And Other Slices of My Life

In a State of Utter Despair

By Dee Newman

It was two in the morning. I was lying there in the dark, stretched out on her couch with her cat curled up on the coffee table and her dog lying on the floor beside me. I was thinking . . . “You fool! You could be up stairs with Lynn right now, making mad passionate love. You’re an idiot! The woman is breathtakingly beautiful. She all but asked you to come to bed with her.”

I met Lynn and her friend, Christina, six months earlier on the island of Maui in Hawaii at a place the locals call Ohe’o Gulch and tourists refer to as the Seven Sacred Pools.

I had spent the night before on the other side of the island watching the sunset from the rim of Haleakala Crater. I arose early the next morning long before sunrise to drive to Hana on Maui’s east coast. I had been warned by several people that “the road to Hana,” though awe-inspiringly beautiful, was extremely dangerous, and could, in fact, transport me to heaven or hell rather than to Hana, if I was not exceedingly careful.

I soon learned why the long narrow, often one-lane, winding road with dramatic hair-pin turns, perilous cliffs, towering waterfalls, and spectacular distracting views of the Pacific ocean hundreds of feet below had, over the years, witnessed countless numbers of careless tourists plunging to their death.

Taking the advice offered by a woman I met at the airport, I decided to use the return trip to absorb and take photos of the magnificent natural beauty of the unblemished landscape and not stop on the way over. Nevertheless, it still took me several hours to drive the 52 miles to Hana.

It was a glorious day, hardly a cloud in the sky, as the sun rose out of the ocean. After having an early breakfast in a small cafĂ© in Hana, I continue on to Ohe’o Gulch in Kipahulu. Fortunately, it was still early and there was only one other car in the parking lot when I arrived.

I decided to hike the 4-mile Papiwau Trail that winds up and along the stream with the same name, past numerous waterfalls and pools, through a dense mystical bamboo forest before eventually arriving at Waimoku Falls. The only other people I saw on the entire hike were a young couple who arrived at the falls just as I was leaving. Unfortunately, by the time I got back to the trailhead, the parking lot had become crowded.

After having a snack, I hiked over to the Gulch and scouted out several of the waterfalls and their pools. Selecting one that was nearly deserted, I took the plunge and swam over to the base of the waterfall. Before climbing up the rock face to the left of the falls, I thoroughly checkout the water’s depth beneath the falls for any obstructions.

When at last I reached the top, some thirty feet above the pool and turn around, two very attractive, bikini-clad young women were carefully laying out their towels on the black volcanic stone embankment on the opposite side of the pool.

I stood there for a good minute, pretending to take-in the magnificent view towards the ocean, allowing them to get situated so that they might observe my dive without being distracted. When I was sure their attention was completely focused on me, I executed a perfect swan dive from off the right side of the falls. As I surfaced I was met with a standing ovation.

I spent the next couple of hours – very-enjoyable hours – with the two of them. They were from Duluth, Minnesota, and had rented a condominium for a week on the west side of Maui near Kihei on Maalaea Bay. Though they were both very attractive and thoroughly delightful to be with, I had come to Hawaii to be alone, to meditate, and use the time to seriously reflect and think about my recent divorce. So, after having a late lunch with them, I decided to bid them adieu and get back on the road again. Besides, I wanted to stop and take some photos of some of those towering waterfalls and magnificent views I had only peripherally observed on the way over.

However, at my second stop, after finishing my photo taking and returning to my car, to my surprise, Lynn and Christina pulled up along side me and inquired if I had made lodging arrangement for the night. When I replied that I had not, they asked if I would like to stay with them at their condominium.

The days we spent together, before I flew to Kauai, were exceedingly comfortable and natural. It was as if we had known one another all our lives.

Weeks later, after we had all returned home, Lynn informed me by phone that her boy friend and her had reunited. Nevertheless, she continued to encourage me to come visit her in Duluth. So, it was not a complete surprised to her when she received a phone call from me, informing her that I was in Montreal, Canada, and would consider, since we were on the same latitude, driving over to see her. Though she was curious about why I was in Canada and so far from home, her response and invitation, after I informed her that I was on vacation visiting friends, sounded genuinely enthusiastic.

