Author: Mark Smith
Title: Plunging Into the Pool
Part: 3
Summary:  Mark and John hadn’t seen each other since high school, but John’s return after 24 years leads to an encounter unlike anything either of them had ever experienced.
Keywords:  Bi MF Romantic Literary


Plunging Into the Pool: An Old Friend is Worth the Wait

   Copyright (C) 2012 Mark Smith

   This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike
License.  All other rights reserved.

   This story is inspired by actual events, but names, dates, places and
other details have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals
involved.  Any mention of businesses, celebrities or other trademarks does
not imply any connection to this story; there is none.  No other person
mentioned in this story has contributed to or is aware of it; it represents
only the author's views.  Not all of the events described in this story
actually occurred.

   Discuss this story anonymously on my website.  All comments are welcome!
www.plungingintothepool.blogspot.com

   Dedication

   My story is dedicated to the female reader.  I love talking to women,
sharing my thoughts with them, and hearing their stories.  So I decided to
write this description of my experience in full detail to give a little
back for all the pleasures women have provided throughout my life..  I hope
there are at least a few female readers who will be intrigued by my story,
and who will enjoy getting into my head to hear what I thought about it.  I
also hope they will enjoy the mystery of reading a story that unfolds
slowly, trusting that the author will explain everything, eventually.  This
is not to say, of course, that men will not also enjoy reading this story.
It's just that I did not write this story for them.

   Act One, Scene One

   A moderately upscale seafood restaurant amid high rise office towers in
uptown Charlotte, North Carolina.

   The McCormick & Schmick's that John chose is at the corner of Tryon and
4th Street.  It's on the street level of one of those glass and steel
office buildings that were so popular in the boom.  I liked this
restaurant, and thought it was a good choice for the evening.  It wasn't
incredibly fancy, but it was nice enough that we could have a pleasant,
"sophisticated" evening.  I didn't want to meet him in a burger joint, and
was glad when he suggested a place like this.  I thought it showed we have
similar tastes.

   I told the lady at the door that I was meeting someone at the bar, and
she merely smiled and gestured over her shoulder.  Looking past her, I saw
John immediately.  That is, I saw his hair.  There weren't many people at
the bar so he certainly stood out, with what I was glad to see was a rather
unruly shock of brown curly hair on his head.

   During the five seconds that I walked across the room toward him, my
first thought was that I was relieved to see that he still had his hair,
and in pretty much the same style, although tamed from high school, of
course.  It was rather long and his curls fell down around his ears, the
back of his head to his shirt collar, and even over his forehead.  It gave
his head kind of a bushy appearance that might, in fact, have looked
unkempt and unattractive in some ways.  But to me, it brought back memories
of high school and I found it very intriguing.  It was one of the many
things that were inviting to me, that made me want to get to know him
better.

   One of my pet peeves about men is how they so frequently cut their hair
short.  This bugs me because it's one of the ways men so wrongly deny their
own sexuality.  It's like they want to neuter themselves, I think.  So the
first thing I thought, after the simple relief that John still had his
wonderful hair in the first place, was to be happy that John had left it
long.  It was a sign that he knew how attractive he was, which is something
that I wanted him to revel in and enjoy, rather than deny.  I only hoped
that he would feel the same about my hair, which I had let grow rather long
over the summer.

   I walked up to him and, without saying anything, he must have heard me
approach in the quiet restaurant.  He turned around and I remember being
just a bit overwhelmed by the way he smiled at me.  It was warm and genuine
in a way that I hadn't quite expected.

   "Hey, Mark, it's great to see you." He reached out and gave me a
confident, comfortable hand shake, and put his other hand on my arm.

   It was all so much that I didn't say anything at first.  I just sort of
settled onto the barstool next to him.  In that first two seconds of seeing
him, it hit me all at once.  He was the same person I knew from high
school, I was sure of that, but he had changed - in a positive way.  His
face had matured, and I would have to say that he was now more handsome
than cute.

   As I looked at him, I realized that I was far more confident about
appraising a man on the basis of his appearance than I would have been in
high school.  I didn't feel any reluctance in allowing myself to notice his
dark brown eyes, his thick eyebrows, and even the eyelashes that Emily had
thought were so attractive.  I also noticed his nose and lips, and thought
to myself that he has rather prominent features, almost a "heavy,"
Mediterranean look.  That can be off-putting to me sometimes, but he had
just enough delicacy to his face to attenuate that.

   You know, looking back on it, I can say for sure that upon first seeing
him, I liked him more because he was John, the guy I remembered, now grown
into a man, rather than because he was flat out good looking.  John wasn't
attractive in a drop-dead, motion picture idol kind of way.  But I thought
right away that he was a very handsome man, because of features, like the
heavy eyebrows and prominent nose, that are appealing to me.  (Probably
because I associate those features with him!)

   The last thing I noticed at first is that he had very nice skin.  Smooth
and tan, but with crow's feet around the eyes that didn't bother me.  In
fact, I find them to be attractive - on men or women - because they reflect
an experience with life that I see as a point of commonality with myself.
In this respect, I can compare him to George Clooney, for example.  Yes,
his skin was that nice.

   We just sort of sat there for a moment, looking at each other.  I gave a
little laugh, looked down at the bar, and then looked right back up at him.
There wasn't anyone else nearby, and I was glad that we had just a moment
of quiet to enjoy seeing each other for the first time in so long.

   He broke the ice.  "You haven't changed at all."

   I laughed.  "I was going to say the same thing."

   I paused.  I looked at him closely, and noticed the way he was smiling
at me.  He seemed so direct and open.  It emboldened me to be a little more
honest.  "I mean, you have changed, of course, but I can still see the same
you."

   As I said this, I was instantly afraid it sounded lame, and maybe too
forward, but he took it the right way.  He seemed to think for a moment and
then smiled.  "Yeah, it's been a long time." He laughed, looked away, and
then back at me as he reached over and sort of shook my arm for a second. I
liked the way he was confident in touching me like that, and was aware of
trying to let him know so with my body language.

   "So how long has it been?" he asked.

   "It'll be our 25th reunion next spring," I replied.

   "Wow," he said, and he seemed to be thinking of something.  I thought
about the date, too, and was suddenly apprehensive.  Next spring would be
25 years after graduation.  That meant that 24 years ago was the summer
after graduation.  That summer when he, when we ....  That time in his car,
it could have been just this time of year.  Twenty-four years ago tonight,
for all I knew.

   I changed the subject.  "What are you drinking?" I tried to say it
lightly, gesturing toward his glass.

   "Jack and Coke."

   "Jesus Christ."

   He laughed.  That was what we and the guys would drink to get drunk
fast.

   "I can't touch that stuff," I said, which was true.  "I can't even look
at the label without getting nauseous."

   "Doesn't bother me," he said, grinning.  "I love the stuff."

   "You're a stronger man than I, John."

   The bartender approached us.  She was a pretty young girl in her
twenties.

   "What're you having?" she asked me, brightly.

   I looked at her and thought for a moment.  Should I try to prove how
strong I am?  No, that's one aspect of my high school days with John that
I'm not interested in reliving.  "I'll have a gin & tonic," I said.

   "Tanqueray ok?"

   "House brand is fine, and lemon please, not lime."

   "English-style, huh?" She smiled.  "On the rocks, right?" She wanted to
get this right.

   "Yes, please."

   "I'll have another one of these," John added.

   "Ok, coming right up."

   We noticed she had to step away for more supplies.

   "This sure brings back memories," I said, "except we had to be our own
bartenders."

   "That's right," he smiled.  "We did a pretty good job."

   I looked at him and thought for a moment.  I knew what I most wanted to
say to him so I decided just to say it up front.  If this wasn't his style
or he thought it was weird, at least I would know so right away.

   "You know, looking back on it, I feel really lucky to have met Gary and
the rest of those guys." (I said it that way because I knew John before I
knew Gary and the others, so John and I sort of met them together.) "They
were really a good group of people.  Most of all, they were inclusive, you
know.  They never made anyone feel left out.  I understand now how rare
that is and how important that is.  I've been thinking a lot about it these
past few years."

   He looked over at me, and maybe I was flattering myself but I think he
was sort of impressed I'd say something like that.  It wasn't really the
sort of small talk someone would make right off the bat like this.  What's
more, I liked the way he smiled at me, the way he looked right into my
eyes.

   About this time, the bartender was approaching us with our drinks.  He
raised his glass with a twinkle in his eye and said, "Plus, they started us
off on a life-long healthy relationship with alcohol."

   I laughed.  "Here's to that!"

   With perfect timing, the bartender held out my glass to me and I clinked
it against his.  All three of us laughed.  She was probably thinking that
this was going to be a good night for her.

   As she took John's empty and handed him his glass, she asked, "A little
reunion, huh?"

   John turned to smile at her.  "That's right, 24 years."

   "I could tell," she said, smiling at us.  Then she added, "Well, there
must be some kind of preservative in this stuff because you two have
certainly kept well!" She added a little wink at the end.

   John and I looked at each other and laughed.  The evening had certainly
started out on the right foot.

   We kept talking at the bar, but we didn't dwell on our high school days.
I was glad for that.  We changed the subject to what we'd done since.  John
told me he'd gone to work for General Dynamics after college, as an
engineer.

