Stepping into the realm of post-divorce dating after fifteen years of monogamy felt like setting sail on uncharted waters. I had spent the past year navigating the tumultuous seas of self-discovery and ensuring my children were securely anchored in their new reality. When I finally decided to dip my toes back into the dating pool, Tinder seemed the obvious choice, despite my reservations.
Creating a profile felt akin to baring my soul to the digital world. My selfies were awkward, my expressions ranging from startled to skeptical, making me appear more like a reclusive eccentric than a hopeful romantic. Days passed with me compulsively checking my phone until, to my astonishment, a match appeared. She was beautiful, and our conversation flowed effortlessly through the screen.
The day of the date, I was a bundle of nerves. I bought a new outfit and visited the barbershop, hoping a fresh look would bolster my confidence. Our rendezvous was set for 7 PM at a mid-range restaurant on a Tuesday. I figured a weekday evening would downplay the significance of the event—no offense to Tuesday, but it felt less intimidating.
In a bid to quell my anxiety, I arrived thirty minutes early. Perhaps it was the nerves, but I found myself oversharing with the hostess and server, detailing my situation as if seeking their silent encouragement. As the clock inched towards 7 PM, my anticipation and nervousness intertwined in a dizzying dance.
Then, from around the corner, she appeared. She didn’t look exactly like her photos, but the resemblance was close enough to dispel any annoyance. Her smile was warm, her demeanor inviting. As we settled into our conversation, it was as if no time had passed since my last first date. The dinner was delightful, our dialogue flowing seamlessly, punctuated with laughter and genuine connection. It felt like a home run—an improbable yet perfect first date.
When the bill arrived, I offered to pay, and she graciously accepted. Then, with a casualness that belied the gravity of her words, she asked if I wanted to come home with her. My mind raced, words evading my grasp as I grappled with a mixture of shock and curiosity. Just as I was about to stammer a hesitant yes, she added a twist that left me reeling: “Could my husband watch?”
Let me pause to clarify—there had been no mention of a husband in her profile or our conversations. This revelation, dropped casually at the end of a meal, was the first inkling of his existence. With bellies full and minds buzzing, I found myself at a crossroads I had never anticipated.
My mind was spinning, caught between shock and an unexpected burst of embarrassment that was quickly suppressed by my pride. Bashfully, I mustered a polite smile, my internal dialogue running rampant as I navigated this bizarre turn of events.
“Oh man,” I said.
That’s what came out of my mouth. Nothing witty nor confident, only the response of a child.
“I appreciate the offer,” I began, choosing my words with the precision of a tightrope walker, “but I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
She shrugged, her nonchalance both baffling and strangely admirable. “It’s really not a big deal,” she said with a casual wave of her hand and a bored roll of the eyes. “We’re very open and honest with each other. I’ve been told I’m good.”
I blinked, trying to process her words. “Yeah. No. I’m sure,” I replied with the grace of a puppy in a pillow factory, “but I haven’t so much as kissed another woman in over fifteen years. This is… a lot.”
Her expression softened, and she nodded understandingly. “I get it,” she said. “It’s a big step. I didn’t mean to overwhelm you.”
“So,”
I hesitated, then asked, “Does he just like watching?”
Not really sure why I asked other than I just wanted to know what the deal was with this guy. Is he crazy, or super confident… I needed to know.
Sadly, I never really got a concrete answer but what I can tell you is that her husband is a hospitable guy.
What I can tell you is that her husband is a nice guy.
KIDDING!
Want to Read More?
