0 comments/ 86069 views/ 57 favorites Place at His Table By: maninconn Herb held her hand over the table. It was obvious to her he was falling in love with her, but she didn't know that she felt the same way. She thought life would be different when she left Tom, her first husband. He was a good man, a good provider, a passionate husband and a courteous lover. He had just gotten... gotten..., well he had gotten boring. It wasn't his fault, there were the pressure of raising three kids, paying the bills, keeping the house maintained, mowing the lawn and trimming the trees. His job as a high school teacher kept him busy as well, with night concerts, after and before school rehearsals, trips, dances and all the other stuff that kept him away from her all those years. Twenty five years. A quarter of a century she loved him and watched him change from the wild child rock and roll guitar player she fell for into a suit and tie wearing music teacher. He was so unique, so stylish, so full of life and flair. She loved his flair, his sense of style the first time she met him. The seventies were not a time when stylish men were the rage, unless paired with a disco queen. Tom was no disco fan. He wasn't a musical snob, but being an amazing trumpet and guitar player, he was picky in what he listened to. He listened to jazz and classical music most of the time, but also had a passion for classic rock. Similarly he dressed in classic styles that weren't trendy, but would have been described as tasteful by any generation. The man could wear a suit. She had loved his body. He took care of himself, running nearly every morning and lifting weights most nights. The first time he had put his arm around her his strength oozed through her body like an electrical current and made her weak in the knees. He could sweep her off her feet with ease, even years after they had wed and she had gained some middle age "experience" on her hips and waist. She had loved his face. His rosy cheeks blushed easily when he looked at her. Light brown curly hair that begged to be touched, and piercing blue eyes that sparkled with joy when he looked at her. He was so smart, so well read, and so passionate about his beliefs from religion to politics to his favorite sports teams. She knew that passion would be as strong to the loves of his life, and that made him even more attractive. The first time she saw him his band was playing on the main stage at her college's spring festivals. His voice was mesmerizing, his guitar was incredible. And those moves! The man could dance. As he soloed he practically made love to the guitar sweeping it around his part of the stage in ways that had women of all ages lusting for him to play them as well. That passion was evident in his face. He sang the songs he had written, with lyrics revealing a deep capacity for love. She couldn't get close to him though. He was mobbed after the show, with many women vying for their shot to meet the band. She felt intimidated in crowds. They always made it to their van and drove off just as she got close. She took a sip of her rum and coke as she remembered how badly she had wanted to meet him. Herb squeezed her hand hard, bringing her back to him. A waiter had obviously been waiting for her dinner order. She hadn't looked at the menu, but didn't need to. Monty's had been a favorite over the years and she knew the menu well. She ordered, and thought back again as Herb began his routine of asking the waiter dozens of entrée questions before his order was placed. Monty's was the first place she and Tom... She was sitting at the bar waiting for her friends to show up when a man plopped down on the bar stool beside her. She had been following the band with the guitarist who was her current dream man. Concert, club, and festival stages framed images of him for her that were now filed deep inside her mind, and were available for her mental pleasure any time of day or night. She still hadn't talked to him. The band was enjoying tremendous regional success, and fans followed them wherever they played. She heard they sometimes came into Monty's to play a set or two just for fun on Monday nights, when the stage at the popular restaurant/club near campus was dark. For four straight weeks now, she had shown up with friends in the hope of hearing and maybe meeting him. It appeared her friends had finally tired of supporting what they now considered an obsession, and tonight she sat alone. She was barely aware of the man who sat beside her at the bar and ordered a beer and a burger, but her ears perked up when the bartender asked him "You guys gonna play tonight?" Her head spun his way when he answered that he was alone, and wanted to do a solo set just for fun. Realizing he was the target of her obsession she swiveled the bar stool and turned towards him. The bartender nodded his head in her direction calling Tom's attention to her. He smiled and she froze. He introduced himself, and she began to tell him how much and how long she had wanted to meet him. She was a big fan! Looking back at it, she realized what a fool she must have seemed to be. She was just another groupie to him, stalking him for what, an autograph? A dance? A song? A night in his bed? She didn't want any of that. She just really wanted to meet him, and that's what she got. He was so genuine and friendly. She was instantly at ease and comfortable, and they chatted through dinner like old friends. They ate dinner, he sang a set. She listened as he spent the break talking about music. He sang another set, she listened, he spent the next break talking about her. He walked her home like the perfect gentleman. He called the next day, and asked her to come hear his concert that Friday. She trembled on