   "In materials science?" I asked.

   "That's right, how'd you know?"

   "I remember you telling me one time that was going to be a big field. 
Ceramics and all that.  You were going to get in on the ground floor." I
was remembering John's geeky side.  In contrast to his laconic ways with
girls and other, well, personal stuff, he could be very intense and dynamic
when talking about scientific topics and all the crazy schemes that guys
are into.  I was sort of curious whether he'd maintained that boyish
enthusiasm.

   "That's right," he said, smiling as he realized I had remembered this
about him.  I think he was flattered.  "It has turned out to be a great
field.  Ceramics, carbon fibers, all that stuff.  That's pretty much what I
do every day.  Play around with it to find ways to make it stronger, more
versatile."

   I enjoyed letting him talk about this for a while.  I pride myself in an
ability to converse on just about any subject, so we talked about the tech
side of the defense field.  He got all excited and I saw that he hadn't
lost any of his enthusiasm.  If anything, he was more confident about
expressing it now.  And that, is always attractive, isn't it?

   Look, I'll freely admit it: I like talking to an attractive person. 
Sitting next to a good looking person and speaking with them is always
enjoyable for me, especially if they are well spoken and interesting, but
even if they're not.  Up to this point those people had been almost
universally female; John was one of the few guys that I had ever had this
feeling with.

   Angie (that was the bartender's name, we learned) brought me another
G&T, while John sipped his second Jack & Coke.  The subject changed to what
I had done, and I told him how much I liked my job in Charlotte, the trips
to New York, Los Angeles and elsewhere, and the other things that made it
so interesting on a daily basis.  He was especially interested when I told
him about all my experiences in London (where I had worked for two years in
the nineties) and the rest of Europe.

   As we wrapped up all that, I said, "Talking about Europe always reminds
me of great restaurants and makes me hungry.  Why don't we get something to
eat?"

   At this point, we'd already been in the restaurant for an hour.  Neither
of us seemed to be in a hurry.  I, myself, knew that I had all night, and
John had nowhere he needed to go.

   We settled up with Angie, and she was happy to steer us in the right
direction.  "Lisa will be glad to take care of you for dinner.  I'll
arrange a table for you."

   As we got up to follow Lisa, another twenty-something cutie, to our
table, I'll be honest that I deliberately let John walk ahead of me.  I'm
serious when I say that it was important for me to get a good look at his
butt.  I just had to see if my memory was correct or if for all these years
I had been mistaken and remembering only an embellished reality.  As he
walked toward the tables, I didn't care if anyone else noticed - I took a
nice long look at his ass.

   I was not disappointed.  His khaki slacks were, naturally, not as tight
as I remembered from high school, but they still fit very well around and
across his round, well-muscled butt.  It was very nice, I have to say. 
Small, and yet well-developed.  And now, combining his mature, attractive
personality with that butt, made it look only better.

   What's more, I was reminded, as I let my eyes travel up his back to his
shoulders, men typically continue to add muscle into their twenties, and I
saw that he had certainly done so since I'd last seen him.  My memory of
him was of an athletic, well-developed guy; but the person now before me
was a man - a very athletic, muscular man.

   I haven't mentioned yet that he was wearing a light yellow, fairly tight
polo shirt.  It showed off his muscles well.  His shoulders in particular
were a little wider than mine and very well developed, while his chest was
similar to mine but bulked up to match his shoulders.  He had very nice
biceps, which were shown off by the stretch of the elastic around the short
sleeves.  As he stood up, I noticed that there didn't appear to be any
excess on his midsection, and I found myself curious to know if he had kept
the six pack abs that I still remembered so vividly.

   While John was certainly very fit and attractive, to give you the right
impression I have to say he was not overwhelmingly so.  First, since many
women, it seems, like a tall guy, I should point out that he was only an
inch or two taller than me - say, 5'10".  Overall, he had the body of a 42
year-old man who kept in shape, not a body builder.  He was not really
muscly or bulked up in any way.  In fact, I would say that he was rather
slim, except for the muscles around his shoulders, chest and arms, and he
was built pretty much like me around his hips.  I would guess that overall,
he weighed about 15 pounds more than me.  In my eyes, those 15 pounds were
pure muscle - wrapped around his entire torso, concentrating especially on
the shoulders and arms, and leaving just a bit of muscle to accentuate the
ass and the legs

   We settled down at our table and Lisa left us menus and a wine list to
peruse.  It didn't take us long to make our selections, and he let me
choose a bottle of white wine (Sancerre - one of my favorites).  I told him
how happy I was that he didn't fuss over the menu.  In fact, even given how
attractive he was, it could have been possible for him to really aggravate
me if he ordered his meal the wrong way.

   Allow me to digress for a moment, because if you understand this, you'll
understand what I liked about John.

   My pet peeve, that which drives me absolutely crazy, is when people go
to a restaurant and it turns out they have no interest in the food.  They
have all sorts of weird questions about everything.  It turns out they
can't touch half of what's on the menu.  You know what I mean.  I'm not
talking about a legitimate interest in knowing how a dish is made, or a
food allergy.  I'm talking about an inability to know what you want, or to
make a decision not knowing exactly what you'll get but trusting that it
might turn out to be good.  What I hate about this behavior is that I see
it as a neurotic need to hold yourself back, to keep your options open, to
sort of hold yourself apart from the world and avoid making a decision.

   "I say, dive in, order the fucking food and get on with your life!  It's
a restaurant for God's sake.  The whole point is that someone else is going
to cook your food for you.  Let it go.  That's why you came here!"

   He was just looking at me, and laughing.

   "I'm sorry about my rant," I said.  "Thank you for letting me say that.
Really, I just can't stand it."

   "It's ok," he said, still laughing.  It seemed like he enjoyed it.  He
looked down at his table and said, "Better not tell them about the dirty
fork, right."

   "Exactly," I said, thinking that Monty Python has the answer for
everything.  I looked at him for a minute.  "Really, I'm glad you aren't
like that, John.  I'm happy to see that you're someone who has gone out and
lived your life."

   "Well, you too, man.  I mean look at all you've done - your job, that
time you spent in London.  You certainly haven't held back."

   I felt flattered and almost shy about looking at him when he said that.
I started thinking to myself, "Here's a guy I could really spend some time
with."

   So, dinner with John got off to a great start, but I have to say it
really got into high gear when our pretty young waitress brought our
appetizers.

   John had ordered the oysters (of all things!  I got one of my favorite
dishes - fried calamari), and when our waitress put the plate in front of
him, she said "You better watch out for these things, I hear they give you
super-powers."

   John looked up at her, gave her a winning smile, and said "Nothing you
couldn't handle, I'm sure."

   Without missing a beat, she came back with "Oh, what a special
compliment," while looking over at me and rolling her eyes in mock sarcasm.

   Looking back at John, I could see that he was momentarily worried he'd
insulted her, as the smile faded from his face.

   She looked back at him, smiled, and put her hand on his shoulder. 
"That's ok, hon, you enjoy your oysters, ok."

   During the moment that they remained like this, I was struck by two
things.  First, that she had said "hon," as if she were some old-timey
waitress, even though she was at least 15 years younger than us.

   The second thing was that although it may have looked like she was
simply patting him on the shoulder, I noticed that she was actually quite
delicately and teasingly running her fingers along his deltoid muscle.  She
was actually making a very erotic and subtle move on him.

   This interlude passed in a moment, however, and we both turned to enjoy
watching her walk back toward the kitchen.

   I looked over at him, laughing quietly, and said teasingly, "Ladykiller.
You'll have to give me lessons."

   He laughed too, and we looked at each other for a second before turning
to look at her again.  She had stopped to look back at us, and seemed
flustered when we both looked at her at the same time.  She regained her
composure quickly, however, and headed into the kitchen.

   I looked back at him.  Despite the humor of the situation, I was
impressed, and more than a little turned on, when I thought of the reaction
he'd provoked in her.  It seemed so natural that she would be attracted to
him, not me

   But again, I was determined to keep the evening positive.  "You must get
that a lot," I said, lightly.

   He looked at me and smiled.  I think he was trying to gauge my reaction.
To see if I was just teasing him or whether I was mocking him.

   I tried to explain.  "I mean, I'm sure you've had your share of
opportunities, what with travelling for work all the time.  How do you cope
with the temptation?"

   He hesitated, then he made some little joke like, "I lead a monk's
life."

   It seemed like he didn't want to talk about this, but I wasn't sure why.
I didn't know if he really didn't want to talk about it, or if he just
thought I didn't want to hear about it.  I tried to indicate as sincerely
as I could that I was interested.  "No, seriously, I'm curious, I'd like to
know."

   "Why?" he asked.  "Do you feel that temptation?"

   A reasonable question, I guess.  After all, he didn't really know me now
and he would want to know more about who he was talking to before he would
open up about something like this.

   I continued in a serious tone.  I hoped I wasn't bringing him down, but
frankly I was tired of rarely having the opportunity to talk about the
things that are important to me, and tired of always having to engage in
small talk that I found to be superficial.  I wanted to reach out to him
and see if he had any of the same experiences that I did, and if so, what
his reaction was.

   "To be honest, yes, I do feel temptation.  And I bet you feel it too and
I'm wondering how you put up with it." I paused; he was listening.  "I
mean, I don't really have anyone to talk about this with."

