Specks of the past
I notice someone staring at me, and I turn myself around. There's a man in his fifties looking at me. I look around to see if I can find what is getting his attention, but he seems to be looking at me, nothing else.
“I can't believe it,” he says.
Only now I recognize him, and with a startle.
“George!” My husband looked at me when I said the strange name.
“It's been years!” He says. I feel uneasy with the memories rushing back, conflicting with the present.
He comes closer and kisses me with a friendly hug. I introduce him to my husband, who is holding the bottle he was picking from the shelf with a little more strength than usual.
“Honey, this is George. We were friends back in high school.”
“Nice to meet you.”
They shake hands the way men do when they are trying to see who is the alpha male.
“So, you married,” George says, looking for a subject. I'm embarrassed as well.
“Yes, two children. The youngest just left for college.”
“Congratulations! I have one in college too. My girl is a senior.”
We compare children. When he tells me about his girl I can't help but remembering us and that day in my house.
“So, are you living here now?”
He hesitates for a moment.
“Well... My wife and I split up some time ago, and I finally decided to move to another city, start over. I was offered a position here.”
He steals a glance at my body, my breasts in particular, and I want to hide my decaying body. I remember when he kissed my breasts, then. We both knew why he was coming home with me, we who were distant friends, but that afternoon things seemed just right, and every minute until he kissed me had seemed just a long wait for what was bound to happen. He was the second man to kiss me, the first being someone I didn't really like much, in a game of spin-the-bottle.
I liked his kiss.
I liked even more when he kissed my nipples, after I took my shirt off and helped him with my bra. He was as inexperienced as I was, both of us virgins living at a time when information was not just two clicks away. His lips touching my skin were warm and wet, strange but pleasing. He sucked my nipple and backed away when I moaned.
“Don't stop. Go on.”
I think it didn't last. I don't know, everything is fuzzy. He took my panties off and then I was not a virgin anymore. It didn't hurt too much--it felt good. He came quickly, but somehow so did I. I used to come so quickly back then. We did it again, later. We kissed a lot, I liked kissing him.
Ah, youth. I was beautiful then, I must look so awful now. George is bald. He's barely a shadow of his past.
“So we must catch up someday,” I say, sensing my husband is jealous, wanting to hide away and forget my age.
“Oh, we must. Here,” he says, getting a card from his wallet. “Call me sometime, let's have dinner,” he says, inviting my husband more than he's inviting me--or so I think, until I see he stealing a glance at me. “Do you like football?” George asks my husband.
“Sure, love it.”
“I can get tickets any time thanks to my work. Let's go watch a game some day.”
My husband nods, torn betweeen his male pride and the football match--football wil win--and George goes away after saying goodbye and getting our number as well. I watch him leave, wheeling his cart away, while I'm left torn between the past and the present.