“No, of course not! I’ve told you, I want you to... You thinking of driving to your brother’s?”

“No. I don’t want to drive to San Francisco and back. Actually, I just feel like laying around and doing nothing, so I’m thinking of Mexico.”

“A three day cruise?”

Knowing I’m triply safe here because, first of all she wouldn’t leave the drunk for a three day weekend, secondly, she does not like cruising and being born in Southern California and, having been there many times, Mexico is no big deal.

“Yeah, But I thought I’d to talk to you before I make a reservation.”

“It’s a good idea, Mitch.” Said sincerely,  “I’m glad you’re going”

Feeling bad deceiving her, “It’s okay with you, you’re sure?” I asked.

“Yes, of course! You know I want you to.”

_______________________________________________________________________

 Cyber Affair 3

Day One 1: Friday, June 18, 2009                               

Thoughts swirling through my mind as the plane headed easterly.

Stuck in a crack, my life was fluttering away and all I’ve done was to sit.

Yes, I do love Helen... maybe. I’m not sure anymore.

Eight years is a long time to live next door to a woman you love knowing she is living with her – even though he is no longer the man she knew, no longer the man she had loved  –  Helen is still living with, whom at one time was her boyfriend, literally.... literally cleaning his shit.

In eight years we’ve only been able to get away for a weekend twice, and in all this time we’ve spent a full night together only six or seven times, including the two weekends and these few times only because the drunk had been hospitalized.

Yet she loves me!

 Yet together we can both spend the rest of our lives financially secure, living exactly where we wish to live.

But how much longer is the drunk, and Helen’s obligation going to go on?

I only have, hopefully, another fifteen good years left to my life and how much longer do I wait to live spontaneously? To say: “Helen, let’s take the dogs and head to Cambria this weekend.” Or: “Let’s take the dogs and head to San Diego this weekend.”  Or simply to be able to spend ‘personal time’: to make love without having to plan the hour we spend together sometime later in the week, or sometime next week, or sometime the week after?

For whatever good years that are left in my life how much longer do I have to be able to live spontaneously? To love spontaneously?

And guilt about this weekend with Barbara? No, I am not going to feel guilty about spending this weekend Barbara.

I need Barbara in my life now... if only for a weekend... If only to know that I am still a man that can act spontaneously. That can, God willing, still make love spontaneously... Spontaneously, that is, with a little help from Pfizer.

As for Barbara and the excitement she has brought into my life; taking me out of my  boring one day exactly as the day before, and the day before ‘marking time’ kind of existence.

As for Barbara: bringing feelings and thoughts back to me that I haven’t felt or thought for years.

And being in love with a woman that I’ve never actually met!

Being in love with a woman and not even knowing what she looks like!

Feeling excitement!

Feeling love!

Feeling wanted by a new woman!

Also...

Feeling anxiety because if – God willing – if Barbara and I should be naked together; from my neck up, for my age I’m okay, I’m good in fact, although the flesh beneath my chin could use some tightening.  And, actually, I’m okay from my waist down, although – even after loosing ten pounds – two or three inches less around my waist would be nice, and, with the help of my little pills – this truly a ‘man’ thing – I should have no problem with the sight of, or use of my dick. From my neck down and my waist up however, really, Arnold Schwarzenegger I’m not. But in the immortal words of Popeye the Sailor Man: “I yam what I yam!” 

However... Thoughts swirling, swirling:

Did I possibly misread all the signals I thought she sent?

When Barbara sees me in person will she be disappointed?

When Barbara sees me for the first time is she going to think this is a mistake?

When Barbara sees me for the first time is she going to think, “He’s an old man?”

Emails aside, does Barbara truly, really think of us as platonic?

When people see us together are they going to think I’m her father?

Do I tell her I love her?

Do I pretend to be platonic?

What do I do when I meet Barbara?

Do I take her hand?

Do I kiss her?

Do I even touch her?

Oh, my GOD!

                                                                    ****

Ding...ding...ding

Looking up, I see the “Fasten seat belt” sign had gone on.

Looking through the rain streaked window, the sky was heavily overcast and though the plane was descending, I could see nothing but gray below.

                                                                    ****

Wanting to appear a bit more youthful, but not wanting to appear as though I was trying to appear youthful, wearing pressed jeans, a designer label chambray shirt and a dark blue, lightweight cashmere sport jacket, my one overloaded suitcase, that I’d been able to shove in the overhead compartment in hand, not knowing what to expect, and in either case having not the slightest idea how to react, walking down the slight ramp into the crowded ‘Arrivals’ area...

Standing a few moments, looking about a few moments…

 Looking in my direction, our eyes touching...

Wearing light blue slacks and a dark blue jacket, maybe 5’ 3” or 5’ 4”, approaching me, the heavy-set woman has short cut, dark brown hair and, coming closer, I see brown eyes and a pretty face, but she is too young to be my Barbara, but she’s smiling at me and before I can look over my shoulder to see if the smile is really for me or someone else, for someone behind me...

Without hesitation, the woman’s arms are about my neck and her mouth is on my mouth and the kiss I am receiving is the kiss of long lost lovers and, leaning into the kiss, the suitcase dropped, my arms now about the juncture of her well defined waist, feeling the press of her ample breasts upon my chest, tasting the fresh taste of her mouth, my tongue touching her tongue, standing in the midst of the crowded “United Airlines Arrival Terminal” kissing this woman held tightly in my arms...

Fuck ‘em if they think I’m her father! 

Barbara!  I don’t want to let go of my Barbara.

Standing back now, looking at me, “Mitchie...”

Standing back now, looking at her, “Mitchie?” I asked quizzically, “Who’s Mitchie?”

Her mouth opening in surprise, her hand going to cover it…

But seeing my smile Barbara smiled back...

To be continued

©February 7, 2012 / Mark M. Lichterman