   He could see I was serious, and he gave it some thought and then
responded.  I really liked that.  I had never before been able to have a
conversation like this with a guy.

   "Sure, I'm tempted," he said.  "All the time." He looked over at our
waitress, then back at me, and smiled.  "And I've had my share of
opportunities."

   "Oh really?" I said, in an over-the-top teasing tone.

   "Stop that," he said, laughing.

   "So how do you deal with it?" I asked, turning also to look at our
waitress, who was busy with something at the service station not far away
from our table.

   He kept his eyes locked on her for another moment, then turned to look
back at me.  "I think, in the end," he said, "I can hold myself back
because my wife keeps me happy, and I've got all that out of my system."

   He stopped; he seemed to be almost daring me to ask him to continue. 
Not challenging me, but daring me in a friendly way.

   For whatever the reason, whether it was the drinks and the half bottle
of wine we'd already finished, or the bond we had already developed, or
just because it was John and I was very eager to hear whatever I could
about his sex life, I was bolder than I have ever been with any other man.

   With any other man, this topic would have made me very (no, extremely)
uncomfortable.  But with him, that night, I simply said, slowly, "I'd like
to hear more about each of those topics."

   He looked at me, started to speak, and then took a sip of his wine. 
"You would, huh?"

   "Yes, John," I answered, smiling, "I would."

   "Well," he began, obviously happy to have been asked, "let me start at
the beginning.  This goes back to just after the last time we saw each
other."

   It was significant to me that he put it like that; I was glad to know he
still remembered when we had last seen each other.

   "My life changed a lot when I went to college.  I bet it was the same
for you."

   I nodded, but didn't respond directly.

   "There were like, three guys for every girl there, you know."

   I knew what he was referring to; he had gone to a typical engineering
school.

   "But this also meant that there were a whole bunch of guys there, all
looking to get into trouble, right?" He paused.

   I thought, "A bunch of guys, no girls?  Where is this going?" But he
quickly made it clear for me.

   "So all the girls in all the little towns down there all knew this.  To
them, it was like a big pot of honey surrounded by a bunch of bee hives, or
something like that."

   We both laughed.  "I never thought of that," I said.

   "Yeah, it was pretty much of a shock to me too.  But looking back on it,
I can see it from their perspective.  It was like, `Crew Slut,' you know?"

   I knew.  That's a Frank Zappa song.  I sang the key words back to him.
"So you're gettin' kind of tired of all the local clowns ...."

   "Exactly," he said, laughing, but I could also tell he was enjoying the
memory.  "Like every weekend there's like a hundred girls swarming to the
parties on campus.  They can get away from the creeps in their hometowns
and party with a bunch of horny, frustrated, geeky guys who are gonna be
thrilled to see them.  Then, after the party, they can just head on home
and not be bothered by the guy.  It's like," he paused, "no consequences,
man."

   He stopped to let this sink in for me.  I have to say, I was impressed
by the mental image this conjured up for me.  I could see John, as I knew
he was at that age, being very popular with those girls.

   "I could see you with a girl like that."

   That was the first thought that went through my mind.  I thought back to
the image of the "librarian" in the Playboy we had looked at so long ago.
And I thought of what I had said, as I finished my story for him.  "... and
you're fucking her."

   I also remembered well the college girl he had taken home, the last
night I saw him that summer.  How eager she had been to be with him.  Ok,
I'm being polite.  I was really thinking about how eager she was to stroke
his cock in his car that night.  And about how right she was - I had
enjoyed watching.  A lot.  Maybe even more than he did.

   Yep, I was sure he was very popular with those girls.

   He continued.  "I'm tellin' you man.  That's what it was like.  Nearly
every weekend for four years."

   "You do the math," I thought to myself.  I mean, he could have had,
like, a hundred women.

   But all I could say, without a trace of sarcasm, was, "Wow." I didn't
know how to say that I wanted him to continue, that I wanted to hear more
details of his conquests.  I could only sit there and hope he would indulge
me with more.

   Still, my reaction must have been obvious to him, because he continued
with his story, adding the details that I craved.

   "And it's not like they were all desperate girls who couldn't get a guy
any other way.  For some of them, it was quite the opposite.  Some of them
were the queen bees of their little hives, and they'd make a competition
out of it.  A group of them would come to campus on a Friday night and it'd
be like, which one of us can get a guy in bed the fastest."

   He looked at me again.  I was sure that by now, he knew how much I was
enjoying listening to him.

   "And they were all ages, too.  A lot of them were our age, just not in
college.  Some of them were older; married, even." He paused to let that
sink in.  "And a lot of them were in high school." He paused for an even
longer time.  "I mean, high school girls, Mark.  High school."

   The last two words were only a whisper.

   We sat there for a moment, just sipping our wine and looking at each
other.  My mind was going a mile a minute.

   About this time, a busboy came to clear away our appetizer dishes.  I
was glad it wasn't Lisa, our waitress.  I'd have been embarrassed, given
what I was thinking.

   After a moment, I just shook my head and smiled at him.  "That is so far
beyond what I expected you to say, John.  So far beyond."

   As if on cue, our perky waitress appeared to say, "Everything all right
for you guys?"

   We both just looked at her, then looked at each other, and laughed.

   "Oh, I get it.  Inside joke.  Well, don't let me bother you," she said,
in a mock-hurt tone.

   "No, no, wait," I said.  "We're sorry." I looked at John, then back at
her.  "I think we'll have another bottle of wine."

   "My pleasure," she said, pouring half of what remained of the bottle
into each of our glasses, then turning to slowly walk away.

   We both turned to watch her, and after she disappeared into the kitchen,
I turned back to John.

   "So what about your wife?" I asked.

   At that moment, John had taken a sip of his wine, and he pretended to
spit it out in mock surprise, "My who?" he asked.

   "She must have been quite a lady if she took you away from all that," I
said jokingly but also suggestively.  I wanted to hear all the details.

   "Well, she didn't.  Actually, I didn't meet her until I graduated and
was working for General Dynamics."

   "So, what's the story?"

   "It was weird, you know.  Feast or famine.  When I started working I had
loads more money, of course, and more free time, once I settled into a
routine, but, well ..." he trailed off.

   "Well, what?"

   "Well, nothing could compare to college," he said, laughing.

   "The girls didn't want to make the trip to the big city?" I joked.

   "They probably would have, but it would have been a lot different,
wouldn't it?  It wouldn't be `no consequences' any more, would it?  So
that's when I learned, you know, it's easier with girls when it's not going
to lead to anything, right?"

   "Right," I said, noncommittally.  I hadn't had the same experience with
young women that he had.

   "I'm not complaining," he concluded.

   Lisa returned with our main courses and our second bottle of wine, and
we exchanged more "pleasantries" with her.  She was having an easy time
earning her tip tonight, I thought, but I was happy to do my best to make
her evening a pleasant one.

   Resuming our conversation after she had served us, I asked, "So there
you were, frustrated and deprived ..."

   "That's right, man, you put it like that and I know what my wife took
advantage of!"

   We both laughed.  John told me how, at the time, she lived with two
roommates and had a circle of other friends.

   "There were three of them I sorta liked," he continued, "which I know
can be a really dangerous situation.  But I lucked out, I think, because it
turns out my wife, or future wife at that time, likes a challenge.  It's
like, she set out to prove she was the one for me; that she could make me
happier than either of the other two could.  She really made me happy.  She
still does."

   He paused.  It seemed he was thinking about all of what he had described
for me, and then said, "So, I have her to keep me happy, and I remember
that ... well, you can have too much of a good thing."

   I just sat there for a moment, looking at him.  I was thinking, "How
could I possibly top that?" It was a little bit intimidating, actually, to
think about all the experiences John had with women.  I had enjoyed hearing
about them, for sure, but what would he think of me?

   Still, I didn't want to bring the evening down.  I was happy for him,
really.  In my book, he got exactly what he deserved.

   After we sat silently for a minute or two, he seemed to get a little
nervous, as if he was worried he had shared too much with me.

   "Is something wrong?" he asked.

   "No, no, not at all.  It's just ..."

   "Yeah?" he asked.  He seemed to be genuinely trying to encourage me, as
if he were truly interested in what I had to say.

   "I mean, it's just that my experience hasn't been like that." I trailed
off.

   Looking back on it, this was really a crucial point in our conversation,
and what he was about to say became one of the reasons I liked him so much,
as a person and as a friend.  I realized from this how much he had changed
since high school and why he was special.

   "You know, I've figured out that there's really no point in comparing
myself to other people.  They are them and I'm me and we can both be ok. 
There's some things they'll have a lot better than me, and some things
where they're a lot worse.  You can't change that."

   It was more the way he said this than what he said.  He wasn't preaching
to put me down or trying to cheer me up.  He just said it,
matter-of-factly. Then, he looked me in the eye and said, "So what's been
your experience?"

   I looked at him, and couldn't help smiling.  "You really wanna know?" I
said, teasing just a bit.

   "I do," he said, laughing.  Then he stopped.  "No, seriously, tell me."

   How could I resist this opportunity?  I couldn't, of course.

   "Well, you could say I was a late bloomer."

   "Ok, you were a late bloomer."

   "No, seriously."