the phone throughout the conversation knowing she was already in love with this man. "Sweetheart!" Her mind snapped back to Herb. He laughed about her being in another world. She made small talk with him until their dinners were served. He was a good man, and fun to be with, but she couldn't help compare him to Tom, and he didn't measure up. The men she had dated since her divorce just seemed to lack in one way or another where Tom had... He didn't tell her that the concert that Friday night wasn't with his band. He gave her a ticket at dinner, and ordered dessert and coffee for her before paying the bill and leaving to warm up. She finished, and crossed the street to Symphony Hall, wondering what the night had in store for her. It didn't seem like the place for a budding rock guitarist. She entered the hall and took her seat just as he stepped through the stage door carrying a trumpet. For the next hour she saw him in a different light. Gone was the rock guitarist, here he was as a serious classical musician, playing trumpet with a world class orchestra, and could the man wear a tux! They began to spend time as a couple. He was studying music at the conservatory and funding his education by clubbing with guitar. He played frequently with the symphony as a sub and on a per diem basis when they needed extra brass players. She was studying to be a teacher at the University. They both began studying each other more than school, and married before the year was out. "How is your fish?" Herb called her back to the present and she answered that her fish was delicious. She had to put thoughts of Tom away, it was unfair to her date. She had been divorced for six months, and it was time she moved on. She had left Tom hoping to find an infusion of excitement, a jolt of energy in a life which was becoming overwhelmingly boring and mundane. She managed to hold a conversation with Herb, but she wasn't very invested in it. She was remembering the early years of the marriage with Tom. Symphonic trumpet jobs were very difficult to obtain, it was a very competitive career track. He had managed a couple of successful auditions, but they weren't for tenured positions, so he had to re-audition after his season ended. Their first six years included three with him unemployed, hustling gigs to pay the rent. She had worked to change his goals, and in their seventh year of marriage, he took the job teaching high school band. It came with good benefits and an adequate salary. For a while, he augmented that salary playing guitar in clubs and taking occasional trumpet gigs. The second year of his teaching, their first child was born. She talked him into spending more time at home and gradually he stopped playing guitar with the band. Trumpet gigs dried up as well, as his teaching schedule left little time to practice, and his chops lost the edge that had let him continue to sub with the symphony. His tuxedo remained wrapped in a plastic dry cleaners bag, and his crisp style of casual dress was replaced by the off the rack and discount suits she bought him. He sold his van and replaced it with a sensible hatchback that was more economical to drive. He never complained about these subtle manipulations, they were sacrifices he was happy to make to ensure the well being of his wife and daughter. Their two sons came next two years apart from their sister and each other. They bought a little house in the suburb, and immediately she asked him for a white picket fence. He worked hard, and soon his school band was well known as one of the best in the state. He still ran, though not every day, and more to clear his mind now than to keep in shape. He played guitar as his "therapy" now, but on an acoustic. His electrics and amps collected as much dust in the basement as his tux collected in the closet. They had the three kids, the dog, and the white picket fence, the American dream. She smiled. Her conversation with Herb was difficult to maintain. Her mind kept drifting back to visions of boring old Tom. Tom carrying all those bags and umbrellas to the beach, Tom running to get the door for her, Tom holding her hand those nights in the delivery room, sharing the efforts of child birth. He was always there. Yep, good old responsible Tom. Always ready to make a ridiculously painstaking gourmet meal when a burger would do. Damn that man could cook. He was a provider all right. He even stopped skiing when she told him it was costing too much when 3 kids were eating them out of house and home and outgrowing clothing as soon as she bought it. She smiled when remembering him refusing to buy a new suit so the kids and her could have nice new clothing. No wonder he began to look less "spiffy" in those shabby suits he used to wear. She idly finished dinner, smiling at Herb at strategic points so he would never suspect she was distracted. A band was tuning up, and she knew he would dance all night with her. Tom had loved to dance. He had taken her for dance lessons before they went on a cruise, because he had wanted to do her justice on the floor. She had loved that, but then he had pressed her to keep dancing after she had hurt her leg the next summer. He had gotten ridiculously sullen about her not going dancing any longer, but she just wasn't up to it, and she resented his disappointment. As the kids grew, their activities dictated the family calendar. Sports, plays, dance classes and clubs took their toll on Tom and the family mini van, while she ran the home like a general. By the time the kids reached high school, she had begun to look for excitement, She joined book and bridge clubs, and volunteered at the local hospital. She met authors, husbands of bridge partners who were lawyers and businessmen, and doctors who