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A time when she gave me Aubrey’s Brief Lives and I gave her the Tin Drum, and we chanted the Latin poems of Winnie ille Pu together. Jazz and poetry in a basement one day, Chinese ceramics in a gallery the next. There came a time (I still feel sick as I remember it) when I waited in the coffee bar on City Square and had our table to myself, day after day. A time when I phoned and no-one answered. In the end, the time when I received a letter posted in Mexico. There was no return address. I threw it into the fire so I would not pore over it, then spent stupid weeks trying to find significance in a book she had given me not long before: Wilde’s De profundis. So laugh, why don’t you? Why not? Beckett was right: Nothing is funnier than unhappiness. * * * What happened? Why did it end? I don’t know. Maybe I was too intense, perhaps I wanted a commitment for which Jane was not ready. Perhaps I smothered us, turning adventure into domesticity. Perhaps, maybe I was too compliant, too loyal.. Another paradigm shift had happened in her life, another breaking of the mold. Even the language she was thinking seemed to be laced with profanity, something she had never used before.Lee had stripped to his jockstrap. His mother’s hand found its way under the waistband of it and into the cup his privates filled. To Mary, her son’s balls felt like ripe dates hanging low in his sac. She kneaded them. He smelled of sweat from his workout, a smell she had never found attractive. At this moment though, it was an aphrodisiac. Her son’s head was still pressed against his mother’s breasts. His hands were discovering her body which trembled with the onset of a nascent orgasm. As she pressed his head tight to her bosom, she was all aquiver. Finding his mother’s pussy his middle finger eased inside. Squeezing his cock in a death grip she gasped in a throaty moan, “Oh God Lee, I love my baby so much.”“Mom, Mom,” he panted, sounding like a hungry little boy. The reflexive contractions of his.
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