So there we were making out like a couple of teenagers in front of his place. And it felt goooooood!
I had long forgotten what this felt like, to be completely aware of every sensation in your body is absolutely breathtaking, especially when you’re making out with a hot Spaniard. Your heart is racing, your entire body is tingling and your knees feel like noodles.
“What are we doing?” I ask, as we momentarily untie our tongues.
“Well,” he says, “Let’s talk about it.”
At this point, talking is the last thing on my mind. But hey, can you stop kissing my neck so I can concentrate? On second thought, as you were.
As he continued kissing my neck, I quickly process the situation.
Standing before me was a man who actually wanted to communicate and have a two-way conversation about what we were about to get into. And it was blowing my mind!
“We’re both adults,” he said, still embracing me. “You know how I feel, and here we are, in this moment.”
Then he continued…
“But it’s up to you, wherever you want to take this, it’s your decision, and I’m OK either way.”
Needless to say, we never made it to dinner.
Never, and I mean NEVER, has a man appreciated my body with all its curves – curves that I felt I had been cursed with – and all its imperfections like he did. Sensing that I was self-conscious about my tiger stripes (and I don’t have a lot of them, but, hey, they’re there), he ran his fingers over them and said: “Hermosa” (Beautiful).
After not having dinner, we talked. Not once, not even prior to this night, did he ever ask me about what caused my divorce. For whatever reason, this struck me as curious. When I asked him if he wanted to know what happened (I know, I know, I’m a mood killer), he said…
“Lo hecho esta hecho. Lo que paso, paso. Todo lo que me importa es donde estamos ahora, en este momento.”
“What’s done is done. What happened, happened. All that matters to me is where we are now, at this moment.”
I found this so incredibly sexy that I wanted to kiss him. So I did. Which lead to…
WHAT AM I GETTING INTO?
You may be wondering what he was doing in the U.S. in the first place. I won’t go into too many details, but he works for a company with several offices in Europe. A major U.S. company contracted his company to work on a project, which is how homeboy ended up in my hood.
So I went into this knowing that he wasn’t here forever. This, whatever “this” was, wasn’t forever. He would eventually be going back to Europe in the summer. And I was OK with that. This was my first dance, my first post-divorce rodeo. (How’s that for a visual!) I’d been divorced less than a year and I wasn’t looking for forever.
So if this wasn’t forever, what was this? I think as women we tend to want to put labels on things. I know I do or at least “the old me” did. Looking back, I don’t feel that this required a label. “It is what it is,” I told myself.
But where do we go from here? What’s the protocol? Where’s the “Divorcee’s Guide to Post-Divorce Sex with a Hot Spaniard Who’s Only in Town for a Few Months?”
Not having the least bit of experience in this arena and since homeboy was so into communication, I asked him: So how do we handle this?
“Let’s keep it simple and see where it takes us. Let’s enjoy it while we can… enjoy each other, enjoy every moment.”
Damn, I think my panties just fell off again…
I know for some women, knowing a guy will only be around for a few months could be a deal breaker. For me, it was perfect!
Let me explain…
After being married for 17 years, I was truly enjoying my new life and independence. I was not in the least bit interested in a committed relationship. Dating? Yes. Companionship? Why not!
I had a game plan. Keep it simple, drama free and just have fun!
As he caressed the small of my back, we calculated how much time we had left (three months) and talked about some of the things we wanted to do: Drive up north for the weekend, visit some local wine bars and check out an upcoming art festival.
This all sounded great. But reality hit when we talked about my schedule. I was only available every other weekend when my little one was with her dad. When she’s with me, I don’t go out. My time is her time. He said he understood, and that we still had plenty of time.
We continued to see each other, my schedule permitting. My daughter’s visitation schedule with her dad was basically my “Viva España” schedule. So when she went to her father’s every other weekend, guess where I was?
When we met for our date one Friday night, there was some sadness in his eyes. As he stood there embracing me, my face was nestled his chest and I could feel his heart racing. I knew something was wrong. He finally looked down into my eyes and said…
“Babe, I have some bad news.”
To be continued…