all seemed so glamorous beside her husband, the music teacher in the shabby suit. He lost luster in her eyes, and soon she began to lose interest in making love. She knew he was frustrated, and she knew it was wrong of her. He was a good man, and deserved a good wife. She just wanted something more than their mundane world, more than a mini van life. They began to drift apart. The kids went off to college, and though living in the same house, they were living different lives. She didn't know what he was doing each morning when he left early. She didn't care. He always came home to her at night, and followed the routines a lifetime had established. She began to look at other men. They looked good. They stirred feelings deep inside she hadn't felt since she had followed Tom in hopes of meeting her own personal rock star. Oh they looked good! She never cheated on him, she was proud of that. But she wasn't giving him what a wife should either. And he was spending all his time at school, or down in that basement workshop, or wherever he went so early in the morning. He wasn't surprised when she left him. She told him she needed more out of her life, theirs was tedious. She was tired of the picket fence....it needed paint! She was tired of the mini van. She was tired of his boring suits and boring job. He let her go. He wanted her to be happy, and didn't want to stay where he wasn't wanted. He gave her the house, in exchange for keeping his pension. Her job had ensured her of enough income that she didn't ask for alimony. He only took his personal items and furnishings that had been handed down within his family. Certainly he deserved to keep heirlooms, but she was sad to part with the anniversary ring he had given her on their 15th. He had it custom made to fit with her engagement and wedding rings, but used the diamonds from his grandmothers rings which he had inherited that year. He had bought the engagement an wedding rings with his inheritance from his grandfather, so when he asked, she had tearfully given him all three. Still, her life remained essentially unchanged but for his absence. The house had seemed empty without him or the kids, but she had gotten used to it. She moved bedroom furniture into their old home office and lived entirely on the first floor. She couldn't afford to trade in the mini van, and keeping it in repair was a bit expensive. She cursed the long driveway during that snowy winter. Tom had always shoveled it, and she was in no way prepared for that job. Maybe she could hire a neighborhood kid to do the job. She had made a note that she'd also have to investigate someone to cut the grass this summer. She dated quite a bit. There was Dan, who took her skiing for a day. He was terrible, and she had spent the day remembering outings with Tom. Tom had loved to ski, and was so good at it. He had taught her beautifully, and she was competent to negotiate even the steepest slopes. She remembered, and deeply regretted making Tom stop something that made him so happy. Damn, look at the way that guy floats, through his turns, just like Tom used to. Here I am waiting for George to get up and start snowplowing and that guy is tearing up the slopes like we used to. He looks a lot like Tom. Wait, is it Tom? She never caught the mystery skier, but spotted him later in the parking lot, driving a shining new four wheel drive SUV. George professed to love the symphony, and asked her to go with him. Dinner was lovely, as they discussed what they were going to hear. He seemed knowledgeable, and remarked about how he loved late Romantic pieces and the way their composers experimented with sound. Tonight's piece made use of off-stage brass which would be placed antiphonally around the hall. The dinner was lovely and the concert was well done. She was beginning to think she had found a man worthy of a second date when George dozed off. His snoring brought the attention of the head usher who requested they leave at intermission. Later as they sat in the coffeeshop next door George sipped his wake-me-up-to-drive-home espresso and she skimmed the program of the concert she had half missed. She noticed Tom's name among the off stage trumpeters, just has he passed her on sidewalk outside her window seat. Oh could that man wear a tuxedo... "Would you like to dance?" Once again Herb brought her back to the table. "Sure Herbie, I'd love to. I'm sorry, I guess I'm distracted tonight. A dance would be just the thing." Herb was a lovely dancer, but again her mind drifted. She thought of her date with Allan. They worked together, and he had been after her for weeks to come let him cook her dinner. The wine was wonderful, the music was an elegant jazz she loved...Tom had taught her about jazz. Coltrane ballads. He could tell her everything about every side man, tell her what Coltrane was doing with his solo relative to the changes, or he could dance with her silently. Allan served chicken Marsala. No one made chicken Marsala like Tom. Herb stepped on her toe. Tom never stepped on her toe, and always made her look good the many times she had trampled his. Why was this man so on her mind, damn it! She left his boring ass, and here she couldn't get her mind off him. And why did this singer have to sound so much like him!? She finished a set of dances with Herb. He was really a good man and an excellent dancer, in spite of what her throbbing toe told her. She had probably missteped and was now suffering. There was a double entendre for you! Had she ever misstepped into her own suffering. She misstepped all over Tom. Poor man, he didn't deserve that. Damn, that singer is singing his song alone with a guitar that sounds too much like... "Did you say I've got a lot to learn?" She had instantly