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For my mom and dad's first date (in the early 70's), my mom invited my dad over for dinner. To wow him, she decided to make steak. When they were done cooking in the oven, she took them out and promptly dropped the pan on the floor and the steaks went flying. She was so embarrassed, but my dad just laughed and picked up the steaks, washed them off, and they ate their first meal together. The rest is history Now, when I am asked out on dates, I like to invite them over for a steak dinner
Another story came from an old roommate of mine. She had a friend who was originally from Utah, but was out somewhere on the east coast for school. While travelling one weekend, she got stuck in a block of dead-stop traffic due to the road being closed up ahead. Most everyone got out of their cars and started walking around. A guy came up to her and said he noticed she had a Utah license plate, and asked her where she had lived. Come to find out, he was also from Utah. They hit it off, and long story short, they are now happily married Meeting in traffic, that's a story I'll never forget!
Sometimes it's just like in the movies. Maybe even better if it happens to you.
I was never good enough. My life would always be perfect if.... I made more money, could be a size 2, looked like a model, the list goes on. I was over 50 and I had never truly been loved. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Life was good. I took care of myself, traveled, and worked hard. But something was always missing. I guess I eventually got to the point where I thought I had some tragic character flaw that made me unlovable. Or perhaps my expectations were out of line with reality. I wanted something that didn't exist.
I met him on the net. Too good to be true I thought. We burned up the lines with emails. Here was an extinct human species. A romantic man. A kind loving man who wanted a relationship to be his top priority, the most important thing in his life. A brilliant, articulate gentleman who wrote like a poet. He wrote love letters to me. Me! He had good manners and was respectful.
No one our age has no baggage and he had plenty. He had definitely been around the block. After his last relationship died, he took time off to really examine why he couldn't find the love of his life. He decided to change him first and get to know what he wanted and needed. He did change himself and came to the conclusion the only way he would ever be able to sustain the kind of relationship he wanted was to truly give himself 100% and make his SO the top priority in his life. Forever. Time passed and he met no one suitable. He dated but there was no chemistry or the women he met were so absorbed with other things in their lives, they had little to give to a relationship.
Then we met. From the beginning there was that little flutter of chemistry between us. We wrote about everything. Books, news, hobbies, and interests. I loved his brain and critical thinking skills. We were comparably educated but in vastly different fields. We wrote for weeks and finally I realized he was way too comfy behind his computer monitor. I was the one who bit the bullet and told him to grow a spine and ask me out already. Surely he knew we would get along well enough to share coffee or a walk in the park? He agreed, I think somewhat reluctantly, because things were so good between us. I'd seen his picture and he had never seen mine. He asked but I said no, he had to take the chance. He had to prove to me that he was for real when he said other attributes were more important than looks. We made arrangements to meet for dinner at a local restaurant.
I walked towards him in the parking lot and smiled. That's when he knew it was me. I gave him a hug and a kiss. That was it, the house was on fire and the hurricane hit. We were head over heels in lust and we even suspected, love. That dinner was our 1st thru 10th dates and we haven't slowed down at all since then. IRL he was gorgeous with a voice sexier than words can describe. He was just as bright and well spoken in person as he was online. Even more romantic in person. He was a delightful anachronism. The man I thought didn't exist anymore.
It's been more than 6 months now and this man still writes me love letters. He makes sure I know how much I am loved every single day. Real life does interfere but he is imperative we know when to put real life away and concentrate on us. Sometimes I walk in and find the place full of candles and he is finishing dinner. He loves to shop and cook together. Snuggling on the couch or in bed, maybe watching a movie. He also likes to go out and do almost anything. He actively wants to please me and make me happy. He doesn't see my myriad flaws and thinks I'm beautiful. On top of all the love, syrup, drip stuff, he is an awesome intellectual challenge. We talk and talk.
