Reluctant fantasy
By: Maite Landa
Tags: Marriage, Escape, Fantasy Lover, Coffee

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said to herself in a desperate whimper. “There is no point in doing anything anymore. The whole thing is one big farce.”

She wiped her tears, pulled her sweater down, shook her head as she inhaled the deepest breath she would take all day and opened the door. She stepped inside to the sounds of loud children, clanking dishes, her grandmother coughing in the distance, the television blaring the evening news that no one was watching. In that instant she forgot her declaration and she took on the challenge of taking care of her family.

This was a daily ritual. Admitting and declaring “I can’t do this anymore” was therapeutic, she thought. It allowed her to “get it off my chest”, never believing she would follow that thought with action. So she allowed herself this one indulgence of selfish thought. At night, between taking care of everyone and closing her eyes in hopes to initiate deep slumber, she would briefly drift off into a millisecond of an action plan. It was a subconscious sliver of a thought nestled between her conscious and subconscious mind. It did not ever lead to anything more than imagining herself walking barefoot on freshly cut grass in some unknown and far away prairie. Sometimes it was a flash of laying naked on a secluded beach allowing herself to be covered in the rich warmth of the sun. Or on particularly tiring days, on days when her entire family, and even her wife annoyed her, she imagined laying in bed with a young woman she met at a coffee house. She spoke to her briefly one day- and only once- on a spontaneous stop for coffee, but she found herself thinking about that young woman often. Her attraction to her was new as she had never been attracted to anyone other than her wife and it made her a bit uncomfortable. But when she was falling asleep, the young lady’s face would appear and her stomach would feel funny. As the days went on, she imagined the woman more often and always without intention. The thoughts went from laying in bed next to her — and talking about coffee, books, art, music, ideas and philosophy- to sexual fantasies. And it was at this point that she decided to go back to the coffee house to see this woman again.

When she went back she tried her best to not make eye contact with the woman. There was a young man working the counter and she found herself talking nervously to him and avoid the woman at all costs. She somehow feared eye contact might reveal the sexual fantasies she had experienced in the last few weeks. Masturbating as she imagined having sex with this woman on a blanket in the open beach had been the latest mental episodes that helped her escape her “I can’t do this anymore” life. She was not ashamed of having those escapes but she was afraid to give anything away to the star of those fantasies. The idea of having sex -even in a fantasy- with anyone other than her wife of more than 20 years was a new experience. She was uncertain if she was guilty of being unfaithful or if this was normal. Adding to her confusion was the fact that this woman was not her “type”. And yet she thought only of her at night. The woman did not cross her mind at all during the day nor did she have any interest in actually speaking to her much. She liked the idea of the fantasy. “Why ruin the fantasy by getting to know her?”

She visited the coffee house once or twice a month just to get a refreshed view of the woman and to be able to imagine her without any trouble. But she never talked to her beyond pleasantries and ordering coffee.

The fantasies became more elaborate and with greater detail. The shame and guilt no longer bothered her. The “I can’t do this anymore” ritual became less brutal as she knew she would have a personal escape from it.