Just One Look
By Valma
Part 14: Of Mice and Moons
My Journey Through Life - Niles Crane
"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an'pain,
For promis'd joy!"
Robert Burns was right.
Just when you think you have everything planned and things will run smoothly, some new source of vexation and anguish invades your life - sometimes on several fronts.
Let me elaborate.
A few weeks back, when I decided to go along with Donny and get involved with Daphne's bridal shower, I thought it would be just a simple way of providing an opportunity for more of the personal closure that I felt needed before --- before "The Wedding". I even insisted that Donny receive all the credit for the party in Daphne's eyes. It didn't bother me at all that Donny would bask in her praise for being "perceptive" or "creative", even though he was almost too eager to shift all the planning and arrangements on me when I was solicited to "help" him out. I really didn't want to seek any additional attention from her. I was totally in favor of anonymity. My motivation for such an altruistic act was solely to buttress my conviction that I was fully capable of being just "a good friend" and accord her the proper social distance that any "married" lady friend of mine should be given.
I ought to have "You're doing the right thing, Niles," tattooed on my chest but these sorts of small steps do help ---
I always knew that withdrawing myself from Daphne would be no easy task. So much of my emotional center had been focused around her for so long that the transition to Mel was bound to have some rough spots for my psyche along the way. It had to be accomplished in stages rather than just in one sudden act of proselytization. This has nothing to do with Mel really. It's just that --- while seeing Daphne dating Donny was an arduous enough trial to overcome and witnessing his marriage proposal was even more devastating to me, their upcoming nuptials did seem like the last definitive leg in the "Triple Crown" of agony for me as far as Daphne was concerned. Even with Mel by my side, I knew that event would have "ordeal" written all over it, so it seemed only prudent that I have a number of strategies in place to help me keep moving forward with my life.
But not everything turns out the way we plan it to, does it?
For one thing, the bridal shower wasn't quite the laudable event that I envisioned it would be.
It should have worked pretty much flawlessly --- I had assigned everyone different chores. Roz did her part, inviting all of Daphne's girlfriends and a few of her own, to the delight of my desperate brother. Frasier and Dad helped with arranging for the rented chairs and accoutrements. Even my beloved Mel got involved and planned the silly games --- and I orchestrated the caterer and feted the event at the Montana, concocting a covering ruse by telling Daphne that I would like to have her help me prepare "Sticky Toffee Pudding" on that particular Saturday night.
When she arrived she looked so --- so beautiful. Stunning actually is a better word. Her maroon, form-fitting dress shimmered in the room's ambient light as I removed her coat, while her auburn hair delicately caressed her bare, creamy shoulders. She was glowing with an expectancy that is difficult to describe. I suspected that she had already guessed what we were up to, but she refused to confirm this hypothesis of mine and insisted that she had been completely deceived by our contrivance. It struck me that to see her so radiant was worth any residual wistfulness I might have still felt about our non-existent romantic relationship. Not that I sensed anything more than a fleeting gush of captivation, but it didn't last long enough to qualify as a genuine stirring - I assure you.
That wouldn't have been proper now --- would it?
As I said - I just wanted to do this for her strictly as a friend. It was supposed to be a nice time for all involved.
And it would have been too, except for Donny's ineptitude, which was the catalyst that eventually not only demolished the entire evening, but generated a whole set of consequences, some of which still have not been dealt with completely.
I gave Donny one chore to do - surprise Daphne with a visit from one of her siblings for her bridal shower. He could have picked almost "any" brother and it would have been satisfactory - but he had to pick Simon!
Good Lord, Donny is her fiancé for heaven's sake! Doesn't he know the most rudimentary things about her? You'd think he'd know that she detests Simon, but nooooo - he made a total mess of that single assignment. He doesn't deserve a "treasure" like Daphne - plain and simple! But I feel that I digress, so let's just stick with the more immediate concern --- Simon.
Ah, yes - Simon --- he ruined everything with his boorish manners! He was loud, crass and behaved slovenly. He smoked and flicked his filthy ashes everywhere except the ashtray. He made passes at all the females in attendance - including Mel just before he left! He put his feet up on the furniture. He guzzled an inappropriate amount of alcohol. He totally dominated what could have been a most splendid affair and dragged it into the gutter. He humiliated Daphne at every step - called her childish names, physically manhandled her in a rude, rough fashion, dredged up embarrassing topics of conversation and even managed to douse her in red wine, staining her beautiful dress during the course of the soirée.
His cloddish behavior spread awkwardness over the entire evening like ripples from a rock making their way across a pond. Daphne was not only irritated with Simon's presence, but was exasperated with Donny as well. Any feelings of good will and happiness that I hoped would have flourished in her that night, vanished in the chaos that surrounded her brother from the moment he made his appearance. Frasier was upset too because he had agreed beforehand to provide accommodations for Daphne's visiting sibling and now that he had witnessed Simon in the flesh he regretted making that commitment and blamed Daphne for the inconvenience of it all. Even Mel was upset with me - I heard an earful from her after the guests left about "my choice of friends and acquaintances" and how we were "not to ever to associate with this group of reprobates and plebeians ever again once the wedding was over"!
