If I were ever going to have an affair — you know, hypothetically speaking — I’d start by picking a remote location. Say, a dusty tent somewhere in New Mexico, or a chintzy, art deco motel in some Florida tourist trap. Or maybe an inn in Old Saybrook, Connecticut. The kind with views of the water.
I’d probably put just as much thought into choosing my lover. I’d be quite selective, I think. Perhaps I’d pick someone with a sense of adventure. The sort who’d pick me up by the belt loops of my jeans and toss me onto a king-size bed just before binding my wrists with his leather belt (not too tightly, of course). Or, maybe I’d go for the sentimental sort who’d feed me caramel pecan cheesecake in bed the next morning. Then maybe months later, I’d write about it and imagine eating the caramel pecan cheesecake off of that lover.
If I were going into details, I’d think it would be wise to keep the room temperature elevated. You know, if I chose to conduct my affair in the winter. All that heat, and the sweat… if it got too cold in the room, I just might need to keep active for much of the night in order to compensate. And there’d be no sense in wearing a lover out too quickly.
I’d probably take loads of white candles — the kind that smell like warm vanilla. I’d take massage oil. Even if I didn’t end up using it. After all, talking about using it could be fairly hot on its own, I bet. And I’d take lingerie that I wouldn’t wear for more than a few minutes. And a pair of jeans that flatter my backside. And a return ticket home, that I would try not to think about for at least 20 hours.
I’d laugh while my lover pranced naked in front of the open curtains. I’d eat too much for dessert — most of mine, some of his. Maybe frozen pears in ice cream. I’d lounge about, drinking cocktails and listening to big band music. And I’d try to sleep even though I’d be wide awake feeling his breath on the back of my neck and pretending it doesn’t make me want to wake him up doing scandalous things.
And after it was all said and done, I imagine the smallest little thing would probably remind me of that affair. Something hanging in my closet. The taste of pears. The smell of sweat and the faint taste of cigarettes on someone’s breath.
And I’d probably never really lose the temptation, every time I’m on a New York City-bound train, to get off at the quaint little depot in Old Saybrook, Connecticut.
You know, hypothetically speaking.
I like how you relieve stress … hypothetically speaking … of course.
Good thing this is a one-time-only affair, because romantic as it might seem, you could ruin a good pair of jeans quickly with that kind of belt loop treatment.
But any guy worth his salt would pay for the replacement pair of jeans, so there’s really no problem. I must stop and take a look at Old Saybrook next time I drive by it on I-95
Naturally.
Oh, and after reading this now I’m supposed to go and, you know, hypothetically speaking, get any work done??
**sighs, ponders past trips, metaphoric and literal, to the same Old Saybrook inn.**
I’ve never tried frozen pears… nor caramel pecan cheesecake.
Delicious. I’m talking about the cheesecake, of course.
Of course. It was quite… decadent and delicious.
My idea is a lot like that too…or a tuesday night at the Red Roof Inn. I’m flexible either way.
And now I’m supposed to go work. I think I’ll just sit and daydream for a little while. Thanks Fish, I needed that.
i love this post.
Is it strange that I popped a three-quarter chub from reading this?
Only 3/4? I’m losing my touch.
Geez, Fish, you just don’t believe in hypothetical spontaneity, do you? Sometimes, you’ve got to throw fate to the subjunctive winds.
Two things –
#1 – Did you get Old Saybrook from the movie ‘The Ref’?
#2 – I have always wanted to be introduced to a group of people by a foreign man in the following manner – “This is Julia, my American Lover.” – said with a strong accent, of course.
So, hypothetically speaking — If one could arrange all of this? Hypothetically speaking — where does one send one’s resume, concept brief and photo? Just for you to hypothetically look over.
Hypothetically speaking…
Hee – Julia, I think in the movie they were calling their town “Old Baybrook.” At least that’s what I thought. Now I’m not sure! I love that movie. “Connecticut is the fifth ring of hell.”
i have a secret (completely non-romantic) desire to take the train to old saybrook, only so that i could try to get a peek at the katharine hepburn estate there. that’s a fantasy of a totally different perspective. now, i could also imagine a variant where the current boy in my life and i escaped for a fish-style dessert and more dessert getaway in old saybrook… mmmmmm!
You are right! It is Old Baybrook. I can’t believe I had gotten that wrong, I love that movie!
Aw, it brings back waves of nostalgia… Beautiful post.
Old Saybrook is wonderful – when I was a kid, I used to vacation with my family in a little kinda run down cottage on the beach in the next town over, Clinton. (I’m from Bridgeport, about 45 minutes away.) I WILL OWN A HOUSE ON THE WATER OUT THERE ONE DAY, I WILL! That whole area (Clinton, Old Saybrook, Westbrook, Madison) just reminds me of summer and fun and heat and saltwater in your hair and sand in your bedsheets and the sound of falling asleep to the waves hitting the shore. Perfect place to hypothetically have an affair.
It was going ok till your man pranced. Umm..prancing?