recognized the old jazz standard that Tom had so loved, and often sang himself to sleep with after they had disagreed and argued. She loved hearing this song from him, it was his very personal way of saying he was sorry they had fought, before either of them actually mouthed words of apology. "Please don't think I'm trying not to learn." Her heart skipped a beat. The vocals were punctuated with those same guitar licks she had heard so many times wafting through her house when she was his only audience. "Since this is the perfect spot to learn teach me tonight." It had to be him. Her back was to the stage, and not even acknowledging the fact that her date was in the midst of a sentence she had totally ignored, she spun her back to him to seek a view of the singer onstage. "Starting from the ABC's of love," He looked good. The man looked good in a crisp white shirt with the deep olive green of a T=shirt peeking tastefully through the open collar, deep blue jeans, and an olive corduroy jacket rounding out the ensemble. Leave it to him to match the elements of simple class with the jacket of a suit to look that stylish without looking trendy. The man could make jeans look good! And could he ever wear a suit! "Right down to the XYZ's of love," He had to be running again. He must have started on those mornings when he went missing before school. He was trim, and his chest looks buff and full. I could just feel the energy from here as I felt it that first day he put his arm around me. "Help me find the mysteries of love." "Oh come to Mama Baby, I've still got plenty of mysteries to find!" she thought to herself. She hadn't realized how much she had missed him until that moment. And she had never been so desirous of a man before. "Teach me tonight." She had been totally unaware of Herb's attempts to get her attention. She was totally focused on her husband, damn, her ex husband onstage, singing this song that meant so much to both of them. A beautiful song, a beautiful voice, and fluidly smooth guitar, and such potent memories. "The sky's a blackboard up above you." Tears welled in her eyes as she thought of how she had downplayed his profession all those years. His children loved him. Her parents loved him. His work with them was beautiful. The damned husbands of her club friends and the doctors at the hospital could take lessons in class and glamour from him. She made him wear those suits in the first place, and they were only shabby because they were cheap and old. She had saved money buying his clothes by rummaging through bins while she bought from the stylish boutiques. What an ass she'd been. Place at His Table "If a shooting star goes by," The band had joined him for this chorus. The swelling strains of synthesized strings enveloping his voice in a lush velvety accompaniment. She was sobbing openly now. "I'd use that star to write 'I love you a thousand times across the sky." She was aware of Herb moving behind her. She turned to see him putting on his coat. He had left a hundred dollar bill on the table with the check. "Lucky guy, hon. Hope you can get him back." he whispered to her as he left. "One thing isn't very clear My Love," She spun around for her favorite part. "Should the teacher stand so near My Love?" Every woman in the house was gazing at him with the look. She had seen that look on his groupies in the old days with his band. It was a look of pure lust. She knew how they felt, and was sure her face had the same look, if she'd had a mirror to check. "Graduation's almost here My Love!" She loved the way his voice always climbed above the written melody on that phrase, improvising itself into a range that made the most advantage of his delicate high tenor while bringing a natural climax to the phrase. She felt she could climax to that phrase too, if only she could get him alone, away from these damn drooling bitches in the club. "Teach me tonight." Jealousy coursed through her veins, they were coveting her man. She'd have none of that, she'd rip their eyes out if they got near....wait. She'd left him. She'd divorced him, and he'd let her have her way. Didn't he want her enough to fight for her??? She had aged gracefully. Ok, she wore a couple of pounds more than in her groupie days, but gees, she gave him 3 kids! She kept his house! How could he expect her to keep the magic she'd had when they were young??? A young woman stepped to the front of the stage with a tenor sax to take the solo. She knew he loved this solo on guitar, why was he giving it to this bitch? This usurper?. Damn this girl was a fox! She's almost as tall as Tom, and so lean. Just look at that flat stomach sliding into those hip hugging stretch pants. Look at that bubble butt and those long lean legs. Pointy toed riding boots, he always thought they were sexy. Nice big firm tits, well they should be firm she can't be more than 22. Oh he always loved long blonde hair, and hers is shimmery and smooth and to her waist. Look how he looks at her! Her thoughts froze. She thought she had traded him in for a newer model, and wound up dating guys who were so boring she couldn't even get herself to go to bed with them. Six months since her divorce, and six waiting for it to be final, a whole sexless year because her dates couldn't measure up to this boring man who now had somehow recaptured his magic. Magic wasn't a strong enough word, damn, he was magnetic. Charismatic! Hot! Sexy! Perfect! The young woman's solo concluded, Tom had shifted the key up and shifted his voice into high gear. His voice rang out loud and clear on the final chorus, and left the sound men scrambling to pull the mic levels down before he over drove their speakers. The girl stayed forward, her sultry sax sounds joining Tom's voice