September 15, 2003 Issue

The Surrogate
BY TESSA HADLEY

WhenIwastwenty,Ifellinlovewithoneofthelecturersatmycollege.
Iknowthatthisisaveryordinarythingtodo.AndIknownowthat
lecturers,whentheynoticeyetanothersmittengirlchildtraipsing
moonilyaroundafterthem,simplysighandfeelanxious.Theyfeel
anxiousandalltheotherthingsyouwouldexpect,too:flatteredand
confirmedandalittlebitstimulated.
HisnamewasPatrickHammett,andhetaughtcoursesonShakespeare,
seventeenthcenturypoetry,andcriticaltheory.Itookallhisclasses;I
madehimmyinterpreterofthewholeworld.Patrickwastall,withrather
bowedshoulders;hewashollowlythinexceptforasmallsoftbeerbelly
nestledinthestretchedclothofhisTshirtabovehisbelt.Heworehis
thickblackhairdowntohisshoulders,tuckedbehindhisears.Heused
goldrimmedglassestoreadbuttookthemoffwhenhewastalking,
swungtheminhisfingers,andsometimesdroppedthem;withoutthe
glasses,hiseyesweredeepsetandsquintedslightly.Inacrowd,ina
club,youwouldnthavepickedhimoutasparticularlygoodlooking.
Butinthelectureroom,sittingwithusinthedemocraticcircleofchairs
thatheinsistedupon,hislookswereapower,aforcethatIfelt
physically,likevelvetagainstmyskin.Ilovedthewhitenedpressure
pointsthathisglassesleftonthebridgeofhisthincrookednose.Iloved
thebignervoushandshewasalwayswavingintheair,gesturing
uncontrollablyashespoke.
OfcourseIdidnthaveachancewithhim.WhowasI?Iwasnt
anybody.Iwasntevenoneoftheclevereststudentsinhisclasses.I

wasntanabsolutelyaveragestudent,either;IwasawarethatIhada
quirkywayofseeingthings,whichsometimescameoutasinsightand
sometimesjustlefteveryonelookingblank.Patrickencouragedme.
Once,heremindedtheclassofsomethingIdsaid.Yourememberthe
pointthatCarlamadeinlastweeksseminar?Anothertime,afterId
madesomeremarkaboutfreedomofchoiceinMuchAdoAbout
Nothing,hesaid,Thatsverywellexpressed,Carla.Icouldnthave
putthatmoreeloquentlymyself.Thismademeveryhappy.ButIdidnt
deludemyself.Iwasntthekindofstudentwhowouldgetafirstclass
mark.WhenItriedtoputmythoughtsdowninwriting,thedartof
intuitionthathadbeenclearandsharpwhenitflewintomymindgot
tangledinsomethingmufflingandclumsy.AndPatricksoccasional
surpriseatmypenetrationdidntmeanthathehadsingledmeout.I
didntreallyexistforhimoutsidethatcircleofchairsinthelectureroom.
InhisseventeenthcenturypoetryseminarhereadusTheExequy,by
HenryKing:
Dearloss!Sincethyuntimelyfate
Mytaskhathbeentomeditate
Onthee,onthee:thouartthebook,
ThelibrarywhereonIlook
Thoughalmostblind....
Tistrue,withshameandgriefIyield,

ThouliketheVannfirsttookstthefield,
Andgottenhastthevictory
Inthisadventuringtody
Beforeme,whosemoreyearsmightcrave
Ajustprecedenceinthegrave.
Butheark!MyPulselikeasoftDrum
Beatsmyapproach,tellsTheeIcome;
Andslowhoweremymarchesbe,
IshallatlastsitdownbyThee.
Icantadequatelyexpresstheeffectthispoemhadonmethen.Idont
remembernowwhatseasonoftheyearitwas,butIdorememberthatthe
fluorescentlightsinthelectureroomwereoninthemiddleoftheday
becausetheskywassodarkoutside,navybluecloudspressingcloseto
theearthlikeanartificialceiling.Littlegoutsofrainwerespitting
againstthewindow,andinthegentlyslopingfieldoutside(thecampus
wasbuiltuparoundaneighteenthcenturyhouseonanestatefarmedby
theDuchyofCornwall)thebullocks,insteadoflyingdownasthey
shouldhavedonewithraincoming,werejostlinguneasilyandheaving
upagainstthefenceandclamberingontooneanothersbacks.

