Being master of his domain, young Luke came in front first, and right over my handy, prop-my-feet-on-it-blocking chair. Now I like a good package as well as the next woman, yet my second epiphany revealed I prefer my prezzies to have more than a couple short decades of experience behind 'em. But I finally had control of my situation, as well as a solution. I scrambled for two bills and hastily offered the double-tuck in exchange for him keeping his distance.

 

         Clever, huh?

 

          Sadly, dear reader, it was about as clever as the New Twilight Zone's impersonation of Mr. Serling's unmatchable mind, and resulted in one of the weirdest conversations I've ever had the misfortunate to engage in. Do remember it took place while Luke did his best to slide his body up my thighs and over my torso, face hovering inches from my own and, horror of all horrors, garbed only in what used to be my favorite male attire, boxer briefs.

 

         He replied to my request with a smirk that radiated pride. "Why? Do I make you uncomfortable?"

 

         "Yes," I said, barely able to manage that much, and prayed he would go away.

 

         "Are you married?"

 

          Wondering what the fuck that had to do with anything, I resisted the urge to say 'probably longer than you've been alive, buddy' and went the humorous direct route instead. I gave him an apologetic shrug. "It's because you're all of twelve."

 

          Obviously taken aback and bouncing his ass on my lap, he shot over his shoulder, "I'm twenty-one!"

 

         I snorted. I know I did. I heard it and so did he, because he reversed his angle yet again, licked his lips and grinned. Like that helped. He's lucky I didn't laugh out loud—and at him, not with him. It wasn't the time nor place to explain I likely have a few years on his mother.

 

          Thankfully, by this time my squick meter had gone into such paroxysms, it was strangled into silence, and the write muse prompted me to be nice. 'The male ego is delicate enough as it is,' she said, 'and quadruple so at his tender age.'

 

          "I'm sorry," I said to him, "I'm really not comfortable with your age."

 

          Once again climbing into my lap, his brow wrinkled like I was insane. "Okay."

 

          He moved on to my obviously more interested friends in the nick of time. Another millisecond and my squick meter would have found its voice and demanded my legs stand up and dump his ass onto the floor.

 

          My honest approach worked—for a while. But as the evening progressed, both boys ended up back in my face. Kyle I don't think quite got what I meant, although he did remain somewhat accommodating of my wishes. Luke, on the other hand, seemed intent on converting me in some strange way. Every time he pressed his...point into my knees, he added another friendly, all-knowing, baby-alpha, come-hither grin.

 

         Then again, perhaps he simply had my number. There are worse ways to accumulate a few more bucks than to continually embarrass the old lady in the corner.

 

          As an aside, I have to mention his boldness was indeed an act and nothing more. While chatting with us during a break, he said a girl he 'really liked' was coming. Arrive, she did, near the end. The write muse patted the squick meter on the head and pointed to his body language while he attempted to woo her. Uncertain, nervous, suddenly stiffer (not that kind of stiff—get your mind out of the gutter), he seemed sure of only one truth which all young men realize by his age: Women are the most complicated and mysterious creatures on earth.

 

         Poor kid. Little does he realize that he will spend a significant portion of his life trying to figure out just what the hell a woman is thinking. In the end, regardless of his age, due to being a typical male, he won my empathy if nothing else.

 

         Anyhoo, I digress. So where is the third epiphany, you ask? It bided its moment at home where, freshly abed and as usual, bare as the day he was born, AB waited in perfectly-furred, broad-shouldered good humor.

 

         "Did you have fun?" he asked as I slid in next to him.

 

          "Yes and no," I said and proceeded to tell him all about it.

 

          He laughed, as I knew he would, even when I told him I foolishly agreed to a return trip next month. Shaking his head, he snickered. "Now you know why I freaked when I found out Christina Ricci's only twenty-five."

 

          "I do," I said, "and I'm sorry I kidded you about it."

 

          "I'm not." He tickled me. "You made it okay to admit she's attractive."

 

          "Yeah, well..."

 

         "Want me to get dressed and strip—get those pictures out of your head?"

 

         "God no." I shuddered. "Give me at least a day to get those fucking baby boxer briefs off my mind."

 

         Undeterred in his pursuit of spousal teasing, he mused, "I'll have to do my laundry first anyway. Blue, white or black?"

 

         Snorting, I tentatively searched through short-term memory for my safest choice. "Blue—the light blue, not the dark. Definitely not white."

 

         He laughed again, and I have never been more aware of the fact that we have no secrets. I tugged a curl adorning his delicious pecs and kissed the swell of a bicep that's shielded me both in sorrow and in joy since the day we became Us...

 

         When he was twenty-one and I a mere eighteen.

 

          I swear I caught a whiff of Rod's ever-present cigarette and heard him chuckle as he returned me to the proper dimension.

 

         Damn we've gotten old. And without a doubt, if AB had been pushing fifty when we met, I wouldn't have looked at him twice. So while once upon a time a twenty-one-year-old boy not only rocked my world, but gave me the confidence to embrace my sexuality by practicing each and every whim that occurred to us, it would appear time marched on and my tastes did, too. I never suspected that one day I would find myself at an age where nothing is sexier than a mature, experienced man—and I suddenly saw the intrinsic 'rightness' of my evolved attitude.

 

          Mother Nature knows what she's doing and in the future, I should remember that.

 

          And, you know what? The next time we girls go to the club, I will.

 

 

 

ã2005 – Deborah Boyer