Bernice in Germany

Bernice was drunk. In the middle of the day. She was having lunch on a riverboat along the Neckar River with the “spouses.” She supposed she should put it “assorted others.” True, some were wives, but others were husbands or various significant other forms of attachments. She fell into that category. But there was no discrimination here. They were all just “extras” out to have a good time. And so they did!

She had no idea who started the singing and the beer mugs slamming on the table, but they were all at it, swilling it down and vocalizing madly. No wonder people liked being professors if this is what all conferences were like.

Well, of course, Thad was attending sessions. She actually never saw him until the evenings. Oh, she occasionally caught a glimpse of him in groups of three or four, all having serious and intense looks on their faces. Like, what they were discussing really mattered? She supposed it did. For their careers, if nothing else.

At night there were cocktail parties and then dinners with friends—and enemies, she figured out from some of the tense ripostes. While most of the conversations were held in English, sometimes they reverted to German. Thad spoke German. She did not. But who cared. The food was good, as was the wine. All she really had to do was sit, look pleasant, and wave at her new friends, gracing various other tables.

Of course, she had gone to conferences before with Jerry. “Cardiologists have a Heart” was always the theme. But that was ages ago and always in the States. She couldn’t remember Jerry ever attending a session, but she’s sure he must have. Those conferences attracted thousands. This one in Heidelberg was quite small by comparison, roughly two hundred attendees— and significant others for some.

During her free time, she thought of going shopping, picking up something for her children as a memento. But then why should she? They weren’t really children anymore; they could come to Heidelberg and pick up their own damn mementoes.

Sad to see all this fun coming to an end. Why do conferences only last four days? Thad informed her that most only lasted three days and some only a weekend. So here they were on the third night, and she was still loopy from the beer at lunch and the wine at dinner. Thad had been a perfect gentleman, escorting her back to her room and bidding her goodnight. But this night they decided to walk outside, along the river, which was good, as she could use some fresh air. “This was so much fun,” she told him. “Thank you for bringing me, letting me tag along.”

“You seem to have made a lot of friends very quickly.”

Laughing, she said, “All fueled by foaming beer.” She paused. “A lot of the ‘significant others’ seem to know one another.”

“Well, it’s a small community, and with conferences you meet the same people over and over again. My wife—“

He paused and didn’t continue. “You must miss her,” Bernice said, sobering quickly.

They stopped and watched the river flow. “She and I were in the same field, but she was a researcher and I had the position. She could only get an adjunct assignment, which made her very bitter against our academic system. She was definitely my academic equal. When I started in this business of being a professor, she helped with the research, but, shame to say, I put only my name on the papers—and my advisor’s at the beginning. But after I got tenure and then rose to full professor, I always added her name. She had a wonderful CV, but it didn’t help. I would have been willing to move had she found a tenure track position, but in the end she just gave up and taught a survey course in European history. Still, we had each other and our research and our travels and our conferences.” He didn’t say anything for a while, and she didn’t know what to say. But then he continued. “People at the conference were asking about you. They all knew my wife, of course. They wondered.”

“You feel guilty for bringing me,” Bernice guessed.

“No. Not at all. You needed to get away. And it’s time. For me. It’s just that everything we did was wrapped up in our work. We were like one person.

You and I are very separate beings. So I just told them you were a good friend.”

“You should have pointed out that we have separate rooms.”

He laughed. “Oh, I’m sure someone’s already noted that. How very proper of us.”

“And necessary. With my sixty-plus body,” she noted grimly.

He looked at her then. She could see the moon reflected off his glasses. “I think your sixty-plus body is very lovely. I have to admit, I’d like to see more of it.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Silence ensued, until he admitted, “I don’t know how to seduce a woman. But I’m trying. Am I making a dent?”

She giggled like a teenager.

“Maybe if we started with a kiss?” he suggested. “Won’t our glasses get in the way?”

He considered it. “Perhaps. Let’s see.” He turned her to face him and then moved in for the kill—oops, kiss. Bernice hadn’t been kissed since—good god, she couldn’t remember!

His lips were soft and she could taste the wine on them. He didn’t try to put his tongue in her mouth, thank god, she always hated that, even with Jerry. Maybe that’s why Jerry turned to S and M? The first kiss should have been enough for Thad, but it wasn’t. He drew her closer, his hands first on her waist and then pressing her to him, as his hands moved up her back and then one snuck around to her breast.

Oh my god! It felt so good. Let the pawing continue. “We can keep the lights off,” she suggested, when she pushed him gently away.

They didn’t exactly run back to the hotel, but their pace quicken as they reached the corridor to her room and she used her room key to enter. Turn down service was too efficient and the drapes were closed. But the maid had left the bathroom light on. Bernice hurried to pull the drapes open and turn off the bathroom light. The moon would have to do.

Thad pulled her close again, kissing and touching and then bringing her no-zip, no-buttons dress over her head. Would he be revolted by her sagging tits? Releasing her bra, he lowered himself to take her nipple into her mouth and she could feel wetness below her. Surprise. Wasn’t menopause supposed to dry her out. Or maybe it was just years worth of longing.

He yanked off his tie, and she tried to undo the buttons of his shirt but she needed his help. His pants— “The bed,” she uttered and he pulled back the duvet and they fell onto it. Oh, to feel the hardness of a man next to her again. Was there anything more delicious? Her breasts were worshipped, her belly was being blessed with his lips, and then he was down there, while she held his head tight against her. He moved up to her and she let him in. This was no hasty teenage fuck but a prolonged legato like the second movement of a symphony. It gave her time to relish the thrusting within her, to feel herself climbing to a crescendo, to feel him tense with his hands on her buttocks. The depth of her moans and his, the harmony of the spheres. And then—it was over. He lay next to her, his arm across her, nuzzling in her neck. She felt— wonderful. She felt—alive. She felt as if the other person within her had finally been awoken and she could live again.