Take Two

 

Milton called from Best Buy, all excited. “Baby, have I got a surprise for you,” he said in his sexiest voice. “I finally bought it. You are going to love my new Sony, DCR 108 Camcorder with 40X optical zoom. Put on something really sexy. I’m coming by to try it out on you.”

I felt very lucky to have a man in my life who turned me on with his knowledge of megabytes, megahertz, Blackberries, iPods, iPhones, Kindles, Nooks and what they could do to make our lives more youthful.

I tore off my gray work-out sweats and jumped in the shower. Like a speeded-up old movie, I washed my hair, shaved my legs, dusted myself with powder, smeared myself with lotion and sprayed myself with White Diamonds cologne.

I put on a new black lace nightie and cut off the Victoria’s Secret tag, size L. Over it, I draped a sheer, slightly faded negligee I pulled from the bottom drawer of my still-hopeful chest.

The door chimes rang. I smeared pale gloss over my lips and blush over my cheeks. I slipped into strappy high-heeled sandals and almost tripped on the negligee as I rushed to open the door. There stood Milton, the 68-year-old short and stocky Romeo I had met at a senior center zumba class. He swept me into a warm and passionate embrace which I hoped would not mess my hair or makeup before the “shoot.”

I gently pushed him back and reminded him of the package he was still holding in his hand. Flushed and embarrassed by his senior memory moment, he laughingly reminded me of how my proximity was always a distraction.

Milton carefully withdrew the little digital video camera from its box and directed me to assume a sexy position on the sofa while he read the manual and made the necessary adjustments on his new toy…

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The Enchanted Condo

 

I fell in love at fifty-eight. My neighbor arranged for me to meet Mark Harris, divorced, recently retired and open to meeting a new woman. I was divorced, still working and ready for a new man in my life. Without great expectations, after a series of disappointing blind dates, I dressed in drab beige pants and flat comfortable shoes. When I opened the door, my date smiled a friendly hello.

Oh my God! I could not believe the sudden pounding in my heart, sweaty arm pits, and oxidized tongue. I felt a hot flash come over me that was more pre-adolescent than post-menopausal. The friend who had introduced us told me he had worked in movies and television. She never mentioned his thick salt and pepper hair, blue-green eyes, black eyelashes, and square jaw. He looked like a model for a Cialis TV commercial.

When Mark asked me where I’d like to go to dinner, I suggested a modestly priced neighborhood Mexican restaurant. He countered with a trendy Italian bistro in his upscale neighborhood.

“That’s so cool. I’ve wanted to eat there,” I gushed like one of the teenagers in the ESL class I taught.

I was glad none of my feminist friends could hear me. What is happening to me, I thought as I grabbed my purse and followed him to his car, forgetting to turn on the burglar alarm and turn off the lights. I wished I were wearing something else, something I didn’t even own but could have bought if I had known this blind date would be so damned good looking.

He opened the door to a shiny red sports car, and I clumsily lowered myself in.

“Oh no!” I gasped realizing I sat on his glasses. “I’m so sorry,” I said, relieved that the lenses weren’t broken, only the case.

For months afterwards he would joke, “Good thing I wasn’t wearing them.”

It was one of those glorious evenings that a woman past fifty-five doesn’t think she’ll ever experience. My escort was not only movie-star handsome, but he had a wonderful sense of humor, was modest about the shows he directed and was even interested in hearing about my boring life.

When I barely touched the veal and took only one spoonful of chocolate mousse, I knew I was falling in love…

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