two hours on the issues of where it is that I fucked up.

  ~~~

  Romy: I think I’m losing him. He’s been so slippery lately.

  Tough Gal: Remember the place the therapist you saw once years ago, talked about…some gathering for people affected by someone else’s consumption of mood and mind-altering substances?

  Romy: Ehh, vaguely. Are you suggesting…? Hhhmmm. Well, I guess I am desperate enough to try anything to get my man back to the way he used to be.

  Saturday afternoon I show up for my first get-together with a bunch of people who are said to feel the same way than I do and understand my predicaments. Roughly ten folks are present, and we all sit in a circle inside a little room that belongs to a Van Nuys’ church. I listen closely to what everyone has to say, hang on to each word that falls from their mouths, counting on catching something that provides me with the magic formula for making Ken love me like he did for the first several months. Upon asking participants in the group to tell me what I need to do to fix his pot smoking habit, they inform me that they do not give advice, but overall suggest that I keep coming back.

  Romy: Now they are really pissing me off. Don’t they know my survival depends on this?

  One nice woman offers that, if push came to shove, I can rent a room from her. I thank her, but decide to give it some time to see if things improve by themselves.

  “I know they’ll twist up your head, trying to tell you to leave me,” says Ken with a forceful tone in his voice now that I am back at home.