Secrets of the Heart

My wife's got a secret. She's screwing some other guy. I don't know for sure who it is, and I don't care. I'm screwing somebody else, too. I'm screwing my wife's best friend. Kiki is a hot little number, a petite redhead. Did you know that some redheads have blonde pubic hair? I didn't, until I met Kiki.

Kiki and I started up a couple of years ago. Kiki is vivacious and smart and funny. She is everything my wife isn't. And you didn't have to wheedle and scheme and wait until just the right moment when she is in the mood to get her to take her clothes off. All you have to do is snap your fingers, metaphorically speaking.

We keep our affair secret from my wife and her husband, but everyone else in the world seems to know. My wife's other friends treat me like either the world's biggest jerk or someone to be pitied. Kiki's hubby is a friend of mine, too; we spend a lot of time in each other's company, the two couples. Elmore isn't exactly a paragon of virtue himself. He is always shacking up with somebody, including, he once confided to me, a few of his high school students. His favorite venues are motels along a busy thoroughfare that runs through the middle of every town from San Francisco to San Jose. Being spotted isn't a concern to him.

The thing about Kiki is that she is always game, any time, any place. I screwed her once on the bathroom floor at a party. I almost had a heart attack when my wife knocked on the door. I don't know if she figured it out or not. There were a lot of people at the party, and my wife never said anything.

I wonder who Jo's boyfriend is. Maybe Buzz. He's a shop teacher at the high school where Jo and Kiki teach. He's always like a courtier around Jo. He treats her like a queen. No, he's not the guy. My wife gets too much fun out of stringing him along. If she said yes, that would end it for both of them.

Maybe it's Sandy Castle, or whatever his name is, the hippie social science teacher, the fellow who takes in retired greyhound dogs and gives them a home, the guy who is always campaigning for this or that lost cause. Now, that is the kind of man that my wife likes. She likes his beard and long hair and his T-shirts in wild psychedelic colors. And the buttons and emblems on his worn leather jacket that celebrate peace and freedom. Yes, maybe it's Sandy. Now what would a nice little Jewish girl from Van Nuys see in a beatnik like Sandy? Oh, well; there's no accounting for taste.

To tell you the truth, I hope my wife finds who and what she wants. Kiki's what I want, but I don't know how long I'm going to be able to keep her. I think she might have a thing for an American bullfighter she met in Spain. Kiki takes a group of students to Europe every summer. Last summer she met this crazy American who is an honest to God torero. He's not very good, Kiki says, but he's quite popular. He's a novelty. Kiki seems quite taken with him.

And recently I've come to notice what I think is a cooling of her ardor when we are making love. And we don't get together as often as we did before.

Oh, well. All good things come to an end. I think I'll start looking around. Maybe a change would do me good. Sometimes I think that there's something that I need to get out of my system, and maybe if I can get that done, maybe I'll find out who I am and what I am going to do with my life.


Jack Swenson