Some months after my separation from my husband (of almost ten years), I met a younger man. If you know anything about going through a divorce, than you know this, the sex has presumably been absent from your marriage for some time. At least, for me that was the case, and to put it bluntly, I was libidinous. At thirty-two, in my sexual prime, with two pre-school aged kids at home, and no man in my life, I was craving some gland to gland combat.
Not being the type of woman to ‘hook-up’, mostly because what the fuck does hook-up even mean (remember I was married for almost ten years), I found myself falling for this young attractive, charming man. He had a silver tongue, and at no time was it wasted on my fragile, broken divorced ego.
We met while playing softball in our local slow-pitch league. For the first few months, I would notice him as he peacock-ed his way through the beer gardens. At the tender age of, hopefully over nineteen (he was 23, calm down), I paid little attention to him, not ordinarily attracted to the type of guy looking to be the center of attention. And this guy loved to flaunt what he had. Regularly shirtless, he habitually had an assortment of ladies flocking to his side. Not my scene Or so I thought.
Within a few months, we started playing on the same ball team, and this boy could twist a word, I believe if he were an ice salesman, he could sell ice to an Eskimo, and I was the Eskimo. It didn’t take long before he began furiously flirting with me, and I cannot tell a lie, it felt wondrous. He had primed my ego, and I was ripe for the picking. Every gorgeous word that spilled from his lips had me wanting more.
The attraction grew stronger as a month or so passed. But me, with two kids under the ages of six, made it challenging to spend time together, other than when we were at baseball. Besides, I wasn’t inclined to bringing home a new man so soon after my separation. So the two of us would find time after our games to sit and chat at the ballpark, spending what little time we did have together, flirting like teenagers would behind the bleachers. Making excuses to touch each other.
Then one night after the team had left the park and he was walking me to my car, it happened, he kissed me. My body trembled as he placed his lips on mine, he had finally closed the deal, I bought the ice.
After each ball game, for the following month, the two of us would wait patiently for the rest of our team to vacate the park so we could lock lips. As the weeks passed, eventually he would round first base, then second and just has he would touch third, I would send him home. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted nothing more than for him to slide into home plate, I just wasn’t prepared to go to funky town in a parking lot, after a ball game. Not quite yet.
As the season started to come to a close, the two of us found ourselves wondering how we would find time to spend together with no excuses to be at the ballpark. And wondering if this would go any further than just a summer fling, or if we would ever seal the deal, we played the final game of the season. The team stayed after to celebrate with a few drinks in the parking lot, and as usual, the two of us waited for them to leave.
Pushing me up against the car, he kissed me with force, my body trembled with excitement as our lips pressed against each others. Lost in each other completely. I hadn’t felt this type of sheer intensity in years. Drinking away my inhibitions, certainly helped the situation along. The two of us started to get heated, and we needed somewhere to go, and there it was. His work van. Now, this wasn’t any old minivan. With half a bumper, paint chipping from the door and tinted out windows, this van had, do not drive through a park zone, written all over it.
With my head in a whirl of romance, he leads me to his van, explaining we would have to leave where we were so we wouldn’t get locked in the parking lot.
After he had pulled his van into another parking lot, we jumped in the back seat and began exploring each other. The windows thick with condensation from our steamy, erotic inspiration, he finally pulled my shirt over my head. Kissing intensely and in our secluded little world, I began to undo his belt. My hands shaking with anticipation, and ready to let all my insecurities go, I slid his pants down over his hips. As you can imagine, we ended up in the middle of a pants-off dance-off, and just I was about to talk to God, there was a tapping vibration on the window in which my head was pressed. I pulled his face to my chest, covering his ears. Like I said, it had been awhile since I’d had my chimney swept, don’t judge. Again another tapping sound, this time, not ignored by my counterpart. Before I knew it, he was in the front seat, rolling down his window.
“Good Evening, can I ask what you might be doing?” no big deal, it was just a lady cop, I thought to myself. A LADY COP, UGH!
“Pretty sure you know what we were doing.” my friend responded as he was doing up his belt buckle.
“Oh yes, I know what you were doing, umm, I was just wondering why you were doing it in a church parking lot.”
Before she had the chance to shine her fancy police light into the back of the van, I was fully clothed and sitting with my legs crossed. The halo above my head, slightly bent and covering my abashed expression. Smiling sheepishly at her while wrinkling my nose, I spoke “Hi.”
“Hi,” she replied, not as sheepishly as I, might I add. “Mind stepping out of the vehicle?”
As I gathered what sense of pride I had left, I crawled myself into the front seat and out the passenger door.
“So you do realize you are in a Church parking lot?” with disdain, she looked at me, as if I was most certainly going to the hell she believed in. Now my Halo completely faltered, I respond, “Clearly I did not, as I am not some sort of sexual deviant!”
Here’s the thing, wherein oscillating the unmentionables in a church parking lot, or any public place for that matter, it seems it does make you a sexual deviant. As I was so sternly informed by the warning, I was given by my new, gun-wielding, badge wearing lady friend.
Needless to say, half way through slippin’ and slidin’ in the back seat of a creeper van, I was interrupted once again right before I made my way to – Joy to the world the Lord is … I’ll stop there.
Luckily that night, we met with a police officer who had a sense of humor and were lucky enough to get away with our deviant behavior.
I know it’s not easy to find time to open the gates of Mordor, especially when you have children, or are trying to date after a divorce, so please tell me I’m not the only one who’s been caught in the act. It doesn’t have to be a church parking lot, anywhere, anyone, Bueller?