Mr. Man’s hand continued to explore my bare skin under my shirt and stroke the hair. My desire and pulse increased in
intensity with each stroke of his hand. As our bodies moved closer together, his unusual anatomy was more revealing. His chest, though tiny for a grown man, was rock solid especially at the shoulders. I could feel and see how his shoulders developed out of proportion with the rest of his body. His shoulders felt hard and solid like an avid bodybuilder but in a small package. This was intriguing and my mind wandered as I thought about how he spend a lifetime pulling himself up using his upper body; He had done this several times during our visit and I also observed this the night we met when he pulled himself up from the couch. Initially, when as head rested on his chest I noticed this anomaly which inspired me to work my way over his entire chest with my hand…..
The decision to invite Mr. Man to my house to see the Graduate with me, a film made decades before the “cougar” euphemism, was an affectionate way of warning him about sexual involvement with an older woman. My intentions and his responses to this activity were nothing like I expected. The process of sharing this entertainment media revealed many things about the person Mr. Man is and the circumstances of his childhood. It became crystal clear as we watched “the Graduate” that they way he grew up was nothing like my childhood. He was not able to relate personally to the LA upper class suburban lifestyle parodied and made surreal in this film where as it had always been relatable to my paradigm. In the midst of these differences being revealed, I observed how quick and unafraid he was to ask questions and seek explanations for societal norms before his birth or outside the experiences of his short life. This humility inspired an increasing respect for him and admiration for his courage. He was revealing his tremendous potential which complicated my clean, detached, and objective approach to this pending affair.
His willingness to learn and not appear more experienced than his age was a pleasant surprise. As I layed in the presence of such humility and courage, I didn’t mind stopping to explain words and concepts and give mini and micro-sociological history lessons. The significant women’s history lesson, pertinent to the film, was describing the sad position women lived by when the Graduate was produced and released. He gave me a puzzled look when I explained the phenomena; I was born into, known as the Mrs. Degree where women went to college to find husbands, not to earn degrees. My father worked hard at ensuring that my sister’s and I earned a college education. Our father constantly lectured us to avoid marrying too young and to first earn a college degree, procure our own income and security before seeking marriage. I realized, as we watched the pathetic unhappy Mrs. Robinson, how much this movie was a composite of all my father’s efforts that I was also exposed to frequently growing up, in my formative years, and into my young adulthood. Since Mr. Man was so so open to learning things outside of his reality, I made sure that he caught all the subtle nuances of the film not just the fictitious Mrs. Robinson’s character being representative of women going to college to find a husband, but also being forced to get married due to unplanned pregnancy. All events to follow this afternoon and evening, a tiny grain of sand in time, we shared would implode in a literary irony that even my long life was not prepared to endure.
Growing up watching The Graduate in multiple sittings, the main character was relatable to how I grew up and I had always taken this for granted. Mr. Man had a hard time understanding the suburban upper class post college homecoming. I had learned that Mr. Man had grown up under different circumstances with a single mother and upon his mother’s remarriage became a Marine brat. He told me in one of our earlier text conversations that his father died when he was very young, so he never knew him and his mother remained single until she married a Marine when he was 13, which is how he ended up in this area. I found out within the first 10 minutes of
meeting him that he had no further scholastic intentions and had made up his mind to seek a working class blue-collar high paying industrial type profession. Everyone I had ever known who chose this path spent the fair level of income on cheap bulk liquor, cigarettes and drugs. This will likely be his fate, but since he is only 21 the impact has not spoiled him yet.
As the movie played, and the plot progressed, I continued to explain the class and generations of the characters as they had been explained to me watching the graduate with family from the time I was a little girl to the formative years and into adulthood. At one point, I was worried that he might be bored, so I checked with him and his response surprised me. He actually said “I am really into this movie” In that moment I was impressed and felt warm towards him, but I had no idea that the source of his peaked interest in this film would end up leaving me the blinded fool, left out in the biting cold without a parka.
I was baffled as I had half expected our interaction to be awkward and that like Mrs. Robinson and Benjamin Braddock, we would end up having nothing to talk about or say to each other. I could not believe that I was relating to him far beyond my expectations and this only increased my desire and anticipation. We remained side by side, watching the movie, as he continued to keep his hands to himself. There were no subtle manipulative schemes to get closer to me physically. Mr. Man stay, the same guy with bold words of lustful desire for me, stayed put.
