Never Too Late

Rick was 8 years old when we met. He was in my Cub Scout den with my two sons. His parents were the first friends I made when I moved into a home across the street, and they soon became my second family. His dad was a 'Southern Gentleman' who went into the military and came home with a lovely French woman; a more perfect couple you've never met.

Rick’s mom was my idol…so smart. There was nothing she couldn’t do by herself when her husband traveled. But she was a helpless kitten when he was home. Hubby, totally unaware of her kind deception, was very protective and doting, as Southern Gentlemen are. The other thing Military/Southern Gentlemen sometimes seem to be is extremely traditional, old-fashioned, and rigid in their sense of right and wrong regarding acceptable behavior for men and women... an important part of the story.

Move forward 13 years. That summer Rick turned 21 as I turned 40. In those 13 interim years we developed a very nice friendship…and it did not go unnoticed that this now 6'2" young man had matured into a very attractive, extremely bright “hunk”, with two college degrees and a couple of foreign languages under his belt.

One hot afternoon, the phone rang. It was Rick and I told him, without him asking, that my son, Rick’s friend, would be home soon so he should call back. We hung up and about 15 minutes later, the phone rang again. I heard Rick's voice again and told him 'he's not home yet, Rick'. He said 'okay' and hung up. Ten minutes passed; the phone rang a third time. When I answered and heard Rick's voice again, I started to laugh and it was then that he said, almost inaudibly, that my son wasn't the one he was calling. "You're kidding" I laughed again. "Well, what a goofball! Why didn't you say something when I kept telling you he wasn't home?" "I was trying to get my nerve up." "Nerve for what?" "I want to tell you...ask you…something, and I'm afraid you won't take me seriously." "Oh stop…of course I will, silly! Tell me."

What I heard next left me temporarily immobile and speechless. "...really intense feelings” ... “fantasized since 11” ... "get together” … “say yes...please..." Either five seconds or an hour passed, and Rick spoke again... "You're killing me. Say something."

To say I was stunned is putting it mildly. And of all the stupid things I could have said, “thank you” was what squeaked out of my mouth! And for the next 30 minutes, I offered a litany of reasons why this crazy idea was not a good idea. "Rick, I am so flattered...but..."I would be considered a pervert, a child molester! Your parents are my best friends…you should see women your own age. If your parents or my sons found out, we'd have to leave the country … your father would kill both of us and toss us in the ocean!” And then I admitted my biggest fear of all…that I would let him down... disappoint him.

Rick had a reply for every objection, and, at the end of my spiel, he told me there was nothing I could do to change his mind about me...he thought I was sexy, bright, fun, easy to talk to, and if I would grant his wish, it couldn't be anything but wonderful and his life would be complete.

The pressure was intense. I heard a nervous giggle escape from my lips. I was thinking about how his voice suddenly sounded so mature. Could I do this? Should I do this? After much back and forth, I reluctantly agreed to "think about it" and would give him an answer by Saturday.

For three days “it” was all I could think about. By Thursday Rick called back …he wanted to know how the 'thinking' was going.

Against my better judgement, I agreed to meet him to just talk. We were going to meet at a nice, quiet, local bar on the beach on Saturday. I was to bring all my objections... he would bring his reasons and his abundant charm. Saying no wasn't going to be easy...

It's Saturday. I stepped into the candled piano lounge and surveyed the room. It felt surreal. I'd been here before with men my own age, but this was different, and second thoughts were duking it out with my curiosity and ego. Second thoughts lost the battle, and I walked over to the table where a Rick I barely recognized sat waiting.

I expected to find him in Bermuda shorts, sockless Birkenstocks, with a two-day shadow, and on his third beer. What I found was clean shaven young man, wearing a suit, smelling good, and with only one beer, “for courage” he confessed later. He jumped up, pulled out my chair, motioned to the waiter, and told me how great I looked, and joked about us leaving right away. I laughed because, even though I showed up, I never intended anything to come of this. I was going to explain again how this was a very bad idea, that I didn't want to ruin his fantasy. I had a 40-year-old body, nothing like the 20-year-olds he dated. Then I would make sure he understood how flattered I was and that, under any other circumstances, I would love to be with him.

