Summer Solstice 2015

So it's come to this. After two seasons with our weeknight cycling group, Kitty Fleishman is returning to her home state of Texas, drawn there by a job offer she can't pass up. I didn't think she'd be leaving so soon. I thought she'd hang in Maryland for another two years at least, riding her bike with us on those warm spring and summer evenings, early wave millennial Kitty looking absolutely smashing in her spandex, to say nothing of her adorable face and her light brown hair set in a long braid when she rode.

Oh Kitty, I hardly knew ye. But then how could I? I admired you from afar, keeping my lustful/romantic thoughts to myself, waiting for the Right Moment. Serves me right for procrastinating. You threw out subtle hints that you might have wanted more—so subtle that I wasn't sure and was too guarded, too fearful of rejection to venture forth.

And now it's come to this, a June sendoff party on the verdant greensward where our group begins and ends those 25-30 mile weekday rides. It's the first day of summer on a beautiful Thursday evening. We've just returned from our longest ride of the season, our "summer solstice ride" we call it, a 35-miler through beautiful county farmland. With our bikes racked or stuffed back in our vehicles, it's now time for the potluck meal in Kitty's honor. Everybody brings something—Susan her sumptuous chicken salad, Janet her steamed shrimp, Alexis her grilled vegetables, Don his turkey breasts, Jim his lasagna, Gary his eggrolls, Murray his sushi and me, a bean salad. Even Kitty, the woman of the hour, brings something, some honey and coconut concoction we can't wait to try. Most of us bring drinks, jugs of iced tea, bottles of water, cans of soda, six-packs of beer, bottles of wine.

We set the food on a picnic table and lift our folding chairs from the trunks of our cars. Plastic utensils and dishes in hand, we pile on the meal cafeteria style, and then dig in while carrying on several conversations at once, mostly light, mundane fare, punctuated with our most common denominator, laughter.

Kitty sits next to me, holding her plate over her legs, slim, smooth and beautiful. "So, Howard," she says, "will you miss me?"

Nodding, I throw back a swig of Yuengling. "Of course. We'll all miss you. You've been a great asset to our group. It won't be the same without you."

I watch as she smiles and chews a forkful of lasagna, admiring those perfect lips and eyes, green and sparkling with depth and intelligence.

"Thanks," she says, her face morphing into that shy little girl look that melts my heart. "I'll miss all of you, too." She pauses, then says, "Especially you, Howard, perhaps most of all."

"Really?!"

She laughs. "Yes, really." She laughs some more. "Geeze, Howard, I didn't mean to shock you."

I laugh it off and then take another swig. "I did sense we had a special connection. I mean, we talked about things that went deeper than chains and top tubes, cranks and derailleurs." We did, too, mostly when our group met for an occasional post-ride tailgate party similar to this one.

She sips champagne from her red plastic cup and nods. "Yes, like purpose and meaning, God, life elsewhere in the universe. Great stuff. I'll miss our soulful talks, those times with you." She flips her braid over her shoulder, then takes a bite of eggroll.

"You'll miss even our political discussions? They got pretty heated at times, especially during this last presidential election." She voted for Hillary, me for Trump.

"Yes, even those, because it never got personal. We differed, yes, but respected each other's positions." She reaches over and squeezes my arm. "You're one of the few people I've known who doesn't get personal over politics. That's a rare quality."

We eat in silence for a while, half listening to the other conversations going on. Self-restraint, not to mention a lack of privacy, keeps me from taking Kitty into my arms and spilling my guts. We've hugged before, greeting each other before rides, but it never went beyond that, not even a kiss, not even the friendly, platonic kind.

Breaking the silence, I say, "Well, Kitty, I wish you the best in Texas. My only regret is that we didn't get...closer."

She looks at me curiously, raising her eyebrows, scratching her cute little nose. "Closer...hmm. Closer how? I thought we were pretty close for cycling buddies." She forks up a crown of broccoli.

"For cycling buddies, I guess we were. But sometimes I thought we might get together, you know, away from the group, off our bikes." Nervously, I chew a piece of California roll.

She devours the broccoli and then takes a swallow from her water bottle. "Closer as in dating, is that what you mean?"

"Um, yeah, something like that." Already I regret what I started.

She smiles sardonically and shakes her head. "Howard, you never asked me, never once said Kitty, would you like to get together, go out. Not once."

"And if I did?"

"A little too late for that now, don't you think?" She again shakes her head, then sips her champagne.

