Somewhere between waxing nostalgic for my ex-husband to busting my ass as a single mother juggling two kids, a full-time career and a household to run, there was Ben. Ah yes, my sweet Ben. Ben whom I took one look at and swore I wanted to spend the rest of my life taking care of; because he somehow managed to make me believe in love at first sight. Something I was certain I no longer believed in. Surely it couldn't strike twice in one woman's lifetime, could it?
He was just the excuse I needed to take a break from my otherwise hectic existence. And so, I took some time off from my writing because what I felt with Ben was real and I didn't want to share the experience with anyone. I wanted to bottle the feelings he had awakened deep inside of me and keep them all to myself.
Selfish, I know. And for that I apologize to you, my loyal readers, but wasn't I deserving of a love to call my own? Hadn't I failed long enough for your reading pleasure? It seemed that the possibility for love had taken its sweet time making its way back to me. And, it had done so in the form of this man; born and bred in the heartland and wearing his heart on his sleeve.
He was like Calgon. He took me away. When we weren't together, all I could think about was when we would be again. I would lie awake at night, fantasizing about being wrapped in his arms, our lips locked in passionate kisses, tongues darting curiously in and out of each other's mouths, licking, kissing, sucking, oh my! Our bodies pressed together, writhing with desire. And even when he took my hand and placed it under his shirt so that I could feel his hot, sweaty .... squishy ... hairy... chubby belly and ... dare I say ... man boobs? Yes! I'll say it! Ben had B-cup-sized man boobs—but I didn't care! Why? Because, love is blind, that's why!
I hadn't felt this strongly for a man in ages; I wasn't about to be derailed by perky breasts with nipples that, when excited or chilly, rivaled my own. No! I wanted to fall in love with him from the first time we spoke. And as soon as I found out that he was a Filthy Scumbag, I knew that we were two souls on a collision course to destiny. The Filthy Scumbags was the name of a softball team he played on in Chicago, which incidentally was a line from my all-time favorite movie ever made, About Last Night. It was his favorite movie ever made too. Coincidence? I think not!
On one of our first dates we watched it together and took turns delivering the lines in perfect unison. He even gave me his prized team jersey, which dawned the name "Filthy Scumbags" across the chest to sleep in. So I did. Every night. Every night as I drifted off to sleep thinking of my sweet Ben, I'd deeply inhale the scent of his laundry detergent.
Falling in love with Ben was incredible, a veritable whirlwind of romance, passion and substance. We were made for each other, and we both knew it. I could tell because of the beautiful things he would say to me. Once, when I met him at Roy's Restaurant for dinner, he said, "When I saw you coming around the corner in that dress, I said to myself, 'Now there's a real woman'. You are drop-dead gorgeous, Sonja. Every man in here wishes he were me. How did I get so lucky? I'm so glad I never settled, or I never would have found you." And I believed.
I never knew that the sound of smoke being blown up my own ass could be so sweet. I thought I was too old for all that bullshit. The entire affair lasted just about two weeks. Four months in dog years. It ended mysteriously, without even the common courtesy of a phone call to explain where I'd gone wrong. He didn't even offer me the closure I needed to grow on. Nothin', nada, zilch.
OK, so there's something to be said about relationships that start off with a bang, so to speak. Everyone close to me said that anything that started off as fast as we did would eventually burn itself out just as quickly. But I didn't listen. I knew better. They didn't lie in his arms, look into those eyes, listen to those words, stroke those boobs. They hadn't been suckered like me. Believing in some small-town schmuck that said all the right things, did all the right things and then mysteriously stopped calling as soon as he got what he wanted. What did they know?
So, I stopped writing. I stopped believing. Again. That is until a few weeks passed and I was able to look at the entire charade more objectively and realize, we weren't falling in love, we didn't spend enough time getting to know anything more about each other than the fact that we both liked the same lame movie. The cold, hard fact was: We were two lonely, horny, busty people who happened into each other and fell hard for the idea of what we could have represented. The End.
And you know what? I wouldn't trade one second of the time I spent with Ben for anything this world has to offer, because for a little while, I felt more alive than I had in months. And it was amazing. In retrospect, maybe there doesn't have to be romance in everything. Maybe there just has to be a lesson to be learned and the ability to move on without losing hope.
So, I'm back yet again, Las Vegas, at your request, thanks for your support. I'm still hopeful. Still believing in true love everlasting. Still knowing that at the end of the day love can and will prevail as long as you never lose sight of what you truly, deeply want. And most importantly, that man boobs are never attractive, no matter how in love you wish you were.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?