Soaring Over Hurtles

*****

Layla

Nicole and Dylan were my two closest friends at Penn State. Both knew about Bryson and me, and both thought it weird. At least they didn't judge me or give me unsolicited advice. They did pour on some good-natured teasing, and I laughed along. Dylan didn't hide his hope that one day him and me could be more than just friends. Again, if not for Bryson, I saw myself sharing more than just friendship with him. He was funny and sexy in his own goofy way, as well as a loyal friend.

Meanwhile, my parents still couldn't get comfortable with my budding romance. They had their own ideas of what motivated Bryson, but couldn't understand it from my end. They wanted to meet him. "We've met your other serious boyfriends," my mom said. "It's time you introduce us to this fifty-year-old math teacher significant other of yours."

Dad was even more eager. "Much to my chagrin, a man close to my age thinks it's okay to date my twenty-four-year-old daughter. So, yeah, let's meet him."

Although I understood their concern, I was far from comfortable with the idea. Anxious as hell is more like it. Bryson took it in stride. "Relax, this could be fun," he said. "Like I said, I can empathize. I've got a young daughter, too, you know."

We made plans for the first weekend in December. Brice would come to my school and my parents would drive over two hours from McKeesport to meet my 'fifty-year-old math teacher significant other.' They already harbored preconceived notions, most on the negative side given their protective attitude when it came to me dating a much older guy.

Brice arrived on Friday afternoon, bringing his vintage Bridgestone road bike with him. With temperatures hovering between the upper thirties and low forties, riding was still doable, at least for shorter distances.

I ran out of my townhouse apartment to greet him wearing jeans and a Penn State sweatshirt. Snuggling against his white, blue and green ski sweater, I told him how much I missed him. More than told him, I showed him via the way I kissed him in the intense and passionate way I always kissed him. "From on the beach in hot, humid August and now to here, at Penn State in chilly December," I said.

"I can scarcely believe it myself," he said, taking his bike off the roof of his Camry. "We've come a long way."

"And the journey's not over yet." Then I noticed something. "Your beard. You shaved it off."

He drew a bashful grin. "Well, I'm meeting your parents tomorrow, and I didn't want to look any older than I needed to. Hope you don't mind."

I laughed. "My parents..." I was about to say they didn't care, but of course we both knew that Bryson's age WAS the issue with them. "Well, okay, at least you kept the mustache."

"Yes, and if they like me, I might consider growing the beard back."

"They'll like you, I guarantee it," I said. "If they can overlook the age thing."

"A big If."

No doubt it was. But I dropped the subject. That Friday night, I wanted to forget my anxiety over what might or might not happen on Saturday, and just enjoy being with Bryson. I traded his invite out to dinner in favor of fixing him chicken cacciatore from my grandmother's recipe. We Italians love to cook, especially for special people in our lives. Brice loved it, including the salad and pasta, washed down with Chianti. "My compliments to your grandmother," he said.

Later on, he made love to me the way that only he could, intense and passionate, the same as he did in Ocean City that first time and then afterward. We didn't discuss "future plans," though they came to mind, maybe because I'd be graduating in six months. The courses I took the previous summer and placement tests allowed me to complete my master's degree requirements in one year instead of the usual two.

Then I'd leave Penn State and become employed, though just where I didn't know. What I did know, based on my feelings then, is that I didn't want to live too far from Brice. I wanted him to remain in my life, perhaps even more intimately than he already was.

*****

Bryson

I tried to put myself in Melvin and Janice Moretti's shoes. They were Layla's parents, none too pleased with their daughter hooking up with a guy around Melvin's age. If my daughter did that, I'd want to meet the guy also. From the pics Layla showed me, I knew what they looked like. Melvin stood close to six-feet, my height, and had all his hair, graying and worn slicked back. He looked in good shape, slim, even athletic. Weather permitting, he golfed, took walks with his wife, and had recently taken up swimming at the Y, Layla told me. Layla had inherited Janice's body type, curvy and chunky and well-endowed up top. She looked about ten years younger than her age; pretty also. They planned to arrive at around noon, and then take us out to lunch.

Both of us were nervous watching their dark, late model Lexus LS pull into the parking lot of Layla's townhouse community. "Well, this is it," I said, right before we went out to greet them. "It's time for me to meet the parents. You know, when I saw that movie years ago, little did I know that I'd one day be living it."