"You're right, it is," I say, and leave it at that, deciding I'd better quit while I'm behind.

Then she blurts out, "And if you did, yes, I would have gone. In a heartbeat." She says this loud enough for the group to cease their chatter and look our way.

We drop the subject. In fact, we drop all subjects between us and mingle with the others, picking up on their conversations. Kitty's honey and coconut dessert is a huge hit, a little too sweet for me but I indulge just the same. Then Susan, the one who brought the chicken salad, presents Kitty with her gift. Each of us had chipped in a few bucks to buy her a pair of SDI cycling shoes.

We're all standing now. "Speech, speech," we chant in front of Kitty. She's now clothed in a sleeveless yellow sun dress thrown over her spandex cycling attire. Her unpainted toenails hang over black flip-flops.

Looking slightly embarrassed, she plays with her braid, brushes away a few tears, fans herself with her hand. "You've all been so wonderful to me," she says. "I'll miss you terribly. Not a Tuesday or Thursday will go by that I won't think of you, that I won't imagine doing what I've done these past two years, riding these beautiful back roads with some of the best people I've ever known. Thanks for your company, thanks for your love."

We applaud. Darkness descends as we pack up our stuff, the leftover food and drinks and coolers. One by one, our group starts to leave, pulling their cars off the grass and onto the road.

"Not so fast," Kitty says when I open my car door. "We've got unfinished business." She stands by her green Subaru Outback, tanned arms folded against her chest.

"We do?" I finish sliding on my jeans over my spandex shorts, shut the door of my white Chevy Malibu and face her.

She chuckles. "Yes, we do. Come here."

I step closer and then into her outstretched arms. Our bodies meet, then our lips, then our tongues. This feels so natural, so right, so warm, something that should have happened much sooner. I press my body closer and she presses back. My hands wander over her form, petite and sexy, soft and firm at the same time. She tastes of coconut and honey; her sweet sweat fills the air I breathe.

Keeping her arms around me, she pulls back. "Close enough for ya? Like I said, I'll miss you most of all."

I trace a finger along her tender face. "If I had only known, we might have..." I shake my head and look away.

"Yes, we might have. And maybe I wouldn't be taking that job back home. But we'll never know, will we?" She sees me tearing up. "Hey, now's not the time for tears or regrets. Let's just enjoy the moment, this brief moment we have."

She needs to be up by four to catch her seven o'clock flight out of BWI. A brief moment indeed. Too brief. "Well, I guess you need to get home, get to bed early so you can catch your plane."

She shakes her head. "Let me worry about that. Our moment's not done, not by a long shot." She points to a clump of thick trees and bushes a few yards away, a natural shield against prying eyes. "There's a blanket in my car that I'd love to share with you."

We spread her blanket over the soft grass. The night gets blacker. Crickets chirp, birds too. We pick up where we left off, this time lying down, Kitty on top. She runs her hand through my long thick hair and strokes my close-cropped beard. "Howard, I know I never told you this, but you're the hottest looking forty year-old I've ever met. All lean muscle and ruggedly handsome. And with a soul as deep as the ocean."

"Thanks. You should have told me earlier."

She sighs. "You're right, perhaps I should have." She leans in and kisses me, then says, "Look, I kind of knew I wouldn't stay in Maryland too long, and therefore resisted getting involved with anyone. And really, you're the only guy I've met since being here that I'd consider letting go in that way."

"But no regrets, right?"

"Regrets serve no purpose. They bring only frustration and heartache."

I roll over, flipping our positions. "Okay, maybe you're right. But I adore you Kitty Fleishman, and I'll miss you like crazy, will miss your beautiful face and body, your insightful mind and glib sense of humor and your laughter. And yes, even your articulate defense of Hillary." Pause. "There, I said it, stuff I've wanted to say for a long time, too damn long."

Her tears are flowing now, and so are mine. We stop talking and speak with our passion and our bodies. Our tops come off. Her body smells so good, tastes even better. Her nipples get hard, my cock, too. I could kiss her forever; hold her for all time.

"You WOULD be making me fall in love with you," she says. "You WOULD be doing that only hours before I take off."

"Not on purpose," I say. "And you have no room to talk, not with the way I'm clinging to every second we have, every grain of sand in the hourglass and missing you when you haven't even left yet."

She lifts her dress and slides off her spandex. "Now you," she insists. "I can't do this alone."