Out of the corner of my eye I looked at the side of his body angled away from me from the head down. On the bean bag chair the two of us made a triangle with our heads and the tip. When I blinked, my body felt the full sensation of his near presence, I could smell him, I was hearing and breath that touched my skin while circling through my body with every shift of his body or subtle movement.
His whole hand was on the same side, I was, as it happened, and I found myself reaching over and placing each finger in between each of his and as we moved our palms together, I rested my forearm on his and my elbow rested inside the bend of his arm. He shifted slightly and everything fit into place like a puzzle. Periodically, he stroked my hand, back and forth with his thumb.
My weak, injured hand was wrapped in his that was not deformed, yet I was not hurt by his grip as so often a man’s hand grip would unintentionally hurt me. With one eye I continued to watch the film and with the other I stared at his bronze skin either from the sun or a small percentage of a culture with a darker brown skin or both. He did not reek of nicotine as I had expected and his sweat was intoxicating to breathe. Mr. Man had not recognized the very young Dustin Hoffman in his first movie. It was the Dustin Hoffman before I was born, so for him the gap in years was wide. There was a commentary after the movie ended where Dustin Hoffman with longer hair and a few grey hairs speaking at which point Mr. Man did recognize him.
I turned the TV off with my toes and naturally found myself placing my head on his chest and nestling myself into his willing arms. His heartbeat pulsated through my right temple so strong that I it reverberated through my head and ears while also feeling his hand stroking my hair and neck. I thought about how his “normal” hand, the one not deformed by birth defect, must have the power of two hands from a lifetime of compensation. Several times I reached over to touch and stroke his deformed hand, working my fingers through every crevice, each finger not fully developed, the small birth defected palm with the sprout like fingers frozen in his time of early childhood jutting out the end of his half palm. His tiny fingers subtly grasp my fingers as they moved about exploring the entire oddity of this hand, not like any other hand on any other person, a beautiful shaped in all its deformity. I could even feel the lines on his palm, not fully developed, cut short by finger sprouts nearly as thick as the fingers of a grown man, but soft, short, and delicate like a toddler. With every movement of my fingers grazing his tiny fingers, my heart became warmer, as his heart pounded into my right temple faster and harder, while his other full hand crept down from my neck into my back and waist. His fingers slipped under my shirt and traveled across my waist. I became aware of the firm, elastic of my leggings wrapped around my waist, as his fingers butted against the edge like a refuge fighting the border, desperate to navigate a way past the barred entry and enter. It reminded me of all the times in my high school years when boys, full of determination, would run their hand across the elastic of my bra trying to find the hook, which was always up front in my control. I am sure he knew how to get past the waistband; perhaps he wanted to sneak his hand in without being obvious. The sun was setting in the outside world, bringing back the luminous quality of our respective physical features. If Mr. Man had not been there with my head on his chest and his fingers stroking the skin under my shirt, I may have been outside gazing at the moon and the wonder of the desert’s endless night sky.
The power of the night sky could be felt from inside and the luminous quality the moon coated the darkness illuminating the two of us in an intense embrace of pre-coital anticipation.
“This is nice…” He said with a tone that was relaxed, but also eager, as I continued to stroke his chest with one hand and unbutton my shirt with the other.
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As a woman over 40, pushing 50, I have created this blog for the purposed of using my writing skills to create something
especially meaningful to women. The best show of appreciation, since this blog is brand new, is feedback, sharing my site with others, and a donation of any amount in that order. Even a small donation, will go a long way to support my gourmet coffee habit!
As a woman over 40, pushing 50, have created this blog for the purposed of using my writing skills to create something especially meaningful to women. The best show of appreciation, since this blog is brand new, is feedback, sharing my site with others, and a donation of any amount in that order. Even a small donation, will go a long way to support my gourmet coffee habit.
For the purpose of reader engagement, and to greater fulfill the objectives of my blog, I will be posting relationship and animal inspired affirmations Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Affirmations will be original, written by me and quoted by others. Affirmations will link together with story posts that they apply Temperance & the Devil and Cougar In the Hunt, and upcoming serials. Best of all, I am hoping the comment section will allow for readers to add their own!!
