Commitment

by K. M. Golland

  ‘Those make sense.’

  ‘Yeah, well … whether they make sense or not, the decision to kiss him was wrong. End of story.’

  ‘But it’s not the end of the story, is it?’ She was right, it wasn’t. ‘Do you have feelings for him?’

  I sucked in a deep breath and threaded Brayden’s arms through the sleeves of his suit. It was the same question that led to the kiss in the first place.

  ‘Stop it,’ I gurgled. ‘Let me go!’

  ‘No. Answer my question.’

  His hands moved to my hips, their strength rotating me to face him. I pushed against his chest, but he wrapped his arms around me in a bear hug.

  Out of breath, our chests rose and fell, our eyes blinking droplets of water onto our cheeks as we scanned each other’s faces.

  ‘Well?’ he asked, his voice breathy and low.

  I stared at his lips, soft, pink and wet. And without even thinking, I lunged myself at him, kissing him hard, hungrily and with purpose.

  His grip on me loosened immediately, one of his hands finding the back of my head and holding my face to his as his tongue eagerly swept across mine. Our mouths were wild, as were my hands — gripping, groping, grabbing.

  I climbed his body and secured my legs around his waist, grinding my needy clit against his hard cock. Hot sensation burst throughout my body, and I moaned deliriously.

  ‘Yesss.’

  ‘Yes?’ he ground out, trailing his mouth down my neck and back up again.

  He pressed me against the side of the pool, the cold, hard surface meeting my back. ‘I knew it.’ His breath was heavy, his words rushed and desperate. ‘I knew you felt the same way.’

  As if an alarm bell suddenly rang obnoxiously within my head, I pulled away and said, ‘Stop.’

  Dale blinked, his chest heaving. He let go of my face and placed both hands on the pool’s edge on either side of my body, caging me in. ‘Not again,’ he sighed.

  ‘I can’t,’ I pleaded. ‘God, what am I doing? What have I done?’ I covered my mouth with both hands. ‘Please, I need to get out. I … I need to go.’ I released my legs, and he stepped back to allow enough space for me to move away from him.

  ‘Tash,’ he groaned.

  I ignored him and waded through the water to the steps, fighting the liquid wall with all my strength and pushing it behind me. Its defence was fierce, as if to prevent me from leaving, but I had to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible. The thought of what I’d just done made me ill to my stomach.

  Reaching the steps, each one I took released me from the water’s grasp until I was free and rushing towards the elevator.

  ‘Tash, wait!’

  ‘No!’ I yelled, not looking back. ‘Just stay away from me.’ I slammed my hand on the elevator button repeatedly until the doors slid open.

  I hurried inside, pressed the level for my suite and backed into the very corner of the cart. The doors began to slide shut, so I let out the breath I’d been holding and closed my eyes, relieved but mortified and laden with guilt.

  ‘Tash, please wait!’ Dale’s voice was loud and close, but not close enough, the doors shutting before he could pry them open. ‘Shit!’ I heard him say as the elevator started its ascent.

  ‘Oh my God! Oh. My. God! What have I done?’ I whispered, breathing hard as tears broke free and streamed down my face. I shook my head repeatedly, hoping it would somehow erase what had just happened. But it couldn’t. Nothing could.

  The floor numbers displayed on the digital panel next to the door escalated, and I willed them to skip-count. My suite was on level forty-one and we’d just passed twenty-three.

  ‘Please hurry,’ I begged, as if it would help.

  Before I could comprehend what was happening, my body jerked and the cart screeched to a stop, my legs buckling and forcing me to squat with my hands pressed against the walls on either side of my body.

  ‘Shit!’ I screamed, terror seizing me, the silence near deafening.

  I released my hand from the wall and placed it on my chest to check if my heart was still beating. I honestly had no idea if it was, or what was happening.

  ‘Tash, we need to talk.’

  I startled and screamed again, this time acutely aware of the rapid beating of my heart. ‘Jesus, fuck! Dale? Is that you?’

  His voice spoke through the speaker again. ‘You know it is.’

  Slowly, and with shaking legs, I stood and pointed at the camera. ‘You did this? You stopped the elevator?’

