Loving Who You Are

Loving Who You Are

I like to write romance stories about people of a certain age finding love for the second time. This is one of those stories.

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It was a Saturday in June. The sun was bright, the sky was clear, and a young woman we both worked with was getting married for the first time. She was clearly excited, almost giddy, and we were all excited for her. We'd met her fiancé, and we all approved. It looked to be a good union, so when we were invited to the out-of-town wedding, we decided to make a weekend of it. That's "we" as in about a dozen of her coworkers both young and old who were her friends and mentors. In that moment and with the celebration of this wedding the young ones took time to look forward and anticipate their future while the older folks like us looked back and reflected on our lives.

Now I said "we both" and I'll explain more of that later, but for now we were just a collection of friends, family, and coworkers gathered together to celebrate the union of two young people setting out at the very beginning of their adventure. The groom was twenty-five and the bride was twenty-three, and I began to do the mental arithmetic as I wondered how many more years before her age became need-to-know information.

Weddings are a young person's game, or so I am told, and my job was to congratulate the young couple, bring an expensive gift, and find a place by the bar with the grandparents and a handful of older coworkers while we watched the young ones dance and play all the usual wedding games. That's where I was standing when Gerry walked up behind me.

"Wanna bet she gets lucky tonight?" She said it in a half whisper, but the fellow standing next to me heard it and choked on his drink. I learned long ago to expect the unexpected where Gerry was concerned, so hearing her voice prepared me for whatever may come, and I just chuckled quietly. The bride's grandfather was not equally prepared.

Gerry is many things, but subtle has never been one of them. She is outrageous when she wants to be, irreverent most of the time, and outspoken when the powers-that-be go off with their latest brilliant idea that will only last long enough to fail completely. However, when you probe too close the best description for her is guarded. I knew the signs, but I never heard the story.

I suppose I'm not very different. Where Gerry was once married years ago, I struggled with a difficult marriage for many years. My wife wasn't easy to live with, and then a drunk driver left her paralyzed, making life even more challenging. It seems paralysis is never an isolated affliction and four years after the accident she passed quietly in her sleep. That was two years ago when I was sixty-seven and when Gerry was and remains three years older than me. Don't tell her I told you! Three years seems like a lifetime of maturity and sophistication when you're sixteen, but at seventy it means nothing. Instead of comparing age, you compare knees, hips, and backs. You measure your development not in how much you have gained but in how little you have lost. Gerry and I were lucky. We had the usual physical problems, but nothing debilitating, and we were both still sharp enough to work as consultants and part-time employees at the company where we had built our careers.

So when she walked up behind me and dropped that bombshell, all I could think to say was, "Safe bet. The real question is, 'How big will the chain reaction be?'"

I turned and she looked at me with those questioning eyes.

"You know, weddings are famous for impulsive hookups and married couples reliving their wedding night. Just look around the room and count how many couples will be going at it."

That earned me a chuckle.

The band was in the later phase of every reception where they were playing slow, romantic tunes, so I thought there was no time like the present. "Okay, we've congratulated the happy couple. We've kept out of the way of the young people. We've done our job. What do you say we take a spin around the dance floor?" Well, you'd think I'd just told her the secret meaning of life. Her eyes went wide, her mouth opened, and nothing came out. You know you've done something remarkable when you've rendered Gerry O'Connor speechless.

Eventually, she regained her composure and with a quick breath and in a very quiet voice said, "I'd love to." I admit that in all the years I'd known her, I had never asked Gerry to dance. Then again, for most of those years I'd been a married man, and to be truthful about it I'm not much of a dancer. However, this was a wedding and weddings call for dancing. I took her hand, which was unexpectedly shaking, and gently escorted her out to the dance floor.

Did I say I've never danced with her? The truth is I've never seen her dance, but on that dance floor on that evening she danced gracefully and as we talked, she slipped closer to me until she had her head on my shoulder, and we were gently swaying to the music. I don't know if we were even keeping time with the music, and I didn't care. We just danced our way through one number and into the next until it was announced that it was time for the bride and groom to leave. Gerry slipped slowly from my embrace with a smile far shyer than any I'd ever seen on her, and we all applauded as the young couple left for their honeymoon.

