I remember standing on the street corner, waiting for the light to change. No, that wasn't really true. I was still deciding which way I would go. Whether the light was red or green wouldn't matter until I made that decision.
One street went east and west. The cross street ran north and south. I could go left or right, ahead, or back the way I'd come. It was my choice. I didn't have any restrictions on my time. I didn't have anything I needed to do. I didn't have anybody waiting for me. I was alone.
Alone. What a word. What a thought. I had no intentions of being alone at forty-five. Well, I'd never thought about being alone at any time. Oh, I guess I thought at sixty-five or seventy-five, it was possible - maybe even likely. But not at forty-five!
Jennifer - Jenny - and I had been together for twenty-five years, twenty-three of them married. During the married years, there probably hadn't been a dozen times that we were apart more than ten or twelve hours at a time. I had been in the same business most of those years, working in town at things I still found interesting and challenging, and that seldom had me traveling anywhere. Like every man my age, I worried for years about the Draft and Viet Nam, but luck spared me that adventure. Jenny worked outside the home at times, particularly once the kids were more and more on their own, but again, it was all local.
Because we were always together, almost all our friends were mutual friends. Neither of us had anyone especially for just one of us, alone. We really had just one life between us.
And that was making it look extra hard, right then.
I didn't have any place I really wanted to go. Finally, I remember turning around and walking back home.
***
Back at home, I remember sitting on the edge of our bed. It was the first time I'd had the courage to go into our bedroom, alone. For two nights, I'd been sleeping - well, dozing on and off - in my recliner chair in the living room.
The mattress was queen-sized, and was new at the time. Well, "new" meaning ten years old, replacing our original mattress that we had slept on for nearly fifteen years. I'm not sure I remember what they called two-person mattresses and beds in those days. Was it a "double?" That sounds like a house trailer - a double-wide - but I think maybe that is correct. Comparing it to the "new" model, it seemed awfully narrow. However, it didn't matter because, the way we slept (very close together, all night), we only used about a third of its width. It was really funny when we set up the queen-size in our bedroom - its width seemed to go on, forever. We joked that, if one of us lay down on one edge and the other on the far side, we'd need binoculars to be sure we knew who we were on the bed with. We got used to the queen-size, but we still only used one little part of it, and the rest was as pristine as the open sea.
“The best laid schemes o' mice an' men gang aft agley.” Well, I guess it's a conceit of my education that I would quote it the way the Scotsman, Robert Burns, originally wrote it. People also say "man proposes, God disposes." (I'll spare you the Latin version of that.) Both simply mean that things don't always work out like you plan.
I wouldn't say that Jenny and I had "planned" to be sleeping in that massive bed for another twenty-five, or thirty-five, or forty years, but we certainly expected - or hoped - that would be the case. That's when the "gang aft agley" kicked in. In barely a month's time, we went from: Jenny is the picture of health; to Jenny isn't feeling well; to the doctors telling us she has a fast-progressing, terminal, inoperable cancer, estimating only two or three months more for her to live. In reality, she was gone within the month. She never seemed to suffer or be in pain, for which I was immensely grateful. She just seemed to gradually fade away. It was all too quick. I didn't have time to fully realize she was actually leaving, before she had departed.
Sitting there on our bed three days later, I didn't think I could ever bear to sleep there, alone.
***
As all survivors learn, life goes on for them, and some degree of "new normalcy" is usually eventually established. It was that way with me. I was back to work after only a few days, and found if the well-meaning sympathy of my co-workers proved too much at any time, I could always shut my office door. At home, I even managed to sleep on our queen-sized mattress, although I often found myself far over on one edge, essentially creating and ignoring a no-man's - and no- woman's - land of the major area.
I wasn't entirely alone at home, because my kids were both living in town, and made sure to check on me, regularly. All three of us seemed to be doing okay, after our loss. Charlie was hard at work on his Doctorate and, even though it was far from my field of expertise, I could usually follow along with the explanations of his biological experiments. His long-time girlfriend, Jessie, was often with him when he visited. I liked her quite a lot, and suspected there might be a wedding in the offing for those two. Jenny would have liked that. She loved Jessie like our own daughter.
Maggie, our natural-born daughter, was also still in school, working on a Master's degree in something I wasn't sure I understood at the time. (It later gelled as fashion design, which she became quite successful at.) She was the ultimate in "playing the field" in those days, and it was always interesting to see what young man accompanied her when she appeared at the house. Every one of them I met seemed nice, and all seemed to be very pleased to be with her, even if only for a short time.
I assume it is natural under my kind of circumstances to think about one's past life, and - to some extent - try to evaluate it. I don't mean "evaluate" in the sense of looking for right or wrong, taking blame or assigning it. I think my natural instinct is follow the Willie Nelson way: "I know just what I'd change if I went back in time, somehow. But there's nothing I can do about it, now."
No, I was just interested in how we had been - how our world had changed between 1960 and 1985 - and if anything in particular caught my interest and attention.
***
Jenny and I met in college, and almost immediately discovered we liked to be together. I don't know that we had a lot of similar interests, but we both enjoyed the outdoors - hiking, picnics, sometimes camping - and both liked to read. Both of us had dated, including having "significant others," with whom we had "gone steady." (Those terms sound pretty funny, today, don't they?) "Dating," for college kids in the early 1960s, usually involved going around together, holding hands, and kissing, in concert with varying degrees of bodily contact (a.k.a. hugging). I'm not saying that many college couples didn't have a much broader repertoire, but the Sexual Revolution didn't start for a few more years for most of us. Although we had dated for almost two years, it probably wasn't unusual that Jenny and I were both still virgins until our wedding night.
Now, if you were born after about 1980, you won't believe what I'm about to say. Before that time, the average couple didn't know a lot about sex. Well, everybody from high school on up knew about the target - the denouement - the (to use a baseball analogy) home run of sex - in other words, the temporary (often very temporary!) joining of two bodies together. But how did one get to that point, and what did one do, afterwards?
Today, and for the last twenty years or so, you can get some pointers by watching real live sex on the Internet (some of it actually wholesome, although I get the impression you probably have to wade through a lot of the other kind before you find it). You can watch almost-real sex on tv or in the movies. While waiting in line to check your purchases at the grocery store, you can thumb through a magazine, and - before it's your turn at the cash register - you can at least get a quick preview of "the hundred amazingly sexy things you can do to help your partner to a truly fantastic orgasm."
