San Francisco

San Francisco 

  
He arrived from San Francisco just as I remembered him:  tall with broad shoulders, an athletic build at fifty and salt and pepper hair that offset the mischief in his blue eyes. 

I was as taken with him at that very moment as I was the first time we met. 

Wearing his usual grey suit and cheshire grin, I felt the room immediately grow warmer upon his arrival. 

It had been two years since we had last met and time had intensified the fire. 

The distance over the years had ignited our adore. 

Instead of my usual demure self, I chose to embolden myself and reach for him at the the hotel bar. 

His reaction was immediate. 

Over drinks we spoke of our longings from so far away and why we stayed away. 

My marriage was still intact and we chose to be strong and do all we could to respect that truth. 

It was when he heard that I was free that he flew to New York to “fold into” me. 

I laughed at the thought of being “folded into” and wished that I hadn’t waited so very long. 

I was unsure of what “fold into” meant but was quickly educated as we both dissolved into what was probably inappropriate behavior for an upscale Manhattan hotel bar. 

His hands were as strong, rough and encompassing as I had remembered. 

We had one wonderful evening while I was still “legally involved” but quite “abandonded” by my spouse.  It was pure physically but emotionally entwining. 

It was that night that kept me sane throughout the most lonely of times. 

But that was a million years ago…

It was a long flight from San Francisco and he hadn’t eaten dinner therefore he was ravenous for more than simply me. 

I was kind and impatient, toying with him the entire time as he attempted to swallow a few bites of his dinner. 

Half-eaten, we had found our way to his room at the very hotel where we first felt the “electricity” so many years ago. 

That was so long ago and our attraction was palatable.  

He drank Martinis and kept his hands on my knees, stared deep into my eyes and begged me to follow my heart. 

I did all that I could to breathe. 

Now our breathing was in synch and labored but in a much different fashion.  

The letters and phone calls which led up to this moment never could have cast a shadow on this night. 

He was exactly as I imagined:  strong and careful, forceful but not too aggressive. 

Giving and receptive.  

We laughed and not once did I worry about my body or if he was judging me.

He took everything in; leaving no part of me untouched or ignored. In return, I showered him with the same gifts of intamacy and passion. 

This was not what I was accustomed to – this was nirvana. My head was spinning and my only fear was that I would wake and he would be gone.  

In the dim light of morning he was still there, hair rumpled and well-pressed suit missing; I smiled and it was as though he could feel it because he turned over. 

“It’s 6:00 am, do you know what time that is at home?”  This time I got to be the Cheshir cat and gave him cause to “rise” earlier that morning. 

We woke in time to shower and have lunch delivered to our room. 

He would stay as long as I would like or I could go to San Francisco. 

For the first time in my life I had choices that were all mine and all positive. 

My only baggage would be my sweet little dog and his only desire was to see me happy and for more steak. 

As he napped, I ran my fingers through his thick hair and wondered if I could do this for the rest of my life. 

If he would want me for that long. 

With a sudden movement he grabbed my wrist tightly and frightened me. 

I gasped, he spoke slowly; “Come home with me. I need my heart filled, my bed  filled and I think I may die if you stop running your fingers through my hair”. 

And he laughed – we laughed. 

He continued:  Yes, it began as lust and longing.

 And, yes, there is still incredible lust and longing. 

Except now you are “home”. 

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