God - it was the stuff that nightmares are made!
Which brings me to the second repercussion that ruinous time brought about --- I think the trauma of the whole shattering event has managed to produce one very troubling and totally unanticipated corollary for me.
Ever since that night I've - I've been having dreams --- dreams about --- about Daphne.
Three actually in the last two weeks.
Oh, I've had a few other "Daphne inspired" dreams, but they happened a while back - before I met Mel - and while they were stimulating in their own right, they weren't of the same, ummm --- puissant, carnal vividness, shall we say.
This is very difficult for me to write about. I could never mention anything of what I am about to divulge to anyone --- not even to Frasier. I suspect that he would just interpret it as a lack of resolve on my part to let Daphne go mentally and I just don't think I could take another one of his "When are you going to get over her" speeches at the moment.
But they say that confession is good for the soul, so having no other recourse, I feel I must unburden myself here within the confines of these pages ---
These most recent visualizations have been markedly intense and erotic --- and yes, I responded the way you would imagine any red-blooded, heterosexual male would - I found myself in a rather sticky, damp mess in the morning.
I wish --- I truly wish --- I could control these things, but it seems I can't - human nature being what it is --- and all that. I just thank God Mel wasn't spending the night when this happened! How would I ever explain my lack of --- of self-mastery? She would be appalled.
And so am I actually.
It's utterly embarrassing, not --- not to mention more than a bit insulting to my sweet Mel. It's like a subconscious way of implying that our relationship is inadequate in some way. And that's not the case at all. I am thoroughly contented with Mel - in every way. I love her. I really do love her. I know I do ---I do!
But nevertheless these chimeras persist.
I want them to stop - I want to "make" them stop. And despite what Frasier or Dad or anyone else may think, it's not like I haven't set my emotions about Daphne aside. When I examine these dreams logically I know that they are probably just a manifestation of all the tensions that I have been feeling recently over Donny's blunder, Simon's invasion, the ignominy of the bridal party and the inescapability of the wedding itself. I am fully cognizant of the fact that there was never anything "real" between us --- and there certainly won't be now. Daphne is going to be married very soon, less than a couple of weeks away and I really have accepted this situation in every rational sense. I know she isn't going to stop the ceremony and tell Donny it was a big mistake and that she really loves "Dr. Crane" --- that just isn't going to happen. I've moved on in my life now, just as she has with hers. She's happy - she has Donny; I'm happy - I have Mel. I've accepted that - I really have.
I only find myself actually "thinking" about Daphne sporadically nowadays -- - like when I am alone, or in the middle of a long session, or listening to my recording of "Vissi d'Arte", or once when I heard the haunting refrain of "Heart and Soul" coming from the radio on my way home, or --- well, the point is that it's times like these that she just pops into my head like an unexpected guest and --- and I --- I always manage to make her "depart" eventually with no real harm done.
If only I could convince my subconscious what my conscious self knows so well.
I want to be as devoted to Mel in my dreams as I am in my waking hours. And I am - devoted, to Mel, that is --- it's just that these latest images are --- well, ill timed at best and very disconcerting in their potency.
It always starts out innocently enough, but all too rapidly mutates into something much more erogenous in nature. It follows the identical pattern every time. Daphne appears at my door. She seems anxious --- like something is preying on her mind. I invite her in and she sits nervously down on the fainting couch. Her hands are fidgeting; she won't look me in the eye. To break the tension that seems to have developed I politely offer her a cup of tea. She thanks me and then something on the shelves behind me attracts her attention.
Her mouth falls open and she visibly blanches, the rosy tint draining from her cheeks. She is unmistakably dumbfounded by what she sees. I am about to inquire as to what has caught her eye, when, at that very moment, invariably she always accidentally spills some of the drink on her dress, distracting me from asking the source of her speechless perplexity. She leaps up suddenly and hurries to the kitchen to wash it out. I turn and look towards the shelf and see nothing that would invite such amazement - nothing extraordinary or worthy of such an extreme reaction, just some rather mundane brickbat and small statuary spaced out intermittently, holding up the volumes of books.
Without fail, within a short while I get an impulse to see if I can be of assistance and follow after her. I do this in spite of an intuitive sense that there is a definite potential for calamity lurking behind that door. But my compulsion to peek in on her has to be satisfied - so my fate is sealed. I have an irrepressible sensation of apprehension mixed with anticipation as I head towards that door --- but does that stop me? Oh nooooo, not one little bit!