Also, I am trying to develop a realistic and consistent flow of serial blog posts. I have been running into challenges with the emotional upheaval of the stories I am telling, (grief) so I need to slow down a little and begin injecting positives.
This blog is a labor of love, for women over 40 and most especially ANIMALS!
The gravitational pull of the moon in the high desert is not only a phenomenal force, but also has a wider reach and greater affect our collective equilibrium. I love to watch the bats in the bluish grey black twilight though fewer turn out when the moon is full. The instincts of bats and other wildlife is a special kind of wisdom.
The Sunday that marked a week after I had met Mr. Man was a full moon. The day before when I invited him over was the day I opted to jump off the cliff I had been standing on the edge of, departing from the graceful moral code that governs my consciousness. This bizarre moon must have contributed to the gravitational pull Mr. Man caught me in and the events that set my world askew. My physical body took over knowing that all I had to do was say the word and in quick response he would jump to his feet, then dive into my body like an oasis in the middle of a 100-mile radius in the driest season of the high desert.
Sometimes I wish I did not have such an obsession that insist that I analyse everything that I do and torture myself by insisting on being so accountable for my actions. In truth, my actions don’t always make sense, but I can make the choice to avoid the torture often results from misguided choices. Often my actions suggest that I love to tango around the fire, yet somehow avoid the precautions that would prevent me from even minor burns. On the other hand, I need to spare myself from labeling my choices misguided. By some means, the most liberating conclusion is knowing that I can never implicitly trust myself. There are also time when I know I can’t trust myself in any way or to any degree.
February of this particular year held a special significance. January had been an emotional upheaval. I went mad on many levels and I paid the price with my sanity. Christella has often called our collective attention to “weird energy in the air,” as she is even more sensitive to that which can’t be seen. During January, she repeated this sentiment often. My birthday happens to occur in January and without fail I can count on my family to rise to the occasion and provide an escape.
This break from my own independent life can take on many forms from distracting me with family sanity and making me appreciate my autonomy to my sister doting over me and my niece just being herself which in itself is a cure. I tried to host party with my friends and even posted it on Facebook with not a single RSVP and nothing but groans from the 3 of my fab4 that I can always count on to be there for me when I discussed celebrating at our New Year’s Eve show. My family also did not accommodate a birthday celebration as my sister was suffering the flu.
The monumental pain, paramount to my mental state, was subtle the out-of-nowhere-reappearance, on the internet, of Mr. Wonderful, though Facebook pages were still gone. His cruelty towards me and my complete lack of compassion or acknowledgement of my pain of losing him, left me so hurt, I was making regular trips to the local crisis center. A wonderful, very young, local musician created an event for January birthdays that provided a beautiful entry back to stability. The entire evening was the magical wonder typical of Joshua Tree. Galaxy loved the music and the energy of the event and as always everyone loved him.
While Febuary represented a fresh start and a celebration of friendship and community, I was still shocked, grieving, and heart broken over Mr. Wonderful.
Mr. Man seated himself on my pointless ornamental ranch style fence, as I took a moment to catch up with my neighbor, who happened to notice him and pointed him out suspiciously. This was a reminder of how obvious it was that he was out of place at my house and in my presence. The casual observer could easily see me as a mature single woman home owner and cast him as an invasive intruder from the damage to his car to his lack of a clean shave or haircut. Mr. Man and I had no more in common then a bird and a fish, yet by a bizarre turn in the cosmic wheel, we were drawn to one another and able to communicate around the vast generation gaps in a unique manner. Mr. Man and I had no more in common then a bird and a fish, yet we’re drawn to one another and able to communicate around the gaps in a unique manner. I had about as much use for him as a fish would a bicycle, but something made me want him near me. Whatever was transpiring and all mutual desires would have to look misshapen to anyone on the outside.
As I walked up to him I noticed his prosthetic leg in the light of the afternoon sun, the metallic subtly glistening. I had not asked him
what had happened that he was missing a leg, just as I hadn’t asked about his half arm and half hand. On this bright sunny afternoon, his deformities were more obvious than in the darkness under which we met.
