Soaring Over Hurtles

This is a follow-up to Living in the Moment (romance -- 9/3/19) and Devoted to You (romance -- 9/21/19)

Layla

To say I missed Bryson Kobin after he drove back to Maryland would be an understatement. He gave me two of the most memorable romantic weekends of my young life. Naturally, I looked forward to seeing him again. Just where was the question, though I assumed it would be my "turn" to do the long-distance driving from my college, Penn State, to the Baltimore suburbs.

Driving should have been the only complication. I mean, what can one say about a romance between a twenty-four-year-old grad student and a fifty-year old high school math teacher/bicycle shop owner? Nothing good, at least to my parents. I wasn't going to tell them. But then I did, because if things progressed further with Bryson, as I suspected they might, I thought they should know. "You mean to tell me you can't find a guy your own age to fall in love with?" my mom asked in exasperation. Knowing where she was coming from, I didn't argue.

Actually, there was a guy I at least liked, Dylan Whitaker, a fellow classmate. Dylan had come around to see me the weekend that Bryson came to my school. I can't help but laugh when I think about it, Dylan asking if Bryson was my dad or uncle. Cycling buddy is what I told him, while hinting he could be more. After class on Monday, I told him the truth, starting from the time Bryson and I met in Ocean City. We were sitting at a round, white Formica table inside the main lobby of the student union building. Newly renovated, it reminded me of a huge greenhouse, what with those huge picture windows and squares of skylights.

Dylan had made it clear that he was interested in me beyond just a friendship. Admittedly, had I not been involved with Bryson, we might have been more than just friends. He stood around six-feet-four, kind of gangly, and had this goofy smile I found cute. People said he looked a little like Olympian Michael Phelps. "If only I could swim like him," he'd say.

He wore that goofy smile, goofy and incredulous, while I told him about Bryson Kobin and me. He asked, "How long do you plan on seeing him? You have to know that your thing with a guy who was in college before we even existed can't last."

"We both kind of know that," I said. "But, well, we like, love each other."

Dylan shook his head, asked if I had told my parents. When I told him yes, he said, "They must think you've lost it." He paused, then added, "Don't tell me they're planning your wedding."

"Yes, right down to the last detail. My gown should be ready next week." We had a good laugh, carrying the joke further by naming people at school who might attend the wedding. "You can be his best man if you'd like."

"So long as I don't have to wear a tux," he countered.

More laughter. That's another thing I liked about Dylan; he could joke with me. Getting serious, I said, "Actually, my parents aren't too thrilled. They think that Bryson is in it for a young lay, no pun intended. Me, they can't fathom at all."

"Layla, no offense, but I'd think the same thing of a guy old enough to be your dad, hooking up with someone young enough to be his daughter."

"You don't know him."

"He rides a bike and lives in Maryland. I know that much."

"He owns a bike shop and teaches high school math."

"Great. Is that why you're in love with him? I can see what he sees in you, a hot, young grad student, smart and beautiful and sexy. Because I see what he sees. Only I'm not old enough to be your dad."

I brushed back my long hair and sighed. "Look, he's not using me, okay? If that's what you and my parents think. Like I said, you don't know him."

He shrugged, then stood up and placed one of his big hands on my shoulder. "Layla, I don't know what else to say. I don't really get it, but then I don't have to. Guess we'll just have to remain friends. Good luck with Bryson. See you in class."

As I watched him walk away, taking those long strides of his up the steps and out the door, I began to question my thing with Bryson. We both knew, as Dylan had stated, that in the not too distant future, Bryson and me would be history. It was as inevitable as death and taxes, to use an ancient cliché. I began to tear-up thinking about that weekend we met, especially that first night, strolling along the beach near the ocean under a full moon. It seemed like this incredible romantic dream then and even more so now, months later. 'Like something out of a romance novel,' I had told him. We made love for the first time that night, a fitting coda to one hot romantic evening. Then, on a Saturday in October, I drove to Kobin Sports, his bike shop just outside Baltimore. It was a surprise visit, so I didn't know what to expect. What I got was a fabulous weekend, not to mention a new bike, discounted just as he had promised. Such wonderful moments—living in the moment, as both of us took to saying, fully aware that our time together was defined by moments as opposed to something long-term. Long-term wasn't practical. We both knew that, and yet we were hardly ready to call it quits. When you love someone, parting sounds like a hideous option. Bryson had left my school just a few days ago, and already I missed him terribly. As I told him right before he left, I felt devoted to him.