"A case of life imitating art, Layla said. "Let's do it."

Layla greeted her mom with a comment about her new hair style: "Mom, I love your hair that way."

Melvin looked at me and chuckled. "A woman thing." He was reserved but cordial, looked a bit nervous himself. I offered my hand and he took it as we watched Layla admiring Janice's new hair style, her light brown, wavy locks that dropped just shy of her shoulders and flipped under at the ends. The bangs made her look a few years younger.

Her parents were in winter coats. Me and Layla had on what we wore inside, Layla in jeans and a green pull-over sweater, me in dark brown corduroys and a blue, long-sleeved button-down. "We're warm enough, let's just go," Layla said when Janice asked if we wanted to go back inside to retrieve our coats. Her attitude mirrored mine: let's just get this over with.

During the twenty-minute drive to a local diner in their car, per their inquiry, we told them about our plans for the weekend, which included a Sunday bike ride. Layla had filled them in on what I did, though he still asked about the "bike business" and my teaching. In turn, I asked him about his medical practice and Janice's financial services business. I knew they did well; ergo, the Lexus and membership in a country club. On the surface, this was routine talk. Underneath, it was anything but. I could feel the tension; we all could.

Reading our menus and then ordering gave us a respite from the strain in our booth. Conversation resumed when the young female server took our order—talk that drifted from jobs, sports and Layla's school to our relationship. Melvin and Janice didn't disguise their chagrin at how we met. Removing her reading glasses, Janice said, "I don't know any man our age that attempts to pick up young women on the beach. I mean, when I was your age, Layla, and went to the shore with girlfriends, no guy Bryson's age ever approached us. That's what high school and college kids do, is it not?" She drew me a condescending grin, but one with a flirtatious edge, it seemed to me. Truth to tell, had she been coupled with a girlfriend on the beach in Ocean City that day, I might have approached her. More than pretty, she possessed an erotic, sensuous quality about her, something I'm sure that had drawn Melvin to her all those years ago. Did he still appreciate that quality in her? I couldn't help but wonder. Layla would be doing great if she looked like Janice Moretti in middle-age, I thought.

Meanwhile, Layla, annoyed at Janice's remark, said, "Mom, Brice isn't your average fifty-year-old. And he and his friend Brent didn't exactly try to pick us up. They just wanted some female company and conversation."

Layla looked at me for confirmation. "That's a fairly accurate assessment," I said. "Then one thing led to another, as they say."

Melvin shook his head. "Obviously."

"Look, guys, Alisha and me played a part in this too," Layla argued. "We encouraged Brice and Brent to sit with us."

"Yes, something I still don't understand because hundreds of boys flock to Ocean City every summer looking to meet girls like you and Alisha. Okay, Bryson here looks good for his age," she continued, flashing me a complimentary grin and batting her blue eyes. "But for heaven's sake..." She paused to gather her thoughts. "Look, Alisha and Bryson's friend didn't carry it beyond Ocean City, you told me."

Layla nodded. "Right, they didn't. They had a more, well, a more superficial sort of relationship, is the way I'll put it. Brice and I had a much deeper connection. We fell in love." She patted my arm.

Melvin rolled his eyes. Janice shook her head.

I played it rope-a-dope, letting Layla's parents voice their displeasure without trying to defend myself. As far as I was concerned, it was more a family issue between Layla and them. When the food arrived, Melvin said, "Let's drop this for the time being and just enjoy our meal." Then he turned to me. "Bryson, you and me are gonna have a man-to-man back at Layla's place. Are you okay with that?"

"No problem," I said, then dug into my chicken-Caesar wrap. I wasn't surprised that Melvin wanted to speak with me in private. Like I told Layla, I empathized with his position.

Janice took a few sips of her onion soup. Then, looking at Layla, she said, "And we're going to have a woman to woman. All right?"

Layla finished chewing a bite of her turkey burger. Then: "Sure mom, if you insist."

*****

Per Melvin's wise advice, we dropped the subject for the rest of our meal. Melvin got the check. Then, upon driving back, we got down to "business." Janice and Layla went into Layla's upstairs bedroom, while I faced the "music" with Doctor Moretti in the kitchen.