  ‘Yes. We need to talk.’

  ‘You start this cart right now! You hear me?’

  ‘Fine. I’ll bring it back down to the sundeck and we can talk.’

  ‘Like hell you will. You’ll send it to the forty-first floor. NOW! I’m not kidding.’

  ‘Tashy, please. I just want to sort this all—’

  ‘Don’t you dare call me that,’ I interrupted, bursting into tears as shock, guilt and fear overwhelmed me. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t see you.’ My vision blurred, so I steadied myself by grasping the brass railing. ‘Dale,’ I panted. ‘I can’t be in here any longer. Please, start the cart again.’

  ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  ‘Okay. Give me a second.’

  ‘Hurry.’ I crouched back down, unable to stand, unable to focus.

  ‘Okay, okay. It’s starting. I’m sorry, Tash. I didn’t know you’d—’

  My mind censored him as the cart started to move, and at first I wasn’t sure if it was going up or down until it stopped seconds later on the forty-first floor. The doors slid open, and my body welcomed the cool air that seemed to rush to my aid. I sucked it in deep and pulled myself to my feet again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tash. I panicked. I couldn’t let you go.’

  ‘Just stay away from me,’ I said, refusing to look into the camera. I took a moment to find my balance before stepping towards the door and adding with finality, ‘I’m married, Dale, and it’s going to stay that way.’

  ‘Tash. TASH!’

  ‘What? Sorry. What?’ I stuttered, snapping out of my recollection to find Alexis fastening the buttons on Brayden’s suit, something I had been about to do before getting lost in thoughts of what had transpired the night before.

  Still adjusting my equilibrium, I took a step back.

  Alexis eyed me warily as she picked up Brayden and walked over to his cot. ‘Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?’

  ‘No, no. I’m fine. I just have a lot going on in my head right now.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet you do.’ She laid him down and tucked him in before switching on his solar-system cot mobile, stars and planets slowly spinning around to the tune of a lullaby. ‘You can’t ignore it, though. You know that, right?’

  I nodded and bit my lip, trying but failing to keep my tears at bay yet again.

  She closed the space between us and took my hands in hers. ‘Believe it or not, I know what you’re feeling. I’ve been in your shoes. And if I can offer you any advice it would be to not push it aside. Don’t sugar-coat it. No matter how much you want it to, it’s not just gonna go away. You have to deal with it and allow yourself to properly feel everything you’re feeling, because there’s a reason you’re feeling it.’

  ‘But I don’t know what I’m feeling. I don’t know why this has happened. I love Dean. I don’t want to be with anyone else.’

  ‘I didn’t want to be with anyone else either, but sometimes love is not enough. Sometimes you need more.’

  ‘But I don’t need more. Dean is enough … he should be enough.’

  ‘Should or is?’

  I let go of her hands and walked to the window. ‘Is.’

  ‘Then what does Dale give you that Dean doesn’t?’

  ‘Why are you asking me these things?’

  ‘Because you need to ask them of yourself if you want to get to the bottom of why this is happening. Look … when I was faced with the decision to stay with Rick or start a new life w
ith Bryce, you never told me to be safe and stay with Rick. No one did. Not even my sister or mother. At first I thought it was because you and everyone else saw the bad in him and didn’t think he deserved a second chance. But it wasn’t that.’

  Her arms enveloped my waist and she rested her head on my shoulder. ‘I now know why none of you told me what to do, and I think you do too.’

  I nodded.

  ‘It doesn’t matter what we tell you you should or shouldn’t do. It’s not our decision. It’s not our life. It’s yours. Only you can make the right choices, and you shouldn’t have any influence from those around you. Our job is to simply support you and make sure you’ve considered everything before your decision is made.’ She squeezed me tighter. ‘So that’s what I’m doing. That’s why I’m asking you these things.’

  Safe in her arms, I let more tears fall. ‘I want Dean. I love Dean. I don’t want Dale. I feel so guilty for what I’ve done.’

  ‘Firstly, it was just a kiss. And I’m not saying that isn’t bad, because it is, but more because of the emotions behind the kiss. And secondly, it’s a good thing you feel guilty, because you should, you’ve accepted that you made a mistake. But ask yourself why you made it to begin with. You said before that you felt lonely, that Dale was excitement and change.’