How devoted? Devoted enough by the third weekend in November to pack my bags and my bicycle into my Honda hatch and drive once again to Maryland. Unlike last time, this was no surprise visit. Bryson greeted me outside his brick rancher home the same way I greeted him, with tight hugs and warm kisses. I timed it to arrive around lunchtime because we had plans to have lunch at the Falls Deli, the restaurant across the street from Kobin Sports, the same restaurant we ate at last time. I liked the atmosphere as well as the food.

"You get more beautiful every time I see you," he said. "Love the way you look in those black spandex pants."

"Wore them just for you," I said, "so you'd be nice and horny. I hope it's working."

"It's working," he said. "Big time. I get horny just thinking about you."

After helping me take my things inside, we snuggled and kissed on his sofa, then drove to the Falls for those delicious soups and sandwiches. This time, we ate inside—it was a bit too breezy for outside dining. Bryson now had a full salt and pepper beard. "I'll shave it off if you think it makes me look too old," he said. "Well, too old for you, I mean."

"Don't be silly. It makes you look sexier is what it does." I reached out and stroked it. I meant every word, for back at his house, it's all I could do to keep myself from tearing both our clothes off.

Just after we ordered, he glanced out the big window we sat next to. "Well, if it isn't Alan Fariss," he said.

I looked to see a tall, balding man around Bryson's age walking toward the door. "A friend of yours?"

"Yes, but an envious friend, I suspect. After telling him about us, he said I had a 'midlife crises on steroids.' He's in a less than happy marriage."

Alan spotted us moments after he walked in. He waved, then came over to our table. He shook hands with Bryson, then looked me over, his thin eyebrows raised in curiosity. Then Bryson said, "Alan, this is Layla, the young lady I met in Ocean City."

I grinned at the smirk on Bryson's face, watching his friend's expression, a mix of wow and speechless disbelief.

"Um, right," he said, looking at me. "Brice told me about you. College student? Penn State?"

"Correct. Grad student in computer science."

He nodded. "You drove all the way from Penn State?"

"Yes," Bryson chimed in. Then, as if to rub it in, he added, "We're spending the weekend together."

"Sure, right," Alan said, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pleated pants. "I mean, that would be lots of driving in one day." He looked momentarily lost for words. Then: "Anyway, nice meeting you, Layla. My carryout order should be ready by now."

He walked to the counter and asked about his carryout. Then, as he waited, he kept glancing back at me. "I'm sure he finds you as pretty as I do," Bryson said.

I thought then that Bryson was right to think Alan was envious. "Yon Allan has that lean and hungry look."

Bryson didn't miss a beat in adding to my Shakespearean theme. "He leers too much. Such men are dangerous."

After paying for his order, the lean and hungry Alan drew me one long final leer before exiting the deli. Bryson chuckled. "See what I mean?"

"He'll never speak to you again."

"No, he will. We've known each other since high school. He'll want to know details, even while he's dying inside with envy."

When our soup and sandwiches came, we ate in silence for a few moments before he asked about Dylan. "Is he still pursuing you?"

"Well, he kind of gave up on that. We're still friends. I'll leave it at that."

Moments of more silence followed. Then: "Layla, mind if I ask you something?"

Intuitively, I knew he wasn't ready to leave Dylan behind. "Fire away."

"If you weren't involved with me, would you give Dylan a chance to be something more than just a friend?"

"If we weren't involved, maybe. He's a good guy, but we're also classmates, a potentially awkward situation. Now, let me ask YOU something."

"Fire away."

"Does your son or daughter know about us?"

"They both know. At first, neither of them found it welcoming news. But now they're more accepting, though far from totally comfortable with it. Of course, I understand how they feel. If my old man at fifty took up with a woman decades younger, I wouldn't be totally comfortable with it either."

I then told him my parents' reaction. "I can't say that mom and dad have accepted it. Far from it. They don't get it, nor does Dylan. My parents might say what Alan did, that you're in a midlife crisis on steroids."

"Guess we're just rogue lovers. Anyway, I hope you don't believe that."

I reached across the table and took his hand. "Are you kidding? Of course not. Not the way you hold and kiss me, the way you've comforted me when I've told you some of the sadness in my life. I'll never forget that time in Ocean City soon after we met, while walking on the beach with Alisha and Brent, and I told you about Roger, my boyfriend who was killed by a drunk driver, and the sincere effort you made to comfort me, the kindness and sensitivity you showed upon hearing it. If that's an example of a midlife crises on steroids, you're welcome to show me more."

