My Time

MY TIME
A personal essay. A true story as best as I could tell it.

Jo Lynn Friday

I remember the day, much like our grandfathers generation remembers Pearl Harbor, or the way we all collectively remember the exact place we were when the first plane collided with the World Trade building on 9/11--I remember this day. It wasn't like the day had given me a sign that I might as well have stayed in bed. No. This day hit me like a locomotive--Ka-Pow! And life as I had known it for almost sixteen years had taken a drastic turn into the unknown. In less than a month after that day ran me over with the force of a thousand cargo trains, I was officially a single woman again--a divorcee.

I still hold to what I said all those years ago, 'I never saw it coming.' I know there will be the skeptics out there who find it hard to believe, that there weren't any signs, that it was just one day over. I'm sure if I wanted to, I could dig deep into the wine cellar of our relationship and dredge up a few nuggets that would give me a few clues as to a potential problem. For what, though. Nothing.

I realize I'm still playing it safe with the details. Even now, I can still feel the sting of it all--the betrayal, the anguish, the soul wrenching absence of, well, everything.

It was a beautiful spring day, slightly overcast with plenty of sun in the sky. The breeze was cool as I went for my morning jog as I always did. I waved at the usual neighbors and enjoyed the wandering eyes of Mr. Anker, the retired school teacher a few blocks down the road from me who unashamedly stared at my chest and ass as I passed by. I returned home well before 9am, showered, masturbated myself to a wonderful orgasm as I did a few times a week, then got ready for the day. Owen left for work at six in the morning, and usually was home around five or six in the evening. Our two girls were at school. I gathered up clothes from around the house, and lugged them all to the laundry room where I began to sort. That's when the condom wrappers fell from his pocket. Time in that moment slowed to a crawl as I watched them fall like a dried leaf in autumn.

Owen and I were married, we didn't use condoms. Never had. I've always been on the pill. The idea of using a rubber, never was an option. The feel of each others bare flesh was so much better than having some artificial barrier between us. So why would he have them in his pocket, opened and I assumed, used.

I remember holding the two wrappers in my hand as I called him at work. I was sitting on the couch, heart thudding in my chest as I listened to the phone ring. Finally he answered.

He never set foot in this house again. He didn't argue, or make excuses. He told me it was over.

That was over three years ago. I'm still single. I gained full custody of our two girls, Trish and Leslie, without much of a fight from Owen. Life, I would have to say, is not too shabby--all things considered.

It was a few months after things fell apart that I began to find my new normal. I began jogging again and quickly remembered why it had been such an important part of my day's routine. I found the rhythm of life again in the pounding of my cross-trainers on the pavement. I found it profoundly cathartic. Just me and my thoughts with a healthy sprinkling of endorphins spawned by the exercise. That wasn't the only routine that I was able to resurrect. My after run bath completed the cycle and helped with my internal healing. The masturbation helped too. My first, post divorce, self stimulated orgasm was explosive to say the least. The pleasure that rolled over me was much needed and I'm sure fit into the healing that I was so desperate for.

A few months after that, I went on a date. Carl Colaizzi--mid 50s, divorcee like myself, handsome with a close cut salt and pepper beard. He told me he was a professor at the local University and that he'd worked in the private sector as an Architect for nearly two decades before getting his PhD and transitioning over to academia. The date turned out to be more of a bootie call with dinner and pleasant conversation. As much as I would have enjoyed a second date with him, it wasn't in the cards. Along the way, he'd managed to perfect the art of cunnilingus. It had been a long, long time since I had orgasmed with a man's face between my legs, licking and nibbling at my clit, the folds of my pussy lips and the juices between. My pussy juices soaking his face and beard as he came up for air. Both of us grinning like idiots. The rest of the evening was unremarkable. Fun but unremarkable. It consisted of him laying on top of me and thrusting until he came into the tip of the condom. I had a tiny follow up orgasm but nothing that had that 'wow' factor of the first one.

It wasn't until later that I discovered he was in fact a married man. Whatever, life goes on. I hoped that somehow his wife would discover the used condom wrappers in his pants pockets the way I had. At the same time, I wouldn't wish that kind of pain on anyone, even if she did deserve to know what kind of man she was married to.

Another month passed before I had another date. That marked the start of a new chapter in my life. More and more fucking. I was enjoying the somewhat random sex and the freedom of zero attachment that came with it. I found myself craving variety in the men I was meeting--older, younger, thin, husky, hairy, smooth, long, thick, cut, uncut, and whatever else I could find to fill the voids in my life. But that was all it was, a momentary patch. I needed to find a permanent fix before I could find any real healing.

It's now mid-spring and I've had a revolving door of lovers in and out of my bed. I've been drinking more than I like to admit now and I had re-started a twenty year old habit. I had quite smoking before I ever met Owen but once I shared that first cigarette with one of the many men I'd been with, it was like I had never quite.

In short, I was a fucking mess. So much for the healing. I was in the express lane, headed for self-destruction.

I took Trish to her violin lesson. I remember it being an overcast afternoon. A light breeze. I waited outside smoking the last of my cigarettes. I must have looked like a mess. My eyes heavy and red, fingers trembling as I held the cigarette to my lips. It could have been the cool air, or maybe the frayed ends of my nerves were beginning to show. I could see the hesitation in Trish's teacher, Janet Mills, as she stepped out to talk to me. There was concern in her eyes. No doubt she had seen me on better days. She said something about needing the next lesson book. I nodded and sent my daughter with some money to get what she needed.

Janet was about 40, attractive, short military hair, kind eyes. She waited for Trish to be out of ear shot before she asked me if everything was ok. I shrugged off her question. She smiled at me with those kind eyes. She seemed to know more about what I was going through than I would have guessed. She invited me over for coffee so we could talk. I reluctantly agreed.

I must say, it's nice to have someone to talk with. That was about a year and a half ago. It started with a little coffee, creamer, sugar, and conversation.

I'm happy to say I quite smoking once again. I drink only on occasion. And all those men, well let's just say my urges have quieted down.

Now, I can enjoy the simpler things again like a hot steam shower. The water pouring down over my body like standing naked in a hot rain storm. I found my mind wondering to a younger me, running naked through the yard, feeling the summer rain on my bare flesh as my bare feet splashed through the mud.

I didn't even turn as the door to the steam shower opened and closed. Janet kissed me on the back of the neck then on my shoulder. Her hands slid down my sides and came to rest on my hips. I asked her what took her so long as I turned to kiss her on the lips.

I loved the feel of her breast against mine, the taste of her soft lips and tongue. The smell of her lavender perfume. Her kind eyes that seemed to always know exactly what I was thinking. I loved the feel of her ass in my hands. I loved her deep womanly smell when she was aroused. I loved every moment we spent together, in and out of bed. I loved hearing her moan in pleasure and the face she made as she orgasmed under my command.

I stepped back and looked down at the large black strap-on she was wearing. I raised an eye brow. This is what took her so long. Adjusting the buckles. We laughed and I stepped back in for a kiss feeling the protruding rubber dong between us.

God, I loved this woman.

# # # #