With the departure of the happy couple, the father of the bride grabbed the microphone and announced, "Alright, everyone! Now we can kick this party into high gear! The bar is open!" A cheer went out, the band started an up-tempo number, and we decided 'When in Rome...' Okay, we weren't impressing anyone, but we were having fun as we did our best to keep up with the kids. For the next hour we danced, we drank, we sampled the food, and we danced some more.

I discovered something that evening. I discovered that Gerry felt very good in my arms. I soon felt that I wasn't just dancing with a friend; I was holding someone dear to me and she fit into my arms like she was made to be there. These were surprising thoughts for me, and I chose to embrace them as I did Gerry and just live in the moment.

As the crowd was thinning and the party was winding down, we made our goodbyes to new and old friends and headed for the elevator. They probably thought I didn't notice their smirks, but they were wrong. I did, and I felt like bragging even though I had nothing to brag about. "Care to take a stroll through the garden?" There was a rare uncertainty, almost a vulnerability, in her voice.

I thought that was just about the best idea I'd heard since I asked her to dance, and we soon found ourselves strolling in the hotel's garden. "This is it? I heard a woman talking about it and expected more."

I had to agree. It was less a garden and more a small patch of astroturf and a few potted plants. "I suppose a garden doesn't make money."

"There's barely room for two!" That's when it occurred to us. This really was nothing more than a photo op for brides and visitors.

Gerry just nodded. Still, we found the solitary bench on the small patch of artificial grass and spent a few delightful minutes debriefing each other on the things that each of us had missed. There was the drunken bridesmaid who passed out on the toilet in the ladies' room and the bride's aunt who kept hitting on all the young men. My favorite was the groom's uncle who was dancing a fast number with such gusto that his cheap hairpiece fell off. It might have gone unnoticed if he hadn't been dancing with the mother of the bride. Later, as we walked toward the elevator and made our way up to the sixth floor, we compared notes on who left with who and how many would show up at breakfast wearing the same clothes they left in.

As we came to our respective rooms, we couldn't help but give a self-conscience laugh. We had neighboring rooms, and I remembered from earlier that night that there was an interior door linking the two. We each said our goodbyes quietly expressing how much fun we'd had, but I couldn't bring myself to turn toward my door. Gerry seemed to notice my hesitation, and then on impulse I threw caution to the wind.

"Gerry?"

"Yes, Dave?"

"I just want to say..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I stepped toward her, placed my hand on the side of her face, leant forward, and I kissed her. It was no peck on the cheek; I kissed her like I meant it. As we slowly broke the kiss and I stepped back ever so slightly, I looked in her eyes and thought, "Oh, Hell, I'm going to get called into HR on Monday!" But she smiled, leaned into me, and kissed me again.

What followed was a quiet, joyful, uncomfortable moment as I tried to think of what to say. All I could come up with was, "Why don't we raid the minibar and see what we can find?" That was all I could come up with?! What a stupid thing to say!

"Sounds like a good idea. Give me a minute to freshen up."

Really? She was looking at me like she was waiting for something. "Yes! Good idea. I'll do the same. Take your time." No one was going to accuse me of being smooth. And with that, I was through the door and into my room thinking, "You idiot! What is your problem? 'Good idea. I'll do the same.' That's the best you could come up with? What are you, sixteen?" I was so disappointed with myself.

Still, it was a good idea, so I set about losing the coat, vest, and tie, and giving my face and hands a good scrub. I thought about ditching the shoes, too, but I didn't trust my feet to not betray me. Actually, I have an unnatural fear of finding sewing needles and such buried in the carpet of hotel rooms. It happened to me once and ever since then I've been paranoid.

I stood there for a moment and looked around the room. It was just a room. Then it hit me. "What's in the minibar?" I never use them because of the price. I took a quick look and found nothing very interesting. They don't sell good scotch in small single-serving bottles. "Okay, it'll do." I looked around again and thought, "Ice! We need ice!" I grabbed the cheap plastic ice bucket with the plastic bag liner and headed down the hall to find the ice machine. I was halfway down the hall before it dawned on me, "Did I leave the key in the room?" I checked my pockets and found the key. "Okay, calm down, Smith. You're sixty-nine for crying out loud. You're not a virgin. Maybe nothing will happen. Take a breath. Calm down. Okay, don't forget the ice." I got the ice and headed back to my room.

