I stepped from the shower and looked at myself in the full length mirror. Like most women, I think that my butt is too big, and my breasts too small. My hair is a pleasing shade of brown, thanks to the skills of my hairdresser. The triangle of hair between my legs has telltale streaks of gray. "Fast chance anyone will be seeing THAT anytime soon," I thought to myself. "I guess I could be a hell of a lot worse at 58."
I'm a member of a women's service club in my city, and since the death of my husband I've been increasingly active in its activities. This evening we were having our biggest yearly event, a benefit for the scholarship fund, and we were hosting a special honoree.
Several months before, three men responsible for a string of bank robberies had entered a suburban bank and announced yet another robbery. It proved to be their last. A bank surveillance video showed a man standing calmly at a teller's window that suddenly turned, and with a handgun in each hand shot down all three robbers in a matter of seconds. The rescuer approached the men and kicked away their guns. He then holstered his own weapons and made a cell phone call. He was then seen to stand calmly, his arms folded, until the arrival of the police.
That man is a lieutenant in the police department of my own city, and the video of his activities was a sensation.
At the next club meeting, it was proposed that the dashing hero be invited to be the guest of honor at the scholarship banquet. "Oh my," said one lady. "He must really be in demand. He'd be a tremendous draw for sure, but how do we land him? He must be spread pretty thin."
The club president smiled. "Girls, I have an ace in the hole. My husband went to high school with the police chief and they're still buddies. Maybe I can pull some strings."
It was only days later that the club's officers received an e-mail that the lieutenant would be delighted to attend the banquet.
I was in the hotel ballroom with the other club officers and was putting the finishing touches on some tables when I heard the door at the end of the room quietly open. A man stood framed in the doorway. He was quite a handsome young man, no more than thirty. And he was the most
frightening
man I've ever seen in my life. His eyes swept the room like a lion at the edge of a herd of gazelle. "Of course," I thought. "He's a professional lawman...it must be difficult to turn it off."
The club's officers approached him and introduced themselves. His face immediately brightened. I joined the group as the club president said,"...and this is Evelyn Henderson, our committee chair for hospitality." Something changed in his eyes as he firmly gripped my proffered hand and said, "A pleasure, Mrs. Henderson." "Oh My!" I thought. "From a lion to a lamb...but the lion is still there, lurking quietly in the background."
He stood by the doors with the club officers and greeted the arriving guests, utterly charming each arriving lady. Most of the club's women are somewhere between soccer mom and grandmother, with marriages ranging from mundane to dead and buried, and I'm sure more than one lady immediately began harboring intense fantasies about our guest.
Dinner was announced. I found myself disappointed and a bit jealous that I was not seated next to him, or even at his table, I was close enough to see that he kept the ladies spellbound who were seated about him, and a few of them seemed to be rather shameless in the way they were throwing themselves at him.
When dinner was completed, the club president made a little speech and our honoree was introduced again. A band had been engaged for dancing (women, of course,
love
dancing). I was more than delighted when I found the lieutenant standing before me, his hand extended. "Mrs. Anderson, will you honor me?" he asked in that
delicious
baritone voice.
"Oh! Lieutenant! Oh, yes, please," I responded. In a moment I was where every woman in that room wanted to be, in his arms. I have never been the catty type, but as I felt every other woman's eyes on me I simply couldn't help feeling a bit vixenish.
Trying not to look around, I said, "Lieutenant, there are quite a few rather attractive women who are far younger than I am who would like to be doing this."
"That may well be true Mrs. Anderson," he replied. "But I'm afraid they simply can't compete with you where charm is concerned."
"Oh Lieutenant," I said softly. "That is a very sweet thing to say, thank you. And please, call me Evelyn. When you call me 'Mrs. Anderson' I feel like one of your friend's mothers."
He chuckled. "My given name is Henry, which of course, I hate. My friends, and beautiful women, call me 'Hank,' " he said.
"And I'm to call you that as a friend?" I replied, as coquettishly as possible.
"I think you know the answer to that," he said quietly.
I hated to surrender him as the music ended, but I certainly knew that I couldn't monopolize him, and he was enough of a charmer that he knew he had a duty to the other ladies present, especially those who were unescorted.
I had assumed that the delightful compliment he paid me originated from a sense of duty, but after just a handful of dances with other ladies he reclaimed me for the dance floor, and so it went for the rest of the evening. My sister club members were not neglected, but I was clearly receiving his special attention. I felt like I was at my first prom and I loved it.
Towards the end of the evening, when he was once again squiring me smoothly around the floor (did I mention that he dances
divinely
?) he said, "Evelyn, I know that this is presumptuous, but we cops tend to be rather forward. I guess it's part of that fatalistic 'live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse' thing. May I escort you home?"
I must have looked like a fish out of water. "Oh! Hank!" I said. "Well, I have my car here, and, well, the other ladies..."
He smiled. "I didn't mean for us to leave arm and arm," he said. I know that you're a lady, and I don't want you to do anything scandalous. I can follow you home discreetly."
"Hank," I said softly. "I can't even begin to tell you how flattering this is. I know that there simply can't be any way you don't know this, but I AM old enough to be your mother, literally. I have sons who are older than you are."
"Evelyn, all that does is it makes you more intriguing."
I heard someone say, "Hank, I'd be delighted to have you come home with me." That someone was me.
I stood in my kitchen, in the dark, my heart pounding, feeling like a school girl. I saw his headlights in the driveway. I heard the car door, but strangely he made not a sound as he approached the back door. I later learned it was a skill cultivated by street cops who walk beats in dangerous neighborhoods.
"He hunts longest who hunts in silence," he said.
I saw his figure at the door. I opened it and he stepped in, bringing the scent of his aftershave with him. Whatever it was, it was manly. He didn't utter a word but swept me into his arms and kissed me, REALLY kissed me. I thought of Rhett Butler when he told Scarlett O'Hara, "You need to be kissed, often. And by someone who knows how." Hank knew how.
When we parted I gasped, "Hank, honey, let me catch my breath." His chuckle rumbled in his chest. "Hank, I'm afraid that I'm going to be a disappointment to you."
"Are you indeed? And why is that?"
"Hank, honey, you probably think that since I'm so much older that I'm sexually experienced, but I'm not. My husband was a sweet, dear man, but he wasn't sexually adventurous. My sexual experience has come in thirty second intervals, and, well, there are a great many things I haven't done."
"But something tells me you wanted to. You wanted to try new things, experiment, indulge your fantasies, but you didn't feel you could tell him, right?"
"Oh Hank," I sighed. "I
AM
pitiful, aren't I?"
"Evelyn," he said. "You're not pitiful at all. You're inexperienced, and there is a cure for that. Why don't you tell me some of the things you've wanted to try?"
"Oh Hank, I couldn't possibly! I couldn't say such things out loud!"