That wasn't true in the early 1960s. Then, all a couple had to help them along was whatever little bit of knowledge they possessed, coupled with the imagination of the participants. I fear Jenny and I were not very imaginative. We made it into bed, all right. There weren't as many birth control options available in those days, but Jenny's doctor had recommended a foam applied to the woman's point of entry, that was supposed to keep randy sperm from reaching anxiously anticipating eggs. It was supposed to be more likely to actually work than were diaphragms or condoms. It was a little messy, but it did work. We used the same method for a number of years, and produced our two children exactly when we wanted to.
That first night, Jenny took me in hand (!!), and I think I lasted about 30 seconds. That was pretty much it, then we quickly went to sleep in each other's arms. In the morning, I think we both considered the wedding night a success.
Normally, I wouldn't reveal details of our sex life, but they are at the heart of the conclusions reached in my reminiscences. So, here goes. When we began, not only did I not know much of anything about sex, I had never seen a woman's body, completely uncovered. Our second night, after the pressure was off (so to speak!), I was eager to do a little exploring of this new terrain. I hadn't been at it long, when Jenny told me that - except for the joining, itself - she wanted all our love-making to occur above the waist. I suspect that surprised me a bit at the time, but - as I keep emphasizing - I didn't know anything, except I did know that both parties should be comfortable with the goings-on, whatever they were. "Above the waist" became our way for the rest of our lives. I was not discontented.
A week or so later, I had another idea. I must have heard, or read, or just intuitively thought that women could experience the same intensity of sexual feelings as men did. To that point, all of the excitement in Jenny's and my relationship had been with me. I wondered if she knew what might be available to her. I didn't know how it could happen, or what I could do, but I felt very ready to give it a good try. I approached her with the idea. She said she didn't need anything more.
I thought that maybe she didn't understand what I was suggesting, or that she might need a little time to consider the possibilities. I approached the subject several more times, but her answer was the same. She was content with how we were doing. I think I had to be a little disappointed, if only because I was excited by the prospect of something new, or the ability to test my masculine female-satisfaction abilities. But, like "above the waist," we went on with our standard procedures. I don't think either of us was sorry. I'm pretty sure I gave enough signals that I was still available, should she change her mind about anything. She didn't.
I suspect you don't believe that I never had any regrets or feelings of disappointment about sex. You might even be tempted to modify that famous line from Shakespeare: The husband doth protest too much - or maybe, too little. Okay, I know you wouldn't really quote Shakespeare, but you might be thinking very similar thoughts in Twenty-first Century language. Let me just say this. Since I first met Jenny, I had been a one-woman man. Between our first kiss and our last, I never kissed another woman on the lips in any circumstance - not even New Year's Eve. I had never had sex with any one but Jenny, and I had never even thought of the possibility. President Carter once said (and got in trouble for saying it) that he had "lusted" after other women, but had never done anything about it - never "cheated on" Rosalynn. I don't know if he ever completely explained what he meant by that, but I think "lust" has to involve thoughts about one particular thing. Believe it or not, I had never "lusted" - in my heart, or any other way - for anyone but Jenny. She was my love - my wife - my life.
***
After my previous "true confessions," you might think - and probably wish - that would be the end of learning about my sex life. It isn't. I blame this last little bit on television, both the ads and the movies.
I've never been much of a television watcher. When I kept Jenny company while she watched something, I had often paid only half-attention to the movies, and much less to the commercials. Now that I was using the tv for company in my otherwise empty house, I was paying more attention, and found I had been missing quite a lot. For example, I watched a young woman race across a meadow roughly the length of a football field, throw herself bodily into the arms of a young man, wrap herself around him, while kissing him passionately. Eventually, they settled out of sight in the tall grass, probably to continue what they had started.
I saw several beautiful women receive engagement rings from handsome gentlemen. From the light in the women's eyes, and the provocative parting of their lips, you had to feel sure that the men were going to get some great "thank yous," well before their wedding nights.
In one sitcom, a man interrupted his wife while she was cooking. It didn't take many kisses on the neck for her to completely forget what she had been doing, and for them to retire to where something else was beginning to cook. (They never told us what happened to the pot roast.)
A couple dancing became so overwhelmed by their feelings for one another that they had to quickly leave the hall. We never saw what happened, for sure, but what may have been the same couple were already shedding clothes as they hurried through their front door. Between passionate kisses and embraces, more clothing was divested, until there was a line of coats, shirts, skirts, blouses, shoes, and undies stretching from the front door to the bedroom.
Wow. There was a lot going on out there, and the realization for me was very clear: In my entire life up to that point, I had never experienced ROMANCE. I had known love. I had known sex. I had known satisfaction, and contentment. I had shared a too-short life of happiness. But I had never experienced romance.
I had never had a girl throw herself into my arms - never in a meadow the size of a football field, for sure, but I hadn't even been thrown to the ground on her front lawn, while being smothered with kisses. I hadn't ever read a love poem or sang a love song to a woman, and then received an immediate, heartfelt reward. I had never left my shorts on the living room floor, in my hurry to get to an assignation in the next room. In short, I had missed a lot!
Now, don't try to tell me that I had been lying about how happy and contented I was with Jenny. Leave her out of this. I stand by everything I said about us. This was something entirely different.
What a time to find out: when I was forty-five, and alone.
***
After a month of sitting at home in the evenings, with books and crossword puzzles (pretty difficult ones), and only the sound of the tv for company, I decided to go out to a bar. It wasn't as sad, depressing and hopeless as it sounds. The "bar" was really an upscale saloon that had good craft beer on tap, a small but excellent menu (not bar food; wonderful sandwiches and a selection of light dinner entrees), live music some nights, and a dance floor. It was a favorite with the college crowd. Jenny and I used to go every week or so, and we often met friends there
For some strange reason, it was named the High Noon Saloon. Strange, because it was a bright, cheery place, with decor that looked like someplace you might have visited in the Roaring Twenties, not Tombstone, Arizona. There wasn't a John Wayne or Gary Cooper poster in the place; there were no six guns or cowboy hats in sight; there was no country music on the juke box; and the live band played mostly music from the '60s and '70s. Besides that, the place wasn't open at high noon; they unlocked the front door at 5 p.m., to catch those wanting a quick drink or "happy hour" on the way home from work. They stayed open (and crowded) until midnight.