He stood up, in his own unique crooked manner, as I approached him and I tugged his blanket jacket gently as I invited him to see my backyard. The cruel light of day, stood as a beacon as the sky was clear, no clouds to block even a single ray of sun. Every ray of sun would illuminate everything it touched. His high school looking youth was not only out in the open, it was
highlighted by the rays of the sun. His skin had not a single crevice other than subtle evidence of clearing acne, blinding me with the full reality of his youth. I wondered if this same sun, in all her glory, was illuminating the lines in my face in the same blinding manner. There was not a translucent cloak of night creating a magical effect in unison with the pastels and sparkles in my eye makeup, bringing forward a distracting touch of gold in my hazel eyes. As it happened, I was fully raw and exposed, no makeup and full sun exposing every reality before his pensive green eyes.
As I gave him the tour of my back yard I kept my eyes wide open to the visual image of him in the bright sun, standing on one leg against the backdrop of my yard art and equally youthful native plant revival. He stood on the downslope of the edge of my backyard as I stood just above him making me as tall as my high heels had the night I met him. (on level ground, he was still around 5’3” to my 5’7.” Behind him several baby desert willows standing only a few inches tall, either propagated by me or by volunteer seeds. The desert willow I had planted around two years prior was about his height. Other juveniles included my sharp prickly cat’s claw acacia, started from seed, probably as tall as tall as his chest, that had several years ahead before it fills out into a bushel and even more years before forming into a tree. The California buckwheat that I started from seed doubling in size every six months producing flowers was still not a full bushel, but still a drastically larger than the sprout from the tiny seed that volunteered.
Everything in my yard was juvenile and not fully developed. Native plants meant to require almost no water are not yet established
enough to go too long without water and many young trees need a special deep watering system. This fragile young man, with body parts not fully developed, was standing in my yard that began as nothing but dirt and weeds.
The backdrop behind this young man was my yard filled with plant life, also not fully developed, delicate, and in need of special care. More than anything his youth was surreal in the path of the luminous rays of the sun, yet at the same time we were alone in my home with the world on the outside. The inappropriate nature of being intimate with a man of consenting age, yet still too young, was not the only concern I had in my mind. The night we met he had fallen for me so quick and intense. He was swept away and came on so strong. I was not taking this pending encounter seriously or looking to him for a long-term relationship, so I felt obligated to be clear about this before he became too invested. Like my native revival garden, I saw him as fragile, emotionally and physically and my most abiding principle is not committing any action that would harm another person. After my home garden tour, I brought him
into the back room where in preparation for our visit I put pillows and a bean bag chair set up with my television and “The Graduate”cued. He made himself comfortable which included removing his prosthetic. As he slipped his metallic appendage off I touch his half thigh where it was connected with the prosthetic and said, “what happened here?” He told me about his birth defect, which gave me the full picture of his unusual anatomy, not fully developed in utero. His amputated leg had not fully developed in utero thus he had no bones or muscle mass. His mother was confronted with the decision to have it amputated or have him grow up in a wheelchair. He remarked that he was grateful for her decision. As he spoke of his birth defect, I found myself deep in intense thoughts about his
mother relating to her, reminding me that although I was in intimate social proximity with her son, she was the one close to my age and sharing my stage of life. I thought of what it must have been like to make an obvious, yet invasive decision about her infant son. I would have done exactly as she, though it would not have been easy to put my delicate baby through an amputation procedure, inevitably involving anesthesia. While thinking of his mother, I was also looking into his eyes, hearing his words, and a warm response towards him. I was enjoying Mr. Man as a person way beyond what I expected. My only expectation involved an energetic, long-lasting sexual experience distinguished by his youth and especially by his unusual anatomy. Incidentally, as we settled into the comfort of my designated movie watching activity he mentioned, as casual as a comment on the weather, that he was moving to San Diego the following Thursday. His explanation was simply that San Diego offered more employment options than our High Desert. In my relief of being free of any long-term expectation from him, I ignored the fact that suddenly there was an obvious inconsistency with all the devoted promises he made to me, the night we met and even the day before. None of these overtures promising to weed my yard, clean my home, help me repair my sink, and replace my water heater among others, were even feasible given that he was leaving in a matter of days. The fleeting quality of being in the early 20s stage of life was beginning to unearth my own memories. He leaned into the support of the bean bag placing his designated pillow under his head. What was odd was that he did not position himself close enough to touch me, despite his triumph of having me alone, in such close and even sexually suggestive proximity. The story of his disfigured body and his presence in general was adding warmth back inside my body, reversing the tremendous effort I had made to be stone cold. My body was softened with my heart, keeping a brisk, but steady, pace. I pressed play….
