Vespertine

I must confess I expected more from your wife, I said. I visited her blog but there was nothing outrageous at all. If you don’t consider basic anal sex outrageous.

What blog? – asked Richard.

The one you told us all about the other day, I said. The one called Princess.

It’s not her blog, said Richard.

You said it was, I said.

Do you really expect me to give away the erotic blog of my wife to all and sundry? – asked Richard.

No, of course, not, I said.

Her real blog is called Vespertine, he said.

Don’t you mind Joan doing this? – I asked.

We’re non-monogamous, he said.

Vespertine turned out to be password protected and membership only paid blog. Even more, it turned out that the membership was by invitation only.

I tried to gain the access to this blog for months. I became obsessed with this blog. I dreamt about entering this blog. In my dreams this blog became an Aladdin’s cave of wonders. I carefully tried to discuss this blog with my friends but no one seemed to know what I was talking about. In the end I called Joan and she invited me for a cup of tea.

Richard told me that you both are non-monogamous, I said.

Yes, she said.

What does that mean?

Well, she said, if you want me to narrow it down for you it basically means open marriage.

Where’s Richard, by the way? – I asked looking around.

He is in Japan, she said. On a business trip.

Correct me if I’m wrong, I said, but does open marriage mean that you can sleep around with whomever you choose?

More or less, yes, she said, but we have ground rules.

Like what? – I asked.

We don’t do it with the people we know, she said. For example.

Vespertine, I said. Could you invite me to join your blog?

I don’t think I know what you’re talking about, she said.

I want to join your blog, I said slightly panting.

No, she said. Listen, I like you very much but the blog is off-limits. It’s out of the question.

How much do you like me? – I asked.

Enough, she said, to make an exception to the ground rules.

When we were finished I asked her about the password again.

No, she said.

Why? – I asked.

Because I have no blog, she said.

Listen, I said, if you don’t tell me I’ll blog in my blog about your exception to the ground rules.

What about your wife? – she asked.

I think that at this stage of our marriage we’re pretty much non-monogamous too, I said.

All right, she said. The password is Vespertine, with the capital V. The same as the name of the blog.

The first thing I did when I returned home I typed ‘Vespertine’ into the password slot of her blog. I was shivering with impatience.

Hey, said my wife from the kitchen. Joan Trestle’s calling. She wants to speak to you. For some reason she told me that she missed you.

Tell her I’m busy, I said entering Vespertine.

She says she loves you, said my wife.

She must be drunk, I said.

She says that she is in love with you, said my wife. What? – she said into the receiver. She said you two slept together, she said. Today. She said that you had lit her fire.

No, we didn’t, I said. She must have mistaken me for someone else. Oh, look, I said. Everybody’s here. Matty, Nick, Pete, Lauren. Everybody. Even Josh is here. Even Sarah. Everyone is a member of this bloody blog but me.

What blog? – asked my wife entering our living room in her red apron and with a wooden spoon in her other hand.

Vespertine, I said. The erotic blog of Joan Trestle.

Is it interesting? – asked my wife coming closer.

Even Doug is here, I said. Even Jeremy.

Ron Jeremy? – asked my wife. She put the phone down on the sideboard.

No, I said. Our Jeremy.

May I have a look? – asked my wife.

Here, I said. Look. This is her blog. See? Here’s everyone. Ben, Tom, Nina.

My wife looked at the screen. She slowly sat down on the couch next to me.

Oh, she said reading the blog. Oh, this is gross. Oh, my. Oh, goodness. She is mad. This woman is absolutely raving mad.

Where are you reading? – I asked.

Here, she pointed.

This is serious stuff, isn’t it? – I said.

Oh, said my wife. This is bloody unbelievable. Could you, please, watch the cock for me for a minute? – she asked without turning away from the screen.

What? – I asked.

Slowly she held out her spoon in my general direction.

The coq au vin. On the hob. It may boil over. I’ll be right back.

Sure, I said taking the wooden spoon from her.

And lay the table for dinner, will you? – said my wife when I was leaving the living room. With candles. The regular ones and the aromatic ones too, in the background. All right? Sandalwood and ylang-ylang. And open the wine, would you?

Which one? – I asked.

The one you brought from France for our anniversary, she said. Oh, my, she said, look at that. Oh my. And run the bath, OK? For later.

Sure, I said.

On my way to the kitchen I picked up the phone handset. I brought it to my ear.

Troyes, I heard. Troyes! Talk to me, Troyes!

Wrong number, I said and switched the phone off.