When I open it, there she is - shockingly semi-nude in her bra and panties, her dress in her hands soaping the soiled garment in the sink. Instead of covering my eyes and retreating, I just stand there - gawking --- yielding to the titillation of the view in front of me. Then I instinctively begin to pant --- inconspicuously at first, but then more blatantly, my pulse quickening while the throbbing in my groin overruns my entire body. Even though I start to feel a flood of opprobrium and I know I should take flight, I can't. The spectacle of her nakedness is too much of a temptation. It's as if I had wandered upon a scene drawn from Botticelli's very own Birth of Venus; the goddess herself is riding to shore on a half- shell - would I avert my eyes at such a masterpiece? To do so would surely be an affront to the divine maestro who created such a model of perfection. I don't even risk a blink - I truly believe that any movement at all will break the spell and I can't bear for that to happen. I am a willing prisoner of my torrid lusts. Then, just when I feel like I am about to cry out in complete frustration at my compelled immobility --- she glances up at me.
At first, I fear she will be as horrified as I am at my voyeurism, thinking that my libertine conduct is as abhorrent and crude as I know it is. But she only smiles, with that luscious, innocent and yet knowing look of hers and chuckles softly, asking me if I am going to be a gentleman and help her or just stand there being useless. That simple jocular comment releases an eruption of pulsating energy in me. In an impetuous act of unbridled ardency I vault across the room in what seems like one bound and crush her in my arms. I drape her in kisses and she responds eagerly to my hungry advances, moaning my name as she holds me tightly, like someone clinging to the last lifeboat. I feel my orgasmic cravings for her pounding through me with a cadence of inestimable pleasure. We embark on making fiery, passionate love - right there on my kitchen floor of all places and then --- and then I --- I awaken --- depleted, flaccid and --- and completely mortified at my dishonorable behavior.
Oh, God! I know it isn't real but still --- it should be Mel who I am relishing in my dreams now, not Daphne!
Even now my hands are shaking as I write these declarations of fictitious unfaithfulness. I know that I would never really be so untrue to Mel, but I have taken two showers this morning and I still can't scour the grime of my guilt away.
Adding to my feelings of degradation and shame is the fact that Mel has begun asking me, on a fairly regular basis, if I would consider the two of us living together. Well, it's more of a plea than an inquiry actually and sometimes --- sometimes it even borders on an ultimatum. There is always a determined sound of urgency in her voice when she brings the topic up. It's probably just my conscience taking over, but I wonder if Mel suspects that I have been having these --- these bouts of illusory promiscuity? It's almost as if she's seeking concrete verification that I won't abandon her - which I won't --- but, on the other hand, I don't know if I am quite ready yet for that rather large step in my life.
I don't seem to be able to reason with her - she said the other night it was simply a matter of "if you love me you would do this". I wish I could get her to appreciate that it is not just so black and white with me, but I don't even understand why myself that I am so reluctant, so how can I explain it to her.
Why can't I just go ahead and set up house with Mel?
I always said that I didn't really enjoy living alone. We know each other well enough now I think. Our personalities mesh. I won't find anyone better for me --- not at least anyone who loves me more than Mel does.
I feel like I have to make this up to Mel one way or another. It's as if I am letting her down somehow --- not being the perfect "boyfriend" that she deserves. And I can't afford to fail at this relationship, not after what happened to me with Maris and --- and with Daphne, although she was never aware of any of my heartache. I want to show Mel that I really am totally committed to her and that I don't harbor any feelings for --- for anyone else, despite these silly nocturnal fantasies.
In reality of course I didn't pursue Daphne into the kitchen as she proceeded to get cleaned up. She was immediately surrounded by a gaggle of her girlfriends, and Donny ushered Simon home to Frasier's apartment. Nothing remotely untoward happened between us. All that I did was supply my Chinese silk robe for her to put on and a satchel to put her blotched dress in --- she returned both items within the next couple of days.
When she did, we talked a bit - she seemed fretful and distracted. At first she refused to even come in, but with a tad of coaxing she ultimately was convinced to sit on the couch, insisting all the while on keeping her coat wrapped tightly about her and apologizing multiple times for intruding. Needless to say, I didn't dare contemplate offering her anything to drink - that just seemed too much like tempting fate for my comfort.
Soon enough the source of her present state of anxiety was revealed. My poor darling Daphne! Apparently Simon was still causing havoc in her life and was the reason that she exploded in a fit of temper a few days after the party, starting a chain of events that resulted in a muti-vehicle accident. I commiserated with her on the misery he had wrought on her life recently and how lucky it was that no one was hurt in the ensuing collisions. Minor fender bender stuff actually, but I supplied her with the name of a good lawyer and she got off light with some standard court ordered anger management therapy sessions that begin tomorrow.
As for Mel, she and I are planning a weekend trip to her friend's cottage as a way of celebrating our six-month anniversary of being together. I think it will do us both a lot of good. She will have a chance to relax and be reassured that I do love her, in spite of her insecurities and fears. I will be able to put the distractions of Simon and Donny and the upcoming wedding behind me and just focus on Mel. Maybe that's all I need to overcome my tentative feelings about moving in with her --- I hope so, for both our sakes.
And as for the dream --- I've got to find a way of coming to terms with it. I can't afford for it to interfere with my life - for the good of my own mental health, my relationship with Mel --- or my friendship with Daphne.
