my road-the storm

The snow was piling up outside the window.  The television behind the bar, one of the more recent editions, reflected off of perhaps the oldest, the disco ball over the wooden dance floor that now supported pool tables and electronic games instead of dancers.  A thousand tiny broadcasters warned people off the roads.
You see, the cat was out of the bag, I had told her the story from 1990, of how I had confessed my love to her before my marriage.  That she had not remembered, but she remembered now, I would have sacrificed everything to be with her.  And remembering it once so presented, she had no choice but to believe it given my sincerity.
We were attending a party at the mansion.  She no longer lived there.  I was invited, although we did not go together.  I suspected that it would be more of the same.  A sense of friendliness which was closer than others felt.  In the past, would have thought sadly, this would be the party where she would find another lover, but now I was overcome with optimism that we'd meet and be very close friends, who could touch each other, hug each other without an expectation of more.
Perhaps I should admit that I had not had sex for several years.  This was not because of any personal inadequacy on my part, but my wife had at best had a lackluster interest, and my depression had given her an excuse to abandon any attempts.  The lack of a spark between us made this more of a relief than a setback in our relationship which had become one of mutual responsibilities and not emotional attachment.  This is not to say we were not friends, we shared, after all many years of fighting together and the child that had caused a casual fling to evolve into a marriage.
In my current state, of having been freed by terminal living, the lack of a sexual bond made me feel justified in looking elsewhere.  In fact, this had a been a theme of the entire farcical union, I was there as a business arrangement and I took my lovers where I could find them for solace accepting that I was not to gratified in life.  In the back of mind now, however, I was beginning to question a life of servitude to unpleasantness.
I ask you to question this yourself before you judge me too harshly.  If you lived with someone who did not like you, but kept you around only for the sense of security you provided, why should societal norms hold you prisoner.  In fact, my narcissism was my greatest enemy here, making me think I was somehow above those who got divorces, the common men.  In my state of virtue I began to realize how wise were those who realized they were not happy and having only so many days to live decided to spare everyone involved misery and opt for joy instead.  What a fool I had been, what a fool I was.
It was a fine time, with fine people and fine food.  Best of all, she seemed to give me most of her attention, despite the presence of her friends all around us.
We found ourselves in the owners hot tub, alone for a moment after several people left, me wearing my racing suit which I was never far from and her in a bikini which nearly drove me out of my mind.  And yet, I did nothing more than to hold her hand and kiss her, innocently but with passion.
The night wore on and I prepared to leave, but (redacted, there you have it)
 We knew instinctively when each of us was at our limit and we didn't want to stop.  The minutes turned into hours and when it was finally over, we had both worn each other out.
I lay with my arms around her not caring if the world ended right then.  I knew that I would never be more complete than I was at that moment, never more alive, never more certain of what I wanted.