When my husband of twenty years died of cancer, I was totally devastated. Jeff and I had been a close and loving couple right to the end and his passing away left a huge gap in my life. For a long while, my emotions were shattered and existing from day to day was pure hell. Thank heavens for our daughter, Amanda, who was there when I needed her the most.
It was Amanda, who, when not busy with her own growing family, took the time to be my friend and companion and help me realize that at fifty, I still had a lot more living to do.
Oddly enough it was this very awakening that became my true frustration. After a year of being overwhelmed with grief, I began to sense a deeper, more intimate absence in my life; sex.
Having enjoyed a healthy and vigorous relationship with my husband, it was a cold revelation to find that I missed having a man in my bed. With each passing day, that longing became a very strong physical ache.
Not that I was lacking in would be seducers. Within weeks of reentering the social circuit of friends and past business associates, I was hit on by both of my husband's partners. Both being pot-bellied, balding and very, very married. When I reported this to Amanda she only nodded. "Mom, your still a great looking woman," she explained. "I'm surprised more men haven't come on to you already."
Without sounding too egotistical, I readily admit there is some truth to that. Jeff and I had both been sports minded and we loved to jog, ski and do lots of other demanding exercises. All of which worked to keep my tall, full figure in what was obviously an appealing shape. From long, slender legs, small waste and a full 38D, what I saw in my mirror was very gratifying. Friends said I resembled a mature Sharon Stone, with my green eyes and full lips and a wild mane of silver-gray hair. But being manhandled by drooling, lecherous old duffers wasn't my idea of romance.
Amanda must have sensed my frustration at finding a suitable date and decided to try her hand at match-making. It seemed her husband's boss was a 53 year old ex-marine and recently divorced. She went as far as to have him over for dinner one evening while I was visiting. Butch, as he was called, was physically everything she had related. A tall, muscular giant. He had a handsome, rugged face and a hearty laugh that shook the walls.
When he called the next night and asked me to dinner, I felt like a school girl all over again.
Since laying eyes on his impressive physique, I had begun entertaining wickedly obscene thoughts about how he would look naked. As the fantasies persisted, I found myself acting on impulsive and drove into town to do some last minute lingerie shopping. At a small boutique that specialized in intimate apparel, I purchased an entire new outfit that was every bit as risque as my nasty imagination.
Much to my horror, Butch turned out to be the biggest disappointment I have ever experienced. After a nice dinner at a fancy restaurant, he suggested a well known lounge where we could have a few drinks and get to know each other better. I soon discovered a few drinks to Mr.Macho meant half a dozen doubles in less than an hour. Before I knew it, he was falling down drunk and causing a ruckus. I was never so embarrassed. Then he had the nerve to suggest we retire to his place for a little adult fun. I told him what he could do with his suggestion and left him there.
Back home, stripping for bed, I looked at myself in the mirror. Decked out in that body hugging black lace bustier, garter belt and all. Who was I kidding, I thought sadly. It was time to face the truth. I'd become an old woman and no man was going to come along and sweep me off my feet ever again. The Spring days of my sexual youth were gone forever. Feeling lonelier than ever, I fell on my bed and cried myself to sleep. The next morning, I boxed the outfit and slid it on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. I had no illusions that I would ever need it again.
Still, the fates play by their own time table and I was about to discover that some of the fiercest passions burn not in June but in September.
Active again in my own business and social activities, I put my loneliness aside and went on with a positive attitude. Making the best of things had always been one of my strongest assets.
It was several months later that I attended the wake of some long forgotten second cousin. Those kind of occasions are always depressing, still I felt an obligation to my relatives to attend. After offering my condolences to the immediate family, I circulated among the gathering of familiar faces. Some I had not seen since Jeff's funeral. While I was talking to a woman who had been our neighbor long ago, she turned and waved to someone. I turned to see she was signaling a young man with dark wavy hair and boyish good looks.
"You remember my son, Brian?" she asked as he came over to us.
My mind did some mental gymnastics trying to picture those times long forgotten. Then I was seeing this scrawny, happy little kid playing around in my backyard.
"Brian, this is Mrs.Powell," she said introducing me. "She use to babysit you when we were neighbors back on Greenwood Drive."
Brian took my hand and smiled warmly. He was extremely handsome and there was a gleam in his eyes that recalled the mischievous tyke of old. "Oh, really. Did I give you much grief?"
"As I recall, you were rather a handful."
"I'm told, I still am." He grinned and I found myself enjoying his company a great deal. What a pleasant young man.
Someone walked by and caught his attention and he excused himself from our company. As he walked off, I felt saddened.
Which caught me up short. Later, as I continued to talk with his mother and other ladies present, I happen to look up and spotted him at the other end of the room watching me. Our eyes made contact and I instinctively turned away. My first reaction was that it had been a mere coincidence that we had both looked in the same direction at the same time. Nothing more. Still, after waiting a few more minutes, I once again let my glance roam and there he was again. This time he was by himself near the hall door, openly gazing right at me. Fighting the urge to turn, I returned his stare and he smiled innocently and nodded his head. What the hell was going on?
Seeing that it was getting late, I began to say my farewells and asked the funeral director if he might call me a cab. My own car was in the shop for some minor repairs.
"I was just leaving myself," a recognizable voice said from behind me. It was Brian. "I'd be very happy to give you a lift home," he offered in most charming manner. " It's on my way."
I mumbled some inane words about not wanting to trouble him but he only insisted harder and finally I gave in. He seemed very pleased with my acquiescence and rushed back into the main room to bid his mother and friends good-night. Then he was opening the front door for me and ushering me towards his sedan.
It was a warm fall night, and the air was a cool relief from the confines of the crowded rooms we had just abandoned.
As I slid into the passenger side of his car, I nervously tried to swing my legs up so that my skirt would not rise noticeably. Brian seemed not to notice and soon we were rolling down the main boulevard.