Sex. I'm not going to go into details but I'll tell you this. Anyone who says you have to accept less at 'our age' is full of baloney. There is so much I never knew about sex till I met this man. And respectful...... Sometimes he still asks if he may have the honor..... Of having sex with me, or maybe a dance, or just an evening of conversation. He is honored to be with me.
So far, I can say I was lucky and it sure looks like I hit the jackpot. No one ever knows if it will last and I lost my crystal ball years ago. No matter what happens long term, I am a better person for having known this gentle, romantic, soul. At 54, I truly fell in love for the first time.
About twenty years ago I helped arrange a wedding between a couple in their late 60s. Years before when "John" was a dashing young naval man he had come to St Thomas with his ship and, while here, met "Jane" who was a single young belle. John was married at the time but sometimes things just happen and the two of them enjoyed a wild and passionate fling and no doubt when his ship sailed away it was a parting of very sweet sorrow.
The decades passed on. Jane never married. She was sitting at home one day and the telephone rang. It was John. He had never forgotten her. His marriage had been long and happy, he'd raised a family who now had families of their own, his wife has passed away and he had suddenly thought of Jane and wondered if by chance she was still on St Thomas.
Their wedding was one of the most (if not the most) beautiful I have ever attended. The love between this elderly couple was like a shining light - they both glowed. It was magic. For the next ten years or so they shared a wonderful life together, traveled extensively and simply adored each other. When John suddenly died after suffering a heart attack, Jane started to fade and she passed away just a couple of years later. I have no doubt that John was waiting for her with open arms.
I wrote this up for a buddy of mine who asked for it a couple of months back. if it's not what you want, sorry about that, but it is the truth, every word of it. I cut out the preamble.
I was an avid reader and had all the mechanical theory and investigative reporting I could do between the covers of books, but absolutely no hands-on practical knowledge of the care, feeding, and operation of a Real Live Girl until I was 16, in 1968, which was the Year of Valerie.
Valerie was dark-haired and chunky with freckles scattered across her wide face as a counterpoint to her omnipresent smile. She was cute, funny, outgoing, and interested enough to actually talk to me in study hall when the teacher left for a smoke break. Yakking with her got to be a regular thing, and one afternoon she invited me over to her house after school. I had a driver’s license, you could get one at 15 down here back then, and I borrowed my Mother’s Plymouth and went over that afternoon. We talked ourselves silly, and we repeated it a couple of days later, and we went out the next Saturday night to a movie. When I took her home we sat in the driveway and I got kissed. I didn’t kiss, you will notice, I got kissed.
A true description of what L-O-V-E is
The next week followed the same pattern, and I was kissing A LOT! It wasn’t bad.
Did I mention that Valerie had somewhat of a reputation? Did I mention that apparently she had a very developed reputation? Did I mention that there was a very good reason for her very developed reputation?
Didn’t need to, did I? You knew what was coming all along.
You were right.
School had ended for the year and I went over one afternoon and her Mother had gone out. I went in. We went upstairs. We went to her room so she could "show me something". She did.
As near as I remember it she threw me on the bed and jumped under me.
Anyway, we did what came naturally, for a while, and like all good things it ended. Until I got married, and Valerie found out and started calling, and Barbara shooed her away.
To compensate for the fact that I was fat, shy, ungraceful, and socially undeveloped, I became the Class Clown to get the attention I couldn’t command in any other way. And I got it. I graduated high school, learned to play guitar, roll a joint, take a pound of good Mexican weed worth $100 wholesale and cut it into 20 ounces, keep four of them, sell the remaining sixteen at $20 per lid without breaking a sweat because I never dealt with anyone I didn’t know. I went to college, worked at UPS at night (made student supervisor after a year and made more money in 15 hours a week than my Father did as a salesman), and all of a sudden I was more than acceptable. I had an apartment and bought a new Toyota, and I cut a trail through the women’s dorms at USC. There was one time that I dated three girls within a week who all lived on the same floor. Not a good idea. They compared notes, and I had to lay low for a while.
