Middle-aged adolescence

Oh, my wild imagination.

Here, dear one, is how I envision our first intimate encounter:

It happens when I come in one afternoon to do something related to the Parent Association. I stop in the office to check the mailbox; while I’m sorting through the pile of stuff, you spot me and beckon to me to come into your office. You close the door and pull down that funny little shade over the little window in the door; the curtains are already drawn.

“I have a problem,” you say. “A big one.”

“What is it?” I say, my heart beating (the way it so often does when you speak to me).

“I … I am … well, I’m attracted to you in a strong way,” you say.

I am almost definitely speechless for at least a few moments.

“But don’t you know how much I love you?” I finally manage to get out. “Don’t you know that I want nothing more than to hold you, caress you, be with you?” (Oh, how I wish I could declare my love for you instead of stumbling idiotically at every opportunity.)

By now we are holding each other, our arms around each other, our breasts pressing against each other. We kiss; we possibly cry; we talk long and hard about our men, our children, our lives. We decide to seek opportunities to be together away from everyone else; we find ways to be intimate; we are intimate. And we declare our love for each other over and over again, in every possible way.

That’s what I imagine.

Day and night.

And then I show up in the morning, after dropping the kids off at school, and you are besieged with people seeking your attention, people with far more right to it than I; and I am unable even to make brief contact, to get a quick hug, before I have to leave.

That’s what really happens.

And all I want is to be somewhere near you, to breathe the same air, to gently brush against you, to be in touch with you.

Because I love you; because you take my breath away; because you make my knees go weak with your absolute magnificence.

I love you; that’s all there really is.

You have made me fall in love all over again. Have you any idea the power you have over me? It is absolutely incredible. My focus is shot; my comprehension nullified because you were there for me yesterday morning.

You are so beautiful, so brilliant; and sometimes you hurt so much!

I seem to suddenly be all of 15; a valiant adolescent knight ready to charge in and protect you, shelter you, comfort you.

But it really doesn’t make any sense, does it? When you look at me, you see a chubby middle-aged married mom, not a knight in shining armor with hormones raging out of control.

Did you know that I had this under control a scant week ago? That some rationality and reason had returned to my life?

And now, here I go again, rocketing off into who knows what or where.

Because you spent time with me and spoke with me and shared your inner life, however momentarily, with me.

You are magnificent and I adore you, even though you hardly care.

I just want to hold you and kiss you and stroke you and spend my life with my body against yours, as close and as intimate as possible.

Again, yesterday, we had an intimate moment; and I once again was at a loss for words; once again I could not tell you how much I adore you. I was overwhelmed by your touch, your body, your beauty.