Flash Fiction | Flirting | Marriage | Menopause

Clearing The Air

Cabin fever and train flirts

Frigid. Prompt #381 of Wicked Wednesday immediately reminded me of a story a friend of mine once told me. The story below is loosely based on that. I mixed it up with a few of my own experiences. It’s what writers do, don’t they? Fuck it all up and create something new.

“Rebecca and I have some issues,” Dylan says it almost casually but a heavy silence comes over the dining table. I catch Sylvia’s inquisitive look. She and Barry have been talking about how their sex life has changed over the years. Sylvia corrected Barry saying it has ‘evolved’. They exchanged naughty smiles and then turned to me and Dylan for a response. “Do you mean ‘let’s skip the subject’ or do you want to talk about it?” Sylvia takes the initiative, as always. It’s a trait of hers I like. She’s sincere in her attempt to help us out but I can also hear the curiosity in her voice. I feel Dylan looking at me for support to answer her question. I just shrug. “It’s fine,” Barry says. “Let’s leave it. Becca is clearly not in the mood.” Of course, Barry tries to save me. I have always been the damsel in distress. Already in Kindergarten, the boys came running to my rescue. I have battled through most of my life to get rid of this image but I have only succeeded up to a level. To Barry and alphas like him, I’m a fragile little sister and it remains difficult to change that. “No,” I say in defiance of my protector. I turn towards Dylan: “Let’s talk about it.” “And what exactly are we talking about?” Sylvia asks. I watch Dylan shy away from her stern look. When he looks at me for support again, I just raise an eyebrow. “Well…” Dylan hesitates to continue. “For lack of a better word, I’d say Becca has become frigid.” I can only stare at the Tiramisu on my plate. The creamy mascarpone in my mouth suddenly tastes sour. “For fuck’s sake, Dylan,” Sylvia exclaims, “that is such a Victorian choice of words.” “I said for lack of…” he rebukes. “Whatever, Sir Gawain,” Sylvia says and she turns to me. “Still want to talk about it, Rebecca?” I’m not sure but something tells me that if I don’t, our weekend together will be ruined. We’ve planned to go on a long walk tomorrow. I don’t want my so-called frigidness to hang over us like the sword of Damocles. The cottage we’ve rented is snug and cosy. The vintage woodstove has heated the kitchen-diner quite a bit. With all the wine I’ve already drunk combined with the rabbit-beer-stew Barry has cooked for us, I feel more confident to tackle our ‘issues’. So I start talking. A lot. “I haven’t been in the mood for quite some time. My menopause started last year. I have hot flashes constantly. I feel insecure about my body, even though I know that’s silly. I love Dylan as much as I always did.” I put my hand on his hand, but he refrains from looking at me. I continue. “But when we’re in bed and I sense that Dylan is turned on, I sort of freeze. It’s a strange sensation. I like that he lusts for me still, but somehow my body responds the opposite way.” “What about other situations?” Sylvia asks. “What do you mean?” I say. “Well, apart from Dylan. Is your body responding positively to… I don’t know, fantasies, other men, other women… Anything?” I notice the men exchange looks. Barry seems to reassure Dylan who has been fidgeting while I’ve talked. I need to carefully choose my words as I am about to share a secret I’m scared to share. Especially with Dylan sitting next to me. “There’s a woman on the train.” I pause to assess their reactions. Sylvia has a tiny wicked smile. I see her eyes sparkle with expectation. Barry just seems to wait. Dylan frowns but he doesn’t stir. “I’ve noticed her before but just as someone who commutes like me. We both take the eight o’clock to the city. A few weeks ago she stared at me and I thought I got another episode of hot flashes. But then I realised I was hot for another reason. Her stare was audaciously sensual. Remember that subway-scene in Shame? When Michael Fassbender almost stares a woman to a climax? It was a bit like that.” I’ve looked at Sylvia as I confess to my commuting flirt. I can’t look at the men, afraid of what their faces will tell me. But Sylvia is enjoying the story. “When I saw that film,” she says, “the whole week after I hoped some Fassbender look-a-like would do that to me. Didn’t happen of course.” She laughs and blows a kiss to Barry. “Luckily you’re my addiction, Barrybear.” Barry winks at her. Dylan smiles without conviction. Now that I’ve started I want him to hear me out. He’s stuck at this table. At home, he can somehow make me think I am just being silly. “I was surprised of course by this woman’s daring stare. It really took me a while to realise how and why my body responded the way it did. When we arrived at the station she passed me without looking at me. I started to doubt my judgement. Did I misunderstand her look? But the next day she did it again. Even more intense than the first time. I so wanted to touch myself and ease the need that got a hold of me. I noticed I was panting and tried to not look back at her. But it’s like a spell. And again as soon as we rolled into the station she passed me without even a giving me a hint about what she’d just been doing to me. It’s the weirdest thing. I’m glad she doesn’t seem to work full time because she’s been doing this for the past few weeks every Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.” Sylvia bursts out laughing. “O my God, Becky, that’s just… Hot. Deliciously daring too. Makes me want to commute.” “It gives me a hard-on,” Barry says with a wicked smile. Dylan looks dumbstruck. “So you…’ he starts, “you are flirting with a woman on the train every day. It makes you want to masturbate in public — which I really hope you do not — and whenever I touch you, you freeze as you say. And what the hell am I to do with this information?” I recognize his anger building. I look at Sylvia to see if she notices it too. “Don’t look at Sylvia,” Dylan says. “I’m talking to you, Becks. What the fuck is this crazy story?” Barry puts a hand on Dylan’s arm. ”Come on man,” he tries. But Dylan jerks his arm away. He stands up and has to balance himself as the alcohol clearly has affected him. “Where are you going?” I ask. “I need some air,” he says and walks off. The three of us listen to him slamming the door behind him as he heads off to god knows where. “He’ll be back,” Barry says. “I guess he needs to digest it by himself.” But I leave the table too. “I’m going after him,” I tell Barry and Sylvia. On my way out I pick up the torch lying next to the door. Dylan obviously forgot to take it. It’s pitch-black outside. The cottage is on the edge of a large forest. It’s gotten icy cold too. I call Dylan but he doesn’t respond. I start walking towards the forest holding out the torch. All it does is light up a few trees in a vignette of darkness. “I’m over here.” I turn towards Dylan’s voice. I’m so relieved. He’s standing next to the cottage’s shed, smoking. “You’re smoking,” I say surprised. “We both have secrets,” he says. I go to him and put my arms around him. It’s been five years since he smelled of cigarettes. I listen to the crispy sound of the paper burning as he takes a draw. “I’ll quit again,” he says. “It’s a filthy habit.” I watch him putting out the cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. Like he used to. And like he always did, he licks his fingers. First time I kissed Dylan he was all fire and brimstone. He tasted like a pyromaniac. I loved it and called him Mister Sulphur. “I won’t kiss you, Rebecca,” he says. “You never liked Marlboro.” He’s giving me all these messages I realise. He’s managed his anger. He’s trying. I’m moved and I do kiss him. The taste is awful but I don’t care. It’s freezing cold but I know this man still makes me warm inside. I need to get my body back in line with what I feel. I do hope it will. Fucking menopause.