The Latter Years

You will find no explicit sex in this story. This is about sex and romance, but I don't spell it out.

Now, if you are one of those squeamish types who doesn't want to think that people of a certain age are still having sex, then I suggest that you stop right here, turn around, and walk away. Ok, you've been warned.

***

My name is Parker Davis and this is the story of my latter years. The story I'm telling here begins when I was 55 years of age. I'm 5 foot 11 inches tall and an electrical engineer by training. I stay active, go hiking, and do a little fly fishing when I feel the need; but most of all I like to make furniture out of wood. I was married for 25 years to a pretty brunette named Diana. I called her "D". We raised two kids, buried four parents, and it was a struggle every day. Diana suffered from depression and at times it was severe. Our marriage wasn't easy.

If you don't know anyone with depression, there is a part of this you will never understand and you should be grateful for that. Diana used to describe it as a curtain that would descend and darken the world. Imagine someone who cannot, but it seems from the outside it's more like will not, be comforted or cheered. Things they used to enjoy become chores and the mention of them draws unexplainable negativity. If you mention something good, she'll look annoyed, shrug, or cry. If you mention something bad, she'll say "What do you expect?" If you say, "I love you" she'll just say "I know" and look annoyed. I tried to understand that and she told me essentially that what she hears is, "Great, more pressure." You tell me how you can deal with that and not take it personally and I promise I will listen. I took the vow "...for better or worse, in sickness and in health..." and I figured this qualified as both sickness and worse. I made the commitment and I kept it, but there was damn little I could do in the process.

My biggest concern became the kids. Don't ever let anyone tell you that depression is not contagious. You cannot help but become depressed when someone close to you suffers. Keeping the kids mentally healthy with the optimism that youth should enjoy became my number one job in the house. As they got old enough, I explained their mother's disorder to them and in time they came to understand that it wasn't their fault. They would hug her, talk with her, and try to be helpful. I would take them out for walks in the park, or runs as they got older. They became my "dates" at concerts and shows when their mother didn't want to go and that broadened their world further. They grew up to be amazing young people and I could not be more proud of them.

My marriage came to a crashing halt one Wednesday in April. I was in my office when there was a knock at the door. I shouted my usual, "Come in!" without turning around and I heard someone open the door and enter room. I held my left hand up and said, "Just a minute. Let me get this out before I forget it." I was typing a report and I had all the numbers in my head at the same time. Thirty seconds later I had it done, saved the file, turned and said, "What can I do you for?" Two state troopers were standing behind me and they were not smiling. I learned a long time ago that I'm far too boring for anyone to be arresting me, so I smiled and said, "Oh, crap, what did I do now?"

"Are you Parker Davis?"

"Yes."

Is your wife Diana Davis?"

"Congratulations. You're two for two. Now what's this about?"

They looked at each other. "There's no easy way to tell you this, sir, but I'm afraid that your wife has been in an accident."

All humor left me. "How bad is it?"

"I'm sorry sir. Your wife did not survive."

And with that my life as a married man ended and my new life as a widower began.

My wife's car had driven off the highway and into a concrete bridge abutment. The police estimate that she was doing 70 when she hit the wall. The weather was good, there was no indication of a mechanical malfunction, and there was no clear reason for the accident. Diana wasn't wearing her seat belt. They ruled it an accident, but I will forever believe it was suicide.

I did the usual things you do at times like these. None of it was easy. Even the simplest task was a reminder that my wife was gone, and I was alone. I identified her remains. We held a funeral, and everyone came. They expressed their condolences and told funny stories. Then by ones and twos they left. I made sure that the kids got whatever they wanted from her possessions. Thankfully, there were no grandchildren yet. The young ones never understand these things. Eventually, the kids went home and got on with their lives. They called a lot and I lived for those calls more than ever before. Day by day, my life grew ever quieter. Work was satisfying, but you can't live for work. I hiked and fished more. I made a few chairs and then tried to decide who to give them to. I kept busy, but I was alone.