   "Ok, you were a late bloomer," he said, in a mock-serious tone.

   I just gave him a look, but I appreciated what he was doing.  It really
brought me out of my funk.

   "I had my first girlfriend freshman year," I began.  "It lasted a few
months." I didn't have to tell him that I didn't have any girlfriends in
high school.  We left that subject untouched.

   "What was her name?" he asked.

   "Amy," I answered.  I smiled at the thought of her, like she had just
joined us at the table, to listen.  I looked across the room and saw Emily
enjoying a meal with a friend, too.  She looked over at us, and raised her
glass in an encouraging toast.

   "My school wasn't like yours.  It was 50/50 guys and girls.  They were
all great people, and looking back on it, it was a huge missed opportunity
for me, when it came to girls.  It's weird, because I had a great time,
lots of friends, but after my first girlfriend I just didn't make the right
connections with girls in freshman year.  Not for lack of trying.  It was
sorta frustrating.

   "Anyway, everything else was beyond great.  I went to France for a
summer program after that first year, and fell in love with Europe and the
history there and everything, really."

   "Must've been girls there," he said.

   "Oh yeah," I said, smiling.  "I'll tell you a story.  That summer, I'd
just turned 19, had been in the country only a few weeks.  We're staying at
a hostel out in the countryside.  Must be somethin' about those country
girls, John."

   He smiled at me.

   "Anyway, they invite a few kids from the local university to come over,
have a glass of wine, and visit with us Americans.  It would have been one
of the first times I sat down to talk with someone from another country,
and I'm sure the same with them.  We talked an hour or two; you know, like
you do so much in college.  It was fun, there's probably two dozen of us in
the room all together.

   "When they get up to go, the custom in France is you always say hello
and good-bye directly to each person in the room.  So they get up to go and
one of the girls walks over to me to say goodbye."

   "And?"

   "Well, a girl in France says goodbye by putting her hand on the guy's
shoulder and leaning in to brush her cheek against his, and then the same
on the other cheek.  It's called a bisou."

   "A bisou, huh?  Nice custom."

   "I'll say.  But I remember being momentarily in total shock that a girl
I barely knew would just walk up to me and do that.  Everyone in the room
laughed; me too.  They weren't laughing at me, and I wasn't embarrassed, it
was just funny.

   "For me, for a girl to do that - well, it was quite an event."

   He smiled at me, letting me enjoy the moment before I went on.  I looked
up, and I was almost sure I saw that French girl walking out of the
restaurant.

   "So that will tell you something about how I was at that age," I
concluded.  "A little different from you, I think."

   "Yeah," he said, "I understand." He seemed a bit wistful.  In a strange
way, I guess we each desired a little more of the other's life.

   "Anyway," I continued, "in that summer program I met a group of people,
including my future wife, who became my life-long friends.  And I came back
sophomore year with high expectations of applying to my college life all
the sophistication I had developed that summer in France.  But that didn't
work out, exactly.  Everything was ok.  I don't mean I had any huge
problems.  But I think I was still just sort of awkward, like I had a hard
time fitting in.  I'm sure I'm the only person who's ever had that
problem."

   He smiled at me.

   "I don't know, maybe it put girls off in some way - my `worldliness,'
that is." (I actually made little air quotes.) "I was pretty intense,
emotionally, and I guess kind of a romantic in ways that a 19 or 20 year
old girl just isn't going to expect."

   He looked at me, and I thought he was thinking about something.

   I guess a kind of curious expression crossed my face - I know I was
eager for any feedback he would give - and he said, "It's nothing." But I
could tell there was something on his mind, and he said, "It's just that,
looking back on how I remember you ... Well, I could see how ..." He
trailed off.

   "How was I?" I asked, smiling at him.

   "You said it yourself.  You were intense.  Now go on with your story,"
he chided me, and I knew he didn't want to go further with this.

   I was still curious, but I continued.  "So skip to my junior year abroad
in England, and I started dating the girl I would marry.  She was on the
program with me.  We've been together ever since.  She's the one for me."

   "That's nice," he said, sincerely.

   "Yeah, it is." I paused.  "But she's the one if you know what I mean. 
The only one I've known." I paused again.  "In a biblical sense," I said,
trying to make it sound like a joke.  I wasn't sure I succeeded.

   He ignored any negativity in my tone.  "But something tells me there's
more to this story," he said, encouragingly.

   At this point, our waitress came over to clear away our main courses. 
"We'll look at a dessert menu," I said.

   Then, we had a good 20 minutes just to talk, and finish our wine.

   "So, I was with her for about 10 years before, well, you know, my mind
started to wander."

   "Wow," he said.  I think he understood how different our lives had been.

   "They were great years, don't get me wrong.  We both went to graduate
school, moved to Charlotte and then each started working.  Had the total
`young-professionals-in-love' experience.  After we started working, we had
plenty of money and bought our first home.  We travelled the world
together. That's how I spent my 20s.  I was living the dream, literally. 
It was fantastic.  She's amazing."

   "But?"

   "But after 10 years or so, it was like I woke up from that dream and
realized that something was different, and now I was caught up in this
humungous catch-22, where women were concerned."

   He looked at me like he sort of understood, and was trying to
understand, but he was puzzled.  I could also tell from his reaction,
though, that he was intrigued.

   I tried to explain further.  "It's like I had all these opportunities
that I didn't have ten years earlier, but at the same time, none of those
opportunities were really available to me."

   "How d'you mean?" he asked.

   "It's like this.  Imagine that we were having this dinner 20 years ago -
you know, around the time my future wife and I had been dating for a while
and were thinking about getting married.  If Lisa was our waitress then,
the only thing we would think when we saw her would be ... well, you know."

   "Has that changed?" he responded, smiling.

   "No, not at all, but that's my point.  We haven't changed at all.  Wait,
that's not it.  Our goals haven't changed, but we have." I was getting a
little excited.  This was important to me, and I wanted him to understand,
but since I had never talked about this with anyone, it was hard for me to
express.

   It seemed like he wanted to help me along.  "How have we changed?"

   "I guess that's it," I answered.  "That's a good question.  We've gotten
older, of course, married, and everything that comes with it, but the weird
thing is, this makes us more attractive to Lisa, not less."

   He had a thoughtful look now.  I think he was beginning to understand.

   "So if we were here 20 years ago," I continued, "I'm sure Lisa wouldn't
treat us the same way.  Not with the same respect, you know, the same
interest.  And we'd be looking across the room at the old guys getting her
all hot and bothered and we'd just be thinking to ourselves that women
don't make any sense.  You remember thinking that about women, right?"

   He nodded, smiling.  Now I was sure he understood.

   "I'm not saying that young women actually like older men more than
younger guys.  Of course not.  And I'll admit that Lisa would probably be a
lot more likely to leave with those young guys than she would with us."

   "Hey man, don't knock my chances," he interrupted.

   "Present company excepted," I said, smiling back at him, and I had to
wonder if he knew how much I meant it.

   After allowing the image of John and Lisa together to float pleasantly
through my head for a moment, I continued.  "What it is, I think, is that
the situation between women and men sort of flips around.  When we're
young, the women think they've got it all figured out, and the guys are
pretty much clueless; but as we get older, the guys start to get a clue,
and so young women are intrigued by older men.  Older guys aren't as easy
to peg, and there's nothing more attractive to a girl than a challenge."

   He nodded, but I could tell that he didn't quite get what my point was.
"You still haven't said what the catch-22 is," he said.

   "The catch-22 is, we're older, we're married, and so now there's not
much we can really do about it, right?"

   I paused.  Up until now, I had just made some generic observations about
life that, I admit, were not especially insightful.  To really make my
point, I'd have to talk about things with John that I'd never talked about
with anyone else.

   "Now this is going to sound stupid, I know, but bear with me."

   To his credit, John gave me the best look of encouragement he could.

   "I mean, look at me," I continued.  "I'm, well, I would say fairly
attractive for a guy just over 40."

   Ok, he couldn't help it.  John had to laugh.

   I had to laugh too.  I now understood why I had never talked about this
with anyone else, but I was in too deep and had to keep going.

   "No, seriously," I said, half to myself really, because I couldn't stop
laughing any more than John could.  "I mean, I have a job, I've
accomplished a lot, I'm in shape, I'm smart and funny."

   "Sounds like you've been reading too many personal ads," he said, still
laughing.

   "Probably," I answered, but it did seem I'd gotten through the hardest
part of what I wanted to say.  "But, whatever, my point is that whether or
not I've accurately described myself, I know that even if I have, I'm not
really going to get anything from it, am I?"

   He looked back at me, and stopped laughing.  I think that what I said
struck a chord for him, and I was relieved (if not happy) when I realized
that he's probably thought the same thing.

   "I'm not saying I'm angry about this.  No doubt about that.  I know how
good I've got it.  It's just the catch-22 aspect of it that gets me.  At
the same time that women seem to have an increasing interest in me, it's
pretty much impossible for me to do anything about it."

   "You're right," he said, giving me a look that convinced me I had made
my point.  With that out of the way, it was much easier for me to continue.


   "So here's how I see it," I continued, now eager to share what I had
kept pent up inside for so long.  "Young women, for example.  Which for me
is anyone under 30.  Like I said, they love guys like us, right?"

   "This is a problem?" he asked, smiling.

