"You just have to think of something, Jeanette," pleaded Angie. She lifted the glass of chardonnay to her lips, which signaled that it was my turn to reply.
I studied the deep crimson cabernet as I swirled it, inhaled its scent, took a sip, and watched the light rainbow film cascaded down from the rim of my glass. The action always seemed to hone my thoughts as if looking into a gazing ball. Such reflection often reveals the sum total of a situation in an instant. Best friends since first grade, our lives have managed to remain entwined, crisscrossing over the decades even though we ended up on very different life paths.
I have been married since the age of twenty. Angie is single with two short marriages. While we both completed graduate school, I chose to postpone my career and stay home to raise our two children. I returned to the university for post-graduate school to begin my dream job when the kids entered junior high school. Angie is a successful divorce attorney who began creating her own practice soon after passing the bar. We are now in our early sixties. She never plans to retire. I went into semi-retirement early, because grandchildren came sooner then expected.
"Why look to me?" I complained. "You're the high-powered lawyer. I am just a grandmother."
"Stop stalling," commanded Angie. "Besides, I know you too well to fall for that line," Angie argued. I looked into her blue eyes set off perfectly by the rainbow of expensive blonde hues, wondering how she got herself into this predicament. "I thought you swore off men for at least a month after you broke up with Taylor. How do you pick these guys anyway?" But I already knew.
Angie had grown up in an affluent household. Yet, it was not as picture-perfect as it all seemed. Her mother had been a tall attractive blonde with multiple personalities. She was an alcoholic who became very mean or highly seductive when she drank. I never saw her mother drink, so I only saw her angelic side. Yet, I would still commend Angie on her survival skills if her stories were only half-true.
Her father was a social drinker; a user but not addicted. He was a very handsome and kind cuckold male who had to do his wife's bidding, because the money came from her side. Angie had adored her father when she was young. I did more than simply adore; well, at least in my mind.
His hair greyed early and was silver when I first met him. He had a dimpled smile, a twinkle in his eyes, and a generous nature that reminded me of Santa. I wondered if that was where my secret fantasy of Santa's love affair with Mrs. Santa came from. Santa adores his vixen of a wife who acts angelic. But, instead of being an alcoholic, Mrs. Santa has always been a strong liberated woman.
Anyway, it seems that any handsome silver-haired man who engages Angie in intelligent conversation followed by a good round of coitus seems to sweep her off her feet. Yet, intelligent conversation and combined with astute sexual knowledge does not necessarily lead to long-term relationships, because Angie's men never lasted in that way.
"Are you listening to me?" Angie asked.
"Yes, I heard you," I replied setting my glass back on the table. "This fellow is not like the others, so it does not matter how you picked them. He is different. I get it," I replied empathetically.
But will I help her? That is the question on my mind. Angie tells me everything about her life, but, fortunately, not everything about her men. A tad of jealousy is good for friendships, but that is all. She has been with at least fifty men. That is likely an understatement considering her Mae West figure, Marilyn Monroe magnetism, and fierce independence. She demonstrates the mindset of women portrayed in those early black and white films before censorship and media marketing stripped females of their power by making them sex objects instead of equal sex partners.
I am well aware that she tells me everything with the skills of a successful attorney; she has an amazing capacity to change the truth and then believe her own story afterwards. I, on the other hand, have been well trained; a victim of blushing. Truthfulness is the only way that works for me, because my face burns and turns red when I attempt a simple fib. That has kept me very pure and honest for over forty years with my husband, Todd. Well, at least pure in body—mostly.
Pure in mind? Well, that is a very different story. Thankfully, nobody can get a glimpse of my erotic thoughts and visions when I pleasure myself. Oh, and especially not Todd. What would he ever think of me?
"So, when will I have it?" asked Angie.
Fortunately, I have the amazing ability to remain fully engaged in conversation while falling into my own thoughts. "When did you say this 'date' is suppose to happen?"