Adieu.
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Daphne's Diary
Dear Diary:
"The thing we long for, that we are
For one transcendent moment."
I think I saw that on a greeting card once. It had a picture of a tranquil sunset and two people walking along a beach together, hand in hand. Even though I had no one to give it to, I bought it all the same - put it in a drawer and took it out and looked at it whenever I got to feeling blue.
It somehow gave me a sensation of sadness and elation at the same time. There was a resplendent happiness in that phrase - it spoke of the joy that can be felt when you finally get what you pine after, but it also was clearly saying that this splendid experience, by the very nature of longing, was only temporary - just "one" moment in time --- not an eternity and would always leave us desiring more.
That's what I feel when I think of --- him.
For one brief shining moment I held my breath with anticipation, my arm tingling with the after effects of his touch, listening to my heart beating wildly, trembling, excited by the expectation that the time for the truth had finally arrived --- a declaration that I had been both fearful of, and yet yearning for, for some time. An admission that I was too frightened of to even put a name to for many months, but which Dr. McCaskill had recognized in an instant. This was something that I could no longer deny -
I think --- I love him.
There - I said it.
I think I am falling in love with Niles Crane.
But having said it doesn't change a thing really.
For I am someone who is about to marry Donny Douglas - the wedding is next week for crying out loud - and he --- he is someone who thinks that although I have "warm eyes that are full of life", they aren't enough to compete with the likes of a pushy plastic surgeon who realized a good thing when she saw it. Not --- not like me. I --- I ignored him, blindly disregarded every signal he sent my way, even when he all but cut open his heart and poured his emotions over me.
What a fool I was - what a fool I am ---
God, how I wish I could turn back the hands of time and wipe that bridal shower from the collected pages of recent history!
But in doing so, would anything important actually be altered?
Would he have suddenly come clean and admitted that he only concocted the ruse of wanting me to teach him how to prepare "Sticky Toffee Pudding" so that he could privately confess that his once passionate feelings for me had miraculously come to life again and that he needed me as much as I now needed him?
Would he have given up his talented, cultured, sophisticated girlfriend for the likes of me - me, who is someone whose skills seem to run the gamut from knowing the best way to unplug a toilet, to being an expert on the different methods of massaging a crabby old man's ass?
Would it have frozen that "one transcendent moment" so that I could live forever in the eager expectancy that his affections were about to be revealed?
The answer to all of these questions is sadly - no.
And so the reality that I am left with is --- is that the party happened - Mel controlled him, and everyone else, like a domineering circus master with a whistle stuck in her thoat, Donny showed me why truly sensitive men don't become lawyers and Simon reminded me of one of the main reasons why I left Manchester in the first place.
Mr. and Mrs. Douglas have the impression that their son is marrying a raving, alcoholic lunatic. Donny can't seem to figure out why "Daph's" in such a "Brit snit" about "his one - oops, make that two little surprises that backfired". Frasier thinks that I have blindsided him and caused him to lose another "perfect" woman yet again. And Roz is pissed at me for getting her hopes up that Simon was the "accented" answer to her dreams, but finding out that he really is just another aging soccer hooligan "lech" who doesn't have two "bob" to his name.
The only person who isn't fuming at me is Martin - he seems just tickled pink that he has found a "buddy" in my loutish brother! Which, by the way, also gives Frasier another reason to grind his teeth when my name is mentioned.
And I guess there is another person who isn't upset with me --- but then he wouldn't be, would he?
He, of course is supportive, comforting, sympathetic and helpful - as he has always been.
He lent me his robe when Simon destroyed my dress, so I could get home with at least some dignity.
He let me vent about the disastrous meeting with Donny's parents, never saying a critical word about any of my antics.
He recommended a lawyer friend of his to represent me when the court hearing came up, intuitively sensing that I didn't want to have Donny, or his family, anywhere near me for that particular occasion.
Then, when I went to pay the lawyer's fee the receptionist informed me that it had "been all taken care of already."
And --- and I saw him there too, there in the back row of the court house, waiting to see if everything turned out all right, even though he slipped quietly out just after the judge decided my fate.
Oh - if only I could have that "one transcendent moment" with him and --- and make it last a lifetime!
But I can't, can I --- it's too late now!
I keep telling myself that Donny isn't such a bad fellow - and he isn't. He's kind and gentle and I was perfectly happy with him --- once. But that was before --- before I found out about the best kept secret in Seattle. That was before thoughts about a certain pyschiatrist invaded my every waking moment and turned my life upside down. That was before I felt the touch of his fingers --- and sat waiting, waiting for that touch again --- the touch that never came.
So I am going to marry Donny and, if I don't go insane first, I probably will be very happy eventually. I will keep on telling myself that I am doing "the right thing" - that I can't just hurt and disrupt the lives of others, that I have to play by the rules and that things will work out in the end. But I am still going to keep that greeting card - just like I will always keep that "one transcendent moment" of Niles in my heart.
Good night.