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As a woman over 40, pushing 50, I have created this blog for the purposed of using my writing skills to create something especially meaningful to women. The best show of appreciation, since this blog is brand new, is feedback, sharing my site with others, and a donation of any amount in that order. Even a small donation, will go a long way to support my gourmet coffee habit
Cougar In the Hunt 6: What’s That You Say Mrs. Robinson
At the time, my mind was opened wide to a new paradigm, when in fact I was descending into a madness I had forgotten
existed. My sense of adventure has not subsided with age which accounts for so many of my greatest joys, though this same spirit gets me into trouble, creating occasional sorrows. I let him know, via text message, about my friends branding me as “Mrs. Robinson,” and as I suspected he had not seen or heard of “The Graduate.” “You will have to show me this film.” Again, even though it was a text message, somehow his eager hope resonated though in the dry desert air. Before long, I was feeding his hope an entire three course gourmet meal. I admit the hypnotic power I had over this young man was exhilarating to all of my senses, casting out all sensibility.
At the time, my mind was opened wide to a new paradigm, when in fact I was descending into a madness I had forgotten existed. My sense of adventure has not subsided with age which accounts for so many of my greatest joys, though this same spirit gets me into trouble, creating occasional sorrows. I let him know, via text message, about my friends branding me as “Mrs. Robinson,” and as I suspected he had not seen or heard of “The Graduate.” “You will have to show me this film.” Again, even though it was a text message, somehow his eager hope resonated though in the dry desert air. Before long, I was feeding his hope an entire three course gourmet meal. I admit the hypnotic power I had over this young man was exhilarating to all of my senses, casting out all sensibility.
“I own a copy of it. Why don’t you come over here to watch it with me?” Text messages may be impersonal, but his reaction as he told me he was available anytime, any day, whenever and whatever I wanted was clear and somehow swept through me. For purposes of good measure I warned him of the shocking disaster my home is, due to physical disability and jumping through hoops for welfare assistance. “If your house was a landfill, it would never change how I see you…” He sent a couple additional text messages with bloated overtures about helping me around my house, as he had done the night I met him. I didn’t take these gestures seriously, but I did realize that deep down I really wished that he was telling the truth or at least had honest intentions of committing himself to complete servitude towards me. The dialogue with myself swirled around my mind and went something like this. Me: What am I doing? Me2: Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy the ride. Me: He is only 21; just because he wants me, does this mean I have to lose my better judgement? Me2: If no one gets hurt where is the harm? Me: I can’t be serious about a 21-year-old; inevitably he will start to annoy me at some point. Me2: Be honest, not serious……..I am so tired of being sensible. I need a break from sensible. This particular dialogue went in circles and it remained in the back of my mind while the front of my mind was busy chasing fruitless distractions. The only place I am able to lose myself was in my work, but I can’t write around the clock, though I have tried.
I was aware of the thick grey haze cloaking my sensibility. Clearly, I genuinely liked this young man and had no denial of the age gap. I was aware that there was no future, which I now realize was more of a safety net than it was a risk. Above all, I did not need this encounter, but I desired it like a chill desire warmth, a fire yearns for water, like the Eucharist is naturally followed by a sip of wine, like my hot flashes ache for the cool breeze. The events of the night I met him came to mind and his sharp words of desire pierces through my chest and stomach, longing for a release and so invited him to my home. The agenda included watching “The Graduate,” I would know that I made every effort to discourage him from persisting with his desired conquest.