WhenIlookatthepoemnow,Iseethatitisthelamentofamucholder
manforayoungwifesnatchedawaybydeath,andthatitdependsupona
confidenceintheresurrectionofthebodyonJudgmentDay.Idont
knowanythingaboutthosethings.ButatthetimeIfeltthatthewordsof
thepoemweresoimmediateandrelevantthattheyspoketomenotjust
throughmymindbutthroughmybody.IcouldhearthatDrum;its
beatingcamerightupoutoftheflooroftheclassroomandshookme
throughthesolesofmyfeet.
Imadeoneofthoseremarksthatdidntcomeoutwell,andnobodytook
muchnoticeofit.Helongsforherandsheisntthere,Isaid.It
soundedtooobvioustoneedstating.Idwantedtousethewordsexual
(weweretrainedtoseesexualimplicationseverywhere,andsurelyin
thiscaseIwouldhavebeenright),butIcouldntbringmyselftobethe
firsttosayit.Patrickwantedustotalkaboutthemetaphorofthebeloved
objectastext(thouartthebook,/ThelibrarywhereonIlook).Forme,
thetextwasPatrick.Allthepassion,theconcentrationofthepoemI
attributedtohim.Itbecamemyintimationofthepulseofhislife,from
whichIwasshutout.
Hewasonlysixorsevenyearsolderthanwewere,buthislifeseemedto
bemadeofdifferentstuffthanthelivesIwasfamiliarwith.AsfarasI
knew,hewasntmarriedorlivingwithanyone.Someonesaidthathed
oncehadarelationshipwithastudent,althoughthiswasagainstthe
rules.Thatdidntmakemeanymorehopeful.Shehadprobablybeenone
ofthecleverones.Shehadprobablybeenbeautiful.IdidntthinkIwas.
MylooksIwassmallandblondwitheyesthatmadethekidsatschool
callmeFrogfacewerelikethequirkythingsIsaidinclass.Goodona
goodday.

Idreamedabouthimallthetime.Idontmeansleepingdreams,although
sometimeshewasinthoseaswell.Toomanyofmywakinghourswere
spentfantasizingscenesinwhichPatrickandIsomehowmetoutsidethe
classroomandourrelationshipdevelopedoutofdistantacquaintance
intopassionateamour.Iwasveryexactingastheauthoranddirectorof
thesescenes.Nothingcouldhappeninthemthatwasabsurdly
improbableoroutofcharacter.Patrickwasneverallowed,forexample,
totellmethathehadalwayslovedme,thathehadbeenfascinatedbyme
fromthemomentIfirstwalkedintothelectureroom.Thescenecould
beginwithnomorethanhisfriendlyappreciationofaninterested
student,ateacherlyinvestmentinmyintellectualdevelopment.Hemight
atmostbeallowedalittlestirofvanityatthedepthandearnestnessof
myresponsetohim.
Still,evengiventheseconstraints,thejourneyfromtheplausible
encountertothemomentwhenhereachedoutformecouldbetravelled
inathousanddifferentways.(EveninmyfantasiesIdidntdarereach
outforhim,incaseheturnedmedown.)Hehadtobesurprisedoutof
hispositionoffriendlyneutralityandintoadawning,uneasyrecognition
ofhisgrowingattractiontome,anattractionthatheperhapscouldnt
quiterationallyaccountfor.Thetransformationcouldbeprecipitatedin
variousways;theseweretheonlyextravaganceIallowedmyself.
Sometimeswewouldbeaccidentallystrandedbyabreakdowninthe
middleofnowhere,afterhedinnocentlyofferedmearidehomefrom
college.Orwedbecaughtbyafreakstormwhenstoppingbythe
cottageofafriendofhistopickupsomebooks.Orhewouldhaveto
takerefugeinmyroomonenightafterbeingbeatenupbymuggersand
leftbleedingintheroadjustasIwasonmywayhome.