Instead, I sat for over an hour listening as this young man spoke of everything but our getting together. He dazzled me with his real-world savvy and maturity. This guy, who wore underwear on his head at almost every family gathering, startled me with his depth, integrity, and, of all things...morality. I was dumbstruck, thinking I really didn't know him as well as I thought I did, and I found myself wishing the men I had dated had half his smarts. I was a goner.

I finally heard words come out of my mouth that I did not intend to say. I explained there were gonna be rules. I would never call him, I would never plan anything, and if he wanted to see me, the details were his to work out. And there darn well better be total, absolute secrecy forever. No one, and I mean no one, not even his best friend, was to ever know anything about this. Stunned but smiling, he promised. And later, in the parking lot, he sealed the deal with a very sweet, soft kiss, and I drove away wondering if I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.

A week passed when I received the call. Would I care to join Rick on the following Saturday evening. He would be house-sitting his brother's home and we would have the lovely place to ourselves.

“Oh my God. This is actually going to happen”, I thought, as my bones turned to Jello. I knew I had agreed to this, but now my sorry ass was going to have to keep the promise my big mouth made!! EEK! Well, too late to bail now. I only had 4 days to prepare, and I headed to the lingerie drawer in my dresser to assess available goods. Hmm… something to live up to his fantasy....no, not the blue nightie, no, not the shorty. AHA! I forgot I had this stuff…a garter belt, fish net stockings, stiletto heels with ruby red jewels on the toes, and a long lacy red thing to cover everything up just enough. I'm not sure about the look I was going for, but whatever it was, I was gonna make damn sure he would never forget it. Saturday arrived. I was bubble-bathed, with hair piled high, perfumed, and in a long black dress worn over my 'surprise'.

It was a little awkward at first. We didn't sit close. We both tried to make small talk for an hour as I drank a glass of champagne. I laughed a lot for no reason. Then Rick began to look serious. He gradually moved closer and leaned over to kiss me, and I suddenly didn't feel like laughing anymore. He had obviously done this before...this kissing thing. It was deep and warm and luxuriously unhurried, and it drove me crazy. Earlobes were nibbled and the back of my neck was lightly breathed on and tenderly kissed, and I thought I would die from anticipation. Hands roamed…mine too, and I was startled once again, as I realized this really was no little boy anymore.

I finally excused myself and went into the bathroom where I slipped the black dress off and replaced it with my lacy red surprise. As I glanced in the mirror, fear struck me again that Rick’s fantasy was going to have expectations ... anticipation of special secret powers, or of special places I would know to touch or kiss. Yes, me. The Virgin Bride turned Mata Hari was going to be expected to teach this man a thing or two. Well, this was it. Showtime. I took a deep breath and sent up a prayer to my frowning God that I would not disappoint my tender young paramour. Then I bravely slinked back into the bedroom and heard a deep groan of approval that wiped away my nervousness.

Well, tender young paramour, my ass. Color me surprised. From the moment I stepped, backlit, from the doorway, it was clear no instruction was going to be necessary. Rick held out his hand and immediately I felt a sense of tenderness, intense desire, loving firm but gentle strength, and even a little hilarious humor. Rick seemed to possess a familiarity with my body and its needs and timing, and for almost two sweet hours he drew me back and forth from the edge of ecstasy until I could take no more and begged to be put out of blissful misery.

Moments later we lay there connected by toes...talking in whispers...until normal breathing returned. Rick swore I tried to kill him. I thought it was the other way around. But I felt obliged to check his…uh...pulse. I assured him he was very much alive and for the next hour or so we lay there laughing and talking, until finally, reluctantly, I got up to dress. His objections pleased me way too much.

The champagne had worn off long ago, but I drove home in a stupor. What was wrong with me!? I was a grown woman with adult children, and I'm driving home at 3:00 in the morning in nothing but stiletto heels and a coat, praying to not get pulled over. I felt like a giggling teenager, wondering if Rick would call and ask me to the prom, when I knew I was really an evil woman who had done something very naughty, and would probably go straight to H - E - Double Hockey-Sticks for it. Well, that settled it, I thought. This had been the opening act and encore all at once. Over. Done. Final answer.

Dammit…I hope he calls.