"You can't really mean this? What about Jessica and Rebecca" My husband growled.
"Yes, I'm positive of the way I feel...and our daughters will spend equal time with both of us. You'll get to see them a lot more than you do now..."
"Jesus Lori, where did I go wrong?" He said sadly.
"It's not just you...I'm just as much at fault here..." I stated.
I guess it was bound to happen. My husband and I pursued the American Dream; big house, cars filling the driveway, expensive vacations, the country club membership etc. We were two mindless zombies serving the lifestyle that we created.
Our plan to keep up with the Joneses failed to take into account the time we needed to spend together as husband and wife. Jerry worked long hours, out by six am and rarely home before nine. Sundays were family day and the only time my daughters interacted with their father.
Me, I was the typical soccer mom, running a tight household on a tight schedule. The one exception? I also worked full time because there never seemed to be enough money leftover at the end of the month to pay the multitude of bills.
It was an exhausting lifestyle that once a person was mired in it, they felt trapped. I know that I did and so did a lot of moms and dads who I got to know over the years.
My daughters, Jessica and Rebecca were in high school when I finally woke up and decided I needed to smell the coffee. I no longer knew who my husband was because the person he'd become was nothing like the man I stood at the alter with and said "I do"
My deepest regret? Jerry was incapable of seeing the rut that we had fallen into. My endless arguments that we needed far less material things in our lives to be happy went right over his head.
His pursuit of the almighty dollar preceded most everything in his life and in the end it cost him dearly. Whenever I brought the topic up for discussion, he'd dance all around it but refused to come to any life altering decision. His constant refrain,
"I love you Lori," rang false, and while I don't doubt that he really believed it, he didn't show me in the simplest ways.
Somewhere along the way the love went of our marriage, at least it did for me. The morning and nightly hug and kiss seemed so perfunctory and insincere. Our sex life during our last five years together was close to non-existent.
I caught him "jacking off" more than a few times and while I know that is perfectly normal behavior for a man, I was more than ready, willing and able to have intercourse with him and tried to initiate sex on many occasions.
Although, my love for the man was in question I still desired him sexually and wanted his cock in me but he preferred spewing his seed in a clump of tissues. I'd managed to maintain a nice svelte physique over the years and his behavior hurt me to my core.
At that juncture, my girls were in college and I felt overwhelmingly alone. My fortieth birthday came and went and I knew that I needed a change. I'd rather live a solitary existence than spend time with someone telling me he loves me and its just lip service.
The divorce was inevitable if I had any hope of finding some happiness in my life. I wanted to love again and feel loved by someone but what transpired has shaken me to the foundation of my value system.
First, there was Bree and then Kelly. To my utter shock and amazement I fell in love with a woman; a mature, sexy and full of life female. But, I'm getting ahead of myself. There is so much to tell...so here goes...
The Good Girl:
That was me, the "good girl" who could do no wrong in her parents eyes; the perfect daughter, the perfect sister. Top of the class, excellent grades, athletic, very intelligent and pretty to boot; at least that's what I heard about myself.
No teenage rebellious period for me. I dated the jocks but my prim and proper ways must have driven them crazy. My mid-teens could best be compared to a half hour Disney Channel dramedy that teenage girls love to watch.
Need a volunteer for a class project? Ask Lori. Need a student volunteer for career day? Ask Lori. The geek supreme who would commit her time for just about any extra curricular activity that came down the pike. I was responsible to a fault.
My room at home? Not an object out of place, bed made every morning, dirty clothes in the hamper, and my closet? Lets just say it was ultra organized. A place for everything and everything in its place.
For years I blamed this affliction on "first child syndrome" but gradually I came to think of it as an excuse. My sister Rachel was the complete opposite and in spite of her "flaws" is a happily married, successful real estate agent with four terrific kids.