In 1974, you may remember, the economy took a nosedive. I got laid off at UPS, nobody had any money so I couldn’t move any hooch, and the bills kept coming in. One of my old roommates (Dean) called me from Klamath Falls, Oregon and said he could get me a job in the door factory that his company was building, and I could stay with him and his wife Martha (Who was a saint. Breast cancer took her in 1990, and it almost killed a lot of people when she went. God Rest Her Well And Easy. Wherever she ended up, I am sure that the angels there couldn’t believe their good fortune), and Erik, their two-year-old (my first kid).
I went. I worked. I made plans to go to Alaska and work on the Pipeline, and I bought an insulated tent and a goose down sleeping bag to prepare for the trip in the Spring. On June 25 a 12" pipe came loose above my workstation and hit me in the head. Had I been standing upright it would ave killed me instantly, but I was bent over and it hit me in the back of my head. I spent six weeks in the bed with an undiagnosed concussion, I couldn’t sue the company that had installed the pipe because of the laws in Oregon, I ran out of money, and I came back to Columbia to recuperate.
The economy still stunk, and I finally found a job runing a printing press at a local shop owned by a man who had worked with my grandfather. I was in a satellite shop away from the main plant, and I moved to the main plant when one of the men died who had run the letterpresses. I went over to learn how, and that was more fun than I have ever had before or since working. Put a chase on the stone, lock the lead type into it with wood furniture and a couple of quoins, check the packing on the cylinder, set the numbering machines if needed (and make sure they are forwards or backwards machines as needed), bolt the chase in the press, start it up, pull a proof, make corrections, run the job. If you smash a line with a misfeed, go see the linotype operator for a replacement and toss the bad line into the Hell bucket. Pure Romance, and they are all but extinct in America now. They went to plastic type after the EPA got involved, then hybrid presses were developed called letterset presses, and the modern presses are a small city in themselves with five or six people working on one machine far enough away from each other that they need walkie-talkies. But I digress.
Through the red swinging doors that led to to the linotype area there was a small office, more of a closet with a window, and two young ladies who were proofreaders. I would have to go get the proof s of the jobs I ran, and there was a pretty brunette there named Barbara who I liked but couldn’t get her interested. I noticed she had a lot of books in the room with her and commented. She liked to read. She would talk to me when I was there, but she would not have anything to do with me outside her private little world. I was intrigued.
I went to the plant in August, I noticed Barbara around September, and it was December before I got the nerve to call her at home and ask her out.
My daily uniform was normally a pair of white jeans covered in different colors of ink, a brown shirt left over from UPS, and a pair of red Chuck Taylors that turned up at the toes. When I called and asked Barbara if she would like to go to the ballet, it shocked her so much that she finally said yes, but not until the next day, since she had to talk it over with her best friend Betty. Betty apparently approved, and we went out.
We had dinner at Luigi’s (Barbara is half italian and half Syrian, both sets of GPs over on the boat in the 20s) and I don’t think either one of us ate for talking so much. I didn’t want to go home at the end of the night.
I had dated girls who could sing and play instruments, a model out of Florida, a couple of very wealthy young ladies including one in Summerville, S.C near Charleston who would clean the fish and cook supper for her Father and me when we came back from fishing offshore. I went out with girls who majored in every subject under the sun. There were blondes, brunettes, redheads, rich ones, poor ones, druggies, cute ones, not-so-cute ones, fat ones, skinny ones – you get the picture. I never met a woman in my life that I didn’t fall a little bit in love with.
Barbara was the most different girl I had ever met.
She was Roman Catholic (read: HEATHEN! IDOLATER! PAPIST! If you happen to be Baptist.). I was 25, she was 28 and still living at home, since her Father (The Syrian) didn’t think it was proper for young ladies to live on their own. She grew up in Brooklyn a few blocks due South of Prospect park and moved to S.C. when she was 18. She had been to NYC exactly three times in those 18 years, because her parents worked in the City and had no desire to go back on the weekend, and it wasn’t proper for a young lady to go withourt a proper escort, although she did work at Ebinger’s Bakery and could go outside and look across the East River at the City. Her grandparents on her Fathers side had an arranged marriage, BTW.