I arrived in Duluth two days later on a Friday around noon. The temperature was 105 degrees, the highest recorded temperature in Duluth’s history. Lynn was still at work and suggested that I head over to Lake Shore Drive where there was a large white sandy beach on the south shore of Lake Superior and cool off. So, I did.

The parking lot was full of cars. There was a large sand dune obstructing the view to the beach. When I crested the top of the dune I was shocked to see hundreds of people lying or standing along the water’s edge, but not a single person in the lake. As I said, the temperature was a sweltering 105 degrees.

Placing my towel on the beach, I made a mad dash for the lake and dove in. Immediately, my heart stopped beating; my gonads sought shelter within my body. To say that the water was unbearably cold would be an understatement. Though I had frolicked and bathed in glacial lakes at 13,000 feet, I had never experienced anything in all my life as excruciatingly cold as Lake Superior that day. My entire body went into shock. If the water had been deeper, I would have surely drowned.

The next day, Saturday, the temperature dropped into the high nineties. Lynn and I drove north up the west coast of Lake Superior to Cascade River State Park. It is well known for its seven cascading waterfalls. Lynn described it as an area not unlike where we had first met in Maui.

There are no descriptive words to adequately reveal the beauty, magic and charm of that day. To say it was merely enchanting falls far short of the pleasure experienced. The physical contact between us was innocent, playful, carefree, and uninhibited, yet left us desiring more. When we drove back into Duluth late that night along Skyline Drive with the lights of the city below us and a billion stars above, it could not have been more captivating. Later, as we sat in her kitchen talking, the physical contact became even more tender and intimate. Taking her shoes off and placing her bare legs on my lap, she asked if I wouldn’t mind giving her a leg massage.

Starting with her feet, I slowly move to the muscles of her calves and thighs. As the touching became more and more intimate, she moved closer, putting her arms around me. I could feel the breath of her on my face, as I continue to rub her thighs.

It was then, as it became obvious that we were both ready to move to her bed, that she whispered into my ear that her boy friend, Roger, who I had been told was backpacking in Montana, could possibility return home that very night.

“What!?!” I exclaimed.

“He is not suppose to arrive home until late tomorrow,” she whispered, “but there is a possibility, only a very slim possibility that he may get home tonight.”

As we slowly moved from her kitchen to the bottom of the stairs and kissed goodnight, I could not help but feel a bit foolish. As I said, she had all but asked me to come to bed with her. It seemed we were both ready and willing to consummate and gratify our desire for one another.

And yet, later, as I lay there in the dark, wide awake, stretched out on her couch, chastising myself for being such a fool, with her cat curled up on the coffee table and her dog lying on the floor beside me, suddenly, my earlier decision to forgo a night of passion and pleasure proved prophetic when the front door swung open and in walked Roger.

“Who are you?” he suspiciously asks.

“I’m Dee, Lynn’s friend from Nashville,” I replied.

“Oh yeah,” he hesitantly recalled, “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said, shaking my hand before bounding up the stairs to his beloved.

Before long it became painfully obvious that Roger was taking full advantage of Lynn’s ready and willing body that I had, only an hour earlier, so thoroughly aroused for him. To top it off, as the sounds of their passionate love making increased in intensity, both her dog and cat lying right there beside me began to howl and harmonize with the shrieks of ecstasy emanating from the two lovers up stairs . . . leaving me, though somewhat relieved, in a state of utter despair. 

The names have been changed to protect the innocent and not so innocent.

1 comment:

  1. Utter despair, for sure. But, at least you weren't on top of her when Roger came in, and you are alive today to tell the story! Listening to lovers in the middle of the night, is enough to drive any man crazy! Or a dog. Or a cat. Surely, you then searched for Christina!? Good one!