ButmyfavoritescenetookplacesomewhereIdontthinkIveever
actuallybeen.Iimaginedapaththroughagreenmeadow.Ineededtobe
clearinmymindaboutexactlyhowwedgotthere.Sometimesitwasin
theaftermathofanotherencounternearerhome.(Whydontyoucome
forawalknextweekend,andIllshowyouwhereColeridgeissupposed
tohavestartedwritingTheAncientMariner?)Orawholegroupofus
hadbeenoutonacollegefieldtripandPatrickandI,whiletalking,had
gotseparatedfromtherest.(Thiswastrickytoimagine,sincetheonly
tripheevercameonwastothetheatreatStratford.)Orhehademployed
metodosomeresearchovertheholidaysandthenonimpulsesaidhed
liketobuymeteainthecountryasareward.
Wedwalkdownthegrassypathuntilwereachedagate,whichopened
intoawoodbeyond.Atthethresholdofthewoodthelightchangedfrom
broadsunshinetoasecretiveanddappledshade.Therewererustlings
amongthefallenleavesthatwerespreadlikeacarpetunderthetrees.It
wasaplaceIdinventedforatransition,forthepassageoverfrommy
lifetohis,fromhistomine.Thegatewasmadeofoldgraywood
washedsilverybytherain;itswungcrookedlyonrustinghinges.He
helditopenforme,orIclimbedoveritandhehelpedmedown.
Somethinginthechangeoflightstilledus,madeuspause;thewood
withitspillarliketreetrunksanditstraceryofbrancheswasacathedral.
Hewasstillsupportingmyweight,orIwascastupagainsthiminsome
wayasIcamethroughthegateorpassedhimonthenarrowpath.Icould
feeltheheatofhisbodyundertheraggedgraywoolofthesweaterhe
oftenwore.
Icouldonlyreallysustainthestoriesuptothispoint.Afterthat,hisface
camecloser,heputhisarmsaroundme,therewaskissing,therewasa
pressingtogether,andthenarrativefaileditlostitssequence.Icould

anddidimagineplentyofwhathappenedafter,butnotinanyclear
way.ItcameinahallucinatedmuddlethatIwouldtrytodisentangle.Id
returnagainandagaintothegate,thethreshold,themovementwith
whichhereachedacrossthedistancebetweenus.Idstartagainfrom
there.Butitwasneveranygood.Thedreambeyondthatpointwasa
loopoffilmrepeatingitself.Exhausting,afterawhile.Dispiriting.
Becauseintruthitwasnothingatall.
InmysecondyearIwassoshortofmoneythatIgotajobworkingthree
eveningsaweekatapubintown.Itmusthavebeenanoldpubonce,
withlotsoftwistylittleroomswindingaroundthedifferentlevels,but
thewallshadbeenknockeddownanditwasnowonehuge,cavernous
space,lowceilingedandgloomy.Therewerestillconfusingstepsupand
downinplaces,andthefloorchangedfromflagstonetowoodtocarpet;
drunksandwomeninheelssometimestrippedandspilledtheirbeer.
Videogamesflashingrubyandemeraldcoloredlightsstoodagainstthe
walls.Theplacedidnthavemuchatmosphere.Itwasmorefashionable
togotooneofthenewbarswithlongpinetablesandstainlesssteel
counters,wherefoodwasserved;ortooneofthequaintoldpubsthat
hadkepttheirlittleroomsandservedrealale.Bigpartiescametomy
pubbecausetherewasusuallyroomtoseatthem.Andmencamein,to
watchfootballontheTVscreens,thekindofmenwhodidntwant
roastedvegetablesinpitasorrealale.
Idworkedinnicerpubs.WhenIlivedathomeIdworkedinourlocal,
wheretheoldtimersexpectedyoutostartpullingtheirpintsthemoment
theypushedopenthedoor.Ididntmindtheanonymityofthisplace.I
wasoftenonwithtemporarystaffIdidntknow,andthatmeantIdidnt
havetotalktoomuch.Ifwewerentbusy,Ijustkeptorderbehindthe
bar.Imadesurethattheglasseswereclean,thelemonssliced,thedrip

