She pays for two rooms but we only use one. It's inexpensive and functional, good enough for a night's sleep before I catch the early flight. She insists on driving me the hundred miles herself, leaving her family at home so that she can see me off properly.
It hadn't been too hard to find her. A few days of searching online and the woman who let me disappear from her life after giving birth to me twenty years ago appears in my inbox. After some nervous and uncertain messages, we finally meet. A few months later and we are here, lying together in the bed of an airport hotel room.
We are in the dark, face to face. She tells me that she wants to remember what it feels like to be this close to me. She touches me, as if exploring the sensation. She slips the strap of her nightie down over her shoulder. The softness of one of her hands slides inside of my shorts as the other caresses my neck and draws me close.
The shoulder length blonde hair, blue eyes and sweet smile make you notice her. But, at thirty nine, and with three children born in the last ten years, she is slipping gently into middle age. She is still attractive, but not in an obvious way. She still has something special.
It isn't just that for me though.