We're naked on her blanket. It gets even darker. Nature's rapturous sounds of summer get louder. Every few minutes a car speeds by, its driver blind to two people, desperate in time, the hours, few and dwindling.

"It seems somewhat ironic," I say.

"What does?" she says, resting her head on my chest.

"The first day of summer and the last day you're here."

"Beginnings and endings, you mean."

"Yes."

"Cyclical. Like life itself."

"Yes."

"Make love to me, Howard. I mean, really make love to me."

I slip between her legs and she takes me in. The chirping fades from my ears, pushed into the ether by her soft moans and words, sincere and endearing. "Tender is this night," I say. "Corny as that might sound, that's the way I feel."

"There's nothing corny about you, Howard Kirkland. Not with the way you make love, not with the way you're making me feel at this precious moment, on this TENDER night."

I can barely see her face through the darkness, her adorable face, every feature as perfect as nature could make it. I feel her legs wrapped around me, feel her soft lips on mine and her smooth skin wet from our mixed sweat. I picture her on all those rides, her braid dropping down her back from beneath her helmet, her sharply quads and calves flexing, smiling at me as we ride two abreast on meandering country roads—that is, when I'm not riding behind her, staring at her amazing glutes.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of us, when the rest of the group couldn't make it, we'd get competitive. "Catch me if you can," she'd yell, and off she'd go, spinning a fierce cadence. I'd always catch her—on the flats, that is. On the hills, on those long, steep, lung-busting hills of our region, she'd drop me like a bad habit. A two-hundred pound man can't usually climb as fast as a one-hundred pound woman. "Excuses, excuses," she'd tease.

"I never could catch you on those hills," I say.

"Huh?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking back to some of those rides we did."

"Oh. Yes, we had fun, didn't we?" she said, breathing heavily. "Now I'm riding your top tube."

"Indeed."

She cries out in her climax, and then I withdraw, spilling my seed on her tummy. "Silly guy, you didn't have to do that," she says, "I'm on the pill."

"Next time I'll know," I say, knowing full well that next times are just wishful thinking.

Then she surprises me. "Okay, so now you have to make good on that. Think you can replenish before my plane leaves?"

"It won't take me that long," I assure her, laughing.

"Good, and just to help you along..."

She takes my sex into her mouth to speed the process. Not that she has to—I'm too high on so many levels not to "replenish."

"My sixty minute man here," she jokes when I spring to life once again.

"No, just a man who can't get enough of you."

"Gratuitous modesty?"

"Hardly."

Topside, she squats and bounces on my replenished cock. "It's ME that can't get enough," she insists.

"I adore you, Kitten," I say, at a loss to say anything else.

She bends over to kiss me. "Ditto for me, Howie."

This time, per her invite, I stay for the climax.

Terrific sex for sure, but this is even more gratifying—cuddling and smooching, whispering and hearing things I once could only dream about. The sounds of this first night of summer come into focus, the chirping and the cars. The most precious sounds are those I shall never forget, Kitty's little girl voice, the gentle whisper of her breathing. "You WOULD make me fall in love with you," I say, reprising her line.

"Timing is everything, isn't it?"

"Yes, and maybe the timing wasn't right earlier," I say. "Maybe we weren't ready."

"Maybe," she says, running her finger over my lips. "But even though I'm hurting inside, knowing how much I'll miss you, I have no regrets we did this."

"Ditto for me, Kitten."

We hold each other as the night wears on. Then: "Damn, it's after ten already," I say, glancing at my Armitron. "You've got a plane to catch."

"And a man to love who I might never see again." She begins to cry.

"You're breaking your own rule, no tears." I struggle not to lose it myself.

"Rules are made to be broken, my stupid rule anyway." She manages to chuckle.

*****

Kitty sits behind the wheel of her Subaru with the engine running, preparing to drive off. "I'll call you from the airport," she tells me through the window. "Are you up by six?"

"Something tells me I'll be up all night."

She nods. "Yeah, me too."

After I bend down to kiss her, she's off and I'm wiping my eyes watching her taillights fade in the distance.

Six o'clock comes soon enough, and then her expected call. "You'll visit me in Houston, I hope, won't you Howard?"

"Of course," I tell her, before she boards her plane. In truth, I'm less than sure. It's not that I don't want to, it's that experience has taught me that disappointment invariably happens when we try to recapture our proverbial splendor in the grass. Kitty must know that. Well, maybe not.