Buy and Hold $$$ Part 9 ...The End of the Dream

To be in love is merely to be in a state of perceptual anesthesia—
to mistake an ordinary young woman for a goddess.
― H.L. Mencken

I was out on the lake in a motorboat unsure of whether Sylvia swam to shore and deserted me, or suffered a cramp and drowned.

I called out several times, but she didn’t respond. I waited an hour, and then decided to go back for help. I felt helpless and abandoned..

I started the motor and weighed anchor. At that instant, I heard a splash on the starboard side and Sylvia emerged from darkness, pulling herself up on the side of the boat—pearls of moonlight dripping off the ends of her hair.

“Where the hell have you been?” I barked. The words were out of me before I could think—the anger too.

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Were you worried? You needn’t have been. I’m an excellent swimmer. Didn’t Tess tell you?”

“No, she bloody well didn’t tell me, and for all I knew, you had drowned.”

She stared at me. “You’re angry. I didn’t expect that.”

“What the hell did you expect? I suppose you think I motor out to the middle of the lake and lose women all the time?”

She came over and kissed me. It was a deep kiss—not an, I’m fine, kind of kiss, but the kind that leaves you breathless and shaken.

And then I noticed she was naked—well, not naked per se, but clad only in bra and panties—black, of course, as I always imagined they’d be.

“You-you’re not wearing anything,” I sputtered.

“I’m wearing underwear—might as well be a swimsuit, Silly. You’re not a prude, are you?”

She actually stood back, arms akimbo, with a smirk on her face. The Moon at that moment disappeared behind clouds and it seemed less stark as the shadows deepened around us.

I saw her lithe figure outlined against the starry sky—the sheen of her wet hair and the curve of her scalp chalked out dimly in glittering relief.

“Do you want to go back, or do you want to stay?” she asked it in a cynical singsong tone, apparently not caring either way.

“We’ll stay,” I said flatly, mainly in fidelity to my dreams, but really I was conflicted.

“Do you want me to put on some clothes?”

The remark unsexed me there.

“No, stay as you are,” I growled. It was said in defiance, not desire. Bloody hell. She was half naked and I was grasping at shreds of dignity. I felt a complete fool—and cuckolded, but by whom?

We stayed out an hour more. Gradually, the Moon went down, and the green fire of northern lights began to dance above us, their dull sheen shimmering in the lake.

It should have been mysterious and exotic. It could have been romantic, but it wasn’t.

I could have pursued my dreams, but somehow the air went out of me, leaving me disappointed, annoyed and angry with myself for being a fool.

At that moment I didn’t hate Sylvia as much as I despised my stupidity for pursuing a woman who wasn’t worthy of the time I spent idealizing her.

© 2018, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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