   "Of course not," I continued.  "Let's just say, we can have a lot of
positive interaction with young women, and leave it at that.  But I think
it really boils down to what Groucho Marx said, as far as they're concerned
- I wouldn't want to be a member of a club that would have me for a member.
You know what I mean?"

   "Not really," he laughed.  "But yeah, I guess so.  Go on."

   "Maybe I'm just too much of a goody-goody, but in my book, young women
shouldn't be with guys like us.  They should be with young men, or, even
better, other young women."

   This got a smile out of him, and I paused for a minute before
continuing.

   "So I'm sort of suspicious of any young woman who would really want to
spend any amount of time with me."

   "This happens to you a lot?" he asked, teasing me.

   "Ok, not a lot, but it happens.  Like there's this girl, Rachel, in my
office.  I say `girl,' but she's 25.  We flirt with each other in the
office and we have coffee together every once in a while.  Which means that
I sit and look at her and think about how gorgeous she is while she
prattles on about the things that seem so important to a woman of 25. 
`Will my boyfriend and I get married?  Should I stay in Charlotte or move
to the big city?' It doesn't matter to me so long as she tosses her long
brown hair over her shoulder every once in a while."

   "You're pathetic," he said, laughing.

   "Am I?  You're different?"

   He didn't have a response for that.

   "So I can go on?" I asked, pretending to take offense.

   "Sure," he said, "tell me about your other conquests."

   "I wouldn't use that word," I continued, smiling at what I took to be a
veiled compliment from him, "but you know, it has been interesting.  It
took me a while to put this together, but it seems like once I passed age
30, let's say, that's when it really changed.

   "Since then, in the past 10 years or so, there have been a few times
when a confident, assertive woman would notice me.  You know what I mean,
right, the sort of young, attractive woman that, well, for obvious reasons,
may not be too popular with the other women in the office?"

   He nodded.  He knew the type.

   "Well, like I said, I could tell that she noticed me.  Maybe because of
something I said at a meeting, or just the way I carry myself in the
office. I think it's what I said before.  Over the years, I've matured and
gained confidence.  It sounds like a total cliché, but when I look back on
the times this has happened, it was obvious from the look on her face. 
It's like she said to herself, `Now there's a man I want to get to know, I
wanna be a part of what he's got going on.'"

   "You're thinking of someone specific," he said, with a note of triumph
in his voice.  He was right, I knew, he had me figured out.

   "Ok, I'll admit, it happens rarely," I continued, ignoring his comment.
"But it has happened enough times that I've realized I like it."

   I felt the hesitancy returning; that feeling that I couldn't believe I
was telling him this, but I had come so far that I couldn't stop without
saying what I really wanted to say most.

   "I like the feeling of being pursued, I guess," I said quietly.

   We were both quiet for a minute.  In fact, I was afraid to look at him,
for fear of seeing his reaction, but what he said eventually reassured me.

   "Everyone does," he said simply.

   I looked up at him, and we smiled at each other for just a moment.  It's
difficult to describe, and it may sound schmaltzy, but at that moment I
really felt nothing for him but a feeling of camaraderie.  It felt to me as
if I had just expressed something that we had each been through, and
thought about a lot, over the past decade or so, but just had never had the
chance to talk about before.  It was a good feeling.

   "So these are all young women?" he asked, brightly.

   "No way, man," I answered, encouraged to go on by his tone.  "I don't
discriminate.  Let me tell you, I think it's a myth that somehow all women
over 30 struggle with their appearance and that men give up on them.  I see
lots and lots of women in, let's say, the 30 to 50 range, who don't seem to
me to be struggling.  But, let's face it, where's it going to go?  Who are
these women?"

   I paused, and then answered my own question.  "There are co-workers,
obviously, but in addition to it being wrong to mix work responsibilities
with personal feelings, I've seen lots of office romances and they're
always the subject of disdain and derision, in my experience.  Plus, I
spend enough time at work."

   He gave me a look that had just the hint of a suggestion that maybe his
experiences had been different, but I decided to let it go.

   "The others are female friends and acquaintances.  But, again, let's be
real.  For a guy like me, most of them are the moms of my kids' friends and
such.  Now I enjoy a nice MILF as much as the next guy," (we laughed) "but
no, I'm not going to go there.  As sexy as they may be, it's not going to
lead to anything."

   We paused for a moment.  I'm sure the many women who passed through our
minds would probably be flattered to know what we thought about them,
although they may never have admitted it to themselves.

   "So where does that leave me?" I asked, and then answered my own
question again.  "Let me tell you where it leaves me.  I love women.  I
cannot put into words how much I love women.  I'm fascinated by them and
just love everything about them - looking at them, listening to them talk,
reading about them.  And I have a pretty easy way with women and they like
me too.  So, we can flirt and provide a lot of positive feelings to each
other but, you know, it's never more than ... what's the word here? 
Ephemeral.  Yeah, that's it.  It's never permanent."

   I sat quietly for a moment, but I didn't want to be a downer, so I
continued.  "Ok, I think I've already gone on too long about this.  It's
really not as bad as I make it seem.  I know I'm luckier than the majority
of guys.  I have incredibly positive interactions with women every day; I
believe we do a lot for each other.  I should be, and I am, happy about
that."

   He looked back at me, and I had the sense that he understood what I was
saying and knew me better now than any of my other friends, even though I
hadn't seen him for all these years.

   In fact, he knew me so well that he knew exactly what to say.

   "I'll say it again, Mark." He paused significantly.  "You're thinking
about someone in particular."

   He was right, of course.  And our dinner was going so well that I knew I
really wanted to tell him.  But still, I wasn't ready to just blurt it out.
I had to lead into it.  I had to set the scene for him, so he could really
understand what she meant to me.

   "It was 1998," I started off, with a faux-dramatic tone, trying to cover
up my feelings with a little forced humor.  "We had just had our first
child, and I had been transferred to work in our London office for two
years."

   "London?" He said.  "That must have been interesting."

   "It sure was." I told him how London was really a happening place at
that time.  It still is.  It has a reputation for being more open and
welcoming to creative types than "ossified" continental Europe.  So it drew
a lot of young people of all nationalities.

   "Day-to-day living there was just out of this world.  Like, there was
this one sandwich shop near my work.  You came in and ordered, then watched
the girls who worked there make your sandwich.  It seemed like they'd all
been hired together, because they all looked like East European fashion
models, wearing these skin tight black jumpsuits.  It was one of my
favorite lunch spots, that's for sure.  And getting on the bus to go home
every night.  I mean, there's like a half-dozen women on this bus - a bus,
for Christ's sake - who look like those lunch girls."

   He smiled at me, but frankly, I don't think he could really picture what
I was describing.  You literally had to be there.

   "She wasn't a lunch girl," he said.

   Maybe it was his smile that did it, that I found to be irresistible. 
But for whatever reason, I told him what, as he said, I hadn't been telling
him before.  That is, I told him all about her.

   I guess I should digress here and explain why I was comfortable telling
him about her, given that I had only spoken vaguely about her with a few of
my closest friends, and those discussions hardly went into details about
what I really felt about her.

   The main reason I was comfortable telling John about her was that, as I
said, he had a very charming, disarming manner.  His effect on me, after
the atmosphere at dinner, the drinks, and seeing his smiling face across
the table, was intensified a thousand times compared to what I felt when we
spoke earlier on the phone.  The fact is, I really wanted to tell him
everything.  He just had that effect on me.

   Second, he had of course already confided in me, so I wanted to do the
same.  This was important to me because, as I said, he was the first man
who I had spoken with like this in my entire life.  Other men, even my
close friends, really wouldn't talk to me about what they felt about women,
and the experiences they had.  And I don't mean just sexual experiences. 
The thing is, I really like talking about women and I was excited to hear
his story and I wanted to share mine with him.

   Third, I hadn't had any opportunity to talk about her with anyone in
years, so I was just bursting to do so.  And I think that somewhere in the
back of my mind I was worried that I would never have a better opportunity
than this.

   Which leads to the fourth reason, which was that he was the perfect
person for me to share these feelings with - I knew him well enough to be
comfortable talking with him, but he was not in my day-to-day life, he
didn't know my wife at all, and so forth.  So I had no reason to think our
conversation would go beyond that table.

   For all these reasons, I told him all the details about her, and what I
felt about her.

   "No, not a lunch girl," I said.  "She was a woman that worked in the
office with me, named Elizabeth."

   He smiled.  He could tell just by the way I said her name.  He knew.

   Like most guys, I started with a physical description.  "She has these
legs.  I mean, my God, long beautiful legs; perfect legs." I paused, to let
that image sink in, and then continued.  "She's about an inch shorter than
me, and very thin - no buns at all and barely any breasts.  She's sort of
pale, and always looked sort of tired, but she has a very pretty face in an
almost classical sort of way.  I thought she looked a lot like Liz Hurley,
except that she was not as ... well, `buxom' would be the word."

   He smiled.

   "She has vivid hazel eyes, and pretty, light brown, shoulder length,
straight hair." I sort of drifted off, thinking about her, and then I
noticed John looking at me.  He was almost laughing at the state that just
the memory of her had put me in.  "Ok," I continued, "I guess you had to be
there.  I can't describe it precisely, but the amazing thing was that when
I would walk around town with her, I mean, I could feel the passing women
staring at us.  It's like they had this," I paused, looking for the right
word.  "Well this mixture of fascination and desire.  It was unreal."

