When Bombs Go Off

He went on a vacation with his happily married brother. They saw temples and they went fishing and they took guided tours around Bangkok. They heard what all men hear about Thailand and its tens of thousands of young women and what they do for money. He did it once, twice, and then several more times while his brother read by the pool or ate too much, and drank too much. And never asked too many questions because he's a man.

He tells complete strangers that his three sons are big boys. They understand like all men understand. They will not question what he is doing.

His daughter is angry with him, and she won't talk to him. She found out by going to her mother and asking why her father was staying away from home so long. And why he changed his return ticket so that he'd be arriving home on Christmas Eve. Her mother said, Go to the Internet and Google Pattaya and you will have all your answers. She said no more. The daughter asked no further questions of the mother. She didn't have to. Everything was right there on the Internet.

He tells complete strangers that his daughter should stay out of his business, that this issue is between his wife and him. He has no desire to tell his daughter what went wrong. It'll be worked out between the two of them.

He dropped out of college because he wanted to make money, and he did. He bought a restaurant and doubled its size. He bought apartments and rented them. He bought stocks and bonds and made money on them. His Russian wife helped him in all of these efforts. She worked the same long hours that he did. And along the way they had three children. Through all of this growth and change and money making and growing older, and having children, they had a good and mutually satisfying sex life.

But along the way, this road along which he got older and richer and his body began to show signs of obvious decay, he grew in size. Slowly. A pound here, another one or two two weeks later. By forty he weighed more than 250 pounds, and he was working long hours at the restaurant and at the apartments doing repairs. He was not paying attention. The weight continued to go up.

At fifty-one he had a near-fatal heart attack. They inserted a couple of stents, gave him medicines for high blood pressure and diabetes, and a machine that he would use nightly now for the rest of his life. Or until he lost a good deal of weight, which he would not do. The machine is for breathing, to control his serious apnea, to make it possible to sleep throughout the night and be able to run the restaurant and the apartments and manage the portfolio of stocks and bonds.

His faithful and hard-working Russian wife said she could not stand the noise of the machine to control his apnea. She needed her own bedroom. And that, he tells complete strangers, is where the problem began. Their sex life had come to an end. Now she would visit his room once a week, or less frequently. She would get beside him on the bed and face toward the wall and offer him her ass. No more. Never anything more than her ass to poke, he tells complete strangers who tell him false stories about their own histories. They do not even kiss. He loves to kiss. This is how he has always decided whether he wants to have sex with a woman.

He found that it did not matter that he weighs more than 250 pounds and wears thick glasses and talks crudely with the young women about what he wants them to do if they go with him for the night. They always oblige, as long as he pays them what they ask.

More trips followed, but without his brother. Trips initially to explore the possibility of opening a textile import-export business, he told his wife and anyone who asked. But the trips lasted a month, then six weeks, and soon he no longer talked about the money-making scheme that would add to their already considerable income. He told his wife nothing about these extended trips and what he was really doing. But he tells complete strangers that his wife knows what he is doing, and it doesn't matter to her. She won't change her behavior no matter what he does.

Coming home on Christmas Eve, and then being quite sick for the next week because of a cold he picked up from the last young Thai woman he was with the day before he flew home, was enough to get his wife to tell him that they now had a serious problem. Something had to be done about these many trips of his to Thailand. He told her that all that had to be done to fix their relationship and return to the good times of old was for her to come back to his bed and sleep with him on a regular basis. If she did so he would no longer make these trips to Thailand. He swore he would not do so.

She doesn't hear him. She doesn't want to hear him. She doesn't like the noisy machine, and so all he'll get in the future, as long as they are together, is what he is now getting. Her ass to poke once a week, or less frequently, while she blankly stares at the wall on the side of the bed where the noisy machine sits. Most times she comes to his room she doesn't bother to take off her clothes. She pushes up her dress and pulls down her panties and says, Okay, do what you must.

He told her that they should wait to decide what to finally do to resolve their problem. They should wait, he told her, for a couple of years until all the children have left home. Then they can decide what must be done. Because, he has told her, when they get to this point a bomb will go off. And you know what happens when bombs go off, don't you? he told her.

Do you really know what happens when bombs go off? He told her the last time she came to his room and lay beside him and he begged to see her face and have what they once had and she refused him.

The author can be contacted at:  korski1@cox.net

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