in a sensual duet....damn they were fucking with sound! Tears in the eyes clouded her view of the two, and put a Romantic haze on what she now clearly saw as a May-December couple. She had enough and ran from the room. She grabbed her coat and had the woman at the reservation desk call her a cab. As she waited she noticed a poster advertising Tom as the headliner for that night. Through the tears all she could read was his name, but she felt a need to have it as a remembrance. A reminder of the night, and a reminder of how stupid she had been giving him up. The cab ride was the lowest moment of her life. The driver recognized her tears and the need to be left alone, so he handed her his tissue box and kept mum. Her house felt lonely. She wandered upstairs and gently handled the artifacts of their lives left behind by the kids in each of their rooms. Though she dusted the bedrooms, they felt musty and old. The master bedroom was too quiet. Echoes of the squeaky mattress protesting vigorous lovemaking sessions, visions of him donning his shabby suits. She opened his empty closet and visualized it full of tuxedos and custom suits, she visualized guitars hanging on the empty wall, with an amplifier below for his late night practice sessions. She sprayed an old bottle of his cologne which remained on his dresser, one of the few things he had left behind. She fantasized a weekend in the mountains skiing all day and making love all night. She suddenly realized it was her. She was what had made him boring. She made him stop skiing. He had sacrificed two potential glamorous careers, as a guitarist or as a symphonic trumpeter for the security a teaching job brought his young family. He had given that up, cheerfully sacrificing it for love, and in the end she gave him up. But he had never seen it as a bad thing, never expressed regret. He calmly went out and became the best middle school band director in the state. He made it glamorous and she couldn't see it. He took the kids everywhere, they lacked for nothing. His mini van made growing up glamorous, and she gave him up for it. Their kids were now beautiful adults. And now that she was out of his life, he was back to playing his music, dressing well, and damn it driving a luxury SUV to go skiing. I'll bet he finally bought either that Porsche or that classic 'Vette he always wanted. Visions of Tom in a well decorated apartment with dozens of sports cars in the garage serving that pretty young blonde bitch his fresh chicken Marsala on a terrace over looking the water had her crying herself to sleep. Morning comes too soon when sleep comes slowly. She woke to those stupid birds singing. Why should anyone be so happy when she is so miserable. How would she ever be happy enough to sing again. She threw her window open and screamed at the birds. "Ah, quiet." Coffee might help. She went to the kitchen, and brewed a full pot, sure she'd need more than a cup or two. As it brewed, she grabbed the paper from the front porch and tossed it on the table. The picture caught her eye first. It was Tom and the blonde sax player. She was struck by how much the sax entering the girls mouth resembled a dick getting a blow job. The vision didn't help ease her jealous pain, but before the tears began to flow the headline on poster she had grabbed caught her eye. Place at His Table This changed everything. The first time he had fallen for her they were both young and inexperienced. They were older, wiser, and practiced lovers. But now he had gone places she had never permitted in their married life, He had stepped out their exclusive love life to indulge in pleasures she had not condoned, and she had released him to do so. For the first time, it dawned on her that it was easy for a new lover to be exciting, not because they were better, or even good at all, but because there was the thrill of exploring someone new. Tom had enjoyed that, how could he possibly be excited settling back with her? "Listen, I can imagine that seems strange to you, but I'm not about to hide who I've become the last year. I don't know what the future holds for us, but I do know what my immediate past has held. I know that the present holds a lot of uncertainty. I don't want to fall for you again only to be dumped in a year or two. I'll need some assurances before I can wipe that uncertainty from my mind. I'll need to protect myself . You cleaned me out in the divorce, and I've been lucky enough to rebuild both my life and wealth. Any kind of encore for us will mean an iron clad contract giving me a guarantee of keeping the wealth I've accumulated in the event we part again. That would have to be the cost of dumping me the first time." It was a lot to think about. He knew it, and kissed her forehead before exiting gracefully. He promised to call her about getting together the following weekend, but also told her not to be surprised to hear about him dating, as he rather liked it and didn't plan to stop before they had made some decisions. She knew the jealous pangs she felt were unwarranted. She had let him go. No that was sugar coated, he had let her go when she had dumped him unceremoniously after years of a happy marriage. What had she been thinking? Now she found herself in competitions for the only man who had ever made her happy. He called the next day to ask her to dinner Saturday night. She spent the week both fretting over their meeting, but wondering what he was doing. Who was he seeing? Were they younger? Prettier? Her mind replayed the movie of their lives together over and over, looking for some key that might unlock the secret to winning him back. He'd been very up front with her, and not in a way that would put her off, just straight honesty. She had left him for