Emails lead to a phone call
"It's been so long since I've had sex that I feel like a virgin." Those were Sherry's words on the phone when we finally talked. I'd found her on a dating website and we'd been exchanging emails for three months, when she finally got tired of that and gave me her phone number. We'd exchanged photos and shared so much personal information that we felt like old friends, even though I'd never before heard her voice. "Up until you responded to my profile, I'd about given up on meeting a decent guy. You'd be shocked at the terrible emails that I got, and for some reason when I asked for a picture, about half of them sent pictures of their private parts. Or at least, that's what we used to call them. I'm beginning to wonder if anything is private any more."
"Did you go on dates with any of them?"
"Only one. It was awful. He was loud and disgusting and all he wanted to talk about was the women he'd taken to bed. I got the impression that nobody'd gone out with him twice, and I thought he was making up the stories about his conquests. I'd driven to the restaurant in my own car, so I told him I felt sick and I took off for home."
"It's been sort of the same with me. I took one lady to dinner and we had a pleasant conversation, but it wasn't going to go anywhere, and we both knew that by the time we left the restaurant. She wasn't disgusting, but I knew that she was angling for something, even though I didn't know for a long time what it was. Around dessert I finally put the pieces together. Her son and his family had moved in with her and they were driving her nuts, so she wanted a guy she could live with. I tried not to hurt her feelings, but I very delicately but firmly let her know that I wasn't that guy, and I didn't need her or any of her family as roommates."
Sherry nodded her agreement with my feelings. "I don't think I'd ever want to move in with somebody. I've got a very nice home, it's all mine, and it's all just the way I like it. I guess it represents security to me, and since Jay died security means a lot to me. My family accuses me of being a recluse because I spend so much time at home, but it just feels good. After he died we sold his Cadillac, but I've still got my minivan and that feels good, too, when I have to go out to the bank or the supermarket or wherever. Going from being a wife to being all alone is a big change, and with so many adjustments to make, familiar things make me feel comfortable."
"Are you sure you're ready for dating?"
"Oh, I am and I'm not. It would be nice to have somebody I can feel close to, make small talk with, watch a TV show with, whatever. But when I think about sex, I get myself confused. Physical intimacy is wonderful; it brings two people so close. But then there's a lot of anxiety involved. I suppose it's a fear of inadequacy, and besides that I don't know how it would be with somebody new. Jay and I had nearly forty years together, and he's the only man I ever had sex with. We did things his way, and a lot of things we just never did. When I read about some of those things now they seem interesting and I wonder what they'd be like, but I don't know if I'd like them and I'm sure I wouldn't be very good at them."
"Yet you're able to talk about all this with me, somebody you've never even met. What does that mean?"
Sherry laughed. "Probably that I'm desperate for company. No, seriously, we've come to know each other pretty well, I think, or at least I hope, and I think we're ready to meet and see how we mix when we're face to face. I've read and re-read every one of your emails, saying to myself, 'Why did he tell me this?' and 'His choice of words must reflect his inner feelings about that.' I'm sure that I've read things into them that are revealing, and probably some that are totally mistaken. We can't keep going on forever as pen pals, can we? Didn't we go on that website for something a little more personal? What do you think?"
"I think we need to go out to dinner at a nice restaurant that has tables with some privacy, so we can talk and look at each other and relax together. If we go on a weeknight there won't be a crowd, and they won't be trying to hustle us out because they need the table. Angus used to be like that, and I think there's one near where you live. Four questions: Are you interested? Is that restaurant okay or do you have another preference? How's Thursday night? Do you want me to pick you up at home or would you rather meet me there?"
"Well, you already know that I'm interested. Angus is all right with me, although I haven't been in one for twenty years. I never have anything important scheduled for any evening, so I'm sure Thursday will be just fine. Pick me up at home. I'll email the directions."
"Great! It's a date!"
"Omygod! I can't believe that I've just committed myself to go out on a date! What if you're a serial murderer? More important, what will I wear?"
"Look, this is just a dinner together in a dimly lit restaurant on an off night when we might be their only customers. Don't get all worked up over it. We can go in casual clothes, like jeans and a shirt. I don't want to make this a major problem for you. What the hell, we could go to Wendy's or Burger King if you'd prefer."
