“I did something terrible.”
“Your husband’s mistress?”
“Yea. Her. I went to visit her the other day.”
“Oh my god. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing! At least nothing criminal. I did not kill her or anything. I may have killed myself though.”
“I found myself obsessed with thoughts of her. Them really. Together in her studio apartment with her lovely locks and cultured manners. I thought of them lying there in her big ass bed, him saying things to her that were meant just for me. Him grabbing her breasts, inserting himself into her and smiling the way he smiled at me when we made love. It bothered me that maybe she too screamed out his name when she orgasmed, that maybe the scratches and bites on his chest weren’t just my own doing but hers as well.
So I went to see her. She has a lovely apartment by the way. We had some wine. She read me some of her poetry. I insisted on it actually, and in the midst of the reading I found myself enchanted by this woman I had come to think of as a threat. I found myself lost in the way her lips pronounced her words, the way her eyes would look up at me as she read, as if to confirm that I was still there. I found myself lost in this magical moment where wife and mistress held no weapons but their hearts in their chest and their love and admiration for the same man in their eyes.
I reached out and kissed her…”
“She did not pull back. Rather she leaned in and placed her hand at the back of my neck. She has nice breasts too. Full and round. Like in pornos. They felt real. And excited. I was excited. She felt excited. It was nice. Really nice.”
“Girl! So how did you die?”
“I mean..I don’t know..it felt like a new me had arisen. Or maybe a part of me had come awake. I felt older, wiser, if you will. Like I had finally experienced what it meant to be alive. I felt free.”
“So what, are you bisexual now?”
“I don’t know hey, I don’t know.”