Pure fiction. My thanks to my editor: WindySwimming.
*****
We were sitting on the patio of a beachfront restaurant, sipping something tall and cold. She wore a straw hat and shades, plus a button-front shirt and walking shorts. One leg was propped on an empty chair, and the other across her knee, a flip-flop dangled (barely) from one toe. The cool breeze was playing gently with her hair. We had walked here from our B&B, a string of tiny cottages, each with a view of the beach and ocean, where we had spent most of the weekend stress-testing the bed. We were taking a break. I'll call her Jennifer.
"You know, they're all really starting to bug me!" she started. I waited. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, is telling me that I need to move on. It's 'time to get back in the game. I'm too young to spend my life hidden away, and other subtle questions as to why I haven't landed another man yet!"
I chuckled. "In fact, you have landed another man."
She turned her head and looked at me over her sunglasses. "Are you getting soft in your old age? I thought you said we were just a therapeutic fucking for the newly divorced mother of two?"
"I'll leave it to you to decide if I'm getting soft," I replied, smiling, "but I must admit that I have never enjoyed any woman as much as you. While I am not about to renounce my blessed state of bachelorhood, there will always be a place for you in my life, and bed."
"No matter who else is also in it ...," she added, with a smirk. "To tell the truth, you, and not just that mighty sword you wield, have done wonders for this poor lady's ego and self-confidence. God! It's good to feel like a woman again, instead of just a mother. In case I forget in the heat of the moment, thank you, thank you, thank you!!"
"As always, my pleasure." This was getting awfully sweet. "So what is the problem with being single and enjoying it?" I asked to change the direction. "Just tell them to buzz off."
"Expectations. You guys seem to operate under a looser set of rules, but women? Parents expect certain things, husbands, judges, co-workers, society - they all have these layers of expectations. That's what's bugging me now; I can't just be. I have to be this, or that, but never just me. Because of joint custody and 'societal norms', I can't be open about us. Don't even get me started on single motherhood! Talk about an impossible pile of expectations! It's a guaranteed failure! If I'd known it was this bad, I would have stayed married!"
"He left you." I reminded her.
"Yeah, but I might have been able to arrange for the three of us to live together. Geeze!" She laughed at herself. "Seriously, I would give anything to have some time with no expectations!"
She had me curious, now. "Where do these expectations come from? Other than work, I personally don't really feel any."
"Work, yeah, that's a contract of sorts, though there are a lot of unspoken expectations as well." she replied, thinking. She shrugged. "It's just who you are. If I were a drug addict, they would simply take my kids away and leave me alone. No one expects much of anything from a drug addict. And I tell you, if I hadn't had you to help maintain my sanity, I might have ended up going that route."
"Hm-m-m. So, it's identity? Who you are in society?" I persisted.
"Well, duh!" She replied.
Okay. "So how do you change your identity?"
"I don't know. Even if I went somewhere else to start over and re-invent myself, I would have the girls. I'm not giving them up, even for a reasonably free life." She sounded resigned, but not really happy.
"Well, maybe you could time-share." I said, speculating. I was slipping into the male problem-solving mode, even though I knew better. "By day, you wear the role of a hard working, divorced, mother of two. On occasional weekends, however, you are the favorite lover of a confirmed bachelor. Maybe you could expand on that kind of multiple identity."
She grinned. "Well, I obviously love the expectations of that second role. But it's wearing thin in the sense that my support system, the people I rely on to watch the girls for me when I am with you, are starting to rebel. A couple weekends alone to 'get over' the divorce is one thing, but as an ongoing lifestyle, it is raising eyebrows, and they don't even know what I'm doing!" She shook her head.
"Ah!" She sat up. "I'm depressing myself, and probably you. Let's go walk the beach."
So we did. I watched her chase waves back down the sand, and run away as the next raced in, like an innocent child. A few times she stood her ground and let the surf catch her and she wiggled her feet down into the soft, wet sand. The water was cold, and only wet-suited surfers were out in the water. I thought about identity and how one might change it.
Eventually, we had walked the length of the beach and back to our cottage. She took my hand and pulled me in. I had barely locked the door before she was naked and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the messy bed.
"What would you like as a pre-dinner appetizer?" she asked, happily.
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Three weeks later, she called. "Busy tonight?" she asked, with no preliminaries.
"Where would you like to go?" I asked in response.
"To bed, with you, your place is fine. Don't bother to clean up. What time?"
"Wait," I laughed, "even that august source, Playboy Advisor, says 'Never make love on an empty stomach - take her to dinner first!'"
"Cute," she acknowledged, "I'll be eating with the girls. You go find yourself a large plate of oysters. What time?"
"Okay, eight?" I was guessing.
"Would nine be all right? Then I can put the girls to bed before I leave."
"I'll see you then. You do remember how to get here?"
"Oh, yeah! I can't wait! Bye!!"