His thin lips, wire rim glasses and slicked-back hair gave his narrow face a severe looking quality. Or maybe that was just my perception given the situation. This was a man who appeared fiercely protective of his only daughter. After opening the top button of his beige knit pull-over, he hiked up his loosely-worn, dark wool slacks a couple inches and then took a seat at Layla's kitchen table. "So, you love my daughter," he began, leaning into me, just inches from my face. Man-to-man indeed.

"As true a statement as I've ever heard," I said. "More than that, I adore your daughter. She's an amazing young lady."

"Thanks. Janice and I think so too." His brown eyes bore into mine, as if he didn't want to miss a syllable of what I'd say next.

"Look, I get why you're doing this," I said. "I have a daughter also and would have the same concerns if she took up with a guy my age."

Cautiously, he nodded, while shaking his hand as if he was about to throw a pair of dice. "So where do you think this is going?"

I shrugged. "Not sure what you mean."

"I MEAN, do you have any intentions beyond just dating my Layla? Beyond just having a good time."

"Melvin, no offense, but you're acting as if we're in a shotgun wedding situation here. My future intentions? I have none. A lot of this is up to Layla. I've encouraged her to date guys her own age, like this kid Dylan who's in one of her classes."

He stroked his clean-shaven face, then shook his hand once again. "She won't do that as long as she's involved with you. Layla's always been loyal in that way. Did she tell you about Roger, a serious boyfriend who was killed by a drunk driver?"

"She did. The day we met in fact."

"Really?! She revealed something that personal that soon?"

"We were walking along the beach, the four of us, and she told me then." My mind shifted back to that day when she told me about Roger. She began to cry and I reached out to comfort her and she let me kiss her for the first time. A great memory but not one I thought I should share with Melvin at this point.

Obviously, he was impressed that Layla told me. He said, "Well, I guess that tells me something right there, that she felt awfully comfortable with you early on."

I nodded. "Like she said, we developed a deep connection, one that began on that day in Ocean City."

"Okay, but you must know, as any rational thinking person must know, that these kinds of things are doomed to fail. They have a short shelf-life. We'd like to see her married one day but not to someone almost twice her age."

"I agree with what you're saying, doctor. Well, I agree with part of what you're saying, about not wanting your daughter to marry a guy my age. But a short shelf-life? How short is short? Because I can tell you now, that my love for Layla will last me to the end of my days, whatever happens or doesn't happen between us."

Melvin crossed his arms against his chest and sighed. "Is that right? How poetic. Okay, then back to my question. What are your intentions? I mean, are you actually thinking of marrying her?"

His high-pitched, exasperated tone reminded me of a movie comedy that Jack Lemmon stared in, and I could barely contain myself from laughing in his face. That said, I didn't begrudge him the question. Yes, I thought of marrying her, knowing as well as he that it was a ridiculous notion. Dodging his question about marriage, I said, "Melvin, all I can say right now is that I love your daughter very much. Beyond that, I have no INTENTIONS."

"You plan to keep seeing her, I suppose."

"If she'll have me, yes."

He leaned back in his chair, shook his head and blew out some air, looking the way he obviously felt, weary and frustrated. He clearly didn't like my answer. Yet he also knew there wasn't much he could do about it. Layla was twenty-four, not sixteen.

I looked him in the eye. "So, is that it?"

"I suppose so. Honestly, I was going to ask you to break it off, but I guess that's not on your agenda."

"I've thought about breaking it off. Maybe I'm being selfish, I don't know. What I do know is what I just said, that I'm deeply in love with Layla Moretti. And when you're deeply in love with someone, it's damn near impossible to simply break things off. You can understand that, I'm sure."

"I do, Bryson, I'm afraid I do. All too well."

*****

Layla

"Honey, you're a grown woman, so I can't make you do anything," mom said. "But you must know that this thing with Bryson can't last. The longer you see him, the more deeply involved you might become and the harder it will be to break it off. I don't want to see you hurt. How far do you plan to take this?"

We were sitting on my bed with the door closed, our shoes off, me in my jeans, mom in her gray wool slacks and white blouse. I shook my head and said, "I have no plans for Bryson and me. We take things as they come, enjoying each other's company."

"You're really in love with him?"

"Hopelessly so, as I've told him." I almost teared up thinking how much I loved him. "He's a special guy with special qualities."

Through gritted teeth, she snarled, "He's fifty years old."

"I don't need reminding."

She sighed. "Okay, but you must think about that. It's the big elephant in the room."