I was already too far out to sea to fight the rip current pulling me further. The only option was to ride the wave and let surrender to the adrenaline pleasure awaiting me, set to arrive at my front door beckoning for entry like a tomcat following a scent. That evening I was privileged to a wonderful diversion that served to place my feet on the ground and savor the mystic quality of the desert nights. Magical nights in the desert are plentiful though each has a unique quality. A property with all the odd artistic quality of the high desert had just been purchased, so we all were invited to the house-warming. I brought Finesse there where we met up with the rest of the pack. I candidly told Finesse about the date I had set for the following day. The fun she was having, calling me Mrs. Robinson and Cougar had not lost its novelty. When we discreetly mentioned my plans for the next day to Christella and Trichelle, J.P. Trichelle’s partner surprised us by saying out loud “You are talking about D.D.’s new young boyfriend” We laughed so hard we got stomach cramps and struggled for breath. I could not see with clarity what was ahead, but I could see how open-minded and accepting my friends are. The freedom of the desert was alive and well. While I didn’t see a future with Mr. Man, my friends had welcomed him into our circles and joked about it, indicative of not judging me for the bizarre connection obvious to everyone around. Galaxy is the first indicator of entering a wonderful place. The property the Lours acquired had so much for the senses to enjoy, with characteristic quirks of the Hi-Desert. Everyone there was in great energetic spirit and there was cleaver yard art all around us. Above all, if Galaxy enjoys an environment, there is no better confirmation that I am exactly where I want to be. Galaxy was greeted by folks familiar to him and as always attracted new acquaintances. His presence made for lively
conversation and there was live music for him that was pleasing to his rabbit ears. Mr. Man was tickling the back of my mind, but I was still clear and present in each moment. Mr. Man had been eager to meet Galaxy. One of Galaxy’s many fans said something so golden that we all pondered. She referred to his “good” eye as seeing this world and his blind eye seeing other outer worlds. In this beautiful moment one of the many fabulous people of Joshua Tree gave Galaxy his very own mythology, which gives special insight to the intangible effect he has on people. I was grounded in a way that I needed, yet still lurking in the sky with this magical revelation. It was clear that all events in my life, any direction I take is sanctioned by this beautiful, delicate creature who I can wear on my chest in a baby sling, yet his spirit is that of the infinite galaxy. My engaging conversations, with so many interesting folks, I had not been well acquainted with prior, caused me to lose sight of my pack altogether. I phoned Trichelle who said they hadn’t been able to find me and to come to J&P for our after hours gathering. The housewarming was winding down so Galaxy and I said our goodbyes and we went to J&Ps. Living without focal points in the desert, one has to create their own and integrate them into life. This takes considerable effort though our Fab4 is my strongest focal point. This was heavy on my mind this entire evening and I felt an overwhelming contentment. January had been so difficult and unsteady, but I was where I needed to be and I did not have an overwhelming number of troubling questions outside myself, which gave me a content feeling. We took wonderful pictures that give a compelling visual of this paradigm. Christella left before Finesse’s friend from the college arrived to join us. I had not met this woman, but apparently she dominates male attention, which Finesse hates and complains about at length. Finesse was used to this attention being solely one on her. I was glad for Christella, the eldest of us, to have left as Finesse’s friend Raquel ended up inspiring a bizarre female on female sexualizing. Trichele had been drinking enough to tear down all inhibitions and could not keep her hands out of Raquel’s significantly large bra. Between this woman and Finesse, I felt like a B cup, even though I am a D. Finesse takes great photos as does Raquel, so when I mentioned that I have never been able to take a sexy erotic photo without looking
goofy and clown like, both ladies took this as a challenge.
Challenge attempted and far exceeded even my wild imagination. It was around 1:30 pm and Finesse wanted to send the two best photos to Mr. Man. I didn’t protest given the alcohol still working its way through my bloodstream. Also curious to me was what his reaction would be. She said, as commentary, ‘…I took these …I thought you would like them.’ He responded with a text to Finesse right away. In a circular laugh, she showed the text to me. “Thank you. I DO like these. I LIKE them A LOT.” Our squeals and laughter made me wonder if we had taken a trip back to a sorority or teenage slumber party, but I did care, I was having fun. In the course of about ten minutes Finesse managed to take exotic photos of me where I looked like a woman and not a clown, I looked great in several photos at forty-eight, and said photos were ensuring a restful sleep for a young fella less than half my age.
I am not sure what being an object of a very young man’s desire was feeding inside me, I could only feel the rush through my body, as I looked at the same site where he and I sat together and how he touched my knee. Swirling through my mind was the profound effect this fleeting moment had on me. A simple placement of his hand created a sudden turn in the tide that swept me into the deep-sea, instead of safely on the shore.
When I woke up the next day, as expected, I found a message from him asking if we were still getting together. He was like a kid on Christmas morning, afraid that maybe Santa skipped his over his house or that his fondest wishes were promised struggling to keep his eyes closed in REM sleep. When I responded with a yes, he went on to tell me how much he was looking forward to coming to my house. My own mental energy was focused on anticipating inevitable physical advances from him. Even if they were merely verbal advances, having me alone, they would be bolder than the hours after we met. There was no doubt in my mind what my body wanted though judgement was confronting me the entire morning.