I guess a date is any agreed-upon appointment between two or more people. And, it would have to be an appointment, because her new man lives about half a state away. Angie met him while attending a weekend course in Southern California for the bar's continuing education requirements. And, true to form, she met him in a bar. Angie and I live a couple of miles apart from each other in Northern California, and we have a standing once-a-month dinner date.
"Saturday night!" exclaimed Angie.
"That is only two days away," I complained.
"That is plenty of time for you, because you became a natural writer after helping your kids with so much homework," encouraged Angie. "Besides, you are very accomplished at this. You wrote a dissertation, and you write children's books. And don't you have stories from people you work with?"
I gave Angie my golden-eyes dagger stare that always works with the kids, but it only seemed to encourage her. "You know from your work as an attorney that client's stories are kept confidential."
"Oh, riiiight," she replied, purposely prolonging the vowel.
No, there are no real secrets between girlfriends who have spent half of a century together.
"And besides, don't play Miss Innocent with me. We both know that you have always had a higher sex drive than Todd," goaded Angie. "We both know how you have managed your passions while being married to the same man for all these years."
Suddenly, Angie put her hand to her mouth. "Oh, I am so sorry," she apologized. "My tongue still slips even though I never forget. I know that Todd has never been the same since, well, since ..."
"Since we lost our son? No worries. You know that I have grown through all that has happened. Problems have a way of working out. I'm fine," I replied. Yet, I had not said a word to Angie about my growing frustrations and writing my letter to Santa asking for help in rekindling Todd's desires for me. She would worry and might even think that I had finally lost my mind. I had to lighten up the conversation.
"But, I promised Todd that I would spend extra time with him over the next couple of days. I agreed to go golfing with him, even though I dislike the game. And there are the grandchildren." Angie frowned at me, and then a grin lifted the corners of her lips and wrinkled her nose in that same sensuous way that it has for over half a century. "Caught you in a lie. You're beginning to blush. But you did have me doubting for a moment," laughed Angie.
I shook my head and diverted my eyes from Angie's deep blue wide-eyed expression that was accompanied by the familiar pucker of her full pink lips. That was her way of striking the convincing argument that expressed, "I gotcha!" without uttering a word. Yes, it is useless to argue with one's attorney.
"Okay. I give up. But I don't understand why you cannot wing this telephone date," I said in an attempt to enter into one more defense over my reluctance. "Why don't you just use your imagination?"
"Because I have never had to?" came her question that was more like a conquering statement as her intonation rose in just that manner that pronounces her desirability. No, she never had to. She always seemed to be on a "first date" even when she had been in a relationship with the same man for several years. That's probably because she never allowed a man to live with her after her first divorce. Hell, her second marriage was long distance! Maybe that makes every time seem as if it is the first time.
"God!" I half prayed and half swore. Still, it is almost impossible to believe that she has never pleasured herself. And, now, here she is in a new long-distance tryst, and her new lover wants to have phone sex. But, she has never even imagined masturbating or pleasuring a man? "Oh, she has had it all in the sack, so her imagination seems stunted," I thought to myself and then giggled.
"Well?" asked Angie. "Okay, I said I'd write a script for you, so I will. I will be your ghostwriter. But, remember; I have never had telephone sex either."
"Oh, but I know you have," countered Angie. "Yes, you have had it many times . . . in your mind and when you are alone with your vibrator. I know you have a very active imagination. Adding creative eroticism will be easy."
I picked up my wine glass and repeated my ritual. Suddenly, the light dancing off the deep red liquid became a lantern that was inviting me to explore an unknown dark cavern within my mind. I found myself climbing down through a black crevice with only enough light to guide a few footsteps at a time. That has always been the safest way to allow my mind to grow into new ideas that challenged my sense of self.
Yes, Angie has always challenged me to expand my thinking. That is the main reason I love her. She challenges me to explore new styles for makeup and attire, and ideas from entertainment and vacations to lingerie, erotic novels, and legalities. I, on the other hand, inspire her to slow down, attend to domestic details, and even watch kids grow; from a safe distance.