That evening, it was already busy when I arrived. I did a quick scan to see if I could see any friends; didn't locate anybody I knew; purchased a tall glass of one of my favorite West Coast IPAs; and managed to find one vacant table with a good view of the band and the dance floor. As I sat down, the band was cranking up Leo Sayer's old hit, "You make me feel like dancing," and couples were beginning to do their things. My eyes were almost immediately attracted to a boy and girl who were dancing vigorously. Well, to be honest, I was attracted to the girl's legs. The couple were doing a routine in which the boy regularly swung the girl out to the side. She had on a full skirt, and every time she swung out, her skirt would twirl up to give a very brief view of what appeared to be two lovely, well- proportioned gams.
Now, don't get the wrong idea. Except for Jenny, I have always been a look-but-don't-touch man. Still, since my first incipient adult thoughts about the female of the species, it has been legs - girl legs, and woman legs - that have most attracted me. Shapely legs get my attention before I even wonder about what a face, or the rest of a figure, look like. Jenny had great legs. (I've occasionally wondered if that was the real reason I married her.) Well, from my few brief views of this girl, her legs could have been world-class, too.
While my mind was wandering, the music ended, and the dancers disappeared into the crowd. I felt a little let down. I drank a little of my beer. Suddenly, someone was standing beside me, and asking if she could sit at my table. "This is the only empty chair I can see, at the moment," she said.
I hadn't looked up yet, but I recognized the skirt. It was the legs... I mean, the dancing girl. Feeling a number of things, one of them being chivalry, I suggested I find another table and let her sit with her date.
"My date? Oh, you mean Danny. No, he's not my date. I just use him."
That got me to look up at her for the first time, and I received an interesting surprise. I wasn't looking at a young college girl. I was looking into a very nice face, but it was the face of a woman, not a coed. I'm not good at guessing ages. She wasn't as old as me, but I thought she was probably in her early 30s.
Surprise must have shown in my expression, because suddenly she was grinning at me. "I think my choice of words may have created the wrong impression." I started to protest, but I wasn't sure what I was protesting. . "No, it's my fault," she said, "And, anyway, I think I'll take it as a compliment." She sat in the chair next to me. The grin, and the face that went with it, were even nicer at eye level. "When I said I used him, it was not for any salacious purposes. Danny is by far the best dancer in the college, and if I can get a vigorous dance or two with him, my 'sad' very quickly turns to 'glad,' my 'down' turns to 'up,' and my worries turn into pretty butterflies, and just flutter away."
I couldn't take my eyes off her. I thought I might be embarrassing her, so I just said something to maybe blunt my rudeness. "Do you often have sad, down and worried?"
She didn't seem embarrassed. "Certainly. I am human. Everybody does. You do, I bet?"
I admitted I did, although at that particular moment my thoughts were very much of the glad and up categories, and all of her lovely butterflies were whirling around in my brain.
"I've seen you before," she said, suddenly.
"I thought that of you, too." It was true, now that I had really looked at her.
"Okay. So, was it here I saw you?
"Well, over the years I've been here quite a bit, but it's been a couple of months."
"Nope, not here, then. I'm thinking of something quite recent. Church?"
"Seldom attend."
"Same with me. Ice rink?"
I laughed. "Do you see any crutches around? If I'd been on the ice, there probably would be some."
"Okay, no ice skating. Mall, book store, Taco Bell, Burger King..."
"Well, I've been to all those places, but if we're homing in on something recent, I need to tell you that I've been pretty much out of circulation for the past two months."
That stopped her, for a moment. "Okay. Well, that should make it easier because I haven't been that many places recently, either." She paused, again. "Isn't there some famous saying - something about if you have several possible answers, the simplest one is likely to be the right one?"
"That's Occam's Razor."
"Who was Occam?"
"I have no idea." Actually, I knew it was William of Ockham, a Thirteenth and Fourteenth century philosopher, but I didn't want to scare her away by seeming too intellectual. Kind of a funny thing to be concerned about when we just met, but...
"Okay," she continued. "With that in mind, what would be the most likely place. And the answer is - ta dah! - the college. We've seen each other at the college."
I was sure she was right, and we probably could have figured out the details quickly. However, for some reason, I felt I wanted to prolong the mystery.
"So, are you a Freshman, or a Sophomore?"
She gave me kind of a pained look."
"Junior?"
"I know you're not serious, but - seriously - don't you think I'm a little old to be a student?"
Actually, I was thinking she wasn't "too old" for anything, but I continued with my silliness. "Nowadays, people can be just about any age at college. I was thinking about after World War Two. When the war was over, all those housewives, secretaries, nurses, and others who had been called to work in the shipyards, airports, and military bases, rushed off to college to get their degrees. Some of those 'Rosie the Riveters' must have been really old - maybe some even in their '30s,"
She took a few moments before she responded. "That's very interesting. Unfortunately, I see a couple of flaws in your explanation. First, few of the Rosie the Riveters went to college, then. It was another ten or more years before colleges began to take in a lot of women. Also, wouldn't the Rosies be 50, 60, or even 70, by now? Third - just a general comment - I don't agree with you that a woman in her '30s would be - and I quote - 'really old'."
I started to say something in response, but she talked right over me. "Let's leave my identity for a bit, and work on yours. I have a feeling it won't be too hard to figure out. I have kind of a funny - I don't know - something almost like a trance that I can access, and it lets me see all kinds of hidden things." She put one of her hands on her forehead, and closed her eyes. "Right now, I am seeing what might be a classroom. The room is filled almost to overflowing with college girls of all ages, sizes and shapes. They are all looking at a man standing in front of them. The man is nicely dressed - somewhat conservatively, but not overly so; he is well-groomed; and he has an air of authority about him. Not a sledge hammer type of authority, but a quiet demeanor that suggests he can take control of any situation. Oh, on closer examination, I can also report that he is very cute - very sexy. That explains all the girls, I imagine."