I prepared a “cozy” spot in a back room of my house that I have been using as a tentative storage area. I brought in a TV with VCR, bean bag chair and pillows. The signals of a physical intimacy I had just situated shined a beacon of light and I could not help asking myself what I was doing and why was I allowing this to happen? I had to think about what I was setting myself up to encounter. His hopes of a passionate encounter were abundantly clear; I knew what I wanted, but I have also lived long enough to be aware of the reasons why we don’t always get what we want. (Mick Jagger was inspired by this realization he wrote a song) I was also aware that whatever signals were readable in the environment in all respects I had the upper hand, not just because he was helplessly taken by me, but it was also my house.
All through my haptic guest preparations, I felt nervous and excited at the same time. My body was fully cognizant of how his hand briefly making contact with my knee effected me, and in a just a couple of hours both his hands could be touching my entire body by a simple matter of my making this choice. The heavy adrenaline circled through my body like a plane waiting for landing stripe clearance. The movements of my body, the desert weather, and my routine erratic hot flashes made my whole person feel like I had just stepped out of a steam room. I was so drenched by the time I was done, I had to change clothes.
I had set up a hospitable environment for watching a movie and “hanging out.” It was still my home. The decision about where to entertain this guest was intentional and calculated. I did not wish to bring him into the parts of my house I use often and entertain regular visitors. The most telling choice was not bringing him into my bedroom as this would be over an ambiguous line. Whatever happened between us, by some motivation, I made sure not to commingle with my daily life and what is most important to me.
In the midst of all this preparation, a reality regarding my age crept up on me. The reminder came through the sweat of my routine afternoon hot flash. How would sex even be possible? I did not have the essential menopause sex supply. At this point, began imagining myself sending him to Wal-mart, in the heat of passion, scrambling through the aisles, naïve to his given assignment. The picture of a 21-year-old guy fumbling the aisles for menopause sex aides was priceless! I didn’t have time to make the trip myself and I had not answered any of the many questions running through my overwhelmed active mind.
When it came time for his arrival, I busied myself with outdoor chores the way I do when I am expecting company. He sent a text message that he was running late, which gave me more time to reflect on the texting dialogue of the day before.
My face would be seen by him in the cruel light of day, making all signs of age visible. The silver quality of my grey hairs would be illuminated, glistening in the sun’s rays and my the crevices of my wrinkles would not be veiled in the romantically translucent blackened colors of the night. Would he see them? What does this young person see and how does this vision translate into sexual desires? I had no need for the validation, yet the circumstances were fascinating. At 21, I had nothing but an aversion to anyone my age or even 40 or older.
My menopausal circumstances would also come to light and define my age. In our text conversation the day before, when i alluded to the light of day showing my age, he responded with expected naiveté, “age is just a number” I could write pages and speak about all the flaws in this clique. If he doubled his life, it still would not equal mine, yet I was his age once and all the ages after up until the present. I said this often when I was 21, thinking myself enlightened, through the years to follow would prove this false over and over.
He said something wise, which constituted a classic theme. Amid the declarations of my mesmerizing beauty over and above all other women, he said via text “…Maturity is sexy, like you. Immaturity is a burden..” He was right.
Just as he arrived, my neighbor stopped her car in front of my house and since I hadn’t spoken with her in a while, so I made him wait….
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The natural world in the high desert expands all around the community that it surrounds. A joyous event occurred that thanks to the Facebook memory tracker happens the same time each year. The Mojave Desert Ash-Throated Fly-catcher, the previous year had nested in the Joshua Tree in my front yard. It was magical watching each stage from the building of the nest to the hatching of the chicks to the chicks leaving the nest. I documented all of it with photos and video. This occurrence had been a joy and a comfort enough to defeat every sorrow plaguing my everyday life and motivation. I would jump up out of bed first thing in the morning to go outside with a camera and take pleasure in their chirping and feeding. The chicks arrived about a week before the defining night of Mr. wonderful and myself. I posted photos of every stage, on a daily basis which was always followed by a “Like” click from Mr. Wonderful.