***

A year passed. I did belong to a few clubs for like-minded people with the same hobbies, so I got out occasionally and I managed to spend some of my time with other people; but my life was out of balance. I needed something to look forward to. I needed something to get me out of my shell. I decided to try something different. I was sitting in my office thinking about all the single friends I have. I was at that age where divorce and death takes its toll. I counted over 20 people my age, single, and whose company I enjoyed. Oddly, there was about an equal number of men and women. I decided to throw a party. I invited my single friends and some of them invited a few more. The party morphed into dinner and dinner became pot luck. As much as anything, that was a good indication that I chose good people. As soon as I started making my intentions known, they all said they wanted to bring something. I liked these people.

My friends arrived, mostly one at a time, and we all had a great evening. I've never been a party person. I always found the small talk difficult. Nevertheless, the evening was great fun. I guess I reached an age where you worry less about the little things and the fears of being judged, and you just let yourself have fun. I kept looking around the room and thinking, "I'm not the only one. We all need companionship. We should do this more often." As the evening drew to a close I tapped my glass to gain the attention of those assembled and I said, "I just want to thank everyone for coming and for bringing such great food!" The group applauded. "I want you to know that everyone is more than welcome to take my leftovers home, but I'm keeping everything else!" That drew a laugh. "Also, I don't want to turn maudlin here, but I've been spending a lot of time alone since D passed. I really needed this, so thank you all."

Everyone voiced their approval and it was at this point that Ester Rosenstein said, "I think we should do it again!" And that is how it started. Pot luck dinners for the over fifty single crowd became a monthly occurrence.

What happened next was both good and ultimately predictable, although I never saw it coming. It was our fourth dinner as a group and a few of the women were making plans. Martha broke the news, "Some of us have been talking and we think we need to diversify our get togethers. We want to do something different!" Martha is the type who tends to get her way and I knew she wasn't asking for ideas. "How about next month we all take ballroom dancing lessons?" She looked so pleased with herself. It is amazing how easily one woman can ruin a perfectly good thing by trying to make it better. The room was instantly divided between the women, who thought it was a great idea, and the men who did not. There had to be a solution to the problem. There was. The men knew when they were beaten and the next month we all took ballroom dancing lessons.

It wasn't bad. In fact, it was surprisingly fun. The women seemed to genuinely enjoy themselves and the men took their own awkward attempts at dance in good humor. We kept changing partners so every woman could enjoy, for at least a few minutes, the men who could actually dance a little. I have to hand it to Martha - it was great fun! The next month we returned for more lessons and the month after that we went to a real ballroom and danced the night away. We were becoming a truly supportive group of friends, and a loving trust was developing between us all. I felt that these were people I could turn to if ever I needed help and I knew that they could do the same with me.

***

It was Martha who ushered in the dance lessons and it was Martha who threw the next curve. It was a doozy! Our next get together was another pot luck dinner at her house and we all had great fun. The conversation was lively and everyone was relaxed. Martha called for everyone's attention after dinner and said, "Some of us have been talking and we think it might be fun to introduce a new ending to our dinners." Everyone was listening. "Has everyone heard of a `key party'?" Responses to that remark were mixed. Many had no idea what it meant. I knew exactly what it meant, at least traditionally, but she couldn't possibly be thinking of that. At least, that's what I thought.

"Here's how a key party works." She was holding a large bowl. "All the men drop their keys into a bowl and then one by one the women draw a random set of keys. They find the owner and they go home together." She was smiling more than I thought humanly possible.

"What do you mean `they go home together'?" It was Claire asking the question.

"It means whatever you want it to mean. You can take the key's owner home and fix him coffee, talk, play cards, practice your dance steps..., but traditionally it means you have sex!" She was laughing almost maniacally now and a few women standing with her seemed to be in on the joke. Everyone else was looking around nervously, trying to figure out how to respond. "Come on, people, lighten up! Nothing needs to happen. It's just an opportunity for two people to get to know each other better." She seemed to like the double meaning of that joke even more.

