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Friday, 27 November 2015

The affair...

It all started back in Helsinki, on one of those, regular for Finland, rainy September evenings. What would you do on an early Monday evening, to tackle boredom, when the options are limited? In the Finnish capital, answers to this question are limited and their numerical value is equal to the number of bars in the downtown area.
So considering the options and their limitations, I tracked my path to a bar. The door to the bar was like a border post between the wetland and the cosiness of a warm climate. I crossed the climatic line and leaving my rain drenched jacket on a hanger by the entrance approached the bar behind which the wall was laden with glassware filled with heavenly and some not very heavenly liquids of all sorts and colours.

I went up to the bar and before ordering anything started looking around, checking the options! To tell you the truth my boredom could not just be washed away or washed down, I needed company and being a straight male I looked for female company.
Standing there making my mind up I saw the two of them. They were both good looking, even beautiful looking and I could feel that the answer to my current problems was hidden with one of them or maybe the both of them. 
Before long I was already getting acquainted with them. Their names did not convey their physical beauty and even had a strong sense of commonness, but believe me such beautiful babes are not a common occurrence. 
Well let’s not stretch it. One of them was Mary and the other one, Margarita. Margarita is a common Russian name and since there were many Russians in Finland, I thought that she was Russian or maybe she had part Russian genes. But as it turned out, Margarita had no Russian connection, but Mary was part Russian and a major part I might add.
Mary’s extravagant looks and my love for Russians made it easy for me to make my pick. I almost turned my back on Margarita and got down with Mary. I thought I had found what I was looking for: great pastime in beautiful company.
But soon my fantastic thoughts got a bit shattered. She was beautiful, but she was complex. She was like an onion, with layer after layer of something seemingly similar, but different in a way. Mary could had been great on some other day, but not today. I didn’t want complex experiences. I needed to relax and Mary spread complexity around. A very short time proved to be sufficient for me to understand that Mary was not for me. That was not what I was looking for. I needed simpler things at that time. Things that make you enjoy the time and help take your mind off of reality. 
She was coming on too strong and I was not in the mood to handle such intensity that evening.
During my initial session with her I decided to put a lid on my urge to dip deeper and soon my back turned in the other direction and right in front of me appeared Margarita, whose slender waist accentuated her top. 
Margarita really was the company that I needed: beautiful but simple, no layers, no surprises except for the ones, which always are there, before you bring them in.
A few minutes down the line and I even forgot Mary. There was no trace of her in my mind. My thoughts were clear and I knew that I was not seeing the last of Margarita.
The evening turned into night and me and Margarita we had fun, or as much fun as we could have in a public place. And then the clock showed the dangerous time, the time when people working at bars and pubs are gladder to see people leave than they are to see them enjoying and buying their drinks.
I headed back home alone, but she was there with me all the time. On my way back I could feel the sensation of her salty lips and boy did she tickle my thoughts or what! I wanted to take her with me, but at home my wife awaited me and I didn’t want her to know. Why? Well you have to get married or to get into a partnership to understand that.
When I got back home, my wife noticed my light mood and probably some kind of look in my eyes, because she asked me, where I was and that was unusual. I told her that I was at the bar and probably she discounted my behaviour to a little too much to drink.
That night lying in the bed, with my wife, my thoughts were occupied by her. I could still feel the sensation of her kiss and I was a goner. She had swept me off of my feet and I liked her.
The next four days passed waiting for the Friday evening, when I would see Margarita again. Knowing myself and my weakness for novelties, I had decided not to see Margarita at least till the end of the week. I needed to clear my mind and I needed her not to become an obstacle between me and my wife and my work. Work was secondary, but my relation with my wife carried a lot of weight. Yes I needed some distraction, some indulgence and my wife didn’t object to it, but I had to be careful to not breach the fine line, which would result in the shattering of a trust based relationship.
One strange thing about time is that it passes very quickly, when you want it to slow down, as I wanted it to stop on that Monday night, but it drags along, when you need it to pass quick, as I wanted it to fast forward to Friday evening. 
She never left my thoughts all through the week. And then came the Friday evening, which I so anxiously waited for. We had decided to meet at the same bar on Friday evening, but the problem was that my wife knew that I liked going out on Fridays and usually I would take her with me, but that Friday evening was special. I didn’t want her to be with me. I couldn’t decide how she would react if I had told her everything. She was ok with me going out with old friends, but I was afraid she might misunderstand my craving and might stand between me and Margarita and that thought made me keep it a secret, at least for now.
That Friday evening was a trip to heaven. It was first me and Margarita in the bar and then it was us in the club and when I danced I felt like never before. She had brought the lightness to my life, the lightness I had not experienced in a long time. With her the reality changed. The world became more beautiful and I didn’t bother myself with the ample amount of beautiful girls all around. They became less significant. They were like one night stands, which don’t even register in your memory. But Margarita had a deep impression and would had taken up the master boot record of my platform had it not already been filled.
