Afterglow
Created | Updated Jun 11, 2007
Afterglow
She was crackers and I was nuts about her - father figure or not, at seventy and getting my rocks off now a health issue, how could I resist this forty-three year old, mother of two kids, separated and confident enough to be looking for comfort in this old goat. I had no need to forgive myself my apparent lechery as I had been married forty years, all that lost and me still in need of it.
We first met, mind to mind on the internet simply because of a business connection, and though the distance between us seemed insuperable because I was far older, we still fell for each other, sight unseen. Besides that, there was another hurdle, just as formidable, or so we thought, for she lived in Boston, and I in San Diego. Then one night she phoned me.
«Hi. Guess who?» came a voice and my heart leapt.
«Its Em, isn't it?
«Who else? Are you pleased.»
«If I had a rope, I'd hang me, that's how happy I am.»
«Shush, just as dramatic as your emails aren't you?»
«Jeez - what am I to say?»
«Well this might cheer you. I'll be in San Diego this week on business - a round of speaking engagements.»
«The Gods must be crazy,» I said stupidly, «that's like you falling in my lap.»
«Its kismet, lets face it - so between us, can we muster the courage for a real face-off?»
«Em, this is a dream come true.»
«Then lets make the arrangements.» Her voice was joyful, her enthusiasm contagious.
And so we made a date for lunch. I was there early which gave me lots of time to think about my age as I was fearful I'd find rejection in her eyes. Seated at the back, I had a good view of the street where a light rain twirled in the gusting wind. She was late but I had no doubts about her coming. A taxi stopped across the street and a woman dressed only in a white cardigan and a light green dress, walked the gauntlet of blustery weather and entered the restaurant. A waiter approached, whom she gently waved off, for she had taken it for granted it was me, the grinning idiot at the far table, who was her date. I go up and we kissed, my hands on her, noting the softness of her back, the roundness of her rib cage. It was her open mouth, however that did me in, so fearless and generous was she with her kiss.
We had lunch again that week and it was then we decided to have dinner on her last night and see where we would go from there. Of course I wanted to bed her and I did.
«Once we do this,» she said, «we are committed.»
Not really knowing what she meant, I said «Yes,» not just any yes but one repeated again and again, in her hair, on her neck, in her ears, on her shoulders, on each breast, on her back, on her bum, and then back again to each nipple, planting kisses along the way and then down, down, down between her legs to her nether lips as I laid claim to every inch of her.
She like me now, at her age, on a slow fuse, the two of us with prodigious appetites at the table where we consumed each other with gustatory delight.
And it happened every month for a year, until her husband found out. Out of fear of losing me, she had concealed the fact he was a manic depressive who had married her out of sympathy after she had confessed to being sexually abused as a child. It was two of a kind making one, his unmanageable condition ameliorated by his marrying a deeply troubled woman. They had hit it off until his illness, worsening over the years, began to manifest itself in rages which he began to take out on her. They never doubted each other's love, but his pride was so intractable, he refused, point blank, to look for help, she pleading that their was medication for his condition. His anger now descended into violence, left her scared for the safety of both herself and their children.
Waking up one day in hospital, with the memory of him throwing her down stairs, she decided he had to get out, leave home before he killed someone. She was surprised at how mildly he acquiesced to this and was even more surprised at how empty the house was without him. But she remained stoic in her decision. Trouble was he got wind of me and that I was bedding her. Then she called one night, her voice frantic as she told me he had borrowed a Glock from an old pal and was out to hunt me down, I quit, but damn, I thought, it was the one twist I had not reckoned on, him being worse than crackers.
Instead of watching the sun go down tonight off Cape Coronado, as my sweetheart and I have been doing for months, I am watching it sink, somewhere west of Wellfleet, the last place her husband would think of finding me, and oh yes, she knows where I am, not that we ever met again after that last phone call. But the internet remains, the old virtual love affair far from over - our billets-doux, mourning doves in a drawer. A quiet has descended, and I wait the afterglow that I know will follow. The western sky suddenly flares, reds against greens, its fires spreading like a holocaust, a whole forest, or a city burning. But all I can see is her face - I cannot see past it - the night, no doubt, crowding up behind me and ready to deal me its familiar brand of loneliness.