excitement, and no one exciting had been interested. He however, had been quite the playboy, and she was prepared to step up her game to win him back. Friday she went to dinner and happy hour with the girls from work. The news that she was trying to reconcile with her ex had been all the buzz at work that week, and their usual little table was overflowing with what amounted to a war party of plotting women. In their mind, Tom was already captured. The talk turned from what she should wear to a game of "what ifs" as the women tried to pry gossip tidbits from her while preparing her for any eventuality. "I can get any man I want and keep him as long as I want, just as long as I can get his cock in my mouth honey." Carla wasn't known for her tact around the office. She was the prototypical flirt, using her generous cleavage as a bribe by placing it prominently in the direct line of sight of any man who had, or could accomplish something she needed. "Get a couple of good beers in him, sit close with your titties almost fully on display, then when he gets comfy, gently brush your hand on his woody. Next thing you know, his cock is out and it's time to lick the lollipop. Get it twitching and his hips pressing for more, then put him off til he moans. That's when you take it in long and slow all the way in. You can't do that, practice on a banana til you can. Any girl that can't deep throat her man has a man I can steal!" Laughter erupted from the group amid considerable agreement. Except for Rosie. "I don't think every man needs or expects oral sex. Besides, how gross is that if they cum" Carla's eyes grew wide as she looked at the innocent young woman. "Honey we have to talk. There is a word for girls who don't blow their men, 'dumped!' Suck him, fuck him take it between the tits, take it on your face, take it up the ass. Just take it until he can't give anymore. That's the only way to guarantee his pecker is yours. Take it and keep it home!" "Carla, that's gross!" "Honey, did you ever taste a pussy? Men go down on women willingly because it gets us off. That taste on is own doesn't do it, that taste means we're turned on, or that we're getting off, or that we belong to them. And while they're tasting it, do you know what they're smelling? Urine soaked pubic hair and stanky ass! You let your man go down on you without you going down on him, you're not only leaving him ripe for the picking by some other woman, you're building resentment in his mind. He'll think you don't love him as much as he loves you! Guess what, he'll be right. Got a headache? Give him a quickie. Got your period? Suck him dry! Pussy sore? Take it up the ass!" The conversation flowed with wine through sexual topics. By the time she was ready to leave, she wondered why Tom hadn't left her for a different woman. The girls had convinced her that she dressed too conservatively, that she was too vanilla in the bedroom, and that she was too reserved to capture Tom back. She and Carla were the last two at the table, when she spotted Tom. And his date. The woman was a knockout. She was tiny, but looked tall in those "fuck me" heels. Her frame supported a pair of luscious, pert breasts that would start any man to stammer, drool and stutter. Every woman would die for her body. Her skirt was tastefully short and revealed long legs that were an invitation to dance, and not just on a public dance floor. She was gorgeous, she was hot. Suddenly the conversation of the happy hour bunch rang in her ears. Her shoes were always sensibly flat, her hems over the knee, and necklines never offered a hint of cleavage. Her underwear was sensible and comfortable. Her daughter had long teased her about granny panties, and Tom had often called it "the armor" along with the long flannel pajamas she favored. She looked at her current attire, frumpy and baggy. She thought of all those nights Tom wanted to make love when she had turned him away entirely. She thought of the nights Tom wanted something special, and realized the many nights he went down on her licking, kissing stoking and sucking her body as she writhed in orgasm, yet she had rarely touched her mouth to any part of his body below his shoulders. She thought of the times when she could have "sucked him dry" as Carla put it while she was having her period, or those pesky bladder and yeast infections. She thought of how patient he had been while she was pregnant, when she had hurt her leg, and other times when she was less then ready to make love. How could she have been so selfish as to leave him while calling her life with him boring. She began to cry. Bitterly. Carla noticed and was quick to console her friend. Between sobs she pieced together a picture of a lonely insecure woman, who had taken the love of a good man for granted, and now wasn't sure she could get it back. But Carla's words were less than consoling when Tom was out on the dance floor whirling his sexy young date to the strains of the hot Latin band that was featured. "The man always could dance. Damn Carla, I'm a "B" movie, and he's moved on to main features." "Honey, tomorrow morning, nine o'clock, I want you ready. You have a date with that man tomorrow night, and I'm going to personally see to it you are ready. "B" movie my ass, you are an Oscar waiting to happen!" True to her word, Carla knocked on the door promptly at 9:00. They spent the morning at a day spa, seeing to it that every speck of skin was exfoliated and hydrated while hair was coiffed and nails were polished until they glowed. Lunch was served in the boutique while personal shoppers swarmed over her. She walked out of the spa a different person. Of course she also managed to absorb a copious amount of Carla's how to win a man advice, and felt thoroughly