A Love That Never Dies

"There's nothing wrong with you, Miss Connie. You are a very desirable woman, but . . . you need to slow down and not be in such a rush. If you try to make things happen, you'll repeat your mistakes of the past . . . and I don't want to be one of your mistakes. Just let things happen and the right things will eventually happen for you. Besides, I know that you want to find a traditional kind of guy and you need to let a traditional guy do the things that a traditional guy does, like asking the lady out instead of vice versa."

"Okay, but . . ." she started and again I interrupted by pulling her body to mine and giving her a platonic but extended hug. I know that the hug only caused her to be more confused about what was happening between us. She looked up at me and she looked into my eyes with that look that combines lust and love, but perhaps that was just wishful thinking on my part. I could tell that she wanted to say something so I immediately put the tip of my finger on her lips, indicating that she needed to keep her thought to herself.

"Soon," I said as I turned and walked away.

* * *

About fifteen minutes later, I called Connie on her cell phone. "Hey, this is Tom," I announced.

"Oh, hi. Was there something you forgot to tell me at the courthouse?" she asked.

"No. This isn't about your divorce case. Since the first day you walked into my office, I've thought that you're a wonderful woman and a beautiful lady and I know you've probably got a line of guys waiting to take you out, and it's kind of late to be asking but, would you like to go out to dinner tomorrow night?" I asked.

"Can I think about it?" she asked. Obviously, I thought, she wanted me to feel what I had made her feel just a few minutes earlier.

"Okay, but don't wait too long, because Doreen just called me and said there's a line of women waiting outside my office and they all want to go to dinner with me tomorrow night."

"Tom Darnell, you're really quite full of yourself, aren't you?" Connie teased me.

"No, not really. I've just . . . I've been expecting this to happen and . . . well, cool guys aren't supposed to say these kind of things to a lady, and if you ever repeat this, you'll ruin my reputation, but . . . the truth is, I've really been looking forward to this and . . . I just want to hear you say 'yes.'"

"So . . . all I have to do to make you happy today is say 'yes?'" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am. I'm really a simple guy and that's all it takes to make me happy today."

"Okay, here it is," she said. "Yes. Pick me up at 7:00 pm, and . . . this is my first date in fourteen years, so please don't take me to McDonalds for dinner."

"No, ma'am. No Golden Arches for you," I promised.

Friday, May 25, 2007

Sometimes, when I have a first date with a woman, I don't get particularly excited about it. I've had enough experience to feel comfortable with dating and all of the rituals that traditional guys go through in the courting process, but sometimes it just isn't fun. And, sometimes, I just don't have very high expectations for new prospects. You might call me a well-seasoned veteran of the dating wars.

If the next candidate-in-waiting is overly eager because she thinks she's going to marry me and get all my money and never need to work again . . . well, desperate women can do desperate things, and quite often they will ignore the three-date rule. If that's the way they are, and they are willing to plan and manipulate to try to take advantage of me, and if they are at least reasonably attractive . . . I let them play their game. I get a few drinks in them and I take them back to their apartment - always back to their place and never to mine - and we have down-and-dirty, hot, animal sex. I'm talking about screwing her until her eyes pop out and she begs me to stop. I'm talking about fucking her so hard that it hurts for her to walk the next day. I cum in her mouth, I cum in her pussy, and anywhere else that she lets me. I never do anything to a lady against her will and of course I never do anything by use or threat of force, but . . . I don't really care if she likes it or has fun; if she doesn't respect me, why should I respect her? I'm not a disrespectful chauvinist pig or whatever women call men who are selfish users, but what I do isn't any more disrespectful than what they're trying to do to me. If they think they can take advantage of me, they don't deserve to be respected, so the only thing left is the basic satisfaction of primal needs . . . so I fuck them good and then I never call them again. Those aren't the kind of women that I want for a long-term relationship and I give them no more, and no less, than what they deserve.

I have dated a number of women who did not fit that description, and I really don't have a jaded opinion of the opposite gender. I love women. I love good women. I want a good woman. I just don't approach a first date with any expectations.