Again, I tried to get a word in, but she kept talking. "Now I see what is obviously his name. I can't quite make it out, but it looks like the initials 'D' and 'r' appear in front. Oh, there are initials behind, also. Let's see if I can make them out. Yes, it looks like a 'P,' then an 'h,' and finally a 'D.'
"Ah hah! I've got it. You are a college professor."
Her amazement and excitement were clearly feigned, but I allowed her a moment of victory. "You are correct about the college professor part, but I'm afraid your crystal ball - or whatever it is - ended up in the wrong classroom. Your description was certainly not of mine."
"Oh, no, it got it exactly right. Just to be sure, I heard some of adoring class members calling you 'Dr. Dreamy.' Now, how could they know that, when I just decided on that nickname for you a half-hour ago?"
I couldn't think of anything to say to that. Dr. Dreamy? But she was still at work. "We need your particular teaching field. I would say that your general speaking ease, your use of interesting words, and your quoting of, and alluding to, other works, narrows the choices down to English. You are a professor of English literature!"
"In the ball park," I replied." It is a discipline that is considered just as useless in our materialistic, Capitalistic society, because the study of it won't make you rich. My specialty is American History."
"Oh, that's even better. I expect you to teach me a lot. Do you want to try me, now?"
That left me completely befuddled for a moment, but then I think I saw what she meant. I rallied, and sailed forth. "I'm afraid in my somewhat tunnel vision, and maybe a bit of chauvinism, I still had a picture in my mind of you and Danny on the dance floor. Your poise and your communicating abilities make me wonder if I shouldn't be picturing initials before and after your name? If so, I am profoundly sorry for missing that."
"You didn't make a large miss. There are no initials in front of my name. I guess I could put 'M. A.' - Master of Arts - after, but it isn't necessary. I do work at the college. I'm Director of Alumni Affairs."
Back on solid ground, I saw a way to keep this going. "Do they still have those?"
"Those?" she queried.
"Alumni affairs."
She knew how to fight back. "Oh, I'm sure they do. 'Boys and girls together' is kind of eternal, and unchanging, isn't it? But those aren't the kind of affairs that I direct. Mine are more about keeping the school and their graduates in contact, of letting alumni know what other alumni are up to, and of convincing the alumni to open their wallets to help fund their alma mater. The last is probably the driving force for the first two objectives."
I wanted to keep her talking, but I also found I was interested. "How do you get - and keep - the wallets open?"
She smiled at that. "Being new to the fund-raising business when I came on the job about five years ago, I mostly used the 'shame' technique. You know: The college made it possible for you to reach the heights you have attained. Can you ignore them now, when their monetary needs are so great?"
"Does that work?"
"Oh, sure. Anything we do gets us some kind of check, but I've found we do better with the 'nostalgia' card. You know, when you first get to college, you're not thinking about future jobs, climbing the corporate ladder, becoming the next billionaire, or even studying. Well, some students are, but most are thinking about the thousands of pretty girls and handsome boys all in one place; football games; beer; kissing behind the bleachers; and complete lack of parental control. Remember those days? That's the true value of your college experience. Support your alma mater, so the next generation of students can have the same learning experiences."
"Wow! And that works?"
"Well, in fairness, they both work, but on slightly different people. The people who we consider 'highly successful' remember the part that college degrees and activities played in getting them on their way. However, I think a lot of us mainly remember that the college years - when we were young, inexperienced in almost everything, testing our wings for the first time, often making lifelong friends and marriage partners - were often the happiest of our lives. That's surely worth a little monetary payback to the school, isn't it?"
"I suspect you're right. Those were great years."
Just then, she did something that I had hoped she wouldn't do; she looked at her watch. "Oh my, I didn't realize I'd been here this long. I better get going." She smiled at me, and started to rise, but then sat down, again.
"Two things we better resolve before I go. One, I promise I will only call you Dr. Dreamy when we're alone together - although I suppose I might think it when I'm all alone. So, that means I probably should have something else to call you, like Dr.....?"
"That does seem logical. In that case, I am Michael Robinson. And you are...?"
"That's a little complicated. Before I tell you, you must make a solemn vow that you will never speak the name aloud to anyone but me."
"Cross my heart." I did.
"Okay." She took a deep breath. "My name is Desdemona Marie Colby. There, I've said it!"
I savored the name for a moment. "Actually, I like Desdemona quite a lot, but I can see why it might be a tough moniker to live with, at times. When they're naming their children, do parents ever consider that their baby girls or boys are going to be saddled for the rest of their lives with the names they are given?
"Anyway, what do people - not as privileged as me - call you? Marie?"
"Nope. My name to the world is Desie Colby. That's the name on my credit cards and driver's license, and the name I use when I sign checks."
"Desie? Okay, I like that, too. But don't a lot of people immediately ask you what 'Desie' is a nickname for?"
"They do, but I just tell them that's the whole name, period. If they persist, I tell them it has some ancient family connection, but I've forgotten what it is, exactly."
"So, it's not after Lucille Ball's husband?"
She treated me to the somewhat pained expression she had bestowed on me before (and which I was beginning to like, a lot). We shook hands across the table - "Nice to meet you, Michael Robinson." "And I'm very glad to meet you, Desdemona Marie Desie Colby." She started to go, again.
"You said there were two things we needed to resolve."
"Did I. Oh, right, I did." She sat back down again. "Well, it's just this. You know my name, now, and also where I work. If, at some point, you were to show up at my office - or perhaps call my phone number - and suggest we go on a real date, I think there's a very good chance I would say yes."
She did make it all the way up that time, and headed for the door. I said something inane, like "I'll keep that in mind" (although it had already been "in mind"), and followed her outside.
"Could I walk you home?" I asked, feeling like a schoolboy.
She seemed to be considering it. "That sounds very nice, Michael Robinson, but we would probably need better walking shoes, strong legs, and lots of time. Besides, that would leave my little car..." Here, she patted the roof of the middle-aged sedan she was standing by. "...All alone down here by itself."
I gave an exaggerated sigh. "Perhaps you should drive home, this time."
"Perhaps." She walked around to the driver's side, then stopped. "What about you? Do you need a ride somewhere?"
I shook my head. "I didn't bring my hiking boots, but I only live a couple of blocks that way." I pointed in the direction her car wasn't facing. "I think I can make it, but thanks, anyway."
She opened the car door. "Okay. Well, I had a very nice time, tonight."