When I began to tear-up, Bryson put down his turkey club, stood halfway up, leaned over and kissed me. "Thanks so much for those reassuring words. But we better change the subject or you'll have ME crying."

*****

Bryson

When we got back to my place, talk of what other people thought about our relationship had dissolved like sugar in a steaming cup of coffee. We knew what we had—people could think what they wished. Our thoughts turned to other matters, like pleasing each other in bed on this chilly November day. We'd made love enough times to know each other's bodies intimately. Physically speaking, we might have been past the "exploratory" phase of our relationship, yet the erotic pleasure of getting intimate with Layla Moretti was stronger and more joyful than ever. She was one voluptuously beautiful young lady, with the faint scent of fresh oranges emanating from her smooth, velvety skin. I loved her body—firm, well-proportioned, with lovely curves, more curves, as Mickey Spillane might write, than the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Women with her body type that didn't exercise tended to put on weight. Not Layla, who stayed active riding her bike and putting in additional sweat equity at her campus gym several times a week.

I lost myself in her young, callipygous form, her sweet kisses and her affection, poured out like a pitcher-full of delicious nectar. Her lovely hazel eyes alone seduced me into this rare, wonderful state of being. "I can't get enough of you," I said, using a phrase that had become a kind of mantra during our intimacy.

"Then I'll give you more of me," she said, as I wedged my body between her luscious thighs and she took me inside her.

"I love you," I whispered.

"Yes, I know," she whispered back. "And you know that I feel the same way. Oh, Brice, does it get any better than this?"

"If it does, I've never been there or done that."

I couldn't imagine her giving me more, for what she was giving me was way beyond what I ever expected to receive at the half-century mark. You don't expect "great and wonderful" things to happen when you get up in middle-age. You downsize your expectations, ramp up your gratitude for the simple pleasures. This was no simple pleasure, loving and being loved by this amazing millennial girl. I wasn't a rock star or a multi-millionaire. Just a high school math teacher and co-owner of a sporting goods store. Hardly rock star status, and yet she loved me for me, whatever that meant. I thought: 'Don't question it, Bryson, just enjoy it while you have it.'

And so I did, though ever mindful, nevertheless, that all good things must end, especially relationships of the kind we had. Wisely, I kept those thoughts to myself all through that fabulous weekend, making love multiple times, dining out and cycling through the backroads of my region.

Our ride on Sunday morning took us to a hilly, rural stretch of farmland bordered by an outcropping that overlooked acres of cornfields and greensward. Per the season, the corn was down, the grass was turning brown and we wore our cool weather cycling duds, knickers and long-sleeve jerseys. Helmets off, bikes leaning against the rocks, we sat on one of the boulders, enjoying the view—an ideal resting spot on our thirty-mile ride. "I hope this view never changes," I said. "It would be tragic if the area was rezoned for commercial use."

"Oh, my, yes it would," Layla agreed. "This is beautiful. It should never change. Some things deserve to remain as is. Forever."

My thoughts slipped out. "Yes, like being here with you."

She drew me the warmest smile, then reached out for a hug. "That was sweet. And you know something? I feel the same way."

"You do? Really?"

"Yes, I do."

Ever neck on a boulder? It's not the most comfortable place to do it, but we did as best we could, barely aware of the chilly, late autumn wind blowing around us. I just loved holding her, naked or clothed, almost tasting her lovely scent, combing my fingers through her thick, silky hair. "This is one of those moments that I'll freeze-frame in my mind, that will last as long I do," I said.

Layla took out her cell. "This will help." She then proceeded to capture the view, while also clicking off a few double-selfies of us, which she then sent to my email.

Moments later, we were back on our bikes. Ideally, it's always better to ride a tailwind on the second half of a bike ride. Today, however, we were riding into a westerly headwind. Every few minutes, we traded the lead while holding our two-rider pace line. We drafted off one another, as in sync on the road as we had been in bed. Our disparity in age, while it might have mattered overall, had no place doing this. Cycling offers a feeling of freedom like nothing else, and that included a freedom from any concerns I harbored about the generational crevasse between us.

Upon our return, we showered and made love once again. Then I helped Layla pack her car for the drive back to Penn State. "Don't wait too long before coming to my school," she said. "Come December, it might be too cold to ride." Grinning in that adorable way she did, she added, "Of course, we could always extend our snuggle time."

