Terminal

An artist friend of mine once visited us from California. Tara and I took him for a walk through the woods, maybe half a mile inside, and he said something that has always stuck with me. He said that our woods felt different. I’d scoffed at the time, reminding him that his own state had the majestic redwood forests (Tara and I had spent part of our honeymoon walking amongst the coastal redwoods, and I’d wanted to live there ever since). But he’d insisted that our small patch of woods was different.

He said they felt primordial.

After Big Steve finished watering the yard, he tugged me toward the alley, his ears perked up and tongue lolling in hopeful anticipation.

“You want to go for a walk in the woods? You want to sniff for some bunnies?”

He wagged his tail with enthusiastic confirmation.

“Come on, then.”

He put his nose to the ground and led me forward. Shelly Carpenter jogged by as we reached the edge of the alley.

“Hi Adam,” she panted, running in place. “Hi Stevie!”

Big Steve wagged the tip of his tail and darted between my legs.

“Oh, come on, Stevie. Don’t be shy! You know me.”

Big Steve’s tail thumped harder, confirming that yes, he did indeed know her, but he shrank farther away.

Shelly laughed. “He’s such a fraidy cat.”

“Yeah. Runs from his own shadow. Out for your morning jog?”

“You know it. Isn’t it beautiful today?”

Her thin T-shirt was damp with sweat, and it clung to her bouncing breasts, revealing perfection. Her pert nipples strained against the fabric, hinting at the dark areolas beneath. Before she could catch me leering, I looked down. Mistake. Her gray sweatpants had ridden up, hugging her crotch like a second skin.

I glanced back up. Shelly was staring at me.

“You okay, Adam?”

I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Sure. I was just thinking about my deadline.”

“You’re always daydreaming.”

“That’s the way it is with writers.”

“How’s the next book coming?”

“Good.” I smiled, and bent down to pet Big Steve. Mistake number two. My face was inches from her groin. I imagined that I could smell her sweat— and something else. Something intoxicating. The scent of a woman.

What the hell was wrong with me?

She placed a hand on her hip and arched her back. “What’s it going to be?”

I jumped. “W-what?”

“The book.” Her breasts bounced up and down as she began jogging in place again. “What’s it going to be about?”

“I’m not sure yet, actually. Still working it out in my head. But it’s going to be big.”

“Well, I’d better let you get back to work, then. See you. Tell Tara that I said hi.”

“Okay. Will do. See you later.”

She raised her hand and waved, then blew Big Steve a kiss. We stared after her as she jogged down the alley and crossed over into the park. I watched her perfect ass moving beneath her sweat pants. Then she vanished from sight. The next time I saw that ass, she was bent over a log and the hairy man was grinding his hips behind her.

Big Steve panted, then turned around and licked his balls.

I knew how he felt. My erection strained against my jeans.

I took a deep breath, trying to stave off the guilt that welled up inside me. I’d never cheated on Tara, but the opportunities were there. Not dozens of them; at least, not yet. But there were several women who’d brought bourbon and crotchless panties to my book signings, and asked me to sign their breasts with magic marker. They sent me emails telling me how much my writing turned them on. Genre groupies. It was flattering and tempting and great for selling books. But it was surprising too— especially considering my modest success. I often wondered if it would get worse the bigger I got.

The thing I was most afraid of was myself— my own libido.

But I’d never done anything. And my overreaction to Shelly’s workout attire left me feeling puzzled and guilty.

At the time, I dismissed it. Just something in the air.

I know now how right I was.

Big Steve strained against his leash, urging me forward. We crossed the alley and walked onto the field, heading in the same general direction that Shelly had gone. Steve put his nose to the ground, catching a scent.

In the branches of the oak tree, two squirrels began humping away, making babies. I wondered if Tara and I would ever have a baby. Then I thought of the miscarriage. Sadness welled up inside me.