the glow of love

is still around me, all the time, whatever I do, wherever I am, but especially when I'm in my lover's arms. We have a lot of good discussions, today, about the longevity of relationships. I read an article in Chatelaine magazine, while waiting at the doctor's office (for more headache pills - sigh). It was about famous couples who actually stayed together for a long time. Ann Bancroft and her husband was one example (isn't it terrible, I can't remember the guy's name). It was fascinating to read that they knew IMMEDIATELY that they are right for each other... because the first time I met Derek, last fall, I KNEW. I know it sounds weird, creepy and downright superstitious (but hey, Halloween is approaching). Years ago, when I first dreamt about a man, a lover (it was when Lydia was just a baby and I came to the horrible, depressing and frightening realization that I don't love my husband anymore, after a fight when he made me cry for, like, the hundredth time). I had a vision of a young man (younger than me, but not much younger), with long, dark, curly hair, blue eyes, a voice that's deep and seductive, a man with intellect and sensitivity, an artist, living in a small apartment on the top floor of an old house, in a room with a slanted ceiling. I imagined running up to his apartment with fresh fruit and cheese from the market, and I would throw a fabulous lunch together and help him with his art, like pose for him or something equally sexy, and then we would make love on his old rickety bed, with his long hair hanging down and covering my face... I later put the dream in the back of my mind, thinking it one of those silly flights of fancy that women sometimes make up when dreaming of a romance, an escape. And, here I was, meeting this young man for the first time. I'd met others from AFF by then, with various success, and had a few adventures behind me, so it was strange that I was nervous on our first date. He came out of the pub, greeting me outside, telling me that the giant stuffed bear (under which we were supposed to meet) had been taken away, so he wanted to make sure I can find him. He was thinner than I imagined, slighter, but that and his nervousness made him more vulnerable, more endearing to me. He had long, dark, wavy, soft hair and a beard and startlingly light eyes that changed colour depending on the light - blue, green, grey. And when those eyes looked at me, my heart jumped into my throat. We had lunch and chatted and he looked at my breasts and I caught him and he apologized for staring. He talked about his writing, his family, his son and I talked about my reasons for seeing men outside my marriage. He suggested we go to his place, an old house by the river where he rented a room. We sat downstairs at first, talked some more and he hugged me, an almost childlike hug that was startling in its intensity and sincerity. Then he took my hand and led me up the squeaky old stairs to his room. It was a small, messy room, with a narrow bed and a large bookshelf. Later, when we laid down on the bed, I looked up, and saw the sunlight playing on the slanted ceiling. We kissed, his hair fell forward and I remembered my daydream, from long ago... the moment heated up then, and though we didn't have sex the first time, we were certainly quite excited about each other. The next time we met, I knew what's going to happen and I was so happy, giddy with anticipation and excitement. Our first time was nice. Not earth-shattering, not incredibly hot, it was more tender and romantic, and I was too nervous to completely relax and enjoy myself. It was so sweet and so beautiful, it was a shock when I saw him the next time and he broke up with me. It shouldn't have hurt too bad, really, we've only been together once and were only a "couple" for a week or so, but... it hurt. Very much. He told me he could not have a relationship with a married woman. We agreed that we want to stay friends and we held hands and he put his head in my lap and we dreamed about what could have been. And suddenly, I had to get out of there, I ran out to my car and by the time I turned the ignition I was crying. Sobbing, more like. He called me a few minutes later, he was worried that by me leaving so abruptly, I decided not to see him again, and somehow he just couldn't bear that. I said, no, of course not, we're still friends. So I came to the philosophy pub, and the Humanist meetings, out of interest, too, but also to see him. So that's how it started, this months-long dance that we did, circling around each other, looking at each other, briefly touching than parting again, neither of us willing to give up the other completely, neither of us ready to give in to our true feelings. We danced with others, flirted and laughed and touched, but we never really lost sight of the other. Until just a few weeks ago when finally the pretense and the game and the dance just fell away and it was just the two of us, with raw feelings we could no longer hide.