Oldies blasted on the radio as I turned off the highway. I'd been thinking about things I grew up believing I shouldn't think about. Inner catechismic child said, "That's wrong! That's a sin! Don't think that way about him!" Well-over-the-hill me answered, "Shut up you dumb child! Life is too short to be bored. I need to live! I'll think that way if I want to!"

Yes, he'd made me think about living, but how could he not? He was very attractive--in a boy next door kind of way. Very confident, charming, witty, and you betcha... sexy! People couldn't help but notice him when he walked in the door.

I managed to keep my professinal distance for a short while, that is until I turned toward him and caught him eyeing me with that hungry look. Before his eyes could move upward, I turned away... yeah, I blushed. I was shocked and embarrassed. Men had not looked at me that way in a long time, at least not openly.

That morning on my way in to work, I had been thinking about three other men from my past who shared his confidence. The first, of course, was my first boyfriend in high school. I could never forget that confident, goofy grin he gave me when I took his order at the Dairy Queen, right before he asked me out. He wouldn't have cared if I'd said no, but I didn't.

Then in college, I entered a classroom to the shrill whistle of a younger man. I am who I am and I turned to see who was behind me. He promptly shouted, "Mm,  I am looking at you Gorgeous!" I blushed and waved him off. He was very persistant. I went out with him...once, because he was a few years young than I. We remained friends, but I never thought of myself as gorgeous, even after he proclaimed it.

The next confident man I've known, who also kept calling me gorgeous, my inner child is not too proud of, but adult me remembers him fondly. The way he took charge of the relationship and remained the gentleman he was taught to be made me feel like I was caught in the pages of a romance novel. Alas, he was married; I was married--almost separated-- yet it was the relationship novels are made of.  I'd never experienced that in my young life. He was sexy, charming, gentle... and I ended it. Rightly so, too. My inner child felt too guilty to let it continue.

A few years later, my current husband came along. We met during a night out on the town with my best friend. I noticed his truck outside, then matched him to it when I saw him inside. He was the first and only one to ask me to dance that night. He sent me flowers the next day and called moments after the florist delivered them. Fate definitely had a hand in our meeting. Over the past twenty-three years we've made numerous promises to each other. One of the first was to talk to each other if we had the urge to fulfill our needs with someone else. We promised we would talk to each other instead of just cheating on our relationship. We've always honored that promise. Of course, there were the minor promises, too, like not picking up anymore stray cats or dogs. Living within our means. Being spontaneous with each other, but we don't often keep that one. I love my husband and outside of fantasies, I have never cheated on him, yet here I was about to break a promise my heart wouldn't allow me to keep.

It was almost love at first sight, and I really coudln't help it.

"I really need you tonight!" I sang at the top of my lungs as I drove faster than the 40 mph speed limit after the last right turn on my drive to work.

And yes, I thought about him. Nevermind the age difference. He'd spurred old feelings in me I thought had been buried for years. He'd brought me back to my teens, twenties, thirties, I felt young! I felt alive! I felt desirable. I wanted sex!

"Forever's gonna start tonight!" I sang.

I paused for a few cars at the two way stop I encountered every morning, giddy at the thought of seeing him again.

I eased through the intersection and stopped.

No!

Damn it! I cursed myself as I threw the car into park and smacked the steering wheel with my palm.

How could I do this?

Struggling with the argument between youth and age, I flung the door open while removing my seatbelt.

I left the door open.

A truck eased toward me.

I couldn't believe I was about to do this. Not again. Was it the seven year itch or what?

The truck stopped as I waved.

I sighed. I couldn't resist.

I couldn't.

I moved quickly toward the truck, paused and leaned forward.

With my left hand, I tenderly reached out and...

Yes, I did it! I shouldn't have, but I did! "I'm so sorry, honey!" Tears blurred my vision.

I couldn't help myself! I'm just not strong enough to say no.

I did it, and I'm not sorry.

I grabbed that damn kitten by the scruff of the neck and picked her up out of the middle of the road!

The driver of the truck grinned at me. The driver behind my car waited patiently.

My husband was going to kill me--well, probably not because he loves animals, too. After all, he named her Fancy after Reba McIntire's popular song because he thought of this line when he passed the very spot where I picked the kitten up, "You're mama's gonna move you uptown."