Beginnings

 

 

 

“Do I have your permission to begin?”

“Yes”

As I lay in the bed at the Ramada Inn, with only a sheet covering my partially-clothed body, my mind went to another place about ten years earlier.  Kelly explained I should undress after she left.  Undergarments were optional though she articulated the bra often gets in the way, so I would be best to remove it.  When finished changing, I was to hop up on the heated massage table and drape the sheet over my body.  Once ready, I should tap the button and she would return.  If at any time I felt uncomfortable, I would tell her to stop. 

“Mia?” 

“Yes, Martin?”

“I lost you for a moment, kind of like when I used to call you at school and our calls would drop, but I always called you back.  Are you with me?”  Martin sat on the edge of the bed next to me, his eyes intent upon listening.  

“I was just remembering.  It’s hard to believe we are where we are at today. 

“What do you mean?

“After your wife died, I ached.  Yes, I know I ached before that, but I did not allow myself to go there.  I respected the sanctity of your marriage.  I too was still married, raising a young family, but I wanted to be with you.  And like you, I wasn’t going to divorce my spouse.” 

Martin straightened a strand of hair that had fallen in front of my eyes and tucked it back in its place.  I started to cry, so he blotted a few tears away too. 

“Mia, there’s time.  Let’s take it slow.”

With those words, I pulled him closer to me, knowing the days grew shorter now.  Martin and I both experienced a lifetime of firsts:  first dates, the birth of our first child, our first grandchildren, and the death of our parents.  Separately, we experienced these firsts.  As time ticked, events rushed by without making much of an impression.  Many years passed.  We were tired, and each day passed in a blur.  The clock ticked, and days came and went.  What once was novel became routine as the hollowed days began to collapse. 

As I waxed nostalgic, Martin kissed me on my forehead, gentle and attentive like I always imagined him to be, brushing his tousled beard against my cheek and tickling my nose.  I giggled. 

“What’s so funny?”

“That tickles.” 

“If you think that tickles, just you wait.”  Martin laughed.  He looked at me with big brown eyes, eager with anticipation.  “What if I were to call you Mrs. Masterson?” 

“Well then, I guess I’d have to call you Bobby.” 

We chuckled, and he took my face in both hands and planted a kiss on each cheek.  “One kiss for being so cute, and a second for being so damn beautiful.”  As Martin bent over me, cradling my head in his arms, I again found myself somewhere else for a moment, mesmerized by the present yet reminiscent of the past. 

Kelly massaged my temples and held my head up for ninety seconds, deeply working on the tension she found in my neck.  I carried my tension across my shoulders and into my neck.  At one point she told me to stop helping her.  “Women are natural helpers.  Let me do all the work today.”  Even back then I smiled, not knowing if during our foreplay I would be allowed to help or not. 

“Mia, do you want me to stop?” 

“Do I look like I want you to stop?  I’m sorry.  I was just remembering.  The mind that never stops, remember?”

As Kelly worked her way from my head to my toes, I was aware of every touch.  I imagined it was your touch especially when she took each arm, raised it above my head and circled it around and around before finally letting it lay by my side. 

“I imagined begging you to blindfold me with that silver ribbed tie from your daughter’s wedding or bind my hands to one another or to the headboard.  When I was married, I always wanted to be tied up, but it never happened.  I don’t know why I stayed married, sleeping in our Flintstone single beds or me coming to bed three hours after he had fallen asleep, crawling into cold sheets on my side of the bed.  And now that he is gone…”

“Shhh.  And now?”  He planted a kiss on my lips, the first of its kind, the first of many more. 

I smiled.  “Do it again.” 

“Do I have your permission to begin?”

“Uh, huh,” I giggled, remembering that girlish awkwardness from a long time ago.  I was still that girl; I would always be that girl.  The one who got hit in the eye while playing baseball with Jimmy Thompson in the alley, the one who kissed Ben Johnson in the garage attached to the convent, the one who bought penny candy when it was still a penny, and the one who traveled across the Pacific Ocean only to become homesick and return home three weeks later.    

Martin slid in next to me.  I was lying on my right side staring at the alarm clock on the hotel’s nightstand.  Tick, tick, tick.  I still had my glasses on; it said 8:45.  His beard nestled against my skin, and I liked feeling it.  This was new to me.  I had never been intimate with a man with a beard and was excited by the first impression Martin was making on me.  He wrapped his arms tightly around me. 

“Mrs. Masterson?”

“Yes Bobby?”

“Can I help you correct papers tonight, Mrs. Masterson?”

“Bobby, let’s do some correcting tomorrow.” 

We both took our glasses off.  It was time to see each other, really see each other for the first time.  We had known each other for a long time but were together for the first time face to face.  Although I wanted to unbutton Bobby’s shirt, blow warm air into his lap, and accelerate the intimacy, I knew his embrace would be more than I could handle tonight.   There would be other days and other nights, new distinct memories of living in the present and positive perceptions of the future.  The days would grow longer now; they would be days filled with hope, optimism, and love.  This was only the beginning.