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"I can't believe its ..."
"I can't believe its ..."
One of the ladies I regularly e-mail asked me if I'd ever had an "I can't believe this is happening to me" moment.
My less-than-serious reply was "Sure, that happens everytime I have sex." But the more I thought about it, the more I thought "Yeah. Once."
Now this isn't going to be a torrid "glory of my manhood probed the silky ..." kinda story.
For five or six years I had some great neighbors. A young couple, he was an engineer, she was in sales until she had two kids. He was gone a lot (no, this isn't exactly going where you might think), but she and I had a ton of conversations - most of which were the standard suburbia over the backyard fence chats about crabgrass and too much rain or too little rain.
She looked terrific - very petite, very fit (as if two kids would let her get flabby) but other than noticing, I didn't sit around building up any wild fantasies that I knew would never come about.
I also thought she was about the most perfect mother I'd ever seen. She was really into it and I rarely saw her frown and I never heard her raise her voice. Sort of like melding the mothers from Leave It To Beaver and Father Knows Best.
Anyway, they seemed to be a pretty complete couple. The firm he worked for got sold twice, and he ended up commuting to Chicago, so they put their house up for sale. The prospective owner had some things he wanted done, and it fell on her to do them before the new owner would close on the house.
I took a day off to have the septic tank pumped (boy, isn't that romantic) and do some yard work. She was in the middle of repainting the interior (her mother had picked her two kids up for the day and hubby was off in Timbuktu). About the time I got the septic tank access re-covered with dirt, she called me through her kitchen window and asked if I wanted some coffee.
Well, leaving my muddy boots at the kitchen door I went in an sat down. We chitchatted for a few minutes and when she brought over my coffee cup, she gave me a very delicate kiss, put her finger to my lips, and said "Don't say a word."
To quote Steve Martin from "Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid," we did Kinsey cover to cover. I was stunned. So the conversation was largely mfgh, uhhh, there, down, oooo. About three hours later, we finished up in her bathtub. And as I got ready to go, she gave me the most delicate kiss I've ever had, and put her finger up to her lips, with a "Sssshhhhhhh."
I saw her for a few more fence conversations before they moved, but there was no indication anything had happened beyond coffee.
I took quite a bit of time thinking about it. Though I could probably have hoplessly fallen for her, I sure didn't want to destroy her family life and she didn't want that.
I don't believe she ever harbored any deep lust for me. Though from her body, and the force she often used to get me where she wanted me, I'm sure she was having fun. Several times during the whooppie, though, I saw her wiping away tears that I presumed weren't because I'd hit the spot. Something else was going on inside there.
At first, I figured the silence was just a kinky thing with her (I was alarmed that my candidate for mother of the year knew some of the sexual concepts which she proved to be a master of). But as days passed and the more I considered it, I figured that no matter what each of us MIGHT have said, it would have been either The Wrong Thing to say, or, it would have been The Right Thing to say ‒ but which would have been all the worse because there would have been no positive resolution.
I think the final element that fell into place was that for the four or so years she had children in the house, I may have been the only adult other than hubby or parents/in-laws, with whom she had any extended conversations. It may have been less of "Oh, I'll miss this middle-aged studmuffin" and more of "Who the heck am I going to talk to?"
I got a card the first Christmas they were gone. She always drew a little stick person scene on their holiday cards. This one had everyone in the family setting up a tree, but she was off to the side, a smile on her face and little stick arms pushing up two big breasts, with little squiggles, suggesting motion.
Since she was as flat an an ironing board (I'm inclined toward women that way) I didn't know if she was saying she got implants, or was just waving good-bye. I didn't get a card this year. Bummer.
And that is my one "I can't believe this is happening to me" tale.