"As did I."
"Maybe I'll see you around," she said, as she started to close her door.
"Maybe so," I said, as she started to drive away. I waited on the curb until she was almost out of sight, then started my short walk home. I was feeling amazingly happy until I was about halfway there, then some other thoughts intruded. I was almost sad as I unlocked my front door, and entered my silent house.
***
It was three days before I contacted Desie. I should have done it earlier - I wanted to do it earlier! - but those couple of intruding thoughts were still intruding, and needed to be taken care of.
The first question was, am I really ready to date? It was less than two months since I lost Jenny. Was that long enough? Of course, there wasn't a one-size-fits-all answer for that. This one, I just had to decide for myself. The key points: Jenny and I had a lovely life together. It ended way too soon, but had come to a close with us in loving accord about everything. I hadn't gone looking for a woman. She had arrived in unexpected, but compelling, fashion, and I liked her immediately. My conclusion: in this case, it had been "long enough."
The second question, I guess, was really just a variation of the first. You always hear people talk about the problems with dating "on the rebound." They mean that trouble is likely with a new relationship that is started before everything has been resolved with the previous one. I didn't want to be unhappy with somebody new, but I didn't want the new 'somebody' to be hurt, either. Was that likely to be a problem?
At that point, I had to remind myself that there wasn't any "new relationship." There was no "rebound," in or out. There was just one chance meeting with a charming woman I had spent an hour or so with. There might not be anything more to it. Having stated the situation so practically, I then reminded myself that I really hoped that there was going to be a "new relationship," and that it would be with her.
I was very ready to talk to her when I got to the college the next day. I had her office phone number, and I could have called, but I really wanted to see her. Taking a chance she would be in, I made my way from my office to the Administration Building, and asked the way to Alumni Affairs. I opened the door, and was greeted by a secretary, who asked if she could help me.
"I'd like to see Ms. Colby, if she's in."
"Do you have an appointment?"
Before I could respond, Desie was at her office door. "That's okay, Nancy. I know this gentleman. Hi Michael,, come on in."
She sat behind her desk, and I sat in a chair beside her. I think I just stared for a minute, gratefully taking in the sight of her. "I'm sorry I took so long getting here. I had a little thinking to do."
She smiled. "I suspect some of it had to do with your wife dying?" I must have looked surprised. "Some of the people here knew about it, and told me. I'm so sorry, Michael."
Without further ado, I poured out a condensed version on my marriage, my visit with her, and my later wrestling with myself. She let me talk without interruption. "So," I finally said, "Is your offer still open to entertain a suggestion from me that we go on a real date, together?"
"Yes, the offer is still open. And yes, I would love to go out with you. When?"
"I would like it to have been two nights ago. Having missed that opportunity, I would just hope for as soon as possible."
"Probably not tonight. I have a staff meeting that will probably run late. Tomorrow?"
"That would be delightful," I said, sounding a little (I thought) like Cary Grant.
***
We had agreed to meet at the High Noon, since both of us knew where it was, and it was fairly close to the college. We got there shortly after they opened, and ordered a foot-long Italian-style submarine sandwich, piled high with various meats, cheeses, tomato, and other tasty ingredients. We split it between us, and also ordered a large basket of French fries. (Theirs were always top-notch.) While Desie was carrying the food to a table far enough from the band and dance floor that it would stay somewhat "private" for a little while, I came behind her with two glasses of a fairly sweet Riesling wine. At the table, we sat and just smiled at one another for what seemed a fairly long time. Then, we dug into the food, which I'm sure would have been excellent under any circumstances, but which seemed close to Heaven with Desie sitting across from me. Wine experts might not have chosen a Riesling to pair with an Italian sub, but I don't think I could have asked for better. Desie seemed to feel the same way.
In Desie's office, we had made a pretty good start at explaining my early history. So far, I didn't know anything about Desie's. I found it hard to believe that a woman as attractive and intelligent as she is hadn't been married. I asked her. She wasn't reticent to tell me her story.
"I was married right out of high school, but it turned out to be very brief. It's still puzzling to me. Rick and I had been 'steadies' through our last two years of high school, had started college together, and got married when Rick turned 21. I was 20. The wedding was great, and our first couple of weeks as a married couple were all I could have hoped for. Then, out of the blue, he told me he had to leave.
"Well, I thought it was some kind of 'new husband jitters,' that he'd get over. He didn't. He couldn't, or wouldn't, tell me what was wrong, so I took what is probably the usual human way, and blamed myself, either for something I did, or something I didn't do. He tried to assure me that it wasn't about me, but what else could I believe?
"He moved out, but stayed in town for a while. Then, he told me he was leaving, but that he would stay around long to get divorce arrangements made. I still couldn't believe it was happening, but what could I do? Our state had recently approved 'no fault' divorces - meaning you didn't have to have a reason to divorce, you just both needed to agree. The paperwork was completed pretty easily. It took the actual decree quite a bit longer, but Rick was long-gone by then. I never saw him again, and I never had any contact with him. For a couple of years, friends would occasionally pass on bits of information. He wasn't dead. (Incurable illness had been one of the things he might have been concealing.) He hadn't remarried, but that's all I ever knew. It's been close to fifteen years, since.
"I was a real 'basket case,' for awhile - bewildered, disappointed, and just plain sad. My parents lovingly helped me get through it. They knew Rick, so didn't immediately re-cast him as some type of villain. They were as mystified as I was. They were there for me, in every way they could be, and I finally regained my original toughness and confidence. I went back to school, got my degree, and then my Master's. After a couple of short-time jobs, I landed my current position. After five years, I still love it.
"As far as my love life, I've dated regularly, and had two longer affairs. I can say something that - unfortunately - a lot of women can't say: I've never had a bad experience with any man I've dated. (I even include Rick in that. He was always lovely with me.) Whether short-term or long, I remember every one of my 'boyfriends' fondly.
"The outcome with Rick didn't sour me on marriage. I still really like the concept, and I think I could thrive in that kind of a solid, family situation. So far, nobody has asked me, I haven't asked anybody, and I don't think any of my nice boyfriends have had what I need - or, what we would need as a married couple. So, here I am, just as I am."
I was thinking that "just as she was" was pretty great, but I just thanked her for telling it all to me. We finished our meal and our wine, while we chatted about other things.