However, Connie was so different; she had my attention from the first time I met her. She was the polar opposite of the designing women who I had met in the past. I knew Connie well enough to know that she was a classy lady and I knew that she didn't need me for financial support. I knew that she was as sweet as orange blossom honey and I knew that she was dedicated, faithful, and loyal to the people whom she loved. Guys won't often admit it but, sometimes, we look at women and evaluate them as potential wives. Some of us really do want to settle in to a long-term relationship and we aren't just interested in notches in the bedpost. Connie would be a good catch for any guy worthy enough to hold her attention.

So . . . I was excited about this first date. I got a haircut. I had my car detailed. I made dinner reservations at my club and I made sure that we had a nice table reserved. I left work early and went home and showered. I cleaned up and made as good a showing of myself as I could. I knew I already had Connie's interest but I wanted to send a signal that I was excited about our date. I know that strategy is not covered in the guys' first book about girls, but I don't follow the book; never have, never will.

I picked her up at 7:00 pm sharp. Connie was dressed in a very attractive gold sequined dress with a bust line just low enough to make me want to see more of her feminine assets. The jewelry she wore was tasteful and not gaudy. She was wearing a perfume that I only smelled when I got close and, then, it made me want to smell more of her. It was a very sexy effect. She was like a siren calling Ulysses but this siren's song was just as powerful though much more subtle.

Connie had obviously spent some time getting herself ready for the date, not that she needed to worry about her appearance. Obviously, she also was excited about our date and she wanted me to know it. Hell, it was her first date in 14 years. I knew she was nervous and excited, and I knew that she liked me.

We started the date with dinner at the club. The food was excellent, the service was superb, the atmosphere was elegant, and my date - as I already described - was beautiful. I noticed more than a few guys stealing glances at Connie when their wives or date weren't looking. So far, it was the best date of my life and I felt like the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet to have this woman sitting at my table. Men can be Neanderthals, even men with bonus IQ points, and Connie brought out all of my animal instincts. My woman! You can look and drool, but don't come closer and don't touch!

During dinner, I avoided "serious" conversation, meaning that neither of us talked about prior romantic relationships or her marriage. We talked about our families, where we grew up, our musical tastes, the most recent movies we had seen, and all the other "stuff" that people talk about on first dates. In addition to our physical attraction and mutual respect, Connie and I discovered that we had much in common. We both enjoyed live music and liked to attend classical music concerts as well as classic rock concerts. We both preferred comedy movies and our favorite comedian was Steve Martin. We both loved day hikes in the North Carolina mountains and we both loved a good, thick T-bone steak.

After a very pleasant and leisurely dinner, we moved to the adjoining lounge and had a few drinks while we listened to a live band playing easy listening/soft rock. When the band started playing a few slow songs, Connie asked me to dance with her.

When we got on the dance floor, there were several other couples all doing what real dancers sarcastically call "the hug and wobble." No one else was watching us and it was like one of those old movies where the guy and girl are on the dance floor and the rest of the world fades out; nothing existed except Connie, me, and the immediate moment. She placed her arms around my waist and pulled me close enough that I'm sure she could feel the boner which was beginning to form down south. However, if she felt it, she didn't say anything about it.

She placed her head on my shoulder and spoke softly. "I'm so glad it's finally over. I've been ready to move on with my life and now I'm free to do it. And you were great. Thank you."

"Connie, with most of my clients, there's a certain amount of sadness that comes with a divorce, you know, an admission that a chapter of your life was a mistake that couldn't be fixed, especially for the folks that have a child. But I understand the sense of relief, and . . . I have a selfish reason to be glad that it's over. It feels good standing here with your arms around me, and we wouldn't be here if you were still married, so I'm glad you're finally free."

"I've wanted you since the day we met, so the feeling's mutual," she responded.

