movie, to see what all the fuss was about. The first few minutes were fascinating; they actually showed, right on the screen, people in the sex act. It was remarkable and I watched, totally absorbed in seeing all the things I’d never even considered doing. But one time, while exiting the ladies’ room, I passed a man in the lobby whose heavy-lidded gaze raked over me with a hunger so profound that I made my way back to Mac and insisted we leave. Later, I realize that the passion wasn’t for me personally, but still, I never forgot it.
The hunger in Terry’s eyes was almost the same, and for some strange reason, I couldn’t look away. My breathing quickened and a trickle of sweat rolled under my bra. I swallowed, then r ealized how dry my throat felt.
How could my mouth be so dry when the rest of my body felt like liquid fire?
I stirred sweetener in my tea, embarrassed to disc over my fingers were trembling.
When Terry took my hand and gently squeezed it, I forgot the tea. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and suddenly the sound of dishes clattering and the conversation at the next table evaporated into silence. All I could hear was my heart beating, and with each throb, my traitorous body responded. He raised my hand to his mouth, and holding my eyes with his, he gently brushed the top of my hand with his lips. The touch was so light I shouldn’t have felt much at all, but fire blazed all the way to my toes, melting everything in its path. My nipples hardened, scratching the lace in my bra. My panties flooded with desire.
Here I was, a forty-three-year-old woman and I’d never felt anything like that in my entire life. At that moment, if he’d suggested a motel room, I would have led the way.
Then, like a worm in an apple, I thought of his wife, or ex-wife, as he’d said. For a brief moment I wondered if I could believe him and then realized it didn’t matter. In no way did I want any kind of a relationship with a man, and I had no intentions of leading him or anyone else on. I jerked my hand from his. How could I have allowed myself to respond to this man? And in a public place? I couldn’ t look at him.
“This shouldn’t be happening,” I muttered. “I’m newly widowed and you’re a divorced man. By the way, just ho w long have you been divorced?”
“I left her a year ago and took a small apartment in Redlands, but I didn’t file right away. I thought it would be easier for her that way. She’s still living in our house in Loma Linda, but it’s up for sale. I’m helping her find a smaller place.”
“I suppose she’s agreed to all this, and it’s also just fine that you’re here with me now.”
“Of course not.” For the first time he seemed uncomfortable. He poured more sugar into his coffee an d stirred. I hoped it was cold.
“Betty doesn’t want the divorce,” he continued, not looking at me. He kept his eyes on his cup. “Never did. She fought it until I filed, hoping I’d change my mind. But I had to do it.”
“You had to divorce her? Why, Terry? Never mind, I know. ‘She didn’t understand me,’ or how about the classic, ‘She’s cold in bed?’” I glared at him, not understanding why I felt such rage. I’d made a life-study of how to appear cool and calm in every situation, how to not let things get to me. Yet here I was, sitting next to this man who brought out emotions I’d never dared to feel. And I didn’t like it, didn’t know how to handle this raging disquiet.
“The simple truth is, I never loved her.” He said it so quietly, so simply that I didn’t question him.
Picturing the nervous, wiry-haired woman and this passionate man, I could agree they were perhaps a mismatch. But I’d known of other marriages that had overcome more difficult obstacles and were perfectly happy.
“So why did you marry her?”
“We’d been married for almost thirty years , and I never strayed. I made a commitment and I stuck with it, no matter what. Then something
The hunger in Terry’s eyes was almost the same, and for some strange reason, I couldn’t look away. My breathing quickened and a trickle of sweat rolled under my bra. I swallowed, then r ealized how dry my throat felt.
How could my mouth be so dry when the rest of my body felt like liquid fire?
I stirred sweetener in my tea, embarrassed to disc over my fingers were trembling.
When Terry took my hand and gently squeezed it, I forgot the tea. He ran his thumb over my knuckles and suddenly the sound of dishes clattering and the conversation at the next table evaporated into silence. All I could hear was my heart beating, and with each throb, my traitorous body responded. He raised my hand to his mouth, and holding my eyes with his, he gently brushed the top of my hand with his lips. The touch was so light I shouldn’t have felt much at all, but fire blazed all the way to my toes, melting everything in its path. My nipples hardened, scratching the lace in my bra. My panties flooded with desire.
Here I was, a forty-three-year-old woman and I’d never felt anything like that in my entire life. At that moment, if he’d suggested a motel room, I would have led the way.
Then, like a worm in an apple, I thought of his wife, or ex-wife, as he’d said. For a brief moment I wondered if I could believe him and then realized it didn’t matter. In no way did I want any kind of a relationship with a man, and I had no intentions of leading him or anyone else on. I jerked my hand from his. How could I have allowed myself to respond to this man? And in a public place? I couldn’ t look at him.
“This shouldn’t be happening,” I muttered. “I’m newly widowed and you’re a divorced man. By the way, just ho w long have you been divorced?”
“I left her a year ago and took a small apartment in Redlands, but I didn’t file right away. I thought it would be easier for her that way. She’s still living in our house in Loma Linda, but it’s up for sale. I’m helping her find a smaller place.”
“I suppose she’s agreed to all this, and it’s also just fine that you’re here with me now.”
“Of course not.” For the first time he seemed uncomfortable. He poured more sugar into his coffee an d stirred. I hoped it was cold.
“Betty doesn’t want the divorce,” he continued, not looking at me. He kept his eyes on his cup. “Never did. She fought it until I filed, hoping I’d change my mind. But I had to do it.”
“You had to divorce her? Why, Terry? Never mind, I know. ‘She didn’t understand me,’ or how about the classic, ‘She’s cold in bed?’” I glared at him, not understanding why I felt such rage. I’d made a life-study of how to appear cool and calm in every situation, how to not let things get to me. Yet here I was, sitting next to this man who brought out emotions I’d never dared to feel. And I didn’t like it, didn’t know how to handle this raging disquiet.
“The simple truth is, I never loved her.” He said it so quietly, so simply that I didn’t question him.
Picturing the nervous, wiry-haired woman and this passionate man, I could agree they were perhaps a mismatch. But I’d known of other marriages that had overcome more difficult obstacles and were perfectly happy.
“So why did you marry her?”
“We’d been married for almost thirty years , and I never strayed. I made a commitment and I stuck with it, no matter what. Then something
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