Stay tuned for Part 15 (to be continued)
By Valma
Part 14: Of Mice and Moons
My Journey Through Life - Niles Crane
"The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an'pain,
For promis'd joy!"
Robert Burns was right.
Just when you think you have everything planned and things will run smoothly, some new source of vexation and anguish invades your life - sometimes on several fronts.
Let me elaborate.
A few weeks back, when I decided to go along with Donny and get involved with Daphne's bridal shower, I thought it would be just a simple way of providing an opportunity for more of the personal closure that I felt needed before --- before "The Wedding". I even insisted that Donny receive all the credit for the party in Daphne's eyes. It didn't bother me at all that Donny would bask in her praise for being "perceptive" or "creative", even though he was almost too eager to shift all the planning and arrangements on me when I was solicited to "help" him out. I really didn't want to seek any additional attention from her. I was totally in favor of anonymity. My motivation for such an altruistic act was solely to buttress my conviction that I was fully capable of being just "a good friend" and accord her the proper social distance that any "married" lady friend of mine should be given.
I ought to have "You're doing the right thing, Niles," tattooed on my chest but these sorts of small steps do help ---
I always knew that withdrawing myself from Daphne would be no easy task. So much of my emotional center had been focused around her for so long that the transition to Mel was bound to have some rough spots for my psyche along the way. It had to be accomplished in stages rather than just in one sudden act of proselytization. This has nothing to do with Mel really. It's just that --- while seeing Daphne dating Donny was an arduous enough trial to overcome and witnessing his marriage proposal was even more devastating to me, their upcoming nuptials did seem like the last definitive leg in the "Triple Crown" of agony for me as far as Daphne was concerned. Even with Mel by my side, I knew that event would have "ordeal" written all over it, so it seemed only prudent that I have a number of strategies in place to help me keep moving forward with my life.
But not everything turns out the way we plan it to, does it?
For one thing, the bridal shower wasn't quite the laudable event that I envisioned it would be.
It should have worked pretty much flawlessly --- I had assigned everyone different chores. Roz did her part, inviting all of Daphne's girlfriends and a few of her own, to the delight of my desperate brother. Frasier and Dad helped with arranging for the rented chairs and accoutrements. Even my beloved Mel got involved and planned the silly games --- and I orchestrated the caterer and feted the event at the Montana, concocting a covering ruse by telling Daphne that I would like to have her help me prepare "Sticky Toffee Pudding" on that particular Saturday night.
When she arrived she looked so --- so beautiful. Stunning actually is a better word. Her maroon, form-fitting dress shimmered in the room's ambient light as I removed her coat, while her auburn hair delicately caressed her bare, creamy shoulders. She was glowing with an expectancy that is difficult to describe. I suspected that she had already guessed what we were up to, but she refused to confirm this hypothesis of mine and insisted that she had been completely deceived by our contrivance. It struck me that to see her so radiant was worth any residual wistfulness I might have still felt about our non-existent romantic relationship. Not that I sensed anything more than a fleeting gush of captivation, but it didn't last long enough to qualify as a genuine stirring - I assure you.
That wouldn't have been proper now --- would it?
As I said - I just wanted to do this for her strictly as a friend. It was supposed to be a nice time for all involved.
And it would have been too, except for Donny's ineptitude, which was the catalyst that eventually not only demolished the entire evening, but generated a whole set of consequences, some of which still have not been dealt with completely.
I gave Donny one chore to do - surprise Daphne with a visit from one of her siblings for her bridal shower. He could have picked almost "any" brother and it would have been satisfactory - but he had to pick Simon!
Good Lord, Donny is her fiancé for heaven's sake! Doesn't he know the most rudimentary things about her? You'd think he'd know that she detests Simon, but nooooo - he made a total mess of that single assignment. He doesn't deserve a "treasure" like Daphne - plain and simple! But I feel that I digress, so let's just stick with the more immediate concern --- Simon.
Ah, yes - Simon --- he ruined everything with his boorish manners! He was loud, crass and behaved slovenly. He smoked and flicked his filthy ashes everywhere except the ashtray. He made passes at all the females in attendance - including Mel just before he left! He put his feet up on the furniture. He guzzled an inappropriate amount of alcohol. He totally dominated what could have been a most splendid affair and dragged it into the gutter. He humiliated Daphne at every step - called her childish names, physically manhandled her in a rude, rough fashion, dredged up embarrassing topics of conversation and even managed to douse her in red wine, staining her beautiful dress during the course of the soirée.
His cloddish behavior spread awkwardness over the entire evening like ripples from a rock making their way across a pond. Daphne was not only irritated with Simon's presence, but was exasperated with Donny as well. Any feelings of good will and happiness that I hoped would have flourished in her that night, vanished in the chaos that surrounded her brother from the moment he made his appearance. Frasier was upset too because he had agreed beforehand to provide accommodations for Daphne's visiting sibling and now that he had witnessed Simon in the flesh he regretted making that commitment and blamed Daphne for the inconvenience of it all. Even Mel was upset with me - I heard an earful from her after the guests left about "my choice of friends and acquaintances" and how we were "not to ever to associate with this group of reprobates and plebeians ever again once the wedding was over"!
