Take a Bite

My lover comes to me at noon. He is my height and heavier than me, a bit of a teddy bear around the middle. He has short, groomed hair like salt and pepper and those dark eyes. Those dark O’Higgin eyes, like the rest of his family, that bore into you when they look at you. He greets me at the door with an Irish wool cap on his head and a full raincoat with the collar turned up. It’s raining and he looks like an old man in a way, but he is only 40. I love this about him. I don’t know why because sometimes he can be so annoying, but this gentleman that treats me with care is something I love.

When I greet him at the door he starts in with general questions about my day. I don’t really like small talk, but make it anyway for a bit. Coffee, tea, how was your morning? I take his wet coat and hat and get him a glass of water. I give him a warm hug that goes all around his middle, up to his back and shoulders. I like his height—it’s mine too. We start to kiss and his mouth is perfect. After we fuddle around a bit, a rhythm begins and the kissing is deep and harmonious and full of connection. The lust comes later, but without the connection there is no lust, not for me anyway.

We make our way upstairs to the stark bedroom with the dark wood floor. Old unfinished boards lay below our feet as we strip off our clothes and lie down on cotton sheets. They are white of course. The curtains are white too as is the trim and I feel peaceful and happy in this place, like I am somewhere else entirely, not my house.

The obvious happens and it goes beyond the usual sex, almost every time. He seems so happy and satisfied to not only be having sex, but to just be here with me. Sometimes we don’t have the time, but he still seems just happy to be with me. No pressure or disappointment. These times bring tears to my eyes because the time is for me, for me and for us.

I felt obligated to have sex every night for 2 years in my first marriage. My husband was the kind of person that you didn’t say no too, that I didn’t say no too rather. I wanted to keep him happy and keep the peace, but I don’t think he felt the same about me. I know he didn’t. To be with him was somehow a gift or something. I put up with it, sex, only sex, for 14 years until it was over. I never felt the connection and I wish I had been brave enough to leave so much earlier, but then there was a baby and then there were 2 and I had sold my business because I thought he would somehow be happier and then I was just angry and afraid for a long time. So being with my younger, older gentleman is something wonderful because it is just for me. Some might call it safe and that is OK. I want to feel safe. I don’t want to be controlled. The restraint turns me on and the connection just makes me feel loved and then comes the lust and these words, and the gratitude I feel that I got to feel this connection while I still had the time to enjoy it. Once you feel it though, the door is unlocked and you won’t settle for anything less.