Stuck on a boring conference call in my office, I found myself daydreaming while looking at my calendar. August already, wow! It was hard to believe that it had been almost a year since Patrick and I had gotten married! What with the whirlwind romance and laughably short engagement, I'd only actually known him for about 14 months. But there hadn't been a single moment that I'd regretted my decision. He was a wonderful partner, and our life together was quite fulfilling.
I was 22 and fresh out of college when I met Patrick, who was the one and only person who interviewed me for my job with his company. And when I say 'his company', I really do mean 'his company'. He had built his business from the ground up, and even though it now had nearly 200 employees, he still insisted on making all of the hiring decisions himself, not trusting anyone else to make such important decisions on his behalf.
And in spite of our age difference - Patrick was 57 when we met - the attraction was instant and mutual. He swept me off my feet with his wealth and his worldly ways, and he assured me that I more than made up for my lack of life experience with my youthful enthusiasm. I know, it all sounds very 'Fifty Shades of Grey', but I assure you, our story wasn't nearly so dramatic. No gun-wielding exes, and significantly fewer spankings.
Seriously, though, our sex life had been quite the transition for me. Throughout college, and even back into high school, I'd been quite popular with the guys, and thought I had experienced pretty much everything: every location where it was possible to have sex, I'd been there; every position in which a guy wanted to fuck, I'd tried it. Being a hot redhead with a perfect body who just also happened to be co-captain of the cheerleading squad meant I pretty much always had guys fighting over me.
But what I'd never experienced until I met Patrick was that one man who truly worshipped me, who actually took the time to make sure I experienced at least as much pleasure as he did. There was definitely something to be said for experience and patient confidence in a man. In a word, Patrick was my first true lover.
And here was the irony: in spite of all of my youthful appeal, and his obvious desire to be with me, there were many days of the week that we had to plan sex in advance, so that there would be time for his little blue pill to take effect. And even then, there were times that he couldn't, um, rise to the occasion. He never let me go without - he had all the necessary skills to bring me to orgasm with his hands, or his mouth, or both - but there were definitely those times that we wanted to fuck, but couldn't. I told him often how satisfied I was, how I was fine with our sex life, how I'd experienced more pleasure in our short time together than in all of my college encounters - mostly, fucking athletes in their dorm rooms - put together.
But somehow, in spite of my reassurances, I knew that it bothered him. For someone like Patrick, who had built an incredibly successful life through hard work and determination, I could only imagine how frustrating it must be to accept this new weakness, this unmistakable sign of declining power. And for someone who had lived life up until this point with the charm, attractiveness, and financial means to woo any woman he desired at the drop of a hat, I know he especially hated the need to plan his pleasure. Bottom line? That little blue pill was a difficult one to swallow.
So it was in that context, wearing his concern for my happiness on his sleeve, that he suggested that perhaps I should invite some of my old college friends over for dinner, so that I could, in his words, "hang out with people my own age." I assured him that I much preferred his company, but we agreed that it would be nice to have some people over, and for him to meet some of my old friends.
Given his busy CEO's schedule, we picked the date right then and booked it, and then hadn't talked about it since; he would leave it to me to work out the details. I called a few people, Facebooked a few others, and after a few false starts with difficult schedules, had two of my good friends lined up to visit the following weekend.
***
That Saturday night rolled around quickly after a hectic work week, and I was still tidying up the living room when the doorbell rang. Patrick was busy in the kitchen, so hollered out to me, "I'll be right there, Emily! Go ahead and welcome your friends in, and I'll join you in a minute!" One of his many quirks: in spite of being so busy, and having more than enough money to hire someone to do his cooking, Patrick loved to cook, and in fact found it relaxing, so he was to be our chef for the evening.
I found myself literally skipping to the door. Hmm, maybe it really had been too long since I'd seen my old friends! The doorbell rang again just as I answered it, and as soon as the door was open, I found myself enveloped in a familiar bear hug.
"Hey, Em, how's it goin'! Long time, no see!"
"Hey, Jermaine, so great to see you!"
"Emmmm...!"
"Brandon!"
After a brief silence, we launched into the ridiculously lengthy and deliberately silly "handshake" we'd invented one night a few years back, after several beers. Amazing how rituals invented while drunk are so easy to remember?
"Ah, it's so great to see you guys, come on in! Patrick will be right with us, he's still working on dinner in the kitchen."
"Oh, so Mr. CEO cooks, does he?" Ever since the wedding, Jermaine had been teasing me about how I'd married for money. I was hoping he'd see tonight that Patrick did actually have other qualities besides a bank account.
"Oh, yes, and just wait - he's a phenomenal cook!"
I was just beginning to invite the guys to make themselves comfortable in the expansive living room when Patrick entered the room from the kitchen, about 40 feet away. I caught just a glimpse of a double-take on his part before he quickly regained his composure and strode confidently into the room, giving each of my friends a warm handshake as I introduced them.
"Beautiful crib you've got here, sir!"
"Oh, please, call me Patrick! Any friends of Emily's are friends of mine, no need for formalities!"
I smiled broadly, delighted as always at Patrick's genuine warmth and ease when meeting new people. It was Brandon and Jermaine who clearly felt a bit out of their element, perhaps not quite believing my explanations over phone or e-mail of just how rich I now was, and just how big a mansion I actually lived in.
"Dinner will be ready in 10. Emily, could I borrow you for just a second to help me in the kitchen, and then you should show your friends around!"
"Absolutely, Patrick," I replied, and followed him into the kitchen.
As soon as we got through the doorway and out of earshot, he turned to me and said, with a broad grin, "You never cease to amaze me, Emily!"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, call me old-fashioned, but I assumed when you said you were having friends over that they'd be, you know, women!"
"Oh, wow!" I giggled. "And then I surprise you with these two huge black guys!"
"Well, yeah, you have to admit, it's kind of funny!"
"Well, I've told you that I've never been one to have a lot of women friends - I just always prefer the company of men, so yeah, that's who most of my college friends are: men. Plus, as a cheerleader, I did of course spend a lot of time with the football team..."