God - it was the stuff that nightmares are made!
Which brings me to the second repercussion that ruinous time brought about --- I think the trauma of the whole shattering event has managed to produce one very troubling and totally unanticipated corollary for me.
Ever since that night I've - I've been having dreams --- dreams about --- about Daphne.
Three actually in the last two weeks.
Oh, I've had a few other "Daphne inspired" dreams, but they happened a while back - before I met Mel - and while they were stimulating in their own right, they weren't of the same, ummm --- puissant, carnal vividness, shall we say.
This is very difficult for me to write about. I could never mention anything of what I am about to divulge to anyone --- not even to Frasier. I suspect that he would just interpret it as a lack of resolve on my part to let Daphne go mentally and I just don't think I could take another one of his "When are you going to get over her" speeches at the moment.
But they say that confession is good for the soul, so having no other recourse, I feel I must unburden myself here within the confines of these pages ---
These most recent visualizations have been markedly intense and erotic --- and yes, I responded the way you would imagine any red-blooded, heterosexual male would - I found myself in a rather sticky, damp mess in the morning.
I wish --- I truly wish --- I could control these things, but it seems I can't - human nature being what it is --- and all that. I just thank God Mel wasn't spending the night when this happened! How would I ever explain my lack of --- of self-mastery? She would be appalled.
And so am I actually.
It's utterly embarrassing, not --- not to mention more than a bit insulting to my sweet Mel. It's like a subconscious way of implying that our relationship is inadequate in some way. And that's not the case at all. I am thoroughly contented with Mel - in every way. I love her. I really do love her. I know I do ---I do!
But nevertheless these chimeras persist.
I want them to stop - I want to "make" them stop. And despite what Frasier or Dad or anyone else may think, it's not like I haven't set my emotions about Daphne aside. When I examine these dreams logically I know that they are probably just a manifestation of all the tensions that I have been feeling recently over Donny's blunder, Simon's invasion, the ignominy of the bridal party and the inescapability of the wedding itself. I am fully cognizant of the fact that there was never anything "real" between us --- and there certainly won't be now. Daphne is going to be married very soon, less than a couple of weeks away and I really have accepted this situation in every rational sense. I know she isn't going to stop the ceremony and tell Donny it was a big mistake and that she really loves "Dr. Crane" --- that just isn't going to happen. I've moved on in my life now, just as she has with hers. She's happy - she has Donny; I'm happy - I have Mel. I've accepted that - I really have.
I only find myself actually "thinking" about Daphne sporadically nowadays -- - like when I am alone, or in the middle of a long session, or listening to my recording of "Vissi d'Arte", or once when I heard the haunting refrain of "Heart and Soul" coming from the radio on my way home, or --- well, the point is that it's times like these that she just pops into my head like an unexpected guest and --- and I --- I always manage to make her "depart" eventually with no real harm done.
If only I could convince my subconscious what my conscious self knows so well.
I want to be as devoted to Mel in my dreams as I am in my waking hours. And I am - devoted, to Mel, that is --- it's just that these latest images are --- well, ill timed at best and very disconcerting in their potency.
It always starts out innocently enough, but all too rapidly mutates into something much more erogenous in nature. It follows the identical pattern every time. Daphne appears at my door. She seems anxious --- like something is preying on her mind. I invite her in and she sits nervously down on the fainting couch. Her hands are fidgeting; she won't look me in the eye. To break the tension that seems to have developed I politely offer her a cup of tea. She thanks me and then something on the shelves behind me attracts her attention.
Her mouth falls open and she visibly blanches, the rosy tint draining from her cheeks. She is unmistakably dumbfounded by what she sees. I am about to inquire as to what has caught her eye, when, at that very moment, invariably she always accidentally spills some of the drink on her dress, distracting me from asking the source of her speechless perplexity. She leaps up suddenly and hurries to the kitchen to wash it out. I turn and look towards the shelf and see nothing that would invite such amazement - nothing extraordinary or worthy of such an extreme reaction, just some rather mundane brickbat and small statuary spaced out intermittently, holding up the volumes of books.
Without fail, within a short while I get an impulse to see if I can be of assistance and follow after her. I do this in spite of an intuitive sense that there is a definite potential for calamity lurking behind that door. But my compulsion to peek in on her has to be satisfied - so my fate is sealed. I have an irrepressible sensation of apprehension mixed with anticipation as I head towards that door --- but does that stop me? Oh nooooo, not one little bit!