  ‘Yeah, he was.’

  ‘Is that all? Because those are things you can apply to your marriage. If Dean is who you want but your marriage isn’t, then make your marriage what you want it to be.’

  I turned in her arms. ‘He is what I want, but you’re right, my marriage isn’t. I need to feel again, Alexis. I need Dean to feel again. I need our spark, lust, hunger and connection to return. Just because we are husband and wife, mum and dad, that doesn’t mean we can’t be lovers as well.’

  ‘Of course it doesn’t. If anything, you should be lovers first and foremost. That’s where it all began.’

  ‘I know. So why is it so hard?’

  She chuckled a little. ‘It’s not.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. You have Mr Sex On Tap Clark.’

  ‘And you have Mr Sex On Tap Jones.’

  ‘Correction, I have Mr Sex On A Leaky Tap Jones. Mind you,’ I added, biting back my smile, ‘the sex we had today was the best we’ve had in years.’

  She smiled. ‘Yeah? That’s good. So what’s changed? Why was today really good?’

  ‘Dean said it was because we didn’t think too hard about it. We just got caught up in the moment and did it.’

  ‘And he’s probably right, to an extent.’ Alexis walked to the bedroom door, opened it, and peeked her head out for a second.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing. I was just checking that none of our children are killing each other and that our Mr Sex on Taps are still down in the basement garage.’

  ‘Oh. All good then?’

  ‘Yeah, all good.’ She closed the door, grabbed my hand, and led me to the chair next to the window. ‘As I was saying … he’s probably right to an extent, but here’s my take on what’s wrong with most marital sex, or lack thereof.’ She hesitated for a second then continued. ‘It’s mainly the woman’s fault—’

  ‘What?’ I whisper-yelled, almost forgetting Brayden was asleep in the room with us. ‘Are you fucking crazy? Whose side are you on?’

  ‘I’m on Bryce’s side … on his and my side. But hear me out.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘This ought to be good.’

  ‘It is, because if it’s part of what’s wrong in your marriage, you’ll already be on your way to fixing the problem.’

  ‘True.’ I swept my hand at her. ‘Go on.’

  She wiggled on the seat, excited, and tucked one foot under her bum. ‘Okay. So most women tend to murder sex before it even takes place.’

  I laughed quietly. ‘Murderous bitches we are.’

  ‘I’m serious.’

  ‘Okay. How so? How do we kill Poundtown?’

  ‘Because we expect too much from it, we don’t put enough into it, we get flustered by the whole idea of it, then we end up sitting it at the bottom of our to-do list … after things like dishes and washing.’ True story.

  ‘Well … yeah, because those things need to be done.’

  ‘And sex isn’t something a husband and wife should do and enjoy?’

  ‘Of course it is, but—’

  ‘No buts,’ she said, interrupting me. ‘Most women prioritise it below chores. Why is that? It just doesn’t make sense. A chore is something you don’t want to do but do because you have to. Most women treat sex like a chore, and that’s a huge problem. Sex should not be a chore. Sex is pleasurable.’

  ‘Fine. But what if it’s not? What if the sex in your marriage is boring in-out, ooh-ahh, blah blah sex? What then?’

  ‘Then you’re not fucking doing it right.’

  I scoffed.

  ‘I’m serious, Tash. If it’s that bad you both need to pull your heads in and fix it.’

  ‘How?’ I asked, exasperated. ‘Tell him to stop being boring?’

  ‘No. Tell yourself to stop blaming him. It takes two to tango, and the tango starts with you.’

  Taken aback, I was about to cross my arms in defence when she continued.

  ‘Firstly, get the idea that sex is a chore out of your head. It’s not! Prioritise it before the vacuuming for once. Say fuck it to the ironing and fuck this to your vagina.’

  I couldn’t help doubling over with laughter.