schooled in the arts of massaging both the male ego and body. The piece de resistance came as the women arrived home, when they spent an hour with ice cream cones, lollipops and a bunch of bananas in Carla's crash course on quality fellatio, or as Carla put it "sucking success." Tom reached to knock on the door, but stopped short when he spied the note instructing him to come on in. She called from upstairs, telling him there were appetizers on the coffee table. Ok, I stacked the deck. He loved seafood, so I had shrimp waiting with his favorite Belgian ale in an ice bucket. I wasn't really still getting ready, I was anxiously waiting and when I saw him pull up ran upstairs to avoid appearing anxious. Oh the games we play, right? I wanted to make an entrance. It felt like prom night! Tom definitely noticed my entrance. My little black dress hugged my figure perfectly, sexy, but with the dignity appropriate to a woman my age. I had never displayed so much cleavage, yet my boobs were still well contained, and my hem line was far enough above the knee to say "flirt with me" without saying "I'll sleep with you for a price. I wore the string of pearls he had bought for Christmas on a whim one year, with the matching drop earrings he'd bought the next anniversary. Black stockings adorned my sexy legs, but the real message was sent with the high stiletto heels that said "You can get lucky tonight, stud." He complimented me, and was a bit embarrassed that our kiss lingered as long as it did, I was almost convinced he was about to walk me right back up to the bedroom. Hell, it had been so long and the promise of making amends and recapturing the love of my life had me do hot to trot I was ready to drag him upstairs and ravage him. He looked so good....the man CAN wear a suit! Oh yes he can, yes he can, what the HELL was I thinking, I have GOT to win him back. Dinner was charming. He doted on me and I ate the attention alive. Small Japanese restaurant, candlelight, soft music, and that tie was exactly the color of his eyes. He took me to a tiny jazz club, where everyone knew him. He even sat in on guitar for a song or two, managing to look me in the eye as he soloed. He played so passionately, I felt as if he were making love to me right there with his music. He brought me home and kissed me goodnight on the front porch. I had to invite him in for coffee. He obliged, but as soon as the door closed, reminded me my coffee making skills were sub-par. "True," I said, "but I'm really good at breakfasts." I locked my lips on his. He stayed for breakfast. I enjoyed the meal, nut not as much as the night before. I made sure he knew I wasn't a "B" movie, or a warm up act, or a flip side. When I said before I had stacked the deck, it applied to the bedroom as well. I no longer could claim the novelty his new flames had, but I knew him inside and out. I knew what he liked, and I knew what he had wanted that I hadn't given him. I scratched his itches with the familiar tough only a wife could wield. When I took his dick in my mouth, it wasn't the first time, but I had never been enthusiastic, and certainly had expressed disgust at the thought of him cumming in my mouth. He didn't object to my zeal, and responded by writhing under my control. When it became obvious he was about to climax, I let him. When he tried to pull out I didn't let him, remembering that part of Carla's training distinctly. Suddenly I desired to taste him more than anything. He came, and I relished the flavor. We both came several times that night and the next morning. He spent breakfast and lunch re-connecting. As he prepared to go home I stopped him for a last word. "I need to say I'm sorry. There had to be a better way of exciting our lives, and I took the coward's way out by deserting you. I know I can't turn back the clock or make it up to you, but I want you to know I am here for you. I don't want to date other men anymore, no one can compare to you, so why bother? I will never stop beating myself up for thinking anyone could compare to you. Someplace in my screwed up mind I thought going out, having sex with other guys would make me feel good. But every time I got into an intimate situation, I found myself missing the love we had. I never got to the sex, because I never had the feeling I wanted it. I just kept feeling you in my heart. How ironic can it be, I left you for a wild love life, and couldn't bring myself to go through with it. You had no interest in looking outside our marriage, and you wound up with the active love life!" Tom, if you never bother with me again, I'll always remember last night as the best night of my life, the night you came home. I'm here for you whenever and for whatever you want. Dinner? Sure! Dancing? Sure! A card game? Yes! A drive in the country? Please! You can make love to me, come over for a quickie, or fuck my lights out. I will be here for you. Occasional, regular or permanent I'm yours You fit me in every way, and I want you in every way. I have no right to expect anything, so this is an offer, not a request or demand. And it's open ended. Take me into your life as much as you want." "As much as I want?" "Yes." "If it is never?" "I made my bed." "If it is forever?" "I'll make you happy in every way, you'll never regret it." "If it is someplace in between?" "I'm not a fool. If I have to share you I will. I will be jealous, but you'll never see it. I had the right to be exclusive together and gave it away." "Big decision, I need time. But you'll definitely be seeing more of me." Tears welled up in my eyes as I hugged him, knowing there was at least some small place in his world for me in the future. He called me later that night, and asked me for a date in three weeks. He set up