Connecticut Regrets

They'd been emailing for more than a month, exchanging hot, sexy fantasies so well written they often didn't need a rewrite. What a pleasure it was, she thought, to "meet" an articulate, creative writer for her online role-playing. They exchanged photos. Shell had hit pay dirt.

Now a completely unexpected event was to take place – he was coming to Connecticut! A family wedding. She was so fevered by this turn of events she couldn't sleep for two nights. He'd made a veiled reference to meeting her – and her heart clutched at the same time her pussy signaled its wakefulness.

He'd shared a gift with her – a sexy, erotic book he was writing – and she began making comments on each chapter. She was a good and experienced editor, and he seemed to appreciate her professionalism as much as he appreciated how aroused her reading made her. Shell instinctively knew she'd never in a million years encounter another man who captivated her intellectually, emotionally, spiritually and sexually the way this man had. Usually it was one or two out of four. Four out of four only once before, when she'd married the second time.

As they left occasional phone messages for each other she found his voice thrilling. Such a child, she thought, to save his voicemails for play back over and over. She could imagine that voice soaring over the others in church, and wondered what it would be like to stand next to him in her choir, instead of next to Arthur McNair, whose voice was strong like his, but not sexy.

And now he was coming here. Or rather, to central Connecticut. A mere hundred miles away, rather than thousands. She tracked his progress across the skies by computer and when he briefly touched down in her city, she fleetingly thought of going to the airport, just to see him. Maybe say hello. Probably not. She hadn't told him she was going to do it, didn't know how he would respond. Besides – she wouldn't have been allowed at the gate.

Even after he casually mentioned meeting at a baseball game, she couldn't be sure he was serious. She had almost wrecked the friendship when she admitted, in her customarily forthright way, that she had fallen for him. He was furious and measured in his response, reminding her – once again – that he honored his marriage and would do nothing to endanger it. And once again, her stupidity caused her another sleepless night.

Now here they were, in the same state. She grinned all day from sheer happiness at this snatch of nothing. She drove her car with the sunroof open, music blaring, her hair blowing, exhilarated at being in "like". When he managed a few moments alone, he called, and she greeted him with a smiling "welcome to my time zone."

His first night under Connecticut stars, they'd spent three hours on the phone, acting out a scene so mind bending each would remember it for years to come. She slept that night more peacefully and serenely than she had in months, on her back with her arms splayed above her head, and awoke to find her pillow between her legs and his image before her eyes.

They made plans to meet at a baseball game. Hours later, in an email, he began to backpedal. Later still, he reneged and said he had family responsibilities. The wedding preparations and all. A full day of activities before tomorrow's ceremony. Although just a cousin-in-law, he was needed.

But she had a hunch…so she went to the game anyway. She disguised herself somewhat in a white ball cap and sunglasses, her dark red hair in a wavy ponytail. She took her small field glasses so she could rake the modest stands for his handsome face. She concentrated on the announcers' booth, thinking perhaps he might be extended professional courtesy to watch the game from there. And there he was, the only head not wearing a headset, blond and handsome, smiling and talking with the local play-by-play men. Probably about his own baseball broadcasting back home. Radio jocks.

She made her way to a seat somewhat below and to the right of the booth where she could see him clearly, so clearly in fact, she could see he was wearing a short sleeved sport shirt. "And probably khaki Dockers, like every other man not in jeans here," she mused. Thinking about how he was dressed – and how she would like to see him undressed – made her sex contract again, so she shook her head to erase the Etch-a-Sketch image in her mind and tried to concentrate on the bottom of the first.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied movement in the booth. He and another man were standing and then he disappeared. He was wearing khaki dress shorts.

She rose quickly and strode up the bleachers to the concession stand. There he was, in line, his strong back a mere feet from her touch, But she needed to be patient. Here was a man worth being patient for. With a chance to look without being seen, she shook her head as she recalled how modest he was, how self-deprecating, how disbelieving when she told him how gorgeous she thought he was. Here was a model-perfect man. And she should know, because husband #1 had modeled when they were in college together. The ideal male model in America, they had been told, was 5'10 to 6 foot tall, and under 180 lbs. Both men were that. But he somehow thought himself lacking.

As he turned with a carrier of Pepsi, she stood where she was and withdrew her sunglasses, but she didn't remove her ball cap or shake down her hair. He liked athletic looking women, she knew, and she suspected his gaze would be drawn to her today, dressed as she was in short white shorts, a pearl gray Vikings T shirt, and tennis shoes. She had gone through her entire lingerie collection to find her sheerest cream-colored silk set that looked invisible under clothing.

