Old Lovers and New Lives

We were lovers way back when, back before marriages and kids and divorces, and we always said we were destined to grow old together.

But then life happened, as it always does. We broke up in college and never got back together.

Trish was the prettiest girl in our high school. Hell, she was the prettiest girl in our entire town, a striking blonde, tall with long tanned legs, a perfect body honed by soccer and volleyball and swimming naked at the lake, which was where all our adventures began and ended.

I loved her more than life itself, but when we left for different colleges we knew we were done. There were letters and there were odd and uncomfortable meetings at football games where we knew we'd never be together again. I remember the last night we had together. We were both sophomores, both of us dating others while pretending to still be a couple.

That last night in her sorority house was a drunken homecoming, and we danced and laughed and drank into the early morning, waking up in each other's arms fully clothed, staring at each other and knowing it was over.

I kissed her goodbye and didn't see her again for 20 years.

And then one night, there she was.

Her parents' beach house was just down the street from mine, and every time I went down there I would look to see who was in the house, hoping one day to see Trish and her new family, a doctor for a husband, two kids and the life she always dreamed of.

I was between marriages, between divorces it would turn out, and I'd gone down to get way from work, away from the kids and a crazy ex. I was there to fish and drink and to take in the salt air one last time before fall and another semester teaching English.

I was thinking about going b ack to school while I sat at a beachside bar, sipping a vodka tonic, my mind wandering about classes and students and having this odd feeling that my life as I knew it was over.

And then there she was. Standing in a corner, a hand on her hip, a wry smile on her face, looking at me without moving. I slid my sunglasses down and peered over them, neither of us moving, neither of us speaking. I still remember the song that was playing, a beach classic called "Miss Grace," a song we'd danced to a hundred times a hundred years ago.

I stood and put my drink on the bar without taking my eyes off her. She made a step toward me, and I took a step toward her, and then I swear, we ran into each other's arms right there in the middle of that bar, swinging around in a long hug, kissing full on the mouth and laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

I don't remember who finally spoke first, but we just stared at each other and held each other like kids.

"You are are so beautiful," I told her over and over.

"You are such a hunk," she said.

We sounded like teenagers on Spring Break, and we danced until the song ended.

"I've been wondering if I'd ever see you down here again," I said, walking her back to the bar and ordering another drink for me and another glass of wine for her.

"I've thought the same thing for years," she said. "Timing is everything. Good and bad, I guess.

We walked outside, onto the beach and into the surf, splashing as we walked and talked and told each other the story of our lives. She was still married to the doctor, kids in college, the life she'd dreamed of.

She admitted things weren't all that great, and she'd suspected him cheating, but she'd never cheated on him. Then she stunned me.

"You're the only other man I've ever been with," she said.

We stood in the water, our feet sinking into the sand. I kissed her long and hard, our tongues making love to each other as our hands wandered and we tried to keep balance.

I finally pulled her from the surf, and we ran toward the house up on the hill to my house where we'd spent so many nights together, running down the back deck and into the den where we embraced again, falling onto the couch, tearing our clothes off and making love for what seemed like hours.

We were primal and without inhibitions. We knew each other's body as well as our own, and we knew each other's soul.

Trish came so many times she was dehydrated, and my couch cushions were all but ruined. We ended up on the floor, in every position imaginable, eventually collapsing into each other's arms.

We would sleep there all night, and early the next morning we awoke, staring at each other, smiling and thinking about that last night in college.

"I still love you," she said.

"I love you too, Trish," I said. And we meant it.

I gave her an old shirt to wear, and we walked down to the water, walking in and swimming out deep, treading and holding each other and looking back at the houses, mine empty and hers a hundred yards away and full of activity.

"That's my husband," she said.

A man stood on the back deck, facing the sun and stretching. If he was missing his wife he didn't act like it.

"I have to go back now," she said.

"I know," I said, kising her on the forehead, my hand on her bare ass, my cock hard and throbbing.

We fucked one last time, right there in the water with her husband 100 yards away and oblivious. She cried as she came, and we held each other's hands, walking back to my house.

I watched her dress then let herself out the front door, turning one last time and blowing me a kiss,

"Goodbye, Trish," I said, smiling and staring at her walk away yet again.

We promised to call, but that was 10 years ago.

I haven't seen her since.