It is date day. He calls me and I explain that I find myself in his home town. He offers to drive me home and to take me out in the city. Without hesitation I agree. So much for the mad planning of menopausal women.
Frantically, I shower and dress while having a hot flash. It is August, and while my friend is also having hot flashes, her husband is very thin, never hot and has no understanding of why I am sweating, swelling, yelling, crying and gasping for breath. I have fifteen minutes to be ready. The solution? Teething rings left in the freezer from years gone by placed between and under each breast. I am just beginning to breathe normally and the doorbell rings. My friend and I are paralyzed. Her husband befuddled. Insisting that my friend stay in the kitchen – I know her nose was pressed up against the window as I left – I go to answer the door for my mystery date. He is exactly what he represented. He is young, cute and smart. Stepping out with my most vivacious self, I hopped into his car and nervously talked the entire thirty minute drive to the city and my apartment. What we say is that we are going out for a drink. I am pretty sure that won’t happen. He is looking for Mrs. Robinson and I am looking for a bit of a tune up. It has been so long since I have had sex that I wonder if it really is like riding a bike. We get to my neighborhood and he parks the car so he can carry my overnight bag up for me. While it’s true I live in an elevator doorman building I do not protest. I invited him in for a drink. We sat on opposite ends of the sofa and sipped scotch. This was the first time in years that I had been alone in a room with a man where business was not the issue before us. I had no idea what to say and somehow I thought the thing to do was to dazzle him with my big brain. I may have dazzled him with my big brain that night but I believe he was more dazzled by my big breasts. We talked for a while but soon, I’m sure in an effort to shut me up, he leaned in to kiss me. I was thrilled that my lips remembered what to do. We fumbled for a while in the living room. He was kissing me and climbing on top of me. I couldn’t remember the last time I was in that position. He asked if we could move to the bedroom and I obliged. He was lovely. He was a bit nervous and admitted that being with an older woman – Mrs. Robinson – was a fantasy. He may have been just as nervous as I was. My world was not rocked but if he ever reads this he should know he was responsible for giving me back a little freedom. It’s too bad we didn’t have another go at it. Now I would be able to oblige with a little supporting foundation – emotional and otherwise.
My appeal to the other sex had become reestablished in my own mind. I was ready and confident enough to continue.