When the band arrived, and before the place got too crowded, Desie and I shared our first dance to a slow Elvis tune. I sang to her for the first time - not like Elvis, just me. "I will spend my whole life through, loving you." The lyrics might have been a little premature, considering we had barely met, but they felt real to me. Desie didn't say anything, but I thought she leaned in a little closer to me than she had been.
We didn't stay long. Desie had an important conference in the morning, and she wanted to be sure she was fresh and alert for it. I walked with her to her car. Before she got in, she hugged me, and let her lips rest on my cheek just below my right ear. The lips probably didn't linger longer than two or three seconds, but I swear I could feel them the rest of the evening.
***
The first time Desie came to my house, I got a crazy idea. I knew it could backfire, but I had to go through with it, and I threw all caution to the wind. Here's what it's about. Desie loves to wear skirts and dresses. That night, she had on a very pretty, very summery yellow dress. It would have been much better suited for warmer weather, but it managed to raise my temperature quite a bit. Anyway, when we entered my house and before we settled down, I took her coat, then asked if she would do me a favor.
"Probably," she replied.
"Okay," I said. "Now, this is going to seem a little strange, and you may not want to do it. I promise you that I am an honorable man, wish you no harm, and will not come near you during the experiment. If I have any erotic or romantic thoughts, I will keep them entirely to myself."
Well, you can imagine that might pique her interest, but maybe not in a positive way.
"I'm not sure about this, Michael. What is it that you want to do that makes you provide such assurances of no evil intent?"
"It's very simple, really. I just want you to lift the front of your dress until it is just above your knees..."
"Michael!"
"Will you do it, please, Desie. I promise I will stay way over here, and not come any closer to you."
She was suspicious, but also intrigued. She slowly lifted her dress, until her legs up to the beginning of her thighs were in full view. I observed her in that position for maybe ten seconds, said "just as I thought; thanks," and turned away to pour us some coffee. I could feel her staring at me, but I didn't turn around until I set the coffee cups down on the table. She was still standing. I motioned for her to take a seat. She did, but she didn't take her eyes off of me.
"All right, Michael Robinson, what was that all about?"
I smiled, and took a sip of my coffee, "It's part of a confession, and an apology. Do you want to hear?"
"After that demonstration, what do you think?"
"Okay. Well, I fell in love with you the first night I saw you, but it was before you sat down and visited with me. When I beheld your lovely smile on your lovely face, that sealed the deal, but I had already been in love with your legs."
"You were in love with my legs?"
"Yes. Let me explain. Since high school, I have been a connoisseur of legs - girls' legs and women's legs. They have always fascinated me, and I usually notice them before I take in a female face, hair, or other interesting bodily attributes. My quest has always been to observe and document the very best examples of those limbs.
"Now, before I go on, I have to stress that this quest has almost always been long-distance. I was shy with girls in high school, and for most of my time after that I was very happily married. Close examination would hardly have been appropriate."
"Hardly," she agreed.
"Now, we finally come to your place in this search. That first night, I was watching you dance with Danny. The music was fast, so were your dance moves, and every so often, Danny would spin you off to his side, then bring you back to him, again. When you spun away from him, your skirt would flair out, giving me a two or three second view of what seemed to be a rather extraordinary set of lower limbs. I carefully watched the whole dance - well, the leg view of it - and I was pretty sure I was seeing true 'top ten' candidates. However, with just those momentary views, I couldn't be absolutely positive. I needed to see them, again, and needed a stationary view, so I could make a detailed examination.
"I know it was unconventional, and may have caused you a little momentary stress, for which I apologize. However, it proved what I needed proved. I am happy - happy for me, because I loved what I saw, and happy for you because I can now declare that your legs - your amazingly lovely, overwhelmingly exciting legs - are not just 'top ten - and I mean not just 'top ten' at city, county, state, or national level - but are definitely World Class - possibly, if not positively, the best of the best. Congratulations!"
Desie stared at me, then shook her head. "I knew you were very cute - Dr. Dreamy - and I knew you were clever. What I had not considered up to this moment is that you might be insane. I'm going to have to watch you carefully, and give that some extra thought."
Well, that's all that was said on the subject. We had a nice visit, but I still wasn't really sure how my little bit of nonsense had actually felt to her. I got a better idea when I walked her out to her car, where she pressed her body close to mine, and began a kiss that literally took my breath away. If the neighbors had been observing, and had a stop-watch, they probably would have been amazed by the duration. Actually, I think it had the potential to continue quite a bit longer if it hadn't been misty-rainy, with an Arctic wind blowing on us, and a temperature that felt about 40 degrees below zero, and she hadn't been in her light summer dress (at least, she had a coat) and I hadn't been merely in my shirtsleeves. Even though possibly shorter than it might otherwise have been, for our very first kiss I thought it was quite memorable. I even wondered if it might not be a portent of things to come.
***
After a week or so, Desie was coming to my house almost every evening. It was convenient for her (and very nice for me) to be able to freshen up a bit, rest, and eat dinner with me before she drove home. I was finding it to be a routine that I was very fond of. She didn't usually stay long, because we both had busy and demanding jobs, but we often took time to watch the news on television, or talk about recent experiences.
One evening, Charlie and Jessie arrived unannounced to find us sitting side by side at the kitchen table, sipping a Burgundy wine, and both hard at work on a Sunday New York Times crossword puzzle. Without a comment, raised eyebrow, or questioning look, Charlie went to the cupboard, and brought out wine glasses for him and Jessie. He poured wine for them, tipped the remains of the bottle into our glasses, and sat at the table with us. We put aside the puzzle, gave Charlie a chance to bring us up to date on his biology experiments, and then just babbled away at each other, about whatever crossed our minds. As they were finally leaving, Jessie gave both me and Desie a hug, then Charlie hugged Desie and shook my hand.
I had half the answer to my unasked question about how my kids would react to seeing me with another woman.