"No, no! You don't understand. I'm a woman. I want to go into a dither about this. It's part of what a date is supposed to be about. Don't try to make it easy for me, because it's not supposed to be easy. It's supposed to be like a minor crisis, and then magically turn into something wonderful that I can recall over and over the next day and the day after that. You're expecting me to take this in stride, but that's not how it's supposed to be. I'm supposed to feel like Cinderella!"
"Okay, Cinderella. I'll come by to pick you up Thursday evening at seven. I'll be driving a pumpkin."
The first date doesn't work out as planned
Zero Mostel made a fortune starring in a Broadway play called "A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum." I'm reminded of that title when I think back to picking up Sherry for our date, because a funny thing happened on the way to the restaurant.
I rang her doorbell and she came to the door, all ready to go, even to her purse. She looked amazing. I mean, we're no kids, but she could have had thirty-year-old guys taking a second look as she walked by. I stood back a little on the doormat to give her room, and I just froze.
"Hank, are you all right?" she asked, looking anxious.
"All right? What the hell, I'm thunderstruck! You look amazing!"
"Well, this is just how I look. Don't make a big deal out of it. I'm just an ordinary woman,"
"Is that what you think? Has somebody been filling your head with that nonsense? Sherry, you could pose for magazine covers. I knew you were pretty from the few photos you sent me, but they didn't do you justice."
"Thank you, but I yam what I yam, to quote Popeye. Come on, put your eyes back into your head and let's go."
I held the door of the car for her, and helped her with the seat belt. Then I got behind the wheel and came to a dead stop. "There's something I've just gotta do first," I said, and I pivoted in my seat and reached over to her, hoping that she wouldn't get mad if I tried for a kiss. "Sherry, please let me have a kiss to start the evening off."
"Oh, I like kissing," she answered. Our lips met, then we wrapped each other up in our arms and really went at it. Her tongue was even more active than mine was, and we seemed to kiss forever. When we broke it off and caught our breath, she looked shaken. "That was wonderful but I'm afraid I messed up my lipstick. I'll just go into the house for a minute to tidy up."
So I got back out of the car and helped her out, and walked her up to the front door. She unlocked it and started to go in. "I'll only be a minute. Oh, I can't just leave you standing out here on the doorstep. You might as well come on in." We walked into her home, which was beautifully furnished, past the formal living room, through the dining room, and into the family room. She leaned down and picked up a remote control and turned on the TV. "Here, you can watch the news for a minute while I fix my face."
I was right behind her, and as she pivoted around to head toward the master bedroom, we almost collided. I grabbed her elbows to steady her, and we stared at each other for what probably was two seconds but felt like a long time. Impulsively, I pulled her closer and bent down for another kiss. It was very quiet, just the news commentator babbling on, and then her purse dropped to the floor with a clunk. She reached up and wrapped an arm around my neck and we lost all track of time and place. Next thing I knew we were on the sofa, and the kiss had developed into so much more as we tore at each other's clothes. I had my left hand on her right breast, through her bra. "Take it off," she said. Panic! She wants me to remove my hand. I sort of froze in place, until she said, "I meant my bra, silly." So I did, and my hand went right to her nipples, each in turn, as I gently rubbed them and rolled them in my fingers. She was breathing hard, and she could barely get out the words, "Suck my tits." She had read my mind. Meanwhile, since my hands were free, I found the zipper of her skirt and undid it, whereupon she raised up a little so I could slide her skirt and half slip off onto the floor. Then I was faced with a decision, to slide her panties off or wait till later. What the hell, things were moving fast here, why not? I grabbed the silky little garment that was already damp to the touch and slid it down to her ankles. As she settled back down on the sofa she kicked her shoes, skirt, slip, and panties halfway across the room.
"I'm afraid you'll think I'm being too aggressive," she said, as she undid my belt and started in on my slacks. I still had my mouth full of tit, which gave me an excuse for not saying anything. I wouldn't have known what to say, anyway. I mean, she certainly was being aggressive but I'd never want her to think I didn't like it, but I sure as hell didn't want her to stop. She worked at my zipper and I raised my butt up in the air so she could slide my slacks and underwear down, whereupon I did what she had done, and kicked my clothes and shoes onto the growing pile on the carpet.