When I entered my room with my thoughts all over the map I froze. There was Gerry standing there in the middle of the room wearing the same clothes she wore to the reception and looking bemused. "I thought you'd run off." She giggled at her own remark. They say it's often a good sign when you can make a woman laugh, but I wasn't sure this was one of those times.

I willed myself to at least look calm even if I wasn't. I smiled holding up the bucket. "I went out for some ice."

"Anything good in the minibar?" She was still smiling like she knew the joke and the joke was me.

"Truthfully? No, but if you like cheap booze at a high price, then I think we can find something."

She just laughed and said, "I'm not picky."

Searching the minibar, I said, "I was in the mood for a whiskey sour, but the closest I can find is Jim Beam and Sprite."

Now she was laughing hard. "Give me a Beam and hold the Sprite!" She had the right idea, so I made two Beams on the rocks, and we settled down on the couch to sip and talk.

"That was a lovely wedding."

"It was. I think you gave the bride's grandfather a stroke with your remark about the bride."

She laughed. "I didn't see him standing there."

"Well, you may not have seen him, but he will forever remember you!"

We were both laughing and for the next hour we talked and laughed and slowly drank cheap booze.

We eventually ran out of Beam and switched to gin. We were drinking slowly now because the next choice was vodka and neither of us cared for it. If the drinking slowed, the conversation never did. Things were taking a more serious tone.

"Gerry, can I ask you a personal question?"

Maybe it was my imagination, but she seemed to stiffen when I asked. "If you aren't comfortable, I'm happy not to ask."

She seemed to think a bit and said, "No, ask away. I may have just enough booze in me to give you an answer." She chuckled at her own remark, but I could tell I'd put her on edge.

"It's none of my business, but we met after your marriage, and I was just wondering what happened?" I really should have kept that question to myself. I had no right to ask.

"It's not much of a story. I married at thirty and divorced at thirty-two."

"Two years? That must have been traumatic."

"It was for me, although he seemed to do fine with it. I caught him with an old girlfriend, and he didn't even try to deny it. In fact, he seemed quite pleased with himself. He told me that we were never right together and that he regretted not marrying her. So he left, filed for divorce, and as soon as the ink was dry, they married."

I was stunned. I couldn't imagine doing something like that. "What did he mean you weren't right together?" I regretted asking that question, too, just as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

Gerry was quiet for a time and just sat there rolling the ice around in her glass. When she was ready, she just said, "Sex."

"Sex? How can..." At least that time I caught myself, but she was now on a roll.

"He said I never really turned him on."

I just sat there with my eyes closed, shaking my head, and wondering how immature some men could be. "You mean he said that he married you even though he wasn't sexually excited? What an ass!"

She wasn't smiling. With a deep sigh, she said, "Story of my life" and took a sip from her glass.

I was sitting next to her on the hotel room sofa, looking at my friend and wondering. Neither of us were young anymore. Neither of us were fashionably thin, but we weren't obese either, and I began to contemplate how that one experience had so damaged her self-image. An experience like that changes a person; it marks them and scars them in a way that only another person can heal. Then she'd lived alone all these years without the companionship of a partner to erase the memory of that hurt. For me, living alone was a relatively new experience that took me back to my student years so very long ago, but my life since then has been quite different. For her, it had been a lifetime of loneliness.

I didn't know what to say, but I felt compelled to find some way to ease her pain. I knew the pain was old, but it was just as clear that the memory of it stayed with her. While I was considering my response, she explained. "I've never been thin. In fact, I'm just fat. It's no wonder he didn't want me."

"No you're not and he's an ass."

"Don't lie. I know I am."

"Gerry, look. If you're fat, then so am I, and I don't want to believe that I'm fat. Neither one of us is fashionably thin, but there's a difference between that and being fat." I paused to contemplate my next words. "Look, maybe this is worse, but you're not fat. You're just not twenty-five anymore and we both have that problem."

She looked at me like she wasn't buying it. "I wasn't thin when I was twenty-five, either."

"Water under the bridge. It doesn't matter anymore."

She looked at me like I wasn't getting it, and she was determined to make her point. "Nobody wants me. I know it and I accepted it a long time ago."

"That's not true."

"It is. Besides, it's too late now."

"What do you mean '... it's too late'? You're not dead. We both have plenty of life ahead of us still."

She just scoffed. "I'm too old now."

"I sure hope not. If you're too old, then so am I, and I refuse to accept that."