***
Desie and I went to the High Noon regularly, sometimes to eat, and sometimes just to dance a bit. The band proved very good at playing and singing songs that I could sing along with. I told Desie - in song - that she was "the woman that I always dreamed of," that "I knew it from the start," when "I saw her face, and that's the last I've seen of my heart." Another time, I declared - along with the band and remembrances of James Taylor - "how great it is to be loved by you." Finally, we got to the big question: "May I have this dance for the rest of my life?" At that point, I know we hadn't admitted to being more than just friends who occasionally kissed, but I was more and more picturing those lyrics as relating to future real-life with this woman in my arms. She never commented, but she couldn't miss what I was saying to her, in song.
***
For several weeks, I had been composing a poem especially for Desie, and I finally felt it was ready to read to her. At first reading, or first hearing, it might have seemed a little formal for a love poem, maybe even a bit stodgy. However, if you were really paying attention, I thought one might detect a certain playful, erotic and sexy background theme, occasionally peeking out around the edges. Apparently, Desie had been paying attention. She cried, then pulled me into the longest and deepest kiss and embrace we had yet shared. That's good writing!
***
One Saturday, the other Robinson kid showed up at the house, with a boy in tow, as usual. I introduced them to Desie. I don't think I had ever seen Maggie with the same young man twice, but when I waited to be introduced, I realized I knew this one. "Hi Chris, it's nice to see you again."
"Thanks, Dr. Robinson. I'm glad to be here."
Desie and I had been in the kitchen when they arrived, taste-testing a meat and vegetable stew we had been working on all morning. Not shy in the house she had spent most of her life in, Maggie took the spoon we had been using to stir the stew, took a long sample taste, and declared it good enough to eat. We had already decided that, but it's always nice to get confirmation.
Maggie and Chris seemed to be in no hurry, so Desie put Maggie to work cutting up a loaf of French bread, slathering the pieces with garlic butter, wrapping them in aluminum foil, and putting them in the oven to heat. A bit later, we were all seated at the kitchen table, slurping stew, munching garlic bread, and drinking a light pinot noir wine. Conversation was noisy and fun.
It turned out that Desie knew a lot about the subject of Maggie's thesis, and Chris and I left them chattering away, while we found a college football game on the tv. Neither team was one we were particularly interested in, but my opinion of college football is that any game is worth watching. Chris seemed to agree.
I probably should have kept my mouth shut, but I was being a dad, and was interested in how Chris had managed a second appearance with Maggie. I thought I was being fairly low-key about it, but I said something that might have suggested that I thought my daughter seemed to discard her beaus rather quickly. Chris caught me up on it.
"It isn't what it seems like, Dr. Robinson. Maggie doesn't dump us. We're all good friends. It's just that Maggie is so nice, so smart, and so funny - not to mention, so pretty! - that all of us guys are honored to take our turn as 'special man of the week.' When we get 'dumped,' we're all still right there. Everybody is crazy about her - even the girls - and with good reason. The girls quickly gather up the 'rejects,' which makes it kind of nice to be rejected. If I am out next week - which, for some reason I don't think I will be - I won't be suffering.
"I don't know how to explain it, but we really are just one big nutty, happy family. You and your wife should be very proud to have raised a girl like her."
Chris had been watching the game as he talked, so he didn't see the little drops of moisture that appeared on my cheeks, after he said that.
The game got over, and Desie and Maggie brought their animated discussion to a close. I shook Chris' hand, and told him I hoped to see him again. (He grinned.) Maggie gave me a "daddy hug," then kissed my cheek, and told me she loved me. "I really like your girlfriend," she whispered in my ear.
The rest of the unasked question was answered, very satisfactorily.
***
Desie and I had been "together" just a month. I felt we were ready for a change of pace, but it was scary. What I was thinking was really a major change, and would be taking us far into uncharted waters. Still, I thought it needed to be done, and I felt ready to do it.
It had been what had become a fairly normal evening for us - the news on tv, dinner, miscellaneous conversation, and occasional kissing. It was just about the time she usually left for home, and we were sitting on the couch, drinking hot cocoa. I mentally "girded my loins," and began.
"Desie, you have never been in my bedroom. Well, no one has been, but me, for quite a while. I only mention it now because - in there - is something that may well be the 'Eighth Wonder of the World.' It is a mattress, but not just any mattress. I used to say that it was as large as a football field. That would be pretty amazing, but lately I've come to view it as possibly as big as Central Park in New York City. I've been thinking that if I sat on one edge of the bed, and someone else sat on the far side, we'd need megaphones to talk to each other, and binoculars to see who we were talking to. I'm pretty sure not one other person in the whole world has a mattress that amazing.
"I'd like to show it to you just for the spectacle, but there's something else about it that might interest you. It is an extremely comfortable mattress, guaranteed to provide anyone with a peaceful, refreshing sleep.
"I love to have you visit in the evenings, but sometimes I worry about you driving home afterward, when it's dark and sometimes rainy, when you might be a little more tired than usual, or (although we don't drink a lot of wine) when you might have had just a little more than is best for your reflexes. In those cases, it would make me feel a lot better if you could just sleep here. As I've pointed out, the mattress is so vast we could both sleep on it without disturbing one another in any way. What do you think?"
She seemed to be thinking. "Well, as far as viewing the giant mattress, I surely have to do that. That seems too wonderful to pass up. I won't look, tonight. It's fairly late, and I want to be really sure I have time to take it all in. Let's schedule that, later.
"As to your other offer, you can't know how cared for and protected I feel, knowing that you value my wellbeing enough to suggest it. I'm usually fine driving home, but, as you say, there are nights when an alternative plan would be very logical. I agree with you: safety first!
"With that in mind, I might just start keeping a tooth brush and a pair of pajamas in my car, so if there ever was a time that staying seemed better than going, I'd be ready. Thank you again, Michael, for being so caring and so generous."
"Oh, you're very welcome. After all, what are friends for? Would tomorrow night be too soon for inspection of the mattress?"
***
When Desie arrived the next night, she was carrying a little tote bag, with the college logo on it. She set it by the door, then came to the kitchen where I was just taking a pizza out of the oven. She gave me a nice friendly kiss, then proceeded to open a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon. We ate pizza, drank wine, and chatted about our day, there in the kitchen. Eventually, we took the remains of our wine over to the sofa, and settled down close to one another.
"It's pretty early," she said. "Would this be a good time to do the tour of the Eighth Wonder of the World?" When I agreed that it would be a good time, she set down her empty wine glass on the coffee table, and stood up. "Give me a minute."
