I didn’t really choose Lynn, it just happened.
I had been talking to her here and there on Facebook. Nothing hugely noteworthy, just general chit-chat. She lives in a small town outside of Rochester, in Wayne County. It happens that I drive all the way out there to get my hair done and so, the last time I had a hair appointment, we made plans for me to visit her at her place. She poured me a glass of wine, and we just sat there and talked.
I don’t have much of a filter these days, and so I worried that I prattled on and on about nothing and she would find me hopelessly boring. When I left, I gave her a big hug. I hug well, apparently. Apparently I smelled good too.
I had still been seeing Anne, somewhat, but was growing weary of her demands on me and my time. I couldn’t go more than a couple of minutes without responding to Facebook private messages, or she’d be all over me. It felt like she was very needy. I can’t do needy.
Lynn and I made a “date” for the next week, Thursday (exactly a week later) while I was on vacation. We’d have dinner at her place and just visit again. Unfortunately, that morning I found my sweet little male cat, Simba, hiding behind the couch, gasping for breath. He’d been sick for a long time (diabetes, heart disease, hyperthyroidism, arthritis) and I just knew it was his time.
I called the vet’s office, and took that sweet little creature in and held him as he drew his last breath and his eyes became vacant. He was gone, and I was devastated. I sent Lynn a message telling her what had happened, and canceling our plans for the night. I wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.
Later that night, I got a message from her, sympathy about Simba but also (in her wickedly irreverent way) telling me that all she could think of was “And I shaved my legs for tonight.” I burst out laughing and, for the first time that day, felt something other than the pain of loss. Again.
We made plans for the very next night. One of us mentioned drinking too much wine and the possibility of me spending the night. I was nervous.
Friday night, we watched “If These Walls Could Talk 2,” drank a lot of wine, and talked and talked and talked. Occasionally her hand would touch my leg or my arm, and I was electrified. As midnight approached, and I knew it was too late to stay up, I simply said “I think I’m going to head down the road now.” She said “You’re welcome to stay here, either on the couch or with me in my bed, with NO SEX!” Tempted as I was, I left and drove home wondering why I was such a coward. Was the pain of my divorce still too fresh and raw for me to be able to have a relationship with anyone besides just a friendship? Had it destroyed any chance I was ever going to have again? My best friend Rhiannon, when I told her I’d chickened out and gone home, sang “Lame lame lame lame lame lame,” (to the “tune” of neener neener neener).
We stayed in contact – and I was honest and told Lynn that I really had WANTED to spend the night, but chickened out. She issued another invitation for a do-over. I packed a bag, and went back. We talked the entire night away. We sat close enough to touch, and she touched my leg and arm a lot. I touched her. And then I put my arms around her and kissed her. My heart was beating wildly as our lips met, and I could hardly draw breath, but it was such a sweet, tender kiss. When it came time for bed, I followed her into her room. We slept fully clothed that night, with my arms wrapped around her. She had to be up early the next morning for a couple of appointments and so, we got up, I had coffee, and went home.
Later that day, I mentioned maybe going to the farm for a night (or two) that coming weekend. She was thrilled at the idea and so we planned. For the next five days we talked daily and our conversations became laced with innuendo, suggestion, and so much sexual tension that I later referred to it as a week’s worth of verbal foreplay.
Friday, I drove to the farm, made up the bed, and waited for her. After she arrived, we went to the grocery store for some needed supplies, and then out to dinner. We got back to the camper and sat and drank some wine and chatted for a while. She got up for something and I was standing also and then it happened. I put my arms around her, kissed her hungrily, and began to unbutton her shirt – as erotic moments go, that was right up there.
Our coupling lasted for quite a while until, exhausted, we fell asleep holding each other. I think that this was when I realized I was falling for her, and I kept trying to nudge that thought right out of my brain. It was too soon. But yet, I knew I loved her. Not IN love with her, but some level of love. We stayed a second night and made love late into the night.
Cringing, I told her I love her. I told her I didn’t know if I’m IN love with her, but I know that on some level, I love her. She said she felt the same.
Her birthday was day before yesterday. She’d had plans with her daughter, but those plans got canceled when her daughter hurt her back. Lynn encouraged me to go home at lunch, pack an overnight back and a few spare items (undies, socks, toothbrush, etc.) and she would clear out a drawer for me at her place. I went home, packed some things, came back to work and later that night, after my part-time job, drove back to her place. The instant I walked in the door, I slipped an arm around her, pulled her close, and gave her a kiss that I hoped would tell her by it’s feel how VERY into her I was.
We chatted, we ate a light dinner, we chatted some more, and then we went to bed. For a couple of old broads, we seem insatiable, wanting more and more of each other.
I am hopelessly, helplessly addicted to this woman. At work, at home, no matter where I am or what I am doing, my mind turns to her. Those beautiful dark brown eyes with very dark lashes. The smell of her skin. The press of her lips against mine. The warmth of her hands as they touch my skin. Her smile. The sound of her voice.
Hook. Line. Sinker.