We were dead serious now and the conversation had slowed.

She smiled a sad smile and said, "What's the old expression? 'I couldn't get laid in a men's prison with a handful of pardons!'" Gerry always liked turning old expressions on their ear to suit her gender.

I was laughing quietly and shaking my head. "So what you're telling me is that if you were walking around this room as naked as the day you were born, I'd be saying things like, 'Could you move? You're blocking my view of the TV.' Do you really think that?" I was smiling at the absurdity of it all, but I was also liking the thought.

Now I had her laughing, if just a bit uncomfortable. "Well, you might be more polite about it, but that's basically it."

"Gerry, I'd be asking you to slow down and walk closer. And for the record, the TV would never be on. Hell, the TV isn't on even now. We're sitting here, I'm spending the evening with a woman that I admire, and the TV is not on."

That stopped her in her tracks if only for a moment. I still don't think she was believing me, but I was dead serious. "I'm old and I'm fat. I have a plastic hip and boobs that hang like deflated water balloons." Nobody could say she didn't paint a picture.

"You did very well with that plastic hip when we were dancing. I couldn't keep up with you."

She thought that was funny.

"Gerry, at our age it isn't about being young and perky. We don't go to the gym to get stronger; we go to slow the loss of what we already have. You're doing great. You toughed it through with that new hip and you're active. That's fantastic! I'm impressed! It shows you have real courage. That's what we both want - we want to stay active, and you certainly are!"

She took a breath. "I notice you aren't commenting on my boobs." She was trying to be funny, but there was a pensive quality to her words. Let's be honest. A woman of a certain age is no longer as perky as she was when she was young. Do you think that mattered to me? No. It didn't matter a bit! Young or old, big or small, they remain that second most personal part of a woman that she keeps to herself and reserves for the man she loves.

I thought for a moment. I was about to cross a line, but I wasn't holding back. "Well, you haven't shown them to me, yet." She looked up at me as if she was both confused and amused. "Why don't you get naked and walk around the room? Then we can test that TV theory of yours while we're at it." I was trying to make it sound like a joke, but I wasn't joking.

She was giving me a look I couldn't interpret. "I don't need the humiliation."

"Maybe not, but I would love it if you did." It was less of a joke with every passing minute.

She looked at me like I'd crossed the line, or she was in shock, or something. I couldn't read her, but I told myself it was more hope than anger.

"Why? I told you I'm fat and my boobs just hang on me."

I searched for the words with care before I spoke. I was thinking about how much I enjoyed dancing with her and that kiss by our doors. "How long have we known each other? For all that time, I was a married man who was faithful to his wife despite many struggles, but she's passed, and those days are behind me. Now I can tell you how I feel and what I think, and I don't need to answer to anyone but you. You are a woman my own age with similar interests and life experiences. We can call it an impulsive hookup, or we can call it living in the moment, but I prefer to call it the beginning of something special. I've enjoyed this evening with you. I have always enjoyed my time with you. I enjoyed dancing with you very much. I greatly enjoyed our kiss, and I want it all to continue. I don't want this evening to end." I paused for a moment hoping that she was at least still listening. "I want this evening to continue into the night and the morning. I want you lying in my arms as you sleep, and I want us waking together as the sun comes up. It's true that we're not young anymore, so let's not waste the time we have left."

She continued to look at me with that unasked question on her lips until I knew I couldn't stand it any longer. I took her face in the palm of my hand, and slowly, gently, I kissed her. For the second time I tasted her lips on mine and her breath in my nostrils. My head started spinning and still I kissed her, and she kissed me back. The kiss by our doors had been wonderful, but this kiss was intoxicating.

When we finally broke our kiss, I gazed into her eyes and saw the little flecks of gold I'd somehow missed all these years. I gently stroked her cheek and searched for the words that eluded me.

She found the words before me. "So am I to be an impulsive hookup that you forget tomorrow?"

"No. An impulsive hookup does not wake up in my arms and shower with me in the morning. An impulsive hookup does not go to breakfast with me and walk around the town with me before driving home together and flipping a coin to see at which home we spend tomorrow night." My mind was made up. I had no doubt remaining. It was time for a new beginning, and I wanted to build it with her.

I suppose she still had her doubts about me. "What if you're disappointed?"