traysemptied,thebottlesintheopticsreplacedassoonastheyranout,
theicebucketfilled.
WhileIwastakingcareofallthisIforgotthatIwasastudent.Irarely
sawanyonefromthecollegeinthere,studentsorstaff.Butonenight,
whenIcamebackfromaskingthelandlordtochangeabarrel,Ithought
foramomentthatIsawPatrick.Amanwiththesamelongnarrowbuild
andthickshoulderlengthhairwasstandingwithhisbacktothebar,a
pintoflagerinonehand,lookingupattheTVscreen.Althoughthiswas
exactlythesortofplausiblescenarioIwasalwaysdreaminguptobring
ustogether,inrealityIdidntwantittobehim.Ipanicked.Ididntthink
Icouldcopewithmytworolesatoncecompetentbarmaidand
besottedstudentandIhadnoideahowtorespondwhenheturned
aroundandrecognizedme.Butthebloke,whenheturnedaround,wasnt
Patrick,thoughhedidlookratherlikehim.Ratherlikehimbutquite
different.Hehadthesamecrookednosemoreexaggerated,evenand
thesamecloseseteyesthatwererevealedwhenPatricktookhisglasses
off.Buthedidntwearglasses.HedidnthaveanyofPatricks
concentratedexcitement.
WhenheaskedforapintofStella,hisaccentwasordinary,notlike
Patrickseducatedone.WhenIsmiledathimandmadesomecomment
aboutthefootballmatch,heblushed,andIguessedthathewasshy,and
maybenotveryclever.Heprobablywouldhavelikedtokeepthe
conversationgoing,buthecouldntthinkofwhattosaytome.AndIgot
acertainpleasureoutofthesituation.IcouldplayattalkingtoPatrick,
withoutitsreallymattering.ImadesmalltalkasIhandedthemanhis
changeandstayedwithhimuntilIwascalledawaytoservesomeone
else.Whenheleftthepub,fifteenminuteslater,heputhisglassonthe

barandsaidgoodbyetomeinsuchawaythatIknewhedplanneditin
advance,hopingthatIdbelookinginhisdirection.
ThenIforgotallabouthim.Ididntexpecttoseehimagain.Butaweek
laterhewasback,andafterthatitwasaregularthing.Hecamewithhis
friends,andIthinkhewouldhavecomeregardlessofmetheywere
justagangwhometupoftenandweregoingthroughaphaseofdrinking
inthisparticularpubbuthedidrememberme,andlookedformewhen
hecameinthedoor,andblushedifIservedhim.Whenhisfriendssaw
uschattingtogethertheyteasedhim.Theymadehimgotothebarfor
everyround,andthentheywhistledandlaughedtoencouragehim.
Goon,askher,theysaid,meaningmetohear.
Fuckoff,hesaid,redfaced,pretendingtobebusywiththefirst
mouthfulofhispint.
EverytimeIsawhimIdfeelthesameshockathislikenesstoPatrick.
Peoplecomeinphysicaltypes;IveseengirlsIimmediatelyrecognized
asbelongingtothesametypeasme:smallandroundwiththesedeep
liddedfrogeyes.Therearedarkonesandblondones,butthetypeisas
unmistakableasifwebelongedtothesamesubspecies.And,even
thoughtherewerespecificpointsonwhichtheydidntmatch,thisman
andPatrickhadthesameoveralleffect.Themaninthepubwasblurred
wherePatrickwasdefinite.Hisskinwascoarser.Hishairwasntas
blackandstraightitwasdarkbrown,withhoneybrowncurlingbitsin
it.HewasalittleshorterthanPatrick,butmoremuscular,asifhedid
physicalwork.Hetoldmethathewasagasengineer,whichwasntall
thatphysical,butpresumablymorestrenuousthanlecturingonthe
literatureoftheEarlyModernperiod.Hehadalittlebeerbellylike

Patricks.Hisjeanshungonhisnarrowhipsinthesameway.Actually
oddly,consideringhowunaliketheirlivesandpersonalitieswerethey
evendressedthesame.TheyworetightVneckedsweatersoverjeans,
withoutashirt.TheyworeblackTshirtswiththoselittlecapsleeves.I
supposetheyhadbothfoundthestylesthatsuitedthem.
AndsoonsomethingbeganthatImshockedtothinkofnow.Something
thatIinitiated.Itwouldneverhaveoccurredtohimeventospeaktome,
beyondorderinghisdrinks,ifIhadntstartedit.Ididntjustflirtwith
him.Iwentallouttomakethingsgofurther.Iknewthatthiswas
supposedtobeariskyanddemeaningstrategyforagirl;itcertainly
wasntsomethingIdeverdonebefore.ButwithhimIwassafebecause
itdidntmatter.Ithonestlywouldnthavematteredtomeifhedstopped
comingtothepubandIdneverseenhimagain.Soitcoulddonoharm
toplaymygame.
IfIwasntbusyIdwatchhimfrommyvantagepointbehindthebar.
Soonerorlaterhedbecomeawareofthisandlookupfromwherehe
stoodorsatwithhismates,andthenIdsmileathim,alongheatedup
smile,andhewouldreddenandlookawayagain,smiling,too.Whenhe
cametothebarIrushedtoservehim,evenifoneoftheotherbarmaids
wascloser.Heboughtmedrinks,andIclinkedglasseswithhimand
askedhimabouthimself.WhenIgavehimhischangeImadesurethat
ourhandstouched.Idontthinkthatanythinglikethishadhappenedto
himbefore.Hewasntacompleteinnocent.(Ifoundoutthathedbeen
engagedtosomeoneandshehadbrokenupwithhimafewmonths
before.)Buthewasntusedtobeingpursuedbyastranger.
TheshockofhislookingsomuchlikePatricknevercompletelyleftme.
Ontheonehand,IfeltIhadthemeasureofthemanhewaspleasant