"Mom, when we get intimate, I don't see elephants. I see a very good-looking man with a physique that younger guys might envy and one who can please me just as good if not better than someone younger. Be honest. Don't you think he's a middle-age hottie?"

"Well, he's..." We both began to giggle. "Okay, I'll concede that he's one handsome dude, as you might say," mom continued. "As far as pleasing you—and I assume you mean sexually."

"An accurate assumption, yes."

More giggles. Then: "So, you mean because he's experienced, considerate, well-endowed? What?"

"Geeze, mom," I said laughing, "I didn't expect this line of questioning. Yes, all of the above. And so much more."

"Oh my," she said, putting a hand to her chest. "I'm almost afraid to ask about the 'so much more.'

"Don't be. It's nothing kinky. The so much more refers to his staying power. Remarkable for a man at any age." I paused to let that sink in. Then: "Listen to us, mom, carrying on like two young teens just past puberty."

"Aren't we though. Makes me wonder if your father and Bryson are talking along the same lines." She pondered that for a few moments. Then: "Nah. I don't know about Bryson. But your dad wouldn't be comfortable talking about his own daughter this way."

"I can't see it either. I'm somewhat surprised that you can."

She grinned with pursed lips. "Actually, I find it rather titillating, if you want to know the truth. But don't you dare tell your father."

"Wanna hear more? Because I'd bet my titillation meter is rising as well."

Mom uncrossed her legs, leaned over and reclined on her elbow. "I feel so guilty asking. But, well, okay. I can't deny the vicarious thrill I'm getting here."

Sitting Indian style, I reached behind and let my hair down. "Mom, I'm getting wet just thinking about what Brice does for me. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Um, yes, but don't get too graphic."

"Not too graphic...Well, to begin with, he's a great kisser. I found that out the day we met. And he's patient, loves long foreplay. So by the time we get to intercourse, I'm burning with desire from all that, his fingers and tongue working their magic all over my body, setting my erogenous zones on fire. Then the way he slips between my legs, his rhythm, his amazing sense of timing and control. His hard cock, pile-driving—" I cupped a hand over my mouth. "Uh oh, I'm going overboard, aren't I?" Then I looked down. "Mom, are you aware that you're touching yourself?"

Grinning shyly, she jerked her hand away from her crotch. "Ah, sort of. I guess."

I laughed. "Geez, mom, not to pry, but are you and dad still, well, doing it?"

"Yes, we're still DOING IT. But just picturing you and Bryson...I bet he goes gaga over your young, voluptuous body. What can I say? It makes me horny." She began fanning her face with her hand.

I sensed that something else was at work here. "Mom, you don't have to answer this if you don't want to. But, are you also picturing...YOU and Bryson?"

She swallowed hard, sat on the edge of the bed and put her face in her hands. Then she looked up and drew a "guilty" grin. "Um, well, ah, a little."

We both squealed like we were school girls who had a crush on the same boy. Then mom said, "Look, sweetheart, I trust this conversation will go no further than this room."

I raised my right arm. "It won't. And I trust that you might now have a different point of view about my relationship."

"Yes and no. I mean, I still think it's inappropriate because of the age difference. On the other hand, Bryson seems like a nice fella, and you seem very happy, which makes me happy. Meanwhile, let's see what the guys are up to." She resumed fanning her face. "That is, when I cool down a little. Whew!"

*****

When mom "cooled down"—truth to tell, both of us needed to—we went downstairs to find Bryson and my dad sitting at the kitchen table, sipping a brew of Yuengling. "I hope you don't mind, honey," dad said, "but we needed these."

"Help yourselves," I said. "In fact, mom and I could also use some."

"I'll say!" mom exclaimed. We looked at each other and giggled as I pulled two more bottles from the fridge.

We then repaired to my living room, with mom and dad taking comfy chairs, while Bryson and I took the sofa. Had mom not told me about her fantasy regarding she and Bryson, I might have dismissed her flirty glances as an aberration. I wasn't sure if Bryson noticed it, though the way he smiled back at her suggested he did.

Dad spoke first. "Well, Bryson and I had a no BS, candid man-to-man. He knows that I still don't approve of your relationship, Layla, and you know why. We all do. That said, there's no doubt in my mind that he's sincere in his feelings, that you've got a good man here who loves you very much." He and Bryson gave each other a thumbs-up.