I chose my words carefully, but honestly. "I won't be disappointed if you know that you're where you want to be." They were the most honest words I had. "That is real intimacy. It's appreciating a person the way they are, accepting them, treasuring them, and finding comfort in them. It's finding what we can accomplish together as time robs us of our youth. If you can find satisfaction with me, I promise that I can find the same and more satisfaction with you."

We sat there for a time, my arm around her and her head on my shoulder. She had her hand resting on my leg and my hand was on hers. We sat quietly and contemplated the evening. It was a few minutes before she spoke. Without looking up, without moving, she just said, "Well?"

I smiled. I've not generally known her to be a woman of so few words. "Well what?"

"Well, are we going to bed, or are we going to sit here all night?"

The question briefly took my breath away and my heart raced. She must have sensed it, but still she did not move. She was shaking and I knew she had the same mixture of fear and excitement that I was experiencing.

"Yes, we're going to bed."

She was still shaking, but she raised her head to look at me and was smiling. Well, I'm no fool and I knew this was my invitation to kiss her again, so I did. And again. And again. Slowly, tenderly, I ran my hand along her side and then back up to caress her breast. Was she perky? Not really. Did I care? Not one bit! She responded to my touch as passion overtook the woman in my arms. This was the woman I had admired for a very long time, and tonight she was sharing herself with me in a way I knew very few men had ever enjoyed. With every passing moment, with every long kiss and gentle caress, I felt younger and more alive.

We soon stood and began to undress each other. I unbuttoned her blouse and slipped it from her shoulders. As with most men, I was momentarily confounded by her bra, making her giggle like a young girl. I soon realized that it hooked in the back, and I kissed her neck as I released the hooks. Slipping her bra from her shoulders, she stood before me with her lovely pink breasts with large brown nipples on full display. I lifted them gently as I kissed her with her hands on my arms. How many men had passed on this lovely vision?

She was soon unbuttoning my shirt as I tried to tighten my stomach and suck in my gut. That made her giggle again and she tickled my sides until I relaxed. "What's good for the goose..." she said. Belts and pants soon followed until we were standing before each other with just my briefs and her panties to preserve our modesty. One more long, lingering kiss with our tongues darting between parted lips, and then I ran my hands down her sides and under the elastic of her panties until they were lying on the floor and I was faced with the soft, furry womanhood of the woman I now wanted more than breath. I ran my hands up the back of her legs pulling her toward me until I buried my face in her hair and breathed in her scent. I kissed her legs and torso and finally stood as gracefully as my aging legs would allow.

She soon reciprocated and I found my manhood within her warm, wet mouth. I felt accepted and appreciated for just being myself for the first time in years. As she kissed the underside of my rapidly rising member, she whispered, "Should I continue?"

"Oh hell no!" I thought. "I won't last a minute!" I caught my breath. "No, I want you in bed. I want you to be mine."

She stood, smiling, and kissed me. "Do you mind where my mouth has been?"

"I love where your mouth has been, but I have other plans for us tonight."

And that is how it began. We were soon settled into bed with our arms around each other, kissing, caressing, learning about each other, until our first exploration ended in orgasmic delight and we fell back into each other's arms. It was the first of many nights. In the morning we showered, dressed, packed, ate, and set about taking our time going home. It was normally a four-hour drive, but we decided to break it up with a few stops along the way.

They say a woman feels safest with a man in her own home, but I guess she was feeling adventurous, so we spent our first night back home together at my place. She'd been there many times before, but in some ways, she was seeing it for the first time. She was learning the lay of the land, finding where the plates and glasses were kept, exploring the closets, and I suspect making plans for the future, but I'm a man and I was largely oblivious to this at the time. We prepared dinner together, enjoyed a leisurely meal on the back deck, and soon retired to bed to renew our pleasures and explorations.

That was how it began. For the next year we played gypsies moving back and forth between the two homes until we settled on mine because it had more room. She met my kids and grandkids, while I met her siblings, nieces and nephews. Two extended families became one large family, and when the time was right two people of a certain age stood before friends and family to take their vows to be faithful in sickness and in health until death did us part. At our age, that really meant something!

Now my tale should end there, but there is one more story to report. I was later told by my very amused daughter that Gerry's smartass niece turned to my equally smartass grandson and said, "Wanna bet she gets lucky tonight?" I think it must be genetic.