It was quiet for a time. I decided to get some clarification. "So, what you are suggesting is that after the party we go off one-on-one and end the night with a quiet conversation. It's just a quiet end to the evening."

"That's one option." She was really playing up the sex angle. I liked Martha as a member of the group, but she was an acquired taste that I never quite acquired.

"As a quiet end to the evening and with no further expectations, I'll go along with it." I dropped my keys in the bowl.

Martha began to collect additional keys from the men and said, "Remember, what happens at key party stays at key party! Then tomorrow noon the women all get together at Scott's Diner and compare notes." There was that maniacal laugh again. There's one in every crowd and I was beginning to think she enjoyed manipulating people.

There was a lot of nervous laughter as the women drew keys and I was relieved when Claire drew my keys. I'd known Claire for almost ten years. She was good people. I'd occasionally run into her at lunch and we'd share a table. Claire was kind, funny, attentive, and there wasn't a vain bone in her body. She had plenty to be vain about beginning with her intelligence, her skill with the violin, and her remarkable talents as a teacher. Claire was a lovely woman, too; and while I'd never thought of her in a romantic way, I will admit I thought she was terrific in just about every way possible. As long as I'd known her, I'd never just sat down and had a real heart-to-heart with her. She was a widow, like me I suppose if you ignore the gender implication, and we had both buried ourselves in our work after our spouses died. My reluctance toward this "key party" nonsense was beginning to change.

Claire and I sat and talked for a time, as did the other couples; and as the dinner party was breaking up, Claire and I walked to our cars. She suggested that if it wasn't too late she could make some coffee and we could talk. I loved the idea and followed her to her place. Claire is delightful company. She talked about her students and her children. She thought that grandchildren weren't far off. When Claire asked about my work, I figured she was just being polite and I laughed. "I build doohickies for ding dongs." That's engineer humor, but she laughed and I was gratified. "I'd love to hear you play the violin; and if you don't mind, I'll try my hand at that guitar over there." It took a few minutes to find something we both knew, but then we played for about 45 minutes. It was delightful. I was enjoying my time with Claire.

When we refreshed our coffee and returned to the couch, the conversation became a bit more serious. "You know, my Henry died about the same time as Diana. I entered that marriage so full of love and hope. It was a difficult time. He gave me three terrific kids and a lot of sleepless nights."

"I know about sleepless nights. I used to lie awake and wonder what I had done wrong. It seemed like every time my life was going well, it would blow up in my face. D would be upset over this or that. Whatever I did wasn't right. I sometimes thought the only time she was happy was when she was miserable, or making me miserable. Then I learned more about depression and I slowly came to realize I could never do anything that would change her. I had to live my life as best I could and hope that someday she might find some pleasure in what we had together. I'm not sure that day ever came."

"With me it was different, sort of. Henry used to run around on me. Either he had a girlfriend on the side or he was looking for one. I began to hear stories about his business trips and I tried to put them out of my mind. It all came to a head when the kids were still teenagers. I finally sat him down one night and I handed him divorce papers."

"I never knew you divorced Henry!"

"I never did. They were to get his attention. I told him that the lawyer would hold the papers, but if he ever brought anything home other than his dirty clothes I'd file those papers and that would be the end of it. I put my finger in his face and I said, `Fuck your whores all you want, and I know you will with or without my permission, but you better use a condom you son-of-a-bitch! You bring anything home and I'll take everything you have and everything you ever will have.' Then I told him to move into the guest room. From that point on, I was off limits."

"Wow. I never knew. Why did you stay with him?"

"I did it partly so the kids would have a father. Plus, he was my husband and I took a vow `...for better or worse till death do us part.' It turns out I got the worse."

I could understand this woman. "Well, look at the two of us. We played it straight, we hung in there, and we both got decades of living in hell to show for it."