When I open it, there she is - shockingly semi-nude in her bra and panties, her dress in her hands soaping the soiled garment in the sink. Instead of covering my eyes and retreating, I just stand there - gawking --- yielding to the titillation of the view in front of me. Then I instinctively begin to pant --- inconspicuously at first, but then more blatantly, my pulse quickening while the throbbing in my groin overruns my entire body. Even though I start to feel a flood of opprobrium and I know I should take flight, I can't. The spectacle of her nakedness is too much of a temptation. It's as if I had wandered upon a scene drawn from Botticelli's very own Birth of Venus; the goddess herself is riding to shore on a half- shell - would I avert my eyes at such a masterpiece? To do so would surely be an affront to the divine maestro who created such a model of perfection. I don't even risk a blink - I truly believe that any movement at all will break the spell and I can't bear for that to happen. I am a willing prisoner of my torrid lusts. Then, just when I feel like I am about to cry out in complete frustration at my compelled immobility --- she glances up at me.
At first, I fear she will be as horrified as I am at my voyeurism, thinking that my libertine conduct is as abhorrent and crude as I know it is. But she only smiles, with that luscious, innocent and yet knowing look of hers and chuckles softly, asking me if I am going to be a gentleman and help her or just stand there being useless. That simple jocular comment releases an eruption of pulsating energy in me. In an impetuous act of unbridled ardency I vault across the room in what seems like one bound and crush her in my arms. I drape her in kisses and she responds eagerly to my hungry advances, moaning my name as she holds me tightly, like someone clinging to the last lifeboat. I feel my orgasmic cravings for her pounding through me with a cadence of inestimable pleasure. We embark on making fiery, passionate love - right there on my kitchen floor of all places and then --- and then I --- I awaken --- depleted, flaccid and --- and completely mortified at my dishonorable behavior.
Oh, God! I know it isn't real but still --- it should be Mel who I am relishing in my dreams now, not Daphne!
Even now my hands are shaking as I write these declarations of fictitious unfaithfulness. I know that I would never really be so untrue to Mel, but I have taken two showers this morning and I still can't scour the grime of my guilt away.
Adding to my feelings of degradation and shame is the fact that Mel has begun asking me, on a fairly regular basis, if I would consider the two of us living together. Well, it's more of a plea than an inquiry actually and sometimes --- sometimes it even borders on an ultimatum. There is always a determined sound of urgency in her voice when she brings the topic up. It's probably just my conscience taking over, but I wonder if Mel suspects that I have been having these --- these bouts of illusory promiscuity? It's almost as if she's seeking concrete verification that I won't abandon her - which I won't --- but, on the other hand, I don't know if I am quite ready yet for that rather large step in my life.
I don't seem to be able to reason with her - she said the other night it was simply a matter of "if you love me you would do this". I wish I could get her to appreciate that it is not just so black and white with me, but I don't even understand why myself that I am so reluctant, so how can I explain it to her.
Why can't I just go ahead and set up house with Mel?
I always said that I didn't really enjoy living alone. We know each other well enough now I think. Our personalities mesh. I won't find anyone better for me --- not at least anyone who loves me more than Mel does.
I feel like I have to make this up to Mel one way or another. It's as if I am letting her down somehow --- not being the perfect "boyfriend" that she deserves. And I can't afford to fail at this relationship, not after what happened to me with Maris and --- and with Daphne, although she was never aware of any of my heartache. I want to show Mel that I really am totally committed to her and that I don't harbor any feelings for --- for anyone else, despite these silly nocturnal fantasies.
In reality of course I didn't pursue Daphne into the kitchen as she proceeded to get cleaned up. She was immediately surrounded by a gaggle of her girlfriends, and Donny ushered Simon home to Frasier's apartment. Nothing remotely untoward happened between us. All that I did was supply my Chinese silk robe for her to put on and a satchel to put her blotched dress in --- she returned both items within the next couple of days.
When she did, we talked a bit - she seemed fretful and distracted. At first she refused to even come in, but with a tad of coaxing she ultimately was convinced to sit on the couch, insisting all the while on keeping her coat wrapped tightly about her and apologizing multiple times for intruding. Needless to say, I didn't dare contemplate offering her anything to drink - that just seemed too much like tempting fate for my comfort.
Soon enough the source of her present state of anxiety was revealed. My poor darling Daphne! Apparently Simon was still causing havoc in her life and was the reason that she exploded in a fit of temper a few days after the party, starting a chain of events that resulted in a muti-vehicle accident. I commiserated with her on the misery he had wrought on her life recently and how lucky it was that no one was hurt in the ensuing collisions. Minor fender bender stuff actually, but I supplied her with the name of a good lawyer and she got off light with some standard court ordered anger management therapy sessions that begin tomorrow.
As for Mel, she and I are planning a weekend trip to her friend's cottage as a way of celebrating our six-month anniversary of being together. I think it will do us both a lot of good. She will have a chance to relax and be reassured that I do love her, in spite of her insecurities and fears. I will be able to put the distractions of Simon and Donny and the upcoming wedding behind me and just focus on Mel. Maybe that's all I need to overcome my tentative feelings about moving in with her --- I hope so, for both our sakes.
And as for the dream --- I've got to find a way of coming to terms with it. I can't afford for it to interfere with my life - for the good of my own mental health, my relationship with Mel --- or my friendship with Daphne.