andratherdull.Iknewthatheandhisfriendsspenttheeveningtalking
aboutcarsandfootballandteasedeachotherintheexplosivefoot
shuffling,flaringupwayIrememberedfromtheboysatschool;from
timetotime,theydrunoutofthingstosaytooneanotherandsitin
silence,takingmouthfulsoftheirbeer.Ontheotherhand,hisappearance
flashedapromisetome;itwasasifPatricksqualitieswerelockedup
insidehimsomewhere,ifonlyIcouldfindthekeytoreleasethem.
EventuallyIgothimtothepointwherehecouldnthelpbutaskmeifhe
couldgivemealifthomefromwork.Ifeltembarrassedthen,asifmy
gamehadgonetoofar.Hewaitedformewhileweclearedup,and
reassuredmethathedhadonlyonepintandwasallrighttodrive,and
thenheledmeproudlyaroundthecornertohiscar,whichlookedvery
shinyunderthestreetlamps.Ihopedthathehadntcleaneditformy
benefit.Ithinkhefeltmoreconfidentabouthiscarthanabouthimself,
buttheimpressionwaswastedonmeIcouldnttellonetypeofcar
fromanother.WhilehewasdrivingmetothehouseIsharedwithsome
otherstudents,webothwentshy.Inervouslyaskedhimabouthiswork,
andhetoldmethathehadworkedforBritishGasforseveralyearsand
thensetuphisownbusinesswithafriend.Fortaxreasons,theyd
recentlyhadtosplitthebusinessintwo,onesidedealingwithboilers
andcentralheatingsystemsandtheotherwithgasappliances,although
ineffecttheystillworkedtogether.Heexplainedthistomeinsome
detail,andIwasbored.Iwashopingthatnoneofmyhousemateswould
bearoundwhenIaskedhiminforcoffee,andtheywerent.
Itwasalwaysbetterwhenhewasnttalking.WhenhewassilentIcould
recovertheillusionIwaspursuing.Ibarelytalkedtohimaboutmyself
aboutcollege,aboutmyclasses,aboutmyplans.Ibarelytalkedtohimat
all.Iturnedonmylamp,whichhadapinkbulb,sothattheroomwas

dim.Ikissedhim,Itouchedhim,Iundidhisclothes,Imadeallthefirst
moves.Idontthinkhewasquitecomfortablewiththespeedatwhich
thesethingshappened.Hewasanicechaphewouldhavepreferredto
takethingsslowly.Hewouldhavepreferredtohavemeashisproper
girlfriend.Ontheotherhand,hewasaman;hedidntturnmedown.
Perhapshefeltalittleashamedofhimselfafterward.Orashamedofme,
morelikely.Idontrememberhimstayinglonginmyroom,Idont
rememberwatchinghimwhilehedressedtogohome.Ithinkheshareda
flatwithhisbrotherandanotherbloke,butIneverwentthere.
Wedidntgoouttogether.Weonlyeverdidonethingtogether.Fora
coupleofmonths,beforeIquitmyjobatthepubandwenthomeforthe
summer,wedidthateveryweek.OfcourseIwaspretendingthewhole
timethatIwaswithPatrick,thatitwasPatrickwhowasmakingloveto
me.Onlythepretensewasnevercomplete.Eveninthedimlightfrom
thepinkbulb,evenifIhalfclosedmyeyesanddidntlookdirectlyat
him,evenwhenIwasmixingtogetherinmymindthephysicalrealityof
ourbodiesgrapplingandoneofmystoriesaboutPatrick,theknowledge
thathewasntPatrickseepedirresistiblyin.Thiswasnttherealthing.It
wasonlyasecondhandenactmentoflove.
Ihaveforgottentogivehisname.HisnamewasDave.
Onlyafewyearshavepassed,butalothashappenedsincethen.These
aretheyearswhenalothappens,whenyourlifelurchesacrosscrucial
transitionslikeatrainhurtlingacrosspointsatspeed.Itdoesntalways
feelthatwayatthetime.Atthetime,yousometimesfeelthatlifehas
sloweddowntoapointoffrozenstillness.Theresnotediumlikethe
tediumoftwenty.Butallthewhileyouareinfactflyingfastintoafuture