That Friday night I decided to put away my fears and to spend more time in her company. So that whole weekend it was Margarita and me. She had overshadowed everything and everyone.
My wife noticed my odd behaviour through the weekend and on Sunday night she came up straight and asked me what was going on. One part of me strongly recommended compilation of a credible story that would satisfy her, but would keep my secret alive. I could had done that, but on the other hand I could not lie to my wife. Our trust worthy relationship did not evolve out of fabricated stories and truth was a cornerstone of trust. I could not foresee her reaction to such truth, but you never know until you do it. In that inner battle the fabricator of tales succumbed to the logic of calling things by their names and I said: “Darling, I got something to tell you, but I don’t want you to rush to conclusions”. We sat down and I told her the whole story from A to Z, even about my short indulgence with Mary. 
That was a long Sunday night. I must admit that my wife took it better than I had expected and after a couple of hours of arguments and counter-arguments we decided that first of all Margarita would only remain in my life as long as she’s the muse and only the muse and not a barrier between us and between me and my work, because my work demanded a lot of concentration and as I drew Margarita’s portrait for her, my wife knew that she could become more of a distraction very easily. Secondly I convinced my wife to come with me the next time when I would go to meet Margarita and to give a common acquaintance a shot.
So a day later on Tuesday my wife and I went to the bar, where I was first blessed with Margarita’s acquaintance. We sat across the table waiting for her. I had asked my wife to forget about everything; to forget about my indulgence and any other bothering factors and to meet Margarita with a clean slate as if we both met her for the first time. It was like if you make an online acquaintance and the object of your attention seems very interesting and attractive and you decide taking the affair into real life. So when you go meeting for the first time you hope to meet someone good but you never know if you would like the real life experience or not. So we sat and waited for Margarita.
And there she came, with all her elegance, grace and sensuality. My wife put her hand around her waist and kissed her hello, as they normally do in Russia. And looking at my wife’s hand around Margarita’s waist and expression on her face, when she kissed her for the first time, I had a strong feeling that the connection between me and Margarita was about to become a trilateral affair rather than a bilateral one.
That evening was all about me, my wife and Margarita. The stream of time gathered momentum and when the clock struck 2am we went back to our place.
In the coming few weeks it was the three of us and the pleasures of life and no worries or distractions. But as it always happens, good things come to an end and for the first time I realized that too much of everything is harmful. The frequency of our sittings, started to drain out the punch of pleasure and it became a routine affair.
I got so indulged that without Margarita I started feeling a vacuum in my life. I couldn’t even understand whom I wanted more: my wife or Margarita. Margarita did bring the juice back into our more than 10 year relation, but our relation started feeling hollow without her.
Probably my wife also figured this out, because not long into that affair, she told me that Margarita had started becoming a nuisance and that it would be better for both of us to end it. She pointed out how I had seized to be happy unless Margarita was there and to tell you the truth she was not wrong. 
Soon her weak signals of caution started getting stronger until one evening, when I was lying in bed with her, starring into oblivion, distracted and lifeless, regretting missing out on Margarita that evening, when she told me outright: “You have to decide. This cannot go on. It has seized to be a source of pleasure anymore. You spend more time with Margarita than you spend with me. It seems as if there is nothing between us without Margarita. Look at yourself; you look so distressed without Margarita. I didn’t have anything against occasional encounters, but this affair is taking the best of you. So don’t say anything now, but please do consider breaking it up”.
I looked at her and she had that real serious look on her face. I knew that when she had that expression, she meant business. So now I was left with a dilemma. I had to properly consider odds. Could Margarita replace her? And if not I had to finish it with her.
The relationship that I had with my wife was nearly ideal. Most of the people couldn’t even believe that we had been together for so long, when they saw how we still loved each other. We had gone through all sorts of ups and downs of life and one thing that never was affected was our relation. We could talk to each other about everything and she was the one person I always felt comfortable talking to. We had no secrets, but we still intrigued each other. 
Margarita was my escape from reality; my source of creativity; my door to wonderland and my pleasure pack. But I didn’t know if my life would be as good as I wanted it to be if I would let Margarita take me away from my wife and my work and most importantly on a long trip away from reality. Maybe I could spend the rest of my life with her, but what if all her charm would be lost if I would hug her for life? The decision was tough, but I had to make it.
It took me a couple of days to contemplate and by midweek I had made up my mind. I decided to break it up with Margarita.
I went to the bar, where we had first met, sat at the bar, all composed and ready to do the hard thing.
Miika, the barman, unaware of my intensions to end it tonight with Margarita, came up across the counter and asked me: “How would you like your Margarita today?”
I said: “I’ve had enough of Margaritas. Give me a ‘Cuba Libre’!”

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