As I walked to answer my front door, I had a little spring in my step. I was about to "close the deal" with my handsome, studly, twentysomething suitor. I had taken my sweet time because, unlike suitors of the past, this one slightly intimidated me. I mean, let's face it: I have underwear older than this kid. Well, the elastic band is shot and they have little pictures of Wonder Woman all over them, but they are mine and I still have them.
But, that was all in the past. I'd had a recent epiphany, which had brought me to the realization that there truly is nothing more attractive in a person than pure, unadulterated confidence. And I was about to prove that to this very sexy man—as well as myself, by allowing him to see me in all of my glory. Well, I was going to allow him to see me in all of my polished-up-and- waxed, scantily clad, lights-out, single-candlelight glory, anyway. Hey, progress, not perfection.
After calling and inviting him for our first sleepover, I raced out for a quick and painful bikini wax and a total-body exfoliation, followed by a micro-dermabrasion treatment and a two-hour massage to work out all the tension I'd been storing ever since the first time I'd hugged him good-bye and felt his perfectly sculpted, young body against my not-as-solid-as-it-was-10-years-ago rig. Then, last but not least, I made a mad dash to Victoria's Secret in search of the perfect older-frame-flattering sleepwear.
I'd seen it work in the movies at least a skillion times: The older woman seducing a younger man. And she never did it while wearing anything like the old Phoenix Sun's boxer shorts and a worn-out Thunder Dan Majerle jersey I usually sleep in. So I tried on at least a hundred styles of nightgowns and garters and other ridiculous contraptions before finally settling on a simple but pretty lavender camisole and matching panties.
Whew! By the time he showed up, I was almost too exhausted to do anything but sleep. But I was determined not to chicken out.
Ding-Dong.
Oh. My. God.
I opened the door.
"Hi, how are ..." he started, but before he could finish his greeting I reached out and pulled him to me, my lips on his faster than ... something that happens really fast.
"Did you bring your toothbrush?" I inquired in a sultry tone.
He answered me with a mischievous grin. I took him gently by the hand and led him to my room where I lit one tiny candle, which gave off just enough light so that he could see me, but not too well. I told him to make himself comfortable and that I wouldn't be but a second.
For a solid 10 minutes I paced my bathroom floor, trying not to chew on my newly manicured nails. Suddenly, I was a nervous wreck. I was about to boldly go where I'd never gone before, a new frontier. I was about to embark on a sexual adventure with the hottest, youngest man I'd ever dated.
"Are you all right, Sonja?" he asked sweetly.
"Yes, I'm fine," I answered. "Be right out."
And with that, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and with a quick sucking in of the belly and slight arch of the back, I turned the handle and entered my dimly lit bedroom.
My eyes, adjusting to the near darkness, found him standing next to my bed, illuminated by the candlelight. He was wearing nothing but his jeans. My breath caught in my throat. Oh. My. God. He was gorgeous; the statue of David had nothing on this boy. He was a living work of art with his six-pack, perfect pecs, narrow waist, broad shoulders and golden tan. So I did what any self-respecting, middle-aged woman would do: I immediately spun around and ducked back into the safety of my bathroom.
I'm such a dork! I took one last deep breath and on exhalation, I peeled off the pretty lavender camisole and dropped it to the floor. And with that, I opened the door and walked right up to my Boy Wonder and stood there before him wearing nothing but the pretty little panties I'd taken such care to select.
He smiled as he took me into his arms, holding me closely for a few moments. "You OK?" he asked. I nodded my head, words escaping me as I breathed in the scent of him. I allowed my hands to slide down his muscular back to find the high, round bottom I'd been longing to squeeze. He let out a small moan ... or was that me?
Then he took a step back to look at me and here's where things get weird: I let him. I even turned in a slow circle so that he could see all of me and I didn't even blow out the candle first. "You are ridiculously beautiful," he said, pulling me back into his strong arms. And that is exactly how I felt. So without all of my usual hang-ups or insecurities about our age difference or my body issues, without my eyes closed, without total darkness, I stayed present and gave into my desires and allowed myself to just be. And it was ... sheer bliss.
Later, as we lay in bed, his body perfectly molded around mine, like two spoons in a drawer, I made a silent vow not to confuse sex with love. I swore to myself that this time, things would be different because I knew that this young man wasn't mine to keep, only mine to enjoy for awhile and then it would be time to let him go. I felt so mature knowing that was the rule. It was as though having that knowledge allowed me to feel confident and secure, so utterly and completely ... full ... of ... shit. A tiny tear slid down my cheek in the darkness, because at that moment, the only thing I was utterly and completely sure of was the fact that when it was time to let him go, it was going to break my heart.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?