We sat together on the couch and every time I would reach forward to put my glass back on the coffee table I would find Claire sitting just a little bit closer to me. I took her hand as the conversation grew quieter. There was an intimacy between us that comes only with understanding. Her face was just inches from mine. I leaned forward and I kissed her. To my surprise and delight, she kissed me back. I don't mean she allowed me to kiss her; I mean she kissed me back with passion. Her scent, her taste, was intoxicating. Was this what pheromones are like? We broke our kiss and she smiled at me.

"It's been years since I kissed a beautiful woman."

"A man shouldn't go so long without kisses." Then she kissed me again and it was a kiss that made the first kiss pale by comparison.

Our kisses continued until soon Claire was sitting on my lap. We were embracing, touching, caressing. Between kisses, Claire was smiling at me and I was delirious. She said, "So, what do you think of this key party idea now? Is it working out so far?"

I had to admit it was working wonderfully. I didn't want it to end. "I thought Martha was nuts when she suggested it, but now I need to thank her."

That made Claire smile even more. She looked down for a moment to gather her courage, and then taking a breath she looked me in the eyes and said, "Parker, my bedroom is down the hall. If you want, we could just snuggle and sleep."

"I have to admit that my thoughts are way beyond snuggling, but it does sound very nice."

She laughed. "No kidding, mister. I can tell exactly where your thoughts are."

Well, there was no denying it. She was sitting on my lap and there was no hiding what my little head was thinking. My big head agreed.

"She did say that what happens at key party stays at key party..." Claire was looking at me nervously, but with a smile that could melt a glacier.

"As far as I'm concerned, you can tell the whole world. In fact, I wish you would!" I smiled uncontrollably.

Claire was smiling, too. "Come to bed with me tonight."

"I can't think of anything I'd rather do." And we did exactly that.

We were excited, but we were both nervous as well. "It's been so long, I think I may be a virgin again." She giggled after she said that.

"I'm not sure I even remember how to do this. I hope you don't have very high expectations."

"I have no expectations at all other than to be with you. For I don't know how long I've been a mother, a friend, a teacher... tonight, I just want to be a woman, with you, and not alone."

Is there a man anywhere in the world who can turn his back on that? We were two wounded souls looking to feel whole again. There is only one way to describe our night together: we made love because that was all we knew. We were two long-married people who viewed sex as an expression of affection and physical intimacy as an expression of emotional intimacy. I can't say that I honestly know where the line is drawn between overwhelming appreciation and love, but after that night I did love that woman in some manner. I knew she would always be someone very special in my heart; and if that night was the only night, it was a night I would cherish forever.

We took our time getting out of bed in the morning; and by that, I mean we made love again. We showered together, dressed, and had coffee. Claire and I spent a slow, quiet morning talking when the topic of "What now?" came up. Neither of us knew what the night before had meant or whether we were comfortable moving forward. This was all very new territory for us both. We agreed to meet and talk from time to time to see where things went, and then it was time for her to meet the other women for lunch. I will admit that the society of women is a mystery to me still. I admire them, I love them, and sometimes I am infuriated by them; but I can't live without them. They were meeting for lunch to talk about the men, but God help the men if they met to talk about the women! I've lived long enough to accept some double standards and this one I knew I could do nothing about. I just hoped she was kind in whatever she said.

***

Our lives continued as they had. The women decided that the next meeting of the group should be something safe and non-sexual. We took a cooking class. It was a Monday night when most restaurants were closed, and we rented a Spanish restaurant for the evening. We got lessons in making tapas with 5 or 6 people in the kitchen at a time and everyone else enjoying the wine. Tapas are to the Spanish evening what dim sum is to the Chinese lunch. It's many small plates of tasty little treats like appetizers that go on forever. Every dish is different. Every taste is a delight. We cooked, we ate, we joked, and we had fun! This was the kind of evening I'd hoped for when we first decided to get together on a regular basis. As the evening drew to a close and all the tapas were consumed, we all decided to walk down the street to a coffee shop and unwind together. It was the perfect night.