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The Lisa Diaries by Lisa Carver  


Nice and Easy

November 24, 1999



We were having sex nice and easy. All our clothes were off and we weren’t grabbing any of each other’s parts — just moving slow. I was looking and looking at Dave’s face. Then all of a sudden, mid-slow-thrust at two p.m., I stopped watching Dave and me from far away, I stopped predicting his next action, and I stopped planning my next counter-move. I realized that I’d never stopped before, in all my thirty-one years, and I suddenly understood that I trusted Dave. I’ve liked just about everyone I’ve ever met, but I’ve trusted no one. It felt like woosh! — like if there’s a hole knocked into an airplane and everything flies out. Except everything was flying in, so fast and huge it made a whistling noise. It was me, my life, flying into me. All the parts that used to float above me, watching out for me, all got sucked in through this hole that had opened up. All the sentinel parts laid down and got held for the first time. I didn’t tell Dave, because I don’t talk like that. I’m leaving for Sweden tomorrow. If I die in a plane crash and Dave remarries, he might think this other woman loves him more, because she’d tell him. But I know she wouldn’t love him more.



A Possible Trade: One Cowlicked Swede for One Harried Amazon

November 25, 1999



We were making out at the airport when a voice over the intercom interrupted, calling my flight number. “What’s the answer?!” I cried. Dave still hadn’t made up his mind about whether or not we’d be free to roam unchartered mouths and thighs while we were apart. Falling more deeply and widely and slowly in love with my husband is not a reason to stop thinking about the rest of the world.


    

“I’d only do it with someone if it would make you happy,” he said.


    

“Oh, you’re so sure you could get someone?” I said. “You’re staying in Dover. It’s not like the nightclubs in Dover are full of all these beautiful strangers waiting to get picked up. You’re thinking of that Amazon from work, aren’t you? You’re setting yourself up for trouble, Dave. That big woman’s gonna break your back with her mighty lovin’, and when I come home and find out what happened, I’m gonna re-break it. You’re not supposed to be forming sexual relationships outside our marriage — just sex. With people who go away.”


    

“What about you and . . . ?” Dave couldn’t bring himself to say Fredrik’s name. Fredrik is my Swedish friend. Dave can fantasize about me seducing the new Fifth Wheel Man or the guy who comes in to read the utilities meter every month in our basement. Anyone with a mustache, he wants me to have sex with them. The thought of me with someone without a mustache, however — and Fredrik is a boy-man, the Anti-Mustache — makes Dave blush with jealousy.


    

I met Fredrik in 1997 when he came to my house for four days to write an article about me, and I’ve never forgotten him. Each one of his teeth points in a different direction, and the hair on the left side of his head sticks straight up in the wildest cowlick there’s ever been. He has ears like radar detectors. Fredrik’s bowling technique matches his irregular features. He sent his ball into another guy’s lane twice! The guy was wearing a sleeveless jeanjacket and was big, but luckily he, like me, was charmed by the Swede’s ultra-toothy grin, and he didn’t beat us up. Fredrik has such good manners and goodwill, everybody loves him. Even my father, who pretends to be friendly but really hates everyone. Even Rachel, who thinks anyone I meet is a bad influence. My house is very old, and the only heat for the whole house comes out of one grate. It’s cold here all winter long, except for on that three-foot wide grate. At night, Fredrik and I stood on this grate — both of us in our modest p.j.s, lingering. Because Fredrik had a fiancee back home, I stayed on my side of the grate. But now, two years later, she’s left him, and he’s free, free, free! I was wondering if I was too. I’m completely satisfied with my husband. Still I can’t help but want to find out . . . is my friend as charmingly erratic in the sack as he is at the bowling alley?


    

All the passengers but me had boarded. The ticket stamper glared in my direction — I was making everyone late while I waited for Dave to make up his mind. I don’t think Dave has ever once, in all our time together, given a straight yes or no answer. “I love you, you know,” he said finally. “I want to have sex with you right after you have sex with someone else, not wait.” I tried to follow the logic, and ended up taking it as a no and I was happy. I’d wanted him to say no. He’s been having fantasies about that frazzled co-worker for way too long now. They’ve actually started conversing, and I don’t like it one bit. I think people should only cheat with strangers or Fredrik.





©1999
Lisa Carver and Nerve.com, Inc.