Twentieth date

I think this must be a record -- four months between dates is a long time. But we have had a lot going on, D and I. She moved some eight or nine hundred miles from where she had been living (depending on whether you fly or drive), to take a new teaching job in a place I'll call Weather City. A couple months into the job she figured out that the administration was even crazier than at her last place; also they seem to have bitten off more than they could pay for in hiring her, and so were trying to encourage her to quit. I know, it sounds nuts -- but that what she tells me and I don't know any more about it. A couple of weeks ago she finally quit, and has been looking for a new line of work. (She may have found one too, but that's a different post.)

For my part, I had a couple trips out of town in August (when she was trying to start up at the new job) but then nothing for a while. And the trips in August were timed in such a way it would have been awkward to steal some free time between them anyway. So what with one thing and another we hadn't seen each other since the end of June. Add to that that I had more or less unilaterally cut back how often we wrote or talked, and the result is we were beginning to drift out of touch. And then I had a week in one of our European offices, at the end of October. D couldn't join me in Europe -- she was still extricating herself from her job at that point -- but I routed my return flight through Weather City and stopped off for about 18 hours. It wasn't a lot, but it was a visit.

D was practically giddy when we met at the airport; I may not have been quite as goofy, but of course I was glad to see her. We kissed and kissed ... then periodically stopped and kissed again as we made our way out of the airport. (At one point someone else on the same airport shuttle cracked, "Get a room" ... which of course we were already planning anyway. We just laughed. I'm pretty sure it was meant good-naturedly, if only because there are some things that people get more tolerant of when they see grey hair.) On our way to D's new apartment she told me she had woken early that morning from a nightmare: "I dreamt we had some big argument and you wouldn't sleep with me! And you were trying to sleep on the sofa in my living room and complained how uncomfortable it was ...." Gosh, sweetheart. Have you been anxious lately?

We got to her apartment -- simple, elegant, almost spare except for all the books. (I know, like that's a big surprise.) She showed me around and I'm sure I spent at least five or ten minutes putting down my bags and appreciating how she had decorated before we settled onto the bed, began kissing again, and then fucked like maniacs. Sometimes, four months can seem like a long, long time. But it was blissfully calm, afterwards, just holding each other ... staring at each other as the sun went down and the room darkened.

What about dinner? She had planned a recipie she wanted to show off to me, so we got dressed and she began puttering about in the kitchen. First order of business was that she opened a bottle of wine.

"Umm, D?" I demurred. "I'm not sure if I should be drinking. I'm afraid I'll snore again like the last time; and I really felt awful about that. I really don't want to do it again." In the back of my head I reminded myself also that I had lost almost twenty pounds in the four months between then and now, which might also help. But yes, I was still worried.

D dismissed the worry abruptly. "Don't be silly Hosea. I'm not going to fret over whether you snore or not. Do you think I'm crazy? I've got a man in my bed tonight -- the last thing I would do is jeopardize that! Drink the damned wine; it'll be fine."

Dinner was delicious, although D insisted that the organic chicken she had bought tasted fundamentally different from factory-farmed chicken and it tasted the same to me. After dinner we sat in her living room talking for a bit, and then started kissing, ... and then somehow I found myself suckling her nipples as she was pulling her pants out of the way and my fingers were nestling into her crotch. Amazing how the conversation wanders ...! Somewhere along the line I realized that she had never bothered to close any of her windows, and I wondered if I should be a bit more self-conscious. I didn't see lights in any of the adjoining apartments, and in any event anyone who lived there would be a total stranger to me. But the only person with any call to pause at this was D, and her mind was absolutely elsewhere. So I dismissed the thought and went with the moment ....

After a while we found our way to bed -- and I'm sure there was a third time somewhere before dawn, though I can't quite place it now. In the middle of the night I woke up with a mysterious headache -- "mysterious" because I almost never get them. Was it the wine? The jet lag? Not enough coffee the day before? I'm really not sure. After some rummaging, D found a couple of baby aspirin in her bathroom and I settled back to sleep. We both realized with a bit of a smile that it would have been a lot easier to find medications back home, where Wife stockpiles so many of them.

In the morning, as we were breakfasting, I mentioned the windows to D. She shrugged and said, "Well, maybe we gave the neighbors a show last night. OK, well I guess I've always been a bit of an exhibitionist." Then she told me amusing stories about those neighbors she has met as we got ourselves back to the airport.

In the end we got there in plenty of time but I spent too long gazing fondly into her eyes and had to run for my plane. But it was worth it. When I finally got home, Son 2 was bouncing off the walls with excitement to see me, and Wife complained in a sullen monotone about everything that had gone wrong since I left ... which seemed to be a long list. Yup, I guess I was back home.