   "Ok, I get it, she was pretty," he said.

   "Right." In fact, that was really all that he needed to know.  She was
very pretty.  And back in 2010, when I was telling John about her, I just
didn't have the right point of reference for him.  For you, the reader
today, I do.  She looked a lot like Princess Katherine, the ex-Kate
Middleton.  Whenever I see the Princess now, I always go into a sort of a
swoon, because she's almost exactly what Elizabeth looked like about a
dozen years ago.  Especially her graceful way of moving, and her long
delicate arms.  That was what was really beautiful about Elizabeth - she
moved like a swan gliding across the water.

   "But it's more important that I tell you about her personality," I
continued to John.  "And the best way to do that is to say that she was
sort of into men in the same way I'm into women.  She had the sexy English
accent, in spades, and she's the same age as me - in fact, only about two
weeks younger.

   "When I first started work at that office, it only took her two or three
days until she gave me a look I'd never exactly seen before: it literally
was like, `Well, hello Sailor!'"

   He laughed.  I think he has seen that look before.  More than once, I'm
sure.

   I continued.  "So, we would chat for at least a few minutes every day,
and we always flirted with each other.  And much as I'm comfortable that
she liked me and was very attracted to me, I also always knew that there
were plenty of attractive guys she liked flirting with.  Oh, and by the
way, she had a boyfriend, but I won't waste time telling you about him.

   "We were both really into language and writing, and a lot of our work
involved preparing various presentations for clients, so we got into
talking about different words.  We also talked a lot about politics, that
sort of thing.  She would always take the artistic/emotional position and I
would be the realist.  I mean, it was sort of like between Mulder and
Scully, if you know what I mean."

   He nodded.  (The reference is to the X-Files, for those of you who don't
know.)

   "Anyway, the day I most remember from those two years with her was the
first time we went out to lunch together.  Like I said, we had talked all
the time, but we had never actually gone out to a sit-down lunch, just the
two of us.  I remember being nervous asking her, of course, but when I did,
I remember she just said, `Sure!' like it was an obvious question.

   "We went to this neat little Italian restaurant I had walked past a few
weeks earlier and sat right down, near the door.  I remember thinking that
it was perfectly natural that we have lunch, but this felt just a little
bit different.  I felt a bit more confident and, well, aggressive.  Well,
to be truly honest, I think I was feeling even more horny than I usually
did around her."

   Ok, maybe that was an odd thing to say to John.  I decided just to
continue with my description, without looking at his reaction.  "So I
remember feeling relieved when we started our usual easy conversation.  In
fact, we talked about some unusually heavy topics ...  like religion.

   "But it didn't take long for the conversation to move on, and we
relaxed. There was always a lot of eye contact between us, but no physical
contact at all.  I mean we literally never touched each other ...  sort of
as if we were afraid that if we did we'd be unable to control ourselves. 
The only vaguely physical part of the meal I can remember was when she
reached down with her hand and played with the ashtray.  I watched her hand
closely, of course.

   "As we got more comfortable, the topic turned to how sexual TV has
gotten recently.  I remember thinking, `now this is an interesting subject
to talk about with her!' I told her about this commercial that was popular
at the time, for the Polaroid instant camera."

   "I think I remember it," John said.  It seemed like he was enjoying my
story even more than I enjoyed telling it (if that were even possible).

   "You probably do," I continued.  "It's one where the guy's at the office
in a really intense meeting, and he gets a phone call he has to take.  This
is how I described it to Elizabeth.  I told her, `We hear a woman's voice
say, "Are you coming home for lunch?" and he says, "I don't know honey, it
doesn't look like I'm going to be able to get out of here," and she asks,
"Have you looked at that envelope I gave you this morning?" and he says, "I
just haven't had the chance."

   "So Elizabeth is enjoying my story.  I think she knew what was coming.
`So the woman says,' I tell her `"Well, look at it," and the guy pulls an
envelope out of his pocket, and then he looks at the Polaroid and his
expression reveals, well it reveals that, let's just say, it was a really
good picture!  He quickly excuses himself from the meeting, and the
commercial ends.'"

   "She liked that?" John asked, smiling at me.

   "She sure did.  She really liked that story.  Talk about lame, but there
you go.  So I kept going on this topic, for a little while, getting just a
bit raunchier.  I remember finishing with my absolute favorite line.  It's
from Saturday Night Live, Chevy Chase did it."

   "Which one's that?"

   "The government released a new stamp today ...  commemorating
prostitution in America.  It's a ten cent stamp, but if you want to lick
it, it's a quarter."

   I laughed.  John did too, but he said, "I'll say it again - you're
pathetic." But he was laughing.

   "Well she liked it!" I said, in mock defense of myself.  "I remember she
said, `Who write's this kind of stuff?' and I said, `A bunch of guys about
50 years old who look like our clients!'

   "So, you get the drift of the conversation.  But you've got to know,
even though we talked and flirted in the office, we had never really had a
conversation like that.  I mean, I had never told her a dirty joke before.
So this was like ... well, it was like nothing I had ever done before."

   John was still smiling at me.  I think he could appreciate what a
special memory this was for me.  I hope he understood how happy I was just
to have had that one opportunity, to have had that lunch with her.

   "You know what I mean, I think," I continued.  "The last thing I'll tell
you, maybe this was the best part, was toward the end of our lunch.  A
group of about 4 or 5 people had finished and were heading for the door. 
They were of various ages, I remember, and they had to slow down a bit to
walk past us and get to the door, and I caught the eye of a girl in the
group - young woman, I should say.  And I remember, she had this perfect,
well, you know, innocent look in her face.  And my eye just sparked, I
can't help it when I see a girl like that.  But I looked away, back down at
my plate.  Even though I could feel that girl's eyes watching me, I just
couldn't bring myself to look back at her with Elizabeth sitting right
across the table from me.

   "But I also noticed that Elizabeth had looked at her too, and held her
look for a moment.  Then, as soon as they left, she said `Hey Mark, did you
see that girl was looking at you with a really intense look.' I didn't
really know what to say, but I just shot back `Well, I guess I've still got
it!' I remember wanting to change the subject, but she started to smile at
me again and I said, `Yes, I noticed, don't think I didn't notice.' Then,
when she tried to change the subject, I said to her, `Not bad, huh, she
looked about 18 didn't she?' And she replied, `More like 20.'" I laughed.

   "Ooh," John said, mocking me, "What a put down."

   "Right," I said, still laughing.  "Anyway, all in all, it was a pretty
good lunch.  I paid for it.  I remember because she insisted on taking the
check back from the waiter; she said she wanted to take it back to the
office and frame it."

   "Must have been some lunch!" John said.

   "No, it wasn't that.  The joke around the office was that I always
insist on paying people back (and being paid!) when we would borrow lunch
money or whatever from each other.  So, for me to pay for lunch ... well, I
guess she knew how I felt about her.

   "So afterwards, we walked pretty slowly back to the office.  I remember
that when we got back by the office, she just kept on walking directly away
from the office into the park across the street until I called her to turn
around.  I'll always remember the grin on her face."

   I was still smiling now, and John was smiling too.  Not laughing, just
smiling.

   "We didn't go straight back to the office.  We stopped and had coffee at
a café right next door.  It was her idea.  But by then, it had been two
hours since we had left, so we had to begin to consider going back to the
office.  I remember watching her bracelets jangle as she pushed her hair
back over her ear."

   My voice just trailed off.

   "You've really got it for her bad," he said.

   I smiled back at him.  "Well can you blame me?  Look, I don't know if
this will sound corny or what, but when we got back to the office we talked
with our friends.  Another woman had gone to some restaurant nearby where
she had happened to see some minor film star.  I can't remember who it was,
but I remember her saying how he was with a bunch of beautiful people.  So
I looked at Elizabeth and said, `It looks like we picked the wrong
restaurant,' and then I turned and walked out, heading back to my office.

   "I was a few steps down the hall when I heard her say, loudly for my
benefit, `Well, it's ok, I had lunch with a sexy guy today too.'"

   I just sat there for a moment, thinking back on this scene.  I was
probably too embarrassed to look at John directly, but when I did he was
looking back at me with an expression that seemed to show that he was happy
for me, happy that I had had this experience, in the same way that I was
happy for him when I heard about his experiences in college.

   Without us saying anything to each other, my mind sort of wandered
through my other memories of Elizabeth, and eventually it settled on
another of my fondest and most intense memories of her.  I just started
talking without trying to explain, and John just listened.

   "So there was this one day, probably about a week before I was to leave
London to return to the US after having been in the office for two years -
after having seen her every work day for the past two years.

   "She had to go out of the office to a meeting, and by that time we would
have always gone to a meeting like that together.  Even if the other one
had absolutely no reason for being there, we would just go.  So I remember
her `begging' me to go with her, but I had some other commitment and just
couldn't do it.  Much as I wanted to, of course.

   "So, to make it up for herself, I guess, she comes into my office and is
just idly talking to me and she starts brushing her hair.  My office had
this huge mirror in it, like the older offices in London would have.  Our
office was in this funky old building.  So anyway, then she starts putting
on her lipstick, and I'm just sitting there, looking at her get ready for
this meeting.  And thinking how incredibly beautiful she is.