a couple lunch dates as well, but said he had a lot on his plate and had to beg off a "real date" for a while. The lunch dates were a delight, however. We managed to see each other seven times that way. I was very excited, but suspected he had something else up his sleeve, so avoided talking about Tom and me to my kids. Again, date night approached. He told me to dress casually, he wanted to cook me dinner then see a movie. I arrived at his condo, and noticed the table was set for 6 Tom had always set the table immediately after a meal in order to prevent the kitchen from becoming a cluttered workshop for homework and arts and crafts instead of as a haven for the family meal. As the kids went off to college, he continued to set their places, insisting their always needed to be room at the table for family. "Six place settings Tom, I can't believe you are still setting places for everyone, including little Tommy's fiancee. Tell me, did you always set a place for me?" Before he could answer, the door to the patio opened, and in strode little Tommy. Funny name, at 6'4'' he looked down on both me and Tom. Julie's hand was in his as she entered by his side. "Yeah Mom, he always did. We teased him about it at first, but he stuck to his guns and insisted that this was our family's table, and as our mother you'd always have a place." Julie diffused the uncomfortably emotional silence with a giggle "So when I dump you for a cuter guy there will still be a place for me?" "Not quite Julie!" It was the unmistakably ringing voice of James, my youngest. "First you have to contribute a grandchild. Family isn't just a legal thing here, it's a blood thing! You can't just marry in, you have to earn it! So you two will have to either make a baby, or make a widow." "Hmmmm," Tommy considered the choice "Make a baby or make a widow, what would I choose?" We all had a laugh as he swept Julie over his shoulder towards the staircase that led towards the bedrooms. He didn't get far as my daughter was on her way down. She had inherited my love of making an entrance. "Hi Mom! Hey hey, the gang's all here!" "Wait, a minute, what is this. I love you guys and am glad you are all in town. But this is my date night. How am I supposed to have any fun with your dad while you are here to distract him?" "You'll find out after we eat!." We never touched the table settings, as he ushered us to the patio for a grilled feast. Geer, wine, conversations and good memories were flowing freely. We all helped with the cleanup, and then Tom served dessert and coffee. "I invited you all here today for a family meeting." Julie stood to excuse herself. "Sit down young lady, the price of a plate on that table is total involvement in the family, including meetings! We've had a very rough patch the last year, and things aren't over yet. There have been some drastic changes, but it appears to be time to settle things. I need you all here to be witnesses." He stood up and looked at the kids, but had his back to me. "Your mother has made it clear that she loves me as deeply as I thought she had for all of those years. She did leave, and I still have strong feelings about that, but it is between the two of us. I have a proposal to reconcile those feelings, and have typed them up for her to review in private or with me." He turned to me and handed me a sealed manilla envelope marked "Only open this when you are really sure you want to." As he turned back to the kids, I didn't notice him slip his hand into his pocket. "I have thought long and hard about this. She took me by surprise when she said she missed me, and wanted any part of my life, any role I would give her. As I considered that, I noticed something obvious. The answer was right there on the table. Her place was still set." So smooth, this beautiful man. He turned and took a knee as he removed his hand from his pocket. Those deep blue eyes of his froze me, then his voice melted me as he spoke. Nothing like "Will you marry me" or "Be my wife" could match the perfection of his proposal. "Please come home." Epilogue Yes, there were hugs and tears all around, and I felt the world was made right. We partied with the kids into the wee hours, and went to bed exhausted. No, we didn't have sex that night, and making love consisted only of a couple of sweet goodnight kisses and sleeping securely in each other's embrace. We knew we had time for sex later, and believe me we made up for lost time and then some. I guess absence makes the heart grow fonder. We married in a quiet Wednesday evening ceremony at our church with only the kids as witnesses, but only after I signed the pre-nup which was contained in the envelope Tom gave me when hr proposed. It read: I agree that I love Tom Carnes with all my heart, and if I am ever found to vacate to violate my second set of wedding vows with him, I relinquish all rights to property, dignity and body hair. Thus I will be forced to leave my house naked, shave my head and body on the front lawn, and carry nothing off the property. I also agree to make a spectacle of myself in the act of leaving by hopping away on one foot alternatively singing nursery rhymes and screaming like a chicken. Prior to my departure, I agree to alert the media and arrange for coverage of the event. I realize none of this will ever happen, so agree willingly, knowing full well the value of "'til death do we part." I wore a white dress. Not for virginity or purity, for starting over with a clean slate. He wore a new suit. I know you've heard it, but hey, The man can wear a suit. I giggled at the prenup. The man can tell a joke. I signed. "Do you?" "I do." "Do you?" "I do." We kissed. I'll tell you about my honeymoon,... On second thought no I won't. You had to be there.