It Was Just Sex: Exorcising the Spector of Unhappiness

And there she was again…Lizzy…how quietly she arose in my dreams, unbidden. She had been coming to me more frequently as of late. My body hummed at the vision of her short, brown hair tousled from our lovemaking as it curled softly at her ears. Her lithe, floating shape complete with perky breasts made me lose my mind. All I could hear was her tinkling laughter as I watched her hair fall over her eyes in a glorious explosion of laughter and joy. The joy only I could give her; my long fingers exploring her silken wetness, my mouth taking her in beautiful breasts, first one then another. My energy rose with her moans of pleasure, and then it happened. I am awoken from my bliss by a freight train of sound coming from the other side of the bed. “Goddamn it, WHY can’t I get even a moment’s peace?” I rose in disgust. Thighs wet with desire for my sweet Lizzy, I quietly left the bedroom and my snoring husband, Peter. I made my way downstairs and curled up in my favorite recliner. I covered myself with my mother’s old quilt and try to get back to Lizzy. In my mind’s eye, she was dancing away from me now as we stood in a field of wildflowers that stretched to the edges of my dream vision. As she ran, she called to me over her shoulder something I could not understand. Her laughter teased my ears again and I could smell her sweet body on the breeze that kissed my face.

Lizzy first began visiting me at the end of my second marriage when I finally fully admitted to myself that I was attracted to women. Not only did I want them, I preferred them, and my lust was never going to subside until I could taste one. The dreams were carnal with no real person associated with them. An image from a magazine; a girl I had admired in a department store; the black, hottie chick from the “Drawn Together” cartoon even. It didn’t matter; it was just sex. Regardless of the origin of the images, I was changing inside and soon my insatiable beast raged at me fueled by the dreams of Lizzy.

About this same time I had also met Peter. I thought I was beginning a wonderful new romance, I was able to fool myself into thinking the thoughts of Lizzy would go away. I thought it a blessing when I experienced a period when I did not dream of Lizzie at all. Not long into my relationship with Peter, I realized that I had not exorcised the specter of my sexual unhappiness. The fantasies of fucking other women intruded when I was having sex with Peter and soon I could not reach orgasm without them. The fantasies became the only way I could orgasm. I never had to struggle for orgasm and it was my reliance on the images of Lizzy during these moments that helped her grow from flashes in my imagination to someone real that laid in bed between Peter and me, although I was the only one who knew she was there. It crushed me to realize what was happening but at the same time I would never share something like this with my husband. A little sexual fantasy is healthy right? Sexual fantasy is healthy as long as it doesn’t interfere with life. And, of course, that was exactly what happened.

Peter worked long hours and ignored me and every need I had. Our faltering relationship began to dissolve even more quickly. I was married to a ghost at best; and no matter what I said it did not seem to matter much to him. I became increasingly restless, unhappy, and demanding. I tried to tell him what I needed but soon my relationship with Peter dwindled down to nothing and he stopped having sex with me altogether. On my own, I used the images of Lizzy to achieve orgasm. My dreams of Lizzy came every night, sometimes over and over until I found myself waking to gripping sweaty sheets as my body writhed in the ecstasy of a spontaneous orgasm. These were the kind of torrid orgasms I had never experienced with any man and it became clear that this was so much more than a little sexual fantasy.

As for this morning, however, warm and cozy under my mother’s blanket, I contemplated the situation. Why was Lizzy coming to me? Was she just a part of me that I needed to talk to in the realm of my dreams, embrace and recognize? I pushed my questions aside as I stretched my legs out further and felt the recliner tip back into its back-most position. I hated analyzing such a wonderful part of myself away, and yet the dreams were disturbing me in ways I could not explain.

It was not the possibility of a relationship with a woman that scared me, but the why behind Lizzy’s frequent visits. Every day she became more real and I had no idea what I was supposed to do about it. Maybe she was just there because I was so unhappy in my marriage. And maybe I was just a horny, 36-year-old mother of three with a panache for overthinking. Either way, by this time Lizzy had disappeared from my dream. I noticed that I was wandering through the field alone while a colder, more insistent wind kicked up blowing my hair all around and making it impossible for me to see.

With a sigh I allowed myself to slip into consciousness only to find the damned dog looking at me, wagging her tail expectantly as if I had nothing better to do at that moment than let her outside. Still throbbing from lack of release, grumbling, I hoisted my generous posterior off the recliner and obliged her before she made a mess on the carpet. Damned dog... I went off to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. I had to have something with which to face the reality of my life and it might as well be some java as apparently, I would receive no further sustenance from Lizzy again today.

As the coffee brewed I took inventory of the mess in the kitchen. It seemed like the four other people I lived with could never be bothered to lift a finger never mind that I was attending graduate school and working 25 hours a week. Recycling all over one counter, stuck in between the plants on the other counter. Dishes piled high in the sink; it was actually a wonder they weren’t toppling over. Food drippings caking the bottom of the sink, dried onto the dishes, and I don’t even want to know what that smell is coming out of the garbage disposal. As I continued to survey my kitchen, I noticed garbage overflowing out of the can that had a bag in it yesterday, but where was it today? The top of the bag was probably shoved under something repulsive that I was going to have to touch to retrieve the top of the bag in order to take it out. I have a vagina; of course, I am the only one who can clean anything up. Wads of dog hair float across the floor that need mopping, and yes, her water dish was bone dry once again. Christ.

The kitchen is where the mess began, but certainly not where it ended. It represented a perfect reflection of my whole attitude, my state of mind and my level of incentive. “I just don’t have time for this crap…why can’t someone else take on some responsibility?” I went back and flopped back down on the recliner only to hear the dog scratching at the glass slider to be let back in. Instead of letting her in I yell, “No!” loudly. Not a chance of waking anyone up, I’m here all alone as usual. The coffee pot groaned to a stop as it stopped brewing. I dragged myself to the dishwasher to get a mug. Blast. There’s nothing in there, they are all dirty. Of course,2 they are. Frustrated, I grab the nearest clean glass and pour my coffee into that instead. I let the dog in. She slobbers on me affectionately, and I yell at her to get away from me. “God, I’m such a bitch!” I started sneezing until I thought my head is going to pop off. Another perfect day had begun.

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