"I want to make sure you understand something," I began. "I've been single for a while, I'm a successful attorney, and there are lots of good looking single women looking to snag somebody like me. Most of them will jump into bed on a first date if they think that will help, so . . . I don't have any problem getting laid, if that's what I want, but . . . I don't put notches in my bed post and I don't keep score; that's something I got over a long time ago. You're a beautiful woman and I'm sure I'd enjoy every second of it if we were between the sheets but . . . you just got divorced and you're probably nowhere close to ready to have a relationship. I know there's some chemistry between us, but I don't have any expectation of us having sex tonight or the next date or the date after that. I'm not saying I'm opposed to it, either. If you want to have sex, we can do that, but I hope you know that's not all I want." I was looking straight into her eyes as I spoke to her and I know that my words stuck a chord with her. I knew that she wanted more.

"What makes you think that I want to have sex with you?" she asked with a very serious look on her face. About two seconds later, I started laughing and then she started laughing. "Okay, I guess that was lame."

We both looked into each other's eyes. I felt an openness with Connie, a direct communication with nothing hidden by innuendo or concealed with ambiguity. I knew, or at least I felt, that I could reveal anything about myself and she wouldn't laugh or run away. I felt my heart unlock and I was overwhelmed with the beauty of this moment. It was at this moment that Connie stole my heart. That is precisely when it happened.

"So, there's something you need to know about . . . but don't worry, it's nothing about a sex change operation. First, everybody in the world has warned me about falling for the first guy who comes along. You know, 'just date but don't get serious,' they all say. But . . . you really impressed me the first time we met. I could tell that you're a man of integrity and that you really care about your clients but, still, at that point, I'll admit I was just flirting. Then, every time we met, you did something or said something that made me want to be with you even more. I don't want to let a good man pass by just because of what my friends tell me."

She paused briefly, then continued. "Not being able to pursue you was frustrating to me and the only release was . . . well, you jokingly told me to tend to my needs with the battery operated boyfriend - I don't know if you remember that, but I certainly do - and there were lots of times that I thought about you when . . . you know, but . . . this isn't just about sex. I've had several offers over the past six months but . . . you want to know how many notches I have in my bedpost? One, just one, the one I just divorced. I know I've been a bit forward, and unusually . . . I guess, flirtatious, but I'm not a slut, not even a high-class slut, and you wouldn't have a chance with me if I didn't have some genuine feelings for you more than just feeling, uh, horny. I want to give myself to somebody who I can trust, and I want to feel trust, and appreciation, from them. I hope that's you."

I looked down at her and brought my lips to hers. I briefly felt her lips and I thought I felt, momentarily, the tip of her tongue. It wasn't a chaste kiss but it wasn't a pull-down-your-panties-and-let's-fuck-right-here kiss, either. It was the kiss that two people share in that moment when they say to each other, "everybody else might think we're crazy but let's explore this thing together and hope we find gold."

"I just want a guy to love me the way I love him. Is that too much to ask?" Connie posed rhetorically.

"You know, I'm not in love with you Connie. I like you and I respect you and, if I spend enough time with you, I may fall in love with you. God knows that I'm in lust with you!" I said. Connie grinned. "For me . . . if I go home with you and we have sex, it won't be fucking. It's a way of saying that I trust you and I want you to trust me and I want to know that I can please you physically."

"Tom!" Connie said with some mild emphasis in her voice. "You had me at 'hello.'"

"Well, Southern girl, you can stop working your voodoo spell on me, too," I smiled. "Where's your daughter tonight?" I asked. She got a glint in her eye that told me that she understood - she understood beyond doubt - why I was asking that question.

"Spending the night at a sleepover with one of her friends. She won't be back until tomorrow afternoon."

"Very convenient! I guess you had all of this planned from the beginning!" I teased.

"Maybe," she slowly and seductively replied, "I had it planned . . . just in case."

"When I take you home, I can kiss you goodnight at the front door and walk away feeling like a very lucky guy, looking forward to our next date. But if you invite me in . . . you won't need to work anymore graveyard dirt or chicken bones or roots on me and you won't need to get me liquored up; you've already got me. I'll spend the night and I won't be sleeping on the sofa. So . . . it's your call and there's no pressure . . . really. In fact, I'll ask you for a second date right now, regardless of what happens tonight. Connie, what would you like to do for a second date?"