Sadly for me, I wed someone like myself. Our early years together in college were happy, full of love and loving. I lost my virginity to Jerry and he was a kind, warm and caring husband. But, we lost the fun loving spirit that imbued our courtship and first years of marriage.
I brought that military type orderliness of my teen years to the running of a household. It consumed me and robbed my family of something very precious, spontaneity. Lists, charts and schedules dominated our lives. If it wasn't pre-planned, forget it.
What surprises me today is that my daughters appear to be well adjusted, happy individuals.
**** The first months after my divorce were difficult because the liberated feeling that inhabited my being vanished and was replaced by a terrible case of the lonelies. I felt sorry for myself, stopped going to the gym and rarely socialized with friends despite their pleas to the contrary. Eat, sleep and work dominated my life and rather quickly I fell into a rut, a very deep rut.
Almost daily, I wondered if I'd meet someone new, if I'd ever have a satisfying sex life again. My ex was the only man I was intimate with and I kicked myself for having that "good girl" image growing up. I should have been experimenting with guys and girls while I was at college but I met Jerry as a freshman and that was that. I was loyal to a fault too.
One hot steamy afternoon in July, I took stock of my nude reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not bad, I said to myself. My slim figure could use some tightening and firming. Although my breasts had some sag, I retained a youthful appearance and made a resolution to start working out.
My daughter Rebecca suggested that I join Harry's Hardcore Gym.
"Why that one in particular?" I asked.
"For starters, they specialize in body sculpting, a combination of cardio and weight training." she replied.
I must have looked puzzled because Rebecca brought out her laptop and surfed different websites that demonstrated what she was talking about. The pictures of amazingly fit women stirred my interest and my libido, a first for me.
"That's how I want to look," I stated absentmindedly.
"If you can achieve that...you'll be one red hot mama...fighting them off with a stick and I don't mean just the guys!" she crowed.
I gaped at Rebecca.
"Girls too?" I asked a bit dumbfounded.
"Mom, where have you been? Women today are much more open about their sexuality, especially my generation," she stated.
"Have you..." I couldn't go on.
"We're not talking about me, I'm simply stating the facts," she said with finality, and that was the end of our discussion.
Harry's Hardcore was in a converted warehouse, taking up an entire floor. The day I visited, I signed up for a membership and the very fit young woman behind the desk asked if I was interested in a personal trainer.
"I dunno, never gave it much thought," I answered.
Debbie gave me a list of names and contact numbers.
As I was leaving, I stopped at the bulletin board near the front entrance. I recognized a name from the list and scanned her small poster with photos.
The pictures of Bree in her workout clothes advertising herself caught my attention. I guessed her age as early thirties but she looked much younger. The blonde haired girl looked positively "shredded" with eye popping muscles.
Would I be able to achieve that look at the advanced age of forty-one? I hoped it was possible and wrote her number down on a slip of paper.
That evening I called and got her cell phone message center,
"Hey, this is Bree. I'm either at the gym or..."
Bree had the most cheerful female voice and after I left my mumbled message, I kept wondering if my age would be a factor in her accepting to train me.
While I was well acquainted with the inside of a gym, most of the weight training machines were foreign to me. I used light dumbells to a limited degree but only six or so basic exercises.
It was a little past nine when my cell rang.
"Hello" I answered in a groggy voice, I had dozed off during "American Idol".
The person on the other end introduced herself as Bree and I immediately woke up. I expressed my interest in achieving a more fit look and commented on her form as it appeared in the photo.
"Thank you," she stated sincerely.
When I asked if she'd be interested in training an old hag, she laughed in the most charming way and told me she had clients in their sixties. We agreed to meet at the gym and discuss my goals. She wanted to make sure that she'd be a good match with what I had in mind.
The next morning, I sat with Bree and looked through a binder of photos showing the transformations that some of her clients had accomplished. The results were astonishing and I gawked at the before and after shots doubting that it was the same person.
"Hard to believe," she said, as if reading my mind.
"It's...well...incredible..." I gushed.
