You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

FALSE PRIDE

The meeting of the board of directors of Portland Architectural College was finally over. It had started after classes at 5:30, now it was 9:00 PM. As we left the board room, Henry, one of several architects on the board, suggested that we go for a drink in one of the bars located near the college. I thanked him but declined. I was ready to call it a day and go home to a quiet house. My wife and I had been on the outs recently. She had taken the kids and gone to spend some time with her parents in California.

Diana, the college secretary, also declined and headed out of the building. I offered to walk her to her car as the college was in a seedier part of the city. When we reached her car she fumbled through her purse and dug into her pockets. She turned to me and said. “Apparently, I have lost my keys.” We reviewed the situation and our options. She said that she had a second set, but they were in her home a 40 minute drive from the college. She asked “May I go home with you? In the morning you could take me to get my keys?” I was surprised by this suggestion but it seemed like a reasonable option. I certainly did not want to drive her to her house, and then back to the college this late at night. I had an empty house with three spare bedrooms.

At my home I showed her the bedroom where she could sleep. She didn’t seem interested in going to bed right away so I suggested that we open a bottle of wine. In the convivial interlude which followed it became apparent that both of us would prefer to sleep together. I had no idea why this younger and attractive woman would want to sleep with me. But my ego could not help but imagine that it was because she found me desirable.

My house had a small loft at the top of the four-story structure. It looked out over the woods to the broad Tualatin River valley. It was a romantic space. When designing the house I thought that it would be a great place for romantic episodes. However, it had never been used for that purpose. At least not to my knowledge. So that is where she and I went to make love and sleep. We took our time exploring bodies. At one point, as I caressed her breast I said “You have beautiful breasts.” Her offhanded response was “Oh those things? The only thing they are good for is feeding my babies.” We eventually got around to having intercourse. Afterward, we lay next to one another, in silent reverie. Rather than feeling guilty at having sex out of wedlock, I felt a kind of pride in the fact that she had wanted to share her love with me. However, I was also feeling anxious, asking myself: “Now what? What does this mean for her, for me, for my troubled marriage?” Diana was looking up at the cedar ceiling when she broke the silence. In a quiet voice, as if talking to herself, she said “Architects are good lovers.” This comment sent me even higher with pride in my prowess as a lover. Then she realized that I was listening, and while still looking at the ceiling. She said “Henry is a good lover too. He and I slept together last night.” In the morning she found her car keys in her purse.