She went into the bathroom, carrying her tote bag with her. When, a few minutes later, she came out, she was dressed in pajamas of a pleasant sea green color. She also had warm-looking little slippers on her feet.
"Since we want to leave plenty of time for the tour - which could make it a little late driving home -- and since I have had a fair amount of Cabernet, I thought maybe I should take you up on your other offer, too. That's all right, isn't it?"
I said it would be fine, as nonchalantly as I could, with my breath coming a little erratically and my heart acting like it wanted to jump out of my throat. She took my hand, pulled me up off the couch, and walked with me to the bedroom door.
When I opened the door, she just stood in the doorway for a moment, then said "Wow!" She walked up to the edge of the mattress and put her hands on it, spent a few moments scanning the vast expanse, and again said "Wow!" Next, she walked up to the headboard, walked all the way down one side, across the bottom, and all the way up the other side to the headboard. She looked across the bed to where I was standing, and shook her head in apparent wonder. "You weren't kidding about how big it is, were you? I think I should have worn my hiking boots! I've never seen Central Park, so I can't judge its size by that, but it certainly seems larger than your average football field. It is a wonder." She leaned up, and kissed me gently. "Thank you so much for sharing. I'll never forget this."
I was sure I wouldn't, either, but I just asked her if she was ready to turn in for the night. She said she was. "Okay. Well, I'll just go out and make sure the oven's turned off, and we're all locked for the night. I'll be right back." I left her sitting on the edge of the bed.
I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth, then rinsed with a little mouthwash. I had shaved just before she arrived, but I took a few swipes with the razor on my cheeks and chin, just to "be sure." I really had no idea what was going to happen next, but I thought I'd prepare for the best. I found a fresh pair of boxer shorts, and put them on. I usually slept in only my shorts but, for decorum's sake, I slipped on a new tee shirt. I then wandered around the house, turning off lights, and making sure everything was secure for the night. Then, I headed back to the bedroom.
She was not sitting where I left her! I felt what was almost a surge of panic - and disappointment - until I noticed her sitting cross-legged near the exact center of the bed. When she saw that I saw her, she gave me a happy smile.
"I decided to change things a bit. I hope you don't mind? It just seemed silly to only use the edges of the bed - and all this talk about megaphones and binoculars is also kind of silly, don't you think?"
I didn't answer immediately, and she took it (or, more likely, pretended to take it) that I had some misgivings. "Oh, no! I probably should have talked about this with you, before I made a unilateral decision. Why don't you come up on the bed by me, and we'll sort it out."
I did climb up on the mattress, and made it over to sit in front of her. "Well, here's some more of my reasoning," she said, as I settled by her. "We're adults, aren't we? We can control ourselves, can't we? Just because we're lying on the bed, only an arm's length from one another, doesn't mean that we have to lose control and begin making passionate love to one another, smothering each other with kisses so hot that it seems we might just melt together from their fiery blast. Does it? I mean, I'm sure other people - even a man and a woman, who are already strongly attracted to one another, sexually - have slept side by side in the bed, and haven't felt that they had to explore every bit of each other's bodies, possibly to the point that... Well, I'm sure you see what I'm getting at. We're adults; we should act like adults."
I had been following what she was saying - how could I not? - but I found myself staring at her pajama top, and feeling a strange compulsion to unbutton it. I reached out, and undid the top button. When there was no demur, I moved down to the second one. Suddenly, her hands moved past mine, as she undid buttons three and four. I finished off numbers five and six, and sat back to observe our handiwork. There had been a remarkable change in the view. I wasn't disappointed.
While I was checking out this new vista, Desie had raised up on her knees. She balanced herself with her hands placed lightly on my shoulders, while she directed me to work her pajama bottoms down over her hips. When I had accomplished that, she lay back so I could remove her slippers and pull her pajamas the rest of the way off. I had thought my last view of her world-class legs was wonderful, but they were now arrayed before me as a magnificent masterpiece. Wow!
Having removed everything from Desie that it was possible to remove, we turned our attention to me. She helped pull my tee shirt over my head, then - almost like magic - she had whisked off my shorts. Then, we sat silently for a few delicious moments, smiling at each other and beginning to memorize each other's bodies. While thus engaged, we carefully folded each item of our clothing. I made a neat little pile of them, added her slippers to the top, slid across the bed, and set them on top of my dresser. I then slid back to my previous position.
In the next hour or so, we visited every square inch of that gigantic mattress. We did everything Desie said we didn't have to do. We gave in to every temptation that she said we didn't need to give into. We acted like adults, all right, but like adults magically overwhelmed by amazing forces we couldn't control. When we felt too exhausted to do anything more, Desie collapsed in the middle of the bed, where we had begun. With her too weak to resist, I kissed her passionately for several more minutes, then pulled the covers up over us, wrapped her in my arms, and we both slept soundly and happily until morning.
I had wanted romance. The past month had certainly provided it. Concerning the events of that particular night, we later deplored the breakdown in our moral fortitude, and our inability to resist temptation, but we still thought it had been a pretty fun night.
***
Well, that was all thirty years ago. I am now 75, and Desie is 65. The night I just described was only the first of many in the following nights, weeks, months and years. All were similar in most respects, but all just a little different than those past. We were always eager to find out what the next time would be like. Life today continues to be rewarding and romantic.
We married not long after that first memorable night. We didn't really need to - we never had any doubt that we would always be together, with or without a license or other official blessing. But we both liked the idea - the concept of marriage - the fact that we were willing to tell the world about our commitment to one another. (There proved to be some significant benefits that legal marriage provided in taxation, estate planning, 'family member' access to hospitals, and such. We were thankful for those, later, but they weren't in our thoughts when we slipped wedding bands on each other's fingers.)
I feel like I've been blessed with two lives for the price of one. There probably aren't many people who can say that, but I'm one that can. Two fantastic women - quite different from one another, but each just exactly what I needed, at the time - and also, such the chemistry we needed with each other to make us the special couples we were. I repeat: I've been most richly blessed.
Some people believe there is a marvelous Heaven, awaiting after earthly death. I've never known what to think about that. If there is such a place waiting - and if it's offered to me - I'll probably accept. But I don't need it. I've had heaven on earth, twice already.
To the Writing It Down Homepage
Why don’t you leave a comment?