Statues

While waiting at a red light today, on my travels, I happened to see a statue just inside the graveyard fence, and it made me think that we are all statues in a way; born fresh-faced and newly-carved, brought forth in love and with caring attention, with doting parents, fawning friends, and celebrations. As we grow older, the erosion begins, features grow less sharp with rounder corners, pock-marked and discolored. Sounds depressing, but it's important to remember that even as we erode, fucking amazing things still happen that make life worth hanging on to.

Sex in my marriage went as the seasons went. Hot and passionate once woken, as if we could not get enough of each other, steamy and intense through its maturity, and tapering as it ages, eventually withering and dying as you wonder where the time went. I'd learned early in my marriage not to ask for what I really wanted. Talk of sex outside the ordinary was all met with negatives, and after a while, you fuck harder just to hear her whimper in order to get off. The last year, I could count on one hand the number of times we had sex. We stopped communicating except to say what needed to be done around the house; what mundane chores were required to be completed and by when, what the kids needed, upcoming appointments, and such, so when the day came that she told me she wanted out. I wasn't surprised. I had heard only criticisms over the past year, and had not been hugged or kissed in forever. I could tell she hated me. So we separated, bedrooms at first, and then houses.

A month later, I was texting with a female friend. The same one I had exchanged flirtatious text messages with at the end of my marriage. The same one that I had very nearly cheated with. And the same one who was now in a committed relationship ; such is my luck. The texts were blunt and to the point: Fucking tinder won't send me a code that works. I need to get laid. The texts back were equally as blunt: Belle X is single and horny as a rabbit. I wasn't sure. She was a coworker, a hot coworker, but still a coworker. The potential for disaster was there if things went wrong. She was the shy, demure, sexy, sultry type that wears her red hair down and messy. Petite, mature, gorgeous, with flawless skin and the greenest eyes: A fucking smoke show.

My friend assured me that she was into me. Told me that Belle had confided to her that she had had quality alone time with me in her fantasies. Enough information to make me feel comfortable in approaching her to see if there was something we could do for each other.

So, a day or two later, there I stood, a month after my moving out, next to my coworker but scared to death to make a move on her because of the possible repercussions. Technically, I was her boss. Sexual harassment could lead to my being fired or worse. So, I stood there and made some small talk about our lives. I forget what was actually said. I remember the blood rushing in my ears as I thought of how to word it, and I finally blurted out that I had split from my marriage and hadn't been laid in over a year. And yet, I still couldn't get up the nerve to ask if she might be into some casual sex out of fear of offending her. So the night passed, and I walked to my car alone to drive home, all the while kicking myself for my cowardice. But fate was to intervene this night, for no sooner had I entered the house when my phone buzzed with a Facebook message from her; "I wasn't going to go there, but you did, so *phone number* just say when and where. I immediately texted back "Now" but it had to wait one night.  I was expecting to be given an address to meet her at and I knew she was working the next night, so I was shocked when she directed me to a location to find something. It was a hotel key with the room number on it. Her instructions were to be there at 10 pm, as she could get out early that night.

That day took forever. I woke up that morning with delicious anticipation; hit the gym to pump up a little, showered and shaved, and was still hours away from meeting her. Nervousness  was setting in and all the doubts started creeping in. What if she was a prude in bed? What if we didnt click? What if I couldn't get it up for some reason, or even worse, lost it as she lay there like a cold fish?. On top of that, I hadn't been with any woman but my wife in 25 years. Fuck, I was nervous. One of my friends played in a band that had a gig that afternoon, so I made the short trip to see him, hang out and kill a few hours. I met up with two other friends there, and drank a little, just enough to take the edge off, but my mind was racing in anticipation. I realized that I had never made an appointment for sex before. I was no novice in bed, as I burned through women in my University years, but that was always after a bar scene, where you have a few drinks, make some conversation, and steer her back to your bedroom or hers. This was cold. So, with mixed feelings I left the bar after my friend was done and headed to the hotel room.