RAJ

           Ruth knew there would be little sleep. It was too hot, and many unanswered questions clamoured for her attention on this breathless, Southern summer evening. She lay in the half-light as muted city background noise and subtle scents reached for her through the half-open window. It was not the whispered intrusive sounds that kept her from sleep, though. The heat pressing softly all around seemed to encourage an endless internal dialogue recirculating in her consciousness.

She thought again of her husband David and wondered about his latest trip to Michigan. Another government proposal was babied and hand-carried to Dearborn for review by bored government cubicle trolls. She needed him urgently now, wanted his touch to stir those warm liquid feelings that inevitably bought her release on troubled nights like this.

           She remembered Raj sleeping in the room below and dismissed unquiet memories that rebuked and taunted her.

           She tried to suppress the echoes of delight as she felt his body tense with anticipation. Two times this year, he had taken her—the only times since her marriage that she had found satisfaction from another lover.

           Raj was by no means the perfect mate. He was too young and lacked the confidence and finesse that experience brings. She found him pushy and rather uncouth—too concerned with himself and not at all considerate of her needs.

           Certainly not beyond redemption, though, she thought. A little time and some careful coaching would probably bring about the necessary changes.

           She dismissed the thoughts that required answers and definitions. Her marriage was sound, with two delightful children and a solid, dependable—if somewhat predictable—husband. It was an almost picture-perfect depiction of the suburban, married couple with children—the American dream.

It would be almost picture perfect, but for the shadow of dear Raj—ever-present, quietly waiting, reminding her of her weaknesses and hinting at future possibilities to explore.

           Her memory once again carried her back to the first time. David had been away again, leaving her with four days of missing, wanting, and loneliness.      

           Lonely? Not with two growing children and a constant stream of social necessities vying for attention. Ruth reluctantly admitted to herself it was not loneliness but an urgent selfish need pulling at her when David was away.

           She pondered those dangerous thoughts on a familiar mental borderline that she tried not to cross again.

           Ruth turned again and lay on her back in another futile attempt to sleep. There was no respite from the troubling thoughts that relentlessly pursued her. She wondered about David; thought of him with another woman. She tried to imagine how she would look, how they would be together.

           He had ample opportunity if that was what he wanted. David would be too preoccupied with work to enjoy those brief moments, though, too engrossed in his projects to concern himself with such trivial distractions. Suddenly, she felt sorry for him.

           She imagined him in his loneliness, trapped in some distant soulless motel room. Against the cold glass high above the city, he would stare out beyond the pinpoint lights.

           She knew now that on her intensely personal journey, comfort could easily be found in the company of another companion.

           Perhaps she was searching for someone new, a stranger willing to trigger a familiar volcanic surge of warm release that would restrain those demons of uncertainty and fear for a few tranquil hours.

           What if David found out, though? Realized that his slut wife had betrayed him in his own house, she grinned fleetingly at the thought of David sitting across from her at the breakfast table.

           Tried to imagine the outrage, the anguished expression on his face, how he would angrily confront her and demand an explanation in exacting detail, but never be willing to accept the truth.

           Duplicitous, irresponsible, disgusting—all these words he would use and many more. He would be right; of course, there was nothing to deny. Raj would remain silent. He had no agenda other than his immediate gratification.

           For Ruth, there was no moral dilemma. She wanted, and Raj would give. There was a simple equation with a simple answer. Wiping at a bead of sweat that coursed slowly between her breasts, she turned again, trying to salvage an hour or so of sleep.

           Raj also lay in discomfort. It was hot, and too much pale light strayed through unchecked by old, ineffectual blinds.

           He stood again as he had done several times that night and walked slowly to the door.

It was not the heat or the light of the full moon that troubled him but some distant, uncertain memory just beyond recall.

           Listening intently for sounds of the children, he stared unblinkingly at drifting shadows as they moved across the window.

           Returning to his bed again, he lay on top of the rumpled blanket.

           Faint, disconnected sounds came to him as he tried to remember an elusive spectre just beyond his reach.

           There was something familiar about this night, something important. Perhaps it was the moonlight and the smell of damp heat.

           Somewhere beyond sleeping, he now lay outstretched on his back. Pictures from another time paraded unhurriedly before him. Suddenly, he understood. A clear connection was made, bridging the distance between Ruth and the last time he had loved her. It was on another night like this, with heat, sounds, and scents—that contributed to re-create shadowy memories dancing transparently before him. It was the heat in a moonglow of a quiet night. There was no David, no children's cries—there was only Ruth, coming to him in this room so unexpectedly.

           He remembered now and waited quietly, knowing with certainty that she would come to him again.

           Ruth gazed at a pale, naked phantom posing wantonly in the bathroom mirror. Running a hand across her stomach, she appraised the image before her.

           Heavy breasts, not uplifted as she would have wished for, but not unattractive either. Still certainly desirable, she thought.

           It was a good, firm body but had unmistakably borne witness to childbearing and the unforgiving scrutiny of too many passing years.

           She drew a fingernail slowly across a nipple, lightly scratching, feeling slow arousal, continuing until both stood hard in the warm, moist air. Her right hand moved purposefully downward, then slowly between her legs, partially obscuring a triangle of dark hair.

           Staring at the reflection, she smiled absently as her finger gently probed and caressed with a slow, satisfying rhythm. It was too late now to rest. Even if sleep came, there would be no relief from the need she felt.

           With some effort, Ruth turned abruptly from the mirror and pulled an old white bathrobe around her shoulders.

           Barefoot, she tiptoed down the carpeted stairway, then silently past the children's room, stopped briefly, and listened to the reassuring sounds of their sleeping.

           Ruth reached carefully for the handle that would open the door to the room where Raj would be sleeping.

           Raj, of course, was far from sleeping.

           Waiting expectantly, he stood as Ruth entered the room.

           She turned, secured the latch, and then stood before him.

Slowly, she raised her arms, allowing the robe to slide from her shoulders, revealing an ivory statue bringing familiar, dizzying perfumes that swirled all around. Raj came quickly to her and then paused as Ruth guided his head between her legs.

           She drew breath sharply as he pushed and felt for her with an eager tongue.

           How good will it feel tonight? She wondered, already wanting him hard inside her. In a few moments, she would kneel for him, reaching behind to guide him as he pushed. He savoured her intoxicating scents and felt her small, reassuring hands caressing his head.

           As if from a great distance, he heard her cautioning him to silence. Closer now, her voice came. "Yes," she whispered, "yes. Good boy, Raj. Good dog."