   "And I'm also thinking about how she's going to go downstairs and get in
a cab.  One of those classic London cabs.  And she's going to get in that
cab and drive out to the suburbs to the office where the meeting would be.

   "And I mean, I was ready.  I was so ready.  I could have just got up
from my desk, put my arm around her waist and said, `Come on, let's go.'
And she would just look at me, and smile, and we'd go downstairs.  We'd get
in that cab and start heading to the meeting but we wouldn't stop.  We'd
just, disappear together, you know.  Like in the movies."

   I sat back in my chair, thinking about this.  I looked over at
Elizabeth, who'd joined us at the table.  She looked at me and just gave a
little nod.  She'd been thinking the same thing.  Then she and Amy smiled
at each other, conspiratorially.

   John was thinking, too.  Somehow, he didn't notice Elizabeth and Amy.

   After a moment, it seemed that he had come to a conclusion about what I
had told him.  "You know, you think I had all these great experiences, but
... you know, I don't really think that the best pussy I had compares to
London with Elizabeth."

   I just looked at him, and laughed.

   "We've each had our good fortune," I said.

   As we were laughing, our waitress brought our dessert order - a slice of
chocolate cake and a glass of cognac for each of us.  Let me digress here
one more time and say that, as John and I each ate the variation on
chocolate cake we had ordered, we didn't swoon over it.  We didn't say it
was the best cake we'd ever had and insist the other person try it.  We
just ate the damn cake and enjoyed it!

   When we were halfway through our desserts, John looked up at me and
asked, "So did you ever do anything about it?"

   "What d'you mean?"

   "You know, with Elizabeth."

   I thought for a moment.  I knew the answer, but I guess what I must have
been thinking was whether I wanted to lie, and make something up for him.
But for whatever reason, I was comfortable telling him the truth.

   "No," is all I said.

   "Oh," he responded.  I could tell that he knew I would say more.

   "I mean, of course I wanted too.  But, you know," I paused.  "I'm
married."

   "Yeah," he said, and I could tell he understood.  I was sure that he'd
been through the same thing, one way or the other.

   After a moment, I decided I would try to explain the real reason she and
I never did anything.  "I'm sure she wouldn't have liked it if I had."

   He seem surprised.  "Really?" he asked, with a hint of humor in his
voice.

   "No, not that," I said, laughing too.  "I mean, I think the reason she
liked me was because she knew I wasn't going to do anything about it. 
That's why she was willing to give me that `Hello, Sailor,' look in the
first place, and then do everything else we did."

   I paused for a moment, thinking back on it, and then decided to mention
something else to him.

   "I heard some stories, though."

   "Yeah?" he asked.  "About what?"

   "Some she told me, and others I heard around the office - about guys
coming on to her."

   "So?" John seemed curious.  I couldn't tell if he thought I was going to
spill some juicy details, or what.

   But I had to disappoint him.  "Yeah, well, when you hear the actual
stories, about some of the shit she had to put up with, it's pretty -
disturbing, I guess.  Let's leave it at that.  After hearing her talk about
it, I was sure that I didn't want to be any part of stuff like that." I
paused.  "It's not what I wanted to be for her."

   "Right," he said, and again I knew he understood.

   "Plus," I continued, trying to lighten the mood, "I don't know about
her, but like I said before, I always had the feeling that if we did touch
each other, even innocently, we wouldn't have been able to control
ourselves."

   He laughed.  "Probably not, from the way you describe it."

   I laughed too.  "But seriously," I said, "it's like we never touched
each other at all - never brushed our hands together, or anything."

   "Hmm," he said, thinking to himself about this.

   "Well, there was one time."

   He looked back at me with a smile.

   And then I knew that there was one more thing I wanted to tell him.  It
was by far the most intimate, touching moment I had ever shared with a
woman, other than my wife.  I had never told anyone else about it - I never
thought anyone would understand - but as I said, I somehow had the feeling
that this would be my one chance to do so.

   "So it was a Friday," I began cryptically, without any introduction.

   He put down his fork to listen.  I think he knew this was important to
me.

   "My last day in the office; I'd been there for two years but now would
be flying back to the US the next day.  It was in February, so even though
it was only about 5:30, it was dark outside."

   "I had talked to Elizabeth earlier that day, but in all the hustle and
bustle of my last day in the office she had somehow disappeared for the
last few hours.  I remember that the office had pretty much cleared out
-most people were anxious to leave early for the weekend - and it was very
quiet as I gathered up my last box of stuff to carry home and walked down
the hallway toward the door.  When I turned the corner, she was sitting
there on a windowsill by the door, bundled up in her coat, but with her
long legs stretched out in front of her.  `You forgot this,' she said.

   "I've always remembered those exact words.  She was holding one of those
little Dictaphone cassette recorders that you could record something for a
secretary to transcribe (those were the days!).  I had lent it to her one
time and never bothered to collect it.  But I knew immediately that she
wasn't really referring to the recorder, and I understood that she had held
it and waited, so that she could give it to me when I was leaving the
office and we could be alone.

   "I don't remember exactly what I said to her, but I smiled, took the
recorder from her and dropped it in my box.  Then I opened the door and
followed her out of the office.  Our office was on the fifth floor, so
although there was an elevator we usually preferred to walk down the
beautiful wooden staircase in our building.

   "Really, John, I just can't bring myself to tell you what we talked
about as we walked down the stairs, except to say it was about how we would
miss each other.  I told her that she would be fine, and that she would be
able to put up with all the aggravations of work even though I wouldn't be
there anymore."

   I paused for a moment, thinking back to walking down those stairs with
her.  John was looking at me without much expression, as if he were simply
waiting for me to go on.

   "When we got about halfway down the stairs," I continued, "she started
crying softly to herself, and honestly I have to say it was one of the most
emotional moments in my life.  I know that sounds unbelievably cheesy but
you've gotta understand that it was all just very powerful.

   "So we got out onto the street in front of the building and I remember
it was rather cold and really busy as people hurried by on their way home
from work.  We both just stopped and looked at each other, and then I went
to hug her just like you would hug a friend goodbye.  But I remember that
she really grabbed me tightly and put her head right up next to mine, and I
understood that she not only didn't want to let me go, but she didn't want
me to see that she was crying.

   "I felt like I could stand in that street and let her hold on to me for
as long as she wanted, but eventually she took a deep breath and released
me.  We looked at each other again, and said goodbye, and then I just
turned and walked away.  To this day, I still feel very weird about that. I
mean, I don't know why I just walked away, without turning around to look
at her again.  I remember distinctly that I started to think about all the
things I still needed to do that evening, to get ready to leave the next
day, but for the life of me I can't understand why I didn't turn around to
look at her.  And so, I'll never know what she did as I walked away.  Maybe
she just turned and left too."

   We both sat quietly for a minute.  I was so preoccupied replaying the
scene in my head that I didn't notice John's reaction.

   Eventually, he broke the silence.  "Did you ever see her again?"

   "Oh sure," I replied brightly.  "I called her soon after I returned to
the States, and we continued to talk on the phone every once in a while. 
Since we worked for the same company, all I had to do was dial her
extension and she'd be there.  But you know, it was different without
seeing her in the hallway, or getting coffee together in the kitchen.  And
it just sorta faded away.

   "I did see her again though.  About two years after I left, I returned
for a visit to London, but we only talked for a few minutes in the office,
and we didn't go for lunch or anything.  I didn't get the feeling that she
was mad at me, but I could tell that she didn't want to get too close.  I
suspect that she didn't want to go through the same goodbye as last time,
and maybe I didn't either.  I don't know ..."

   My voice trailed off, and I guess John realized I didn't have much more
to say.

   "So?" he asked.

   "Yeah," I said, conveying finality with my tone of voice, rather than in
what I said.  "So we went from occasional phone calls to a few emails.  She
never really seemed to like email.  And then a few years ago I heard that
she left the company without leaving any kind of goodbye email or contact
information.  Maybe something happened in the office.  I never heard
anything.  So that's it; she's kind of dropped out as far as I know.  I
don't know what she's up to or even exactly where she is."

   Even though all this made me a little sad, I remember John was smiling
at me as if he knew there was something else.

   "But that's not all?"

   I couldn't help smiling back at him; he had such a conspiratorial look
on his face, and I sensed that he had had the same sort of experience with
a woman (or women), and he knew what I was thinking.

   "No, it's not all," I said with a little laugh.  "I still think about
her all the time."

   He knew I needed only a slight prompt to continue.  "Like?" he asked.

   "Like when I saw Lost in Translation."

   He smiled at me; he knew.

   "I mean come on," I said, laughing again.  I was happy now.  "That movie
is perfect.  It speaks to me, you know?

   "It came out a few years after I returned from London, and I mean it was
like that was everything with Elizabeth, right there up on the screen. 
Sure, they had the whole age difference thing going on, which wasn't the
case for us, and Scarlett Johansson is a curvy blonde and Elizabeth is a
skinny brunette, but otherwise it was exactly the same.  I knew exactly
what they were thinking all through the movie."

   John looked at me with the same bemused smile as when I had begun our
dinner with a rant about ordering food.  He could tell this was something I
had given a lot of thought to.  He just sat back and let me continue.