thathasalreadybeendecidedbyacoupleofaccidentalencountersor
scrapsofdreams.
Intheend,PatrickHammettreachedoutforme.Unbelievably,whathe
actuallysaidwhenhediditwasthathehadalwayslovedme,hehad
beenfascinatedbymefromthemomentIfirstwalkedintothelecture
room.Orwordstothateffect.Whichjustgoestoshowthatyoumustnt
trustascrupulousrealism,thatsometimessloppyfantasycomescloserto
thetruestateofthings.Ibecamethepersonithadbeenunimaginablefor
metobe:Patricksgirlfriend,Patrickswife.WehadtowaituntilIhad
finishedhisclassesbeforewecouldtellanyoneaboutthis,andthose
monthswerethemostwonderfulmonths,thesecretmonths,whenIhad
tositinhisclassroomandengageindiscussionasusual,asiftherewere
nothinggoingonbetweenus.
IlovePatrick.Ithinkwerewellmatched.ButofcourseImnot
infatuatedwithhimanymore.Youcantgoonbeinginfatuatedwith
someoneyousharetoothpastewith,whosecrustyinsideoutballsof
socksyouhavetoputinthewashingmachine.Istillcountonhis
intelligenceandhisarticulatewayofspeaking.ButIgetirritatedatthe
wayhegulpsinabreathofairjustbeforehepoursoutsomehoardedup
information,andatthewayheguidesconversationsaroundtoan
opportunityforhimtobesurprisedatsomeoneelsesignorance.When
hesholdingforthinanargumenthefillsanygapswhilehesearchesfor
wordswithaloudum,sothatnooneelsehasachancetobreakinwith
adifferentpointofview.
InevertoldPatrickaboutDave.AndIveneverseenhimsince.Ionce
lookedupgasengineersintheYellowPagesandfoundacompanythat
mighthavebeenhis.Icouldntlookhimupintheresidentialphonebook

becauseIneverknewhislastname.InmyfirstfewmonthswithPatrick,
ifIeverthoughtaboutDaveIwasjustembarrassedatwhatIddone.But
thentheideaofhimbegantopreoccupyme,likeanunsolvedmystery.
Whyhadhelenthimselfsounquestioningly,sopliably,tomyfantasy?
Howcouldhehaveexplainedtohimselfwhatwashappeningbetween
us?ItrytorememberthedetailsofourlovemakingandIcant.Ican
hardlybelievethatwewerepressednakedagainsteachotheragainand
again.IfeelasifIhadwastedanopportunity,longingthewholetimefor
himtobesomeoneelse.Whatwashefeelingwhenhedidntspeak?
Theresnorealequivalencebetweenmysituationnowandmysituation
then.ImhappilymarriedtoPatrickandgiventhechancewouldnot
evenseriouslyconsiderthrowinginmyluckwithastrangerIhave
nothingincommonwith.Thatlittlehungerforalostchancegets
expressedonlyinmyfantasies,whichcontrivethemselvesalmostin
spiteofme.Nogreenlane,nogateintoawood.Heisagasengineerin
thefantasy,ofcourse.Hecomestomyhousetomendtheboiler.Atfirst
wepretendnottorecognizeeachother.Ishowhimtheproblemand
hoverdiscreetlywhileheworks.Heasksmetohandhimaspannerfrom
histoolbox,andwhenhetakesitfrommehetouchesmyhandwithhis.
Iwishhewerentagasengineer.Itsoundstoomuchlikeascenariofrom
oneofthosefunnypornographicfilmsofthesixties,wherethemilkman
orthepostmanisserveduptotheboredhousewifeamidallthe
conveniencesofherownkitchen.ButIvetriedgivinghimanother
professionandIsimplydontbelieveitithasnoconnectionwiththe
realman.
Whenhestandsuptotellmethattheresaproblemwiththeboilers
valve,hestepstowardmeandbeginstokissme.ItsthenthatIseethat

whatwedidtogetherhashadconsequences,forhim.Ithasmadehim
ratherreckless,sexually.Hehaslearnedtheaudacitytoreachacross,
throughallthemesswemakewiththinkingandtalking,throughtothe
bodyandthebodystruth.
Ihavetobecarefulnottobelieveinthis.Itisonlyadream.