She thought about it for a minute and then responded, "I think I'd like for us to have breakfast together."

"How soon do you want us to have this breakfast date?" I asked.

"How about tomorrow morning?" she smiled as she responded.

"I'm not sure I can wake up that early on a Saturday morning," I cautioned her teasingly.

"Don't worry, Tom. I'll come back upstairs and wake you when breakfast is ready." The sly smile on her face told me all that I needed to know. I quickly signed the tab and we headed for the exit.

We got in my car and drove back to her house. My car has bucket seats so she couldn't slide over and get cozy with me, but we did do something that seems to be a dying art: we held hands. It wasn't a nervous, sweaty palms kind of hand holding. It was a comfortable-like-wearing-old-gloves holding of the hands. As we held hands, I thought about the dates I had when I was a teenager and how nervous I was when I attempted to hold hands with a girl for the first time. That shy little kid had vanished a long time ago.

As we got close to Connie's home, we stopped talking. I know that I was a little bit nervous about the evening. Men who are concerned about their partners always experience a bit of performance anxiety before the first time with a lady. Will I be good enough? Am I big enough? Will I make her cum? Will I make her feel satisfied? The last few minutes of our ride, there was no conversation as I was lost in thought.

As I pulled into her driveway, I gently squeezed her hand to reassure her. She looked at me and smiled. "You seem to have been lost in your thoughts. Would you care to share them?" she asked.

I was afraid that she might think she wasn't good enough to hold my attention, so I decided on what some men would evaluate as a risky strategy. I told her the truth.

"I was thinking about being in your bedroom, getting naked with each other, being intimate and close and . . . I was thinking about whether I would make you feel satisfied. You see, despite what women think they know about men, we actually have some bedroom insecurities, too. It would be nice to know - now - that, tomorrow morning, you'll feel glad that you invited me into your bed."

"Tom, very few men would admit to having those feelings but I bet you make me cum like a party girl at a gang bang!" she joked with me. That was certainly not the response which I had expected.

I laughed. "You are a different kind of woman, Connie. You seem so - classy - and then, every now and then, these naughty-little-girl comments sneak out and . . . holy fuck, I'm so hard for you!"

I parked and opened the car door for her, then offered her my hand to assist her in getting out of the car. I know what good manners are because (you may not believe this) I learned them when I was in a fraternity in college. It's true, though that it not what most people think about fraternities. Those lessons have served me well, because good manners and chivalrous behavior always impress truly good women.

When we got to her front door, we stopped for her to find her key. She put the key in the lock and turned it without opening the door. She turned to me and extended her hand as if she was going to offer me a handshake instead of a goodnight kiss.

I looked down at her hand and then back up at her eyes. "That wasn't very convincing," I said as I moved my lips towards hers. As soon as we connected, her mouth was open and her tongue was probing. I matched her ardor as I thrust my tongue into her mouth. My right hand was on her back and I slid it down to her ass and pulled her body to mine in a tight embrace. My right leg was extended down between her legs and her crotch was against my upper thigh.

I whispered into her ear. "I want you. I want to make love with you. I want to be inside you. I want to hear you cum. You've been getting me aroused since the moment I first got here, and now I'm an animal, an animal that needs to be inside you . . . real bad."

"Let's go in before the neighbors report us to the morals board," she quipped, "then we can be real bad . . . or real good . . . or both."

"The sooner, the better," I said.

She opened the door and then locked it behind us after we had entered.

"I don't need another drink; do you?" she asked.

I shook my head in a negative response.

"I'll give you the grand tour of the chateau tomorrow, okay?" she asked in a way that told me it wasn't really a question.

"Just lead me to your bedroom," I said.

She took my hand and led me through a foyer and family room, through a hallway, and then into her bedroom.

"I hope you don't mind but I usually sleep naked," she said coyly.

"That'll work out just fine, because . . . I was planning on getting you naked and . . . I didn't bring any pajamas with me," I explained rather innocently.