"Looking forward to that," I said. "Be safe."

She opened her car door, and before getting in, she said, "Speaking of safe, I wish you could come with me, because I always feel safe when I'm with you. See ya."

I watched as she pulled out of the driveway, also wishing I could be in that car. My love for Layla Moretti was deepening. A good thing, I guessed, except I didn't know what the hell to do about it.

*****

Layla

I struggled not to break down in front of him. But once I drove off his street, the tears came. I wasn't kidding about wishing he could come with me. Absurd, I know, wanting a middle-age guy to leave his established life and follow his twenty-four-year-old girlfriend to her school. I laughed out loud through my tears. This could be sitcom material. Except this was no sitcom. Not even dark comedy. He loved me and I loved him and emotionally we were in this impossibly difficult situation. How did we get here? I mean, what began as a summer fling, what by all odds should have remained a summer fling, had evolved into something else, something serious and intense and wonderful, but oh so complicated. My parents had every right to be concerned, to think how weird and inappropriate this was. I was in love with a man old enough to be my dad. If it was just about sex, it would be easy enough to end it. But it wasn't just about sex, however exciting and wonderful it had been with Brice.

An hour into my close to three-hour drive back to school, I felt the need to talk with someone. With my cell on speaker, I dialed up Nicole Levin, good friend and fellow grad student. Niki had been as surprised as my parents when I had told her about Bryson and me. She listened, didn't judge, and also asked if marriage to Brice might be in my future. At first, I dismissed it. Then, the more I thought about it...

"Hi Niki."

"How did things go?"

"Fantastic. Too good. I mean, this thing is getting more complicated."

"Did he get down on one knee?" Chuckles.

"Yes. Then I got fitted for a beautiful white gown. Invitations are in the mail. Wanna be a bridesmaid?" I could hear her breaking up. "Seriously, Niki, I'm falling deeper in love with this guy every time we see each other."

"Ohmygod! Well, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I mean, none of this makes sense."

"Love never does, does it? Look, it seems to me that your heart is saying one thing, your head another."

"Yes. Any advice?"

"Bail now before you get in deeper."

"Really?"

"Just joking. Sort of. Geeze, Lay, I don't know. Just don't rush into anything."

"Right. I'll need to finish school and get a job, if for no other reasons."

"I hope they're not the only reasons."

"The age thing."

"Duh. So, what did you do? Other than the obvious."

"Yes, THAT too, of course. Earlier today, he took me on a great bike ride through beautiful farm country. We rested atop a boulder, took in the magnificent view and made out. I'll show you the pics I took later."

"Sounds romantic."

"Sooo romantic. I'll fill you in on details when I get to school."

"Nice and juicy details, I hope."

"Yep. See you soon, Niki."

*****

Bryson

"Okay, I admit," Alan Fariss said over the phone, "she's a very attractive young lady. But I still say you're in some kind of midlife crisis."

"Yeah, I know, a midlife crisis on steroids, I believe you said."

"Well, aren't you?"

"Again, Alan, it's not like that. I love her, and I'm beginning to think..." I was about to say something about living the rest of my life with her.

"You're beginning to think...what?"

"Nothing. Look, I adore the girl, okay?"

A momentary pause. Then: "Brice, are you considering marriage with this girl?"

Another momentary pause. "Well, maybe."

"Good gawd, man, what the hell are you thinking? Please say you're kidding me, fucking kidding me."

"Kidding, no. Fucking, yes."

"I bet you are. I'd be too if I had some hot young thing like Layla. I still say you're thinking with your dick."

"And I say it's time to end this conversation. Later, pal."

What WAS I thinking? Love does crazy things to people, and this was one crazy thing I was contemplating. At least I was rational enough to realize that. But was I rational enough to drop such an outrageous, ridiculous idea? My kids would be embarrassed beyond belief. And I could only imagine how Layla's parents would react. A summer romance, plus three weekend dates a marriage does not make. On the other hand, I'd never find anyone like her again. Not at fifty. Plus, I'd think about the What If for the rest of my days. Not that I was ready to propose. Maybe I'd never be "ready," and I couldn't see Layla saying yes even if I was. Think about it: I'd be in my sixties when she'd still be in her thirties. No doubt, she'd probably want kids, not a responsibility I'd relish in my old age. I did wish to carry on, to see where our love might take us. She'd been gone just a few hours and already I longed to see her again, to take her into my arms.