As he drove away, I let myself into my house and was greeted by my earthen angel Galaxy. My questions and confusion would be settled a little as I lost myself in loving and caring for him. Even with the message from Mr. Wonderful that he was home sleep would be intercepted by my racing thought. The next morning, after the unexpected evening with Mr. Wonderful, was Sunday. I wanted to chat with him on Facebook, I supposed, to extend the intimacy of the previous night, follow-up on this new relationship. Based on my experience I may have also needed validation. I did have to pause, to ask if it was too soon and would I look too eager. I went ahead and received the warmest reception from him. This chat lasted for a couple of hours and was really nice as we actually became better acquainted. He was earnest, sincere, and enthusiastic it seemed, He sent me Facebook stickers during our back and forth. Everything should have been just right with a positive good start.
In situations where my heart is either on a bed of roses or a chopping block, I become confused. The beginning stage of relationships is something I have little to no skill; over my significant years I have rarely practiced the beginning stage as I either have a fling with someone or dive right into the relationship skipping the beginning stages.
At this point, it had been five years, and that relationship had been 7.5 years. That relationship was in a class by itself because we had already known each other for nearly 20 years. I had never intended it to last as for that many years. It was supposed to be a superficial, short-lived casual thing, but instead of it superficial-casual-long-term.
Over the years I have also struggled with an impulse to find problems and react to fear when a relationship begins, which is how I have come this far having few experiences with the initial relationship stages.
My head and my heart conjured up a conflict in a large cauldron with a giant spoon stirring all the elements into a whirlpool. This soup simmered as I stirred, between Sunday morning when we had our nice Facebook chat and Monday morning. Part of the recipe was a logical and legitimate concern that terrified me so much, the adrenaline required to face it also exacerbated the conflict and terror inside me.
I loved the way Mr. Wonderful made me feel and at the same time he was fresh out of a relationship and I was afraid of being a rebound relationship to him. I was petrified of opening my heart just to find he did not have any real feelings for me. I didn’t want to but I felt I needed to put a stop to what was happening. I had to be strong and resist him and put a stop to what was transpiring.
I excused myself from our Sunday am Facebook dialogue several times, yet we still kept Facebook chat messaging, off and on for several hours until Finesse came for me. We went to visit her mother’s shop and later to a Tibetan bowls gathering at Bobby’s Wonderland. Mr. Wonderful had RSVP for it, though he did not attend. He was, however, there with me via Facebook likes and comments. We took photos of Galaxy that he clearly enjoyed seeing. I felt like a part of him was there with us.
The Tibetan bowls gathering was yet another magical wonder that is characteristic of Joshua Tree. During the bowl players break, the player made a beeline for Galaxy the moment he noticed him. He greeted and petted Galaxy warmly, asked me if he needed anything, and even suggested a spot where he would be most comfortable. The reception was comparable to what a little Buddha Prince would receive. We did choose a suggested spot that Galaxy indeed loved as it was very close to the bowls and Galaxy was hypnotised by the mesmerizing melodic echo of the bowls. For me, I was able to quiet my mind to a certain degree.
I had been going back and forth all day about my fears of being a rebound relationship and the love I felt for him. Honestly, I did not know what to do about the idea of either scenario, both of which scared me.
He message me when I returned home, eagerly greeting me with a sticker of two foxes doing the Tango with hearts all around. My heart could feel such an intense tingle for a moment, as I told myself I had to discourage him.
I typed out, I have to tell you something and. I really don’t want to do so like this….
Mr. Wonderful: Yes what’s the matter ?
Me: Again would rather not say like this and REALLY don’t want to have to…
Did I do something?
I understand but now I am worried
No….We can’t do this, whatever this is
U and me, that is what….too soon for you….
Mr. Wonderful: You don’t want to be romantically involved with me?
Me: I do
I REALLY do, but not as a rebound…
Me: Just to be clear i do want involvement….just can’t…What r u agreeing with?
That I too do not want a rebound relationship and I don’t feel there is a rebound here because My relationship with her has been over for some time…..
How could someone, 58 years old, used to long-term relationships possibly say that their relationship had been over for some time? This was indeed another red flag, though at the time I wasn’t sure if it was just a different perception. I asked him how long it had been, in case my information was inaccurate. He told me December, making the time only five months, so I replied:
Me: Not enough time……We can’t do this, I can’t be a rebound relationship.