   "So when they get to that last scene, where they're saying goodbye on
the street, I'm like `Oh my god, that's exactly right.  That's perfect. 
That's exactly the way it was!' And I was so happy because I knew that
someone had gone through exactly what we had gone through.  I mean, I don't
think that what Elizabeth and I had was so unusual, and seeing it again on
screen and knowing other people had done the same thing made me so happy."

   "So if you knew everything about that," John concluded, "you must know
what he said to her." (He was referring to how you don't know what Bill
Murray whispered to Scarlett at the end of the movie.)

   I smiled.  "Oh yeah, I know."

   "So what was it?" John asked, almost like he was testing to see if I was
really telling the truth.

   But I wasn't going to fall into his trap.  "Oh no," I laughed, "that was
for her ears only.  I could never tell anyone else."

   He knew I was right, of course, and he laughed with me.  It had been
quite an evening.

   Our waitress came to take our dessert plates; we were still sipping our
cognac.  I think it was clear they would have to kick us out, and they
weren't closing up yet.  We weren't anxious to go anywhere.

   After John and I sat silently for a few moments, each of us lost in our
own thoughts, it seemed that John had reached a conclusion.

   "I guess I can understand the way you felt about Elizabeth, and why you
didn't do anything about it.  I mean, in some ways what you had sounds
about perfect.  All the desire, but none of the responsibility, right?" He
paused.  "That's the way I look at it."

   "Now you're thinking of someone in particular," I said, enjoying teasing
him the way he had teased me before.

   "Well, I guess I can say I've had my opportunities." He paused, and I
thought he was going to say more, but then he seemed to rearrange his
thoughts before he continued.  "But never with anyone like Elizabeth, so it
didn't work out the same way for me."

   As I listened to him, I thought to myself that maybe each of us had been
lucky with women in different ways.

   After another pause, he said, "You know what I think?"

   "What?"

   "Now maybe this is my turn to sound weird, but I guess what keeps me in
check is that I don't want another wife."

   He seemed to be waiting for my reaction.  This may seem, to you the
reader, like a strange thing for him to say, but sitting at the table there
with him, I knew exactly what he meant, so I said, "I know; that's what I
think too.  Like when I hear about a guy who left his wife and married
another woman - even someone younger and sexier, whatever - I think to
myself, `What's the point of that?  Why go through so much emotional hassle
just to trade one woman for another?' It doesn't make sense to me."

   After a moment, John replied, almost as if he were talking to himself,
"Yeah, if I was going to do that, I'd want it to be with someone completely
different from my wife." Then he paused, as if considering this further,
and said, "Until that person comes along, I don't think it's gonna happen,
so I don't think about it."

   Just as he said this, Lisa approached us with the check.

   "I'll just leave this for you gentlemen.  I'm clocking out now, but you
can stay as long as you'd like.  It's been a pleasure serving you."

   John turned and smiled at her.  "The pleasure's been all ours, Lisa."

   She looked back and forth at each of us and then seemed emboldened to
say something.  "I hope you don't mind," she began, "but I did notice that
you two have had a very pleasant evening.  I hope it was a nice reunion."

   We both looked at her with pleased, but inquisitive, expressions.

   "Angie told me."

   "Aha," I said, understanding.  "Well, thank you.  It was very nice." I
looked at John for a second, and then back at her.  "Thank you for making
it especially nice for us."

   "As I said, my pleasure," she replied, with that tone of ineffable
femininity in her voice, and she turned to walk away.

   We watched her depart for the last time.  Then, John reached over to
have a look at the check.

   He laughed at what he saw, then looked up at me and said, "Know what? 
Forget everything I just said.  There might not be a need to wait any
longer."

   He handed me the check, and I couldn't resist looking at it, wondering
what had elicited this reaction from him.

   When I looked down at the little note that Lisa had written in a flowing
script at the bottom of the check, as waitresses often do, I immediately
understood John's reaction.

   "Thanks!  Please come again soon.  We look forward to serving both of
you again." She had underlined "We" and "both," and signed it, "Lisa and
Angie" - and added a phone number beneath the signature.

   As I said, we both laughed, but it was pride we both felt.  I realized
it was the same pride I felt when that girl had looked at me when I was
having lunch with Elizabeth.  But this time, it felt even better to be
sharing that feeling with John.

   "I'll need to save this for my receipts," John said, as he put it in his
pocket.

   I was happy to let him have it as a souvenir.  After all, his corporate
apartment is only a few blocks away.

   After talking a few more minutes, we settled our bill and left.

   It was a pleasant summer night as we stood on the sidewalk around
midnight.  There were still a few people on the street, exiting the various
bars and restaurants in the neighborhood.  It was only two blocks up Tryon
and over to the condo on Trade Street where John was staying.  I walked
over with him.

   It was a quiet walk.  We talked about how much Charlotte had changed
since I moved there 16 years before.  During that time, I'd seen the boom
arrive, peak and then fade into more difficult times.  It seemed to me we
were both thinking about how much had happened since we'd last seen each
other, and I felt like it was something else we could share - sort of a
feeling of having seen it all, and now each of us being comfortable with
(if not resigned to) where we had landed.

   When we got to his building, we stood there on the street, talking a few
more minutes.  Neither of us wanted to go.

   Finally, I shook his hand, then he placed his hand on my shoulder, and
we hugged.  I did have the guts to pull him tight.  I wouldn't want to miss
that opportunity.

   After a moment we separated.

   "It was good seeing you," he said.

   "You too, John."

   "I'll be here for a while, and I don't know much about Charlotte, so
let's get together."

   "Sure thing.  Just let me get through the rest of this week.  My wife's
going back to see her parents with the kids this weekend.  I'll be free
next week."

   "Sounds good.  I'll see you then." He paused.  "Bye."

   "Bye," I said, and finally I turned to walk away.  After a dozen steps,
I turned around, and saw that he was looking at me.  That made me very
happy.  I smiled, gave a little wave, and he turned to walk into his
building.

   I watched him walk away, which made me even happier.

   * * *

   I have to digress here for a moment, and explain that even though I
remember that evening very well, I can't say that I've accurately recounted
our conversation word for word.  I definitely remember all the topics we
talked about, and the little interactions with our waitress and things like
that stick in my mind.  But I'm sure I've embellished a little and I've
made our discussion more organized than it actually was.  I've tried to get
the tone and the topics right, but this is my memory of the evening, more
than the evening itself.

   Also, I left out other things John and I talked about, as our
conversation wandered here and there.  For example, one of my favorite
parts of the evening was when we got started talking about our favorite hot
actresses.  It was tons of fun and something I've never really talked about
with a guy.  His tastes run a little more blonde and perky than mine; he
really likes the Kirsten Dunst, Elisha Cuthbert and Alicia Silverstone
type. Nothing wrong with that, and in fact I enjoyed picturing him with the
three of them while he talked about them.  Although I said that I don't
really limit myself to a "type" of woman, Laetitia Casta will always be
special to me, and I definitely have a preference for brunettes like
Elizabeth Hurley, Keira Knightly and Evangeline Lilly; I was also more open
to an older woman than he was.

   He mentioned, too, that he had been to Charlotte before.  About two
years earlier he'd had a similar assignment, working near the airport for a
few weeks.  He told me that he had thought about calling me, but just
hadn't.  "I understand," I said, and I hoped he could hear the sympathy in
my voice.

   We also talked about our workout routines.  He goes to the gym every
once in a while, but he told me that he mainly keeps in shape by swimming
in an adult league, and he has a pool in his back yard, so I was reminded
again that swimming sure works to keep one's body in perfect form - at
least for him!  In response, I was eager to tell him that I had installed
an Endless Pool in my home, and he was excited to hear about it.  For those
of you that don't know, an Endless Pool has a small motor in one end that
creates a current you can swim against like a treadmill.  The pool itself
is not too big (14 by 7 feet, and 3 feet deep) so it can be put easily in
your basement or whatever.

   "I bike to work sometimes, and go for a run occasionally, but that's my
main form of exercise," I told him.  As I said that, I remember wondering
to myself if I was doing something wrong, because it didn't seem to me that
I was getting the same results from swimming that John was!

   "It must be hard to keep yourself in place," he said.  "I've seen that
online, and I even thought about getting one, but it seems like you'd be
pushed all around by the current."

   "Oh no, it's not a problem.  It only takes a few minutes to get used to
it, and then you're just swimming without thinking about it.  The cool
thing is that you can swim continuously without having to turn.  I never
did learn how to do a proper kick turn.  And whenever you get tired you
just drop to your knee for a minute and then start up again."

   "Cool," he said.  "So you can just go swimming whenever you want?"

   "Yep, just head down to the basement.  It's built into the porch we have
out back and enclosed by a room we added to the house."

   We smiled at each other.  I remember feeling so comfortable talking to
him, in a way that I've never felt with a guy before.  It was as if I
didn't need to explain anything to him; I could just say what I was
thinking and he would understand, and it was the same for what he told me.
It was a great evening, no about that.  We exchanged all our contact
information (work, home, cell) and it was obvious to me that I would enjoy
spending time with him while he was in town.

   That's what I was thinking as I walked back from his building toward my
office to get my car.










   


  
Plunging Into the Pool Part 3 A1S1