Member-only story
Make love with affection
The leaves of the aspen on the edge of the meadow scintillate in the breeze, flashing light and dark, light and dark. They mesmerize as they twist and turn on their unique hinge, doing a dance other plants and trees cannot.
Something has changed in me. I’ve suddenly become more relaxed. I’m less vigilant, less worried, less rigid. I’m more open.
Suddenly, I am less bound by propriety and strictures. They fell away of their own accord. They simply collapsed, in a poof of dust, through no fault or work of mine. In fact, I’ve been graced.
I had been retreating. Rapidly, I must say. Turning 50 last year was sobering. Turning 51 this year solidified it. I felt washed up, sad, watchful — waiting nervously for my sexuality to ebb away.
Then, a man approached me at a party. He crept up on me like a panther, appearing out of nowhere and melting into my personal space with an authority that left me limp, and mute. When we danced, he raked the back of my neck with his fingers.
Let’s just say, he had my full attention. I was riveted. I thought he would be an amazing lover. But when it took place, our encounter was unsatisfying to the extreme. It was “hot,” but left me cold. Because there was no care there. No regard. No love. The panther awakened me, and for that I am grateful. But, he was not a lover.