Adieu.
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Daphne's Diary
Dear Diary:
"The thing we long for, that we are
For one transcendent moment."
I think I saw that on a greeting card once. It had a picture of a tranquil sunset and two people walking along a beach together, hand in hand. Even though I had no one to give it to, I bought it all the same - put it in a drawer and took it out and looked at it whenever I got to feeling blue.
It somehow gave me a sensation of sadness and elation at the same time. There was a resplendent happiness in that phrase - it spoke of the joy that can be felt when you finally get what you pine after, but it also was clearly saying that this splendid experience, by the very nature of longing, was only temporary - just "one" moment in time --- not an eternity and would always leave us desiring more.
That's what I feel when I think of --- him.
For one brief shining moment I held my breath with anticipation, my arm tingling with the after effects of his touch, listening to my heart beating wildly, trembling, excited by the expectation that the time for the truth had finally arrived --- a declaration that I had been both fearful of, and yet yearning for, for some time. An admission that I was too frightened of to even put a name to for many months, but which Dr. McCaskill had recognized in an instant. This was something that I could no longer deny -
I think --- I love him.
There - I said it.
I think I am falling in love with Niles Crane.
But having said it doesn't change a thing really.
For I am someone who is about to marry Donny Douglas - the wedding is next week for crying out loud - and he --- he is someone who thinks that although I have "warm eyes that are full of life", they aren't enough to compete with the likes of a pushy plastic surgeon who realized a good thing when she saw it. Not --- not like me. I --- I ignored him, blindly disregarded every signal he sent my way, even when he all but cut open his heart and poured his emotions over me.
What a fool I was - what a fool I am ---
God, how I wish I could turn back the hands of time and wipe that bridal shower from the collected pages of recent history!
But in doing so, would anything important actually be altered?
Would he have suddenly come clean and admitted that he only concocted the ruse of wanting me to teach him how to prepare "Sticky Toffee Pudding" so that he could privately confess that his once passionate feelings for me had miraculously come to life again and that he needed me as much as I now needed him?
Would he have given up his talented, cultured, sophisticated girlfriend for the likes of me - me, who is someone whose skills seem to run the gamut from knowing the best way to unplug a toilet, to being an expert on the different methods of massaging a crabby old man's ass?
Would it have frozen that "one transcendent moment" so that I could live forever in the eager expectancy that his affections were about to be revealed?
The answer to all of these questions is sadly - no.
And so the reality that I am left with is --- is that the party happened - Mel controlled him, and everyone else, like a domineering circus master with a whistle stuck in her thoat, Donny showed me why truly sensitive men don't become lawyers and Simon reminded me of one of the main reasons why I left Manchester in the first place.
Mr. and Mrs. Douglas have the impression that their son is marrying a raving, alcoholic lunatic. Donny can't seem to figure out why "Daph's" in such a "Brit snit" about "his one - oops, make that two little surprises that backfired". Frasier thinks that I have blindsided him and caused him to lose another "perfect" woman yet again. And Roz is pissed at me for getting her hopes up that Simon was the "accented" answer to her dreams, but finding out that he really is just another aging soccer hooligan "lech" who doesn't have two "bob" to his name.
The only person who isn't fuming at me is Martin - he seems just tickled pink that he has found a "buddy" in my loutish brother! Which, by the way, also gives Frasier another reason to grind his teeth when my name is mentioned.
And I guess there is another person who isn't upset with me --- but then he wouldn't be, would he?
He, of course is supportive, comforting, sympathetic and helpful - as he has always been.
He lent me his robe when Simon destroyed my dress, so I could get home with at least some dignity.
He let me vent about the disastrous meeting with Donny's parents, never saying a critical word about any of my antics.
He recommended a lawyer friend of his to represent me when the court hearing came up, intuitively sensing that I didn't want to have Donny, or his family, anywhere near me for that particular occasion.
Then, when I went to pay the lawyer's fee the receptionist informed me that it had "been all taken care of already."
And --- and I saw him there too, there in the back row of the court house, waiting to see if everything turned out all right, even though he slipped quietly out just after the judge decided my fate.
Oh - if only I could have that "one transcendent moment" with him and --- and make it last a lifetime!
But I can't, can I --- it's too late now!
I keep telling myself that Donny isn't such a bad fellow - and he isn't. He's kind and gentle and I was perfectly happy with him --- once. But that was before --- before I found out about the best kept secret in Seattle. That was before thoughts about a certain pyschiatrist invaded my every waking moment and turned my life upside down. That was before I felt the touch of his fingers --- and sat waiting, waiting for that touch again --- the touch that never came.
So I am going to marry Donny and, if I don't go insane first, I probably will be very happy eventually. I will keep on telling myself that I am doing "the right thing" - that I can't just hurt and disrupt the lives of others, that I have to play by the rules and that things will work out in the end. But I am still going to keep that greeting card - just like I will always keep that "one transcendent moment" of Niles in my heart.
Good night.
Stay tuned for Part 15 (to be continued)