She was crackers and I was nuts about her - father figure or not, at seventy and getting my rocks off now a health issue, how could I resist this forty-three year old, mother of two kids, separated and confident enough to be looking for comfort in this old goat. I had no need to forgive myself my apparent lechery as I had been married forty years, all that lost and me still in need of it.
We first met, mind to mind on the internet simply because of a business connection, and though the distance between us seemed insuperable because I was far older, we still fell for each other, sight unseen. Besides that, there was another hurdle, just as formidable, or so we thought, for she lived in Boston, and I in San Diego. Then one night she phoned me.
«Hi. Guess who?» came a voice and my heart leapt.
«Its Em, isn't it?
«Who else? Are you pleased.»
«If I had a rope, I'd hang me, that's how happy I am.»
«Shush, just as dramatic as your emails aren't you?»
«Jeez - what am I to say?»
«Well this might cheer you. I'll be in San Diego this week on business - a round of speaking engagements.»
«The Gods must be crazy,» I said stupidly, «that's like you falling in my lap.»
«Its kismet, lets face it - so between us, can we muster the courage for a real face-off?»
«Em, this is a dream come true.»
«Then lets make the arrangements.» Her voice was joyful, her enthusiasm contagious.
And so we made a date for lunch. I was there early which gave me lots of time to think about my age as I was fearful I'd find rejection in her eyes. Seated at the back, I had a good view of the street where a light rain twirled in the gusting wind. She was late but I had no doubts about her coming. A taxi stopped across the street and a woman dressed only in a white cardigan and a light green dress, walked the gauntlet of blustery weather and entered the restaurant. A waiter approached, whom she gently waved off, for she had taken it for granted it was me, the grinning idiot at the far table, who was her date. I go up and we kissed, my hands on her, noting the softness of her back, the roundness of her rib cage. It was her open mouth, however that did me in, so fearless and generous was she with her kiss.
We had lunch again that week and it was then we decided to have dinner on her last night and see where we would go from there. Of course I wanted to bed her and I did.
«Once we do this,» she said, «we are committed.»
Not really knowing what she meant, I said «Yes,» not just any yes but one repeated again and again, in her hair, on her neck, in her ears, on her shoulders, on each breast, on her back, on her bum, and then back again to each nipple, planting kisses along the way and then down, down, down between her legs to her nether lips as I laid claim to every inch of her.
She like me now, at her age, on a slow fuse, the two of us with prodigious appetites at the table where we consumed each other with gustatory delight.
And it happened every month for a year, until her husband found out. Out of fear of losing me, she had concealed the fact he was a manic depressive who had married her out of sympathy after she had confessed to being sexually abused as a child. It was two of a kind making one, his unmanageable condition ameliorated by his marrying a deeply troubled woman. They had hit it off until his illness, worsening over the years, began to manifest itself in rages which he began to take out on her. They never doubted each other's love, but his pride was so intractable, he refused, point blank, to look for help, she pleading that their was medication for his condition. His anger now descended into violence, left her scared for the safety of both herself and their children.
Waking up one day in hospital, with the memory of him throwing her down stairs, she decided he had to get out, leave home before he killed someone. She was surprised at how mildly he acquiesced to this and was even more surprised at how empty the house was without him. But she remained stoic in her decision. Trouble was he got wind of me and that I was bedding her. Then she called one night, her voice frantic as she told me he had borrowed a Glock from an old pal and was out to hunt me down, I quit, but damn, I thought, it was the one twist I had not reckoned on, him being worse than crackers.
Instead of watching the sun go down tonight off Cape Coronado, as my sweetheart and I have been doing for months, I am watching it sink, somewhere west of Wellfleet, the last place her husband would think of finding me, and oh yes, she knows where I am, not that we ever met again after that last phone call. But the internet remains, the old virtual love affair far from over - our billets-doux, mourning doves in a drawer. A quiet has descended, and I wait the afterglow that I know will follow. The western sky suddenly flares, reds against greens, its fires spreading like a holocaust, a whole forest, or a city burning. But all I can see is her face - I cannot see past it - the night, no doubt, crowding up behind me and ready to deal me its familiar brand of loneliness.