There was a crowd at the stand, as always at a sporting event, and he had to dodge and weave a little as he approached her. She stood her ground, like a Native American planted in his path to claim her betrothed.

As she had hoped, a shock of recognition crossed his face. "Shell?" he asked incredulously. Her answering smile was enough, and it was a good thing, for her heart was fluttering and her voice would have been unsteady. He stared.

"I took a chance…I hope it's ok," she finally murmured, her voice suddenly small and tentative, anxious. She was afraid he would be angry. But as she looked up into his face, she couldn't see anger, really. Just wisps of the conflicting emotions roiling him.

She spoke quickly, afraid that if she let him speak, he would send her away and she'd never hear from him again.

"Please just listen to what I have to say. Let me finish before you speak. Please. Please?" she appealed. He nodded, a bit dazed. She took his arm and led him to a corner of the concourse away from the crowd for a scrap of privacy.

It took all of her incredible will not to kiss him then, to feel the lips she had imagined so many thousands of times, but she steeled herself. Too much was riding on this conversation.

"I took the chance that you might come to the game after all. I needed to see you, to be in the same space with you. I thought…" and here her will began to fail her, but she clenched her fists behind her, took a deep breath and continued "…I thought we could at least say hello. I packed a picnic. I thought we could spend a few hours together. No, wait…" she said, panicking as he drew breath to respond. She put her fingers to his lips to silence him.

"I know what you're going to say. I swear on my children's heads I am not trying to seduce you or try to get you to change your mind about any of this. I love my husband the same way you love your wife. I won't harm that. But I just thought…if you could see your way clear to giving me just this tiny little piece of you…"

Despite her best intentions, her voice was breaking and her eyes filled. She didn't cry sexy like a soap opera star. Her nose reddened and her face got blotchy. Not the face she wanted to show him.

It must not have mattered, for he bent down and kissed her lightly, sweetly. Briefly. Too briefly. A friendly kiss, but a kiss nonetheless. "It's ok. I'm glad you came. Let's have your picnic."

_______________________

She drove them to a nearby park. They were mostly silent in the car, an awkward distance between these two who had shared intimate fantasies they dared not share with their spouses in the safety of cyberspace. They were, in truth, two shy, faithful people who somehow connected on a different level.

Opening the trunk of her Saab, she hauled out a picnic basket, wine, and a blanket, along with the sunscreen she knew the freckled two would need today. When he saw that, he laughed, and the awkwardness was broken, a little.

"Ahah, I see you took my advice and bought organic wine. You do listen to me," he teased in the way she was accustomed to, and it made her heart sing.

She led him to a grassy bank next to a cold stream, and into a small clearing surrounded by mountain laurel and blackberry bushes, shaded overhead by tall sycamores.

"I bring my children here," she explained simply. "It's peaceful and quiet, and they can catch crayfish and wade all day."

He shook out the blanket for them as she unpacked the basket. They sat, comfortably wordless, as they ate and drank, both relieved to be at ease with each other. It was effortless, and it was a good thing. They talked of work, and their children, although there was an unspoken agreement not to mention their spouses. They had shared their religious convictions and that, too, was discussed. And politics, which they had always avoided because they didn't agree. But today, in person, it seemed ok.

At last, their conversation petered out, and they sat, side by side, quietly, listening to birdsong and tree frogs. The passion she had felt earlier had burned down to a glow, and she had banked it, wanting to keep it close to her and not let it die out. But it flamed again, despite her efforts to control it, and she leaned toward him, holding his face in her hands and kissing him a second time, this time letting her mouth linger on his. Her lips brushed his cheek, and then kissed along his jawline and down his throat, and she quickly kissed his lips again, and covered his face with small kisses. She was losing control, and she knew it, and she didn't care.

But he did. He grasped her arms, and pushed her gently away. She nodded her head and let it drop, lest he see the tears welling in her eyes again. But he knew. He lifted her face with his forefinger, and tenderly kissed away her tears. He drew her to him and held her, letting her sobs rise and then subside, stroking her hair and waiting. At last she was quiet again, and he lay down, pulling her down beside him, and holding her in his arms.

She fell asleep in the warm dappled sunshine, asleep in his arms as she had so many times imagined. And he dozed too. Whatever they dreamed, they never shared, for when they awoke, drowsy in each other's arms, her leg drawn over his, her hand on his chest, they knew what they had preserved, and at what price.

For DD, who made me laugh, a little
Who made me cry, a little
Who changed my life, more than a little
2004