First Valentine's

First Valentine’s
By D.C. Sanders

Delmar is the first man I will sleep with since my husband left me.  I wish I had more time to let that thought sink in but he sits in my bedroom, waiting.

Between wine glasses and slices of cheesecake, my friends have told me that I needed to jump back into the dating game right away.  The warned me not to let loneliness set in, or let that evil ex of mine think that he had beaten me.  In truth, he had.  For four years I roamed the streets of self-pity and depression.  I lost a bit of my soul along with a few friends and couple of jobs.  But now I am a healthier and stronger woman, and a new man is perched on the corner of my bed, waiting.

When I met him for the first time I was lying on my back and protecting myself from being trampled.  The train into the city was behind schedule and upon the opening of its doors, the passengers rushed like the running of the bulls every which way.  I was caught in the mass, trying to catch a connecting train of my own, when my high heel caught something in the street and I went crashing to the wet pavement.  And then there was an outstretched hand that latched onto my shoulder.  His eyes were a curious shade of brown and their warmth was matched by his cinnamon flavored breath.  “Let’s get you to your feet.”

In seconds I was safe from the masses and sitting on a cold bench as traffic whizzed by.  I nodded when the man asked me if I was ok.  He wasn’t tall at all, less than six feet.  His black trench coat hung like a hero’s cape and it was impossible to make out whether he was thin or fat
. 
“Thank you,” I said.  “I really should get moving.  I have another train to catch.”

“I think you should take a cab.”  He whistled and waived one down.  “Your chariot waits.”

He helped me into the cab, closed the door and handed money to the driver.  And then he was off, sprinting to wherever the morning was taking him.

I anticipated seeing him on the train ride in the morning, but he wasn’t there.  Stop after stop people boarded and he wasn’t one of them.  I cursed myself for not saying more to my hero when I had the chance.  And then, after two weeks, the doors to the train opened and he stepped back into my world.

That same trench coat hid his body and a soft black hat was pulled over his head.  He took a seat a few rows ahead of me and pulled out a tablet and began to read.  I could smell the familiar cinnamon flavored gum.  Should I go and speak to him?  No.  I’ve been out of college for over twenty years, and that was the last time that I had the guts to approach a man.  God, I would look silly.  But I had reason to speak; I owed him a simple thank you.  I exhaled and willed my feet to move and made my way to the hero.  I caught the brown eyes and saw the recognition in them.

“Good morning,” he said.  “Have a seat.”  He stood and offered his seat.  I took it and he sat next to me.
“I wanted to thank you for the other day.”

“You are welcome.  I am Delmar.” He offered a gloved hand and I shook it.
The next two months were a whirlwind of fantastic weekends and evenings with Delmar.  I learned that he couldn’t dance, read science fiction, and suffered a brutal divorce from his high school sweetheart only months before we met.  He had been a father and husband from the age of nineteen.  Divorced and with a daughter off in college, he was alone.  We took on loneliness together.  I fed him from my plate at cozy restaurants.  We shared glasses of wine.  And he let me win in a game of miniature golf.

Things went nice and slow, even as I could feel the longing in my heart and see it within his eyes.  There was nothing more than passionate kisses for months.

He is not into lingerie and his favorite color is purple, so I stand in my bathroom in lace boy shorts and nothing else.  The air is cold around me but my body burns with apprehension.  I’ve done my best to hit the treadmill often and lift some weights here and there.  I am slender but I know that I am on the wrong side of forty years.  Delmar is five years younger than me, and other than my husband, he is going to be the first man since college to see me naked.  I steady my breath and fight back tears, and open the bathroom door.

With my arms crossed over my chest, I step onto the carpet of the bedroom floor.  Through watered eyes, I find Delmar standing near the end of the bed.  The blue silk pants hug his muscular legs and his hazel skin glow in the dim light.  I can see where he used to be chiseled with fabulous abs when he was younger, and he has lovely round shoulders.  His eyes tell me that he is just as pleased as I am.  Steady legs carry me forward until the familiar aroma of cinnamon makes me dizzy with anticipation.  I drop my hands to my side and over his shoulder.

Delmar’s finger is under my chin, lifting my eyes to his.  There is a smile, and the deepest and most inviting kiss.