  ‘Shh.’ Alexis placed her finger against her lips and doubled over, too, both of us giggling uncontrollably. ‘I’m serious,’ she gasped, regaining her breath and composing herself. ‘Most women blame their men when they are the ones blocking the pleasure of sex. You’ve got to remove that mental block. Really feel him when he touches you. Really feel him when you touch him. Focus on you and him and nothing else.’

  ‘That’s a bit hard when two young boys are trying to break down your bedroom door.’

  ‘Stop making excuses. They’re not always doing that. And that’s another thing most women do,’ she said with frustration. ‘They make excuses. Again, it doesn’t make sense. Why excuse yourself from an orgasm?’

  ‘Because faking one is a lot of work. You’ve got to time it right. If you go too soon you then have to conjure up another one. If you go too late he’ll know you’re full of it.’

  She glared at me.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t fake orgasms,’ she deadpanned. ‘They deserve more respect than that.’

  ‘They are not the elderly, Alexis.’

  She shook her head and shivered. ‘And don’t speak of the elderly and orgasms in the same sentence. What’s wrong with you?’

  I smiled. ‘Nothing, I just don’t think it’s all the woman’s fault.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  ‘Well, you haven’t blamed men yet.’

  ‘No, I haven’t. And that’s because you can’t blame them until no fault lies with you. If you address and fix what you place in the way of great sex, only then can you expect him to do the same.’ Damn it! She has a point.

  I couldn’t deny that we had a tendency to block our own pleasure with most things in life. Not just sex. And we did that because we constantly put ourselves last, only ever seeking reward after tackling the pile of shit we had to tackle day in and day out. And what was even more ridiculous was that, most of the time, after our shit pile was tackled, there was no time left for our reward. So yeah, we were screwing ourselves over.

  We were to blame … kinda.

  ‘Holy shit! You’re right.’

  She shrugged and smiled. ‘I know. I have great sex. I also have real orgasms. And yeah, I have kids, a job, stretch marks … the works. Oh, and that’s another thing … stretch marks and body issues.’

  I groaned. ‘What about them?’

  ‘Have you ever refused the pleasure of sex because of the way you looked, because you didn’t feel sexy enough?’

  ‘Of course. All the time.’<
br />
  ‘And why don’t you feel sexy?’

  ‘I don’t know … because my hair’s a mess, I look like crap, I haven’t shaved, my bits are loose and wobbly, blah blah blah.’

  ‘And whose fault is all of that?’

  I groaned again. ‘Mine.’

  ‘Exactly. To look sexy you’ve got to feel sexy, and to feel sexy you’ve got to look it.’

  ‘But this all takes time, Alexis. I barely have enough time to sleep.’

  She threw her hands up in the air. ‘And there you go. You’re doing it again. You’re making excuses and putting yourself last.’

  ‘No, I’m not. Why should I doll myself up just to look nice for sex, to look nice for my husband? He should like me the way I am.’

  ‘You’re completely missing the point. Firstly, you said that at times you avoid sex or don’t enjoy it because you don’t feel sexy.’

  I nodded.

  ‘Then the effort and time, or “getting dolled up” as you put it, is for you, not him. Sure, he’ll benefit. And he should. And you should want him to. But at the end of the day, allocating time to yourself and making an effort to feel and look better, regardless of who or what has been sacrificed in order to create that time, is worth it … without a doubt.’

  I picked at my fingernails. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘No, not “I suppose”. It’s yes, “I agree”. And secondly, your idea of your own sex appeal can be quite different to Dean’s. He might like your messy hair and loose wobbly bits. Then again he might not. And if he doesn’t, bad luck. But what I can tell you is that when you’re having sex, he couldn’t give a shit about what’s messy, loose or wobbly. That whole feeling sexy part is on you. It’s personal. If putting on makeup and lingerie makes you feel sexy, then do it. If shaving your legs, pits and pussy gives you the courage to be bolder, do it. If none of that empowers you in any way, find what does.’

  ‘And what happens if I change my way of thinking, start putting myself first, feeling better, looking better, and the sex remains the same?’

  ‘You’ll feel and look better. You’ll also know that you’ve done all you can to fix things and that the rest lies in his hands. A healthier sex life starts with you. Stop the self-sabotage and prioritise pleasure.’

  The ding of my phone sounded again.