She liked to read, loved quotations, wanted children (one of a very few women I knew who did). She was not the prettiest girl I ever dated, nor the richest, nor the smartest, she didn’t dress fashionably, but she had a Chevrolet Impala, and she had managed to bank $600. She also loved to sit and talk and talk and talk and talk, and it didn’t take too long before I couldn’t imagine a life without her in it.
We got married on August 13, 1977. I left Kohn Printing and went to work at Square D Company in October as a production controller, we bought a house in February 1978, and Jessamine came along in February 1979. Barbara stayed at home with Jess and I supported us. We knew we would do without some things, but that was OK. We were out in the country, and when I took the garbage to the collection site on the weekend, I usually found a piece of furniture that I could reupholster and resell. I picked up cans along the road and collected computer paper from several businesses and sold it for spare cash, and I did some gunsmithing on the side.
Samantha joined us in December 1980, and I left Square D to take over managing the inventory for a tank manufacturer in 1982.
In 1984 I went into the steel fabrication and erection business with a partner, we got lucky, we got work, we made money, we spent money, we bought equipment, I started drinking full time, and in 1986 I crashed and burned and lost every nickel I had. Donovan was five days old. I had a load of steel to deliver about 40 miles down the road. I climbed into the truck at 4:30 in the morning, broke the seal on a fresh half gallon of Evan Williams 90 proof bourbon, snatched the plastic daisy out with my teeth, and spit it out the window. At 10:30 I was back at the house, there was a half inch left in the bottle, and I couldn’t quit shaking. I knew if I didn’t get help I would never see my son grow up. I went in and told Barbara I was an alcoholic, I was drunk, and I needed help. She was relieved. She had thought I was going insane.
When I came out of the Jitter Joint I had the house with a mortgage on it, a truck with 150,000 miles on it. A ten-year-old Toyota, and my hand tools. The business was gone. I had it formally dissolved by my attorney, and my ex proceeded to run up bills that he had no intention of paying, but I was out of the way.
The only other thing I had left was Barbara and the kids. She stayed with me when she didn’t have to and shouldn’t have. She gave me love without reason. I was then, am now, and will die the richest man who ever lived.
In the mid 90s I was writing songs regularly and had enough of mine and enough covers worked up that I could have walked on a stage and entertained for three or four hours. I don’t say ‘sing’, because that would be playing a bit too loosely with the king’s tongue. But I entertained myself.
Every second trip out or so, some cute little gal in her 20s or 30s would hit on me. Some wanted to buy me a drink, some wanted to take me home. Here I am a balding middle-aged man with a spare tire and a wedding ring, and I am being acosted by what I can only describe as Bar Sharks. I cannot for the life of me understand why any woman, or man, for that matter, would want someone who they KNOW will cheat going in.
I couldn’t do it. They might be cute, and no one might ever know but the two of us, but that would be one too many.
August 13 will be (WAS!) 32 years, and I still can’t look in her eyes and imagine that anyone else’s eyes could ever hope to fill that space.
I guess I’m in love, and I like it. I'd do it again in a New York Minute with the same woman and never look back.
Sometimes it's just like in the movies. Maybe even better if it happens to you.
I was never good enough. My life would always be perfect if.... I made more money, could be a size 2, looked like a model, the list goes on. I was over 50 and I had never truly been loved. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Life was good. I took care of myself, traveled, and worked hard. But something was always missing. I guess I eventually got to the point where I thought I had some tragic character flaw that made me unlovable. Or perhaps my expectations were out of line with reality. I wanted something that didn't exist.
I met him on the net. Too good to be true I thought. We burned up the lines with emails. Here was an extinct human species. A romantic man. A kind loving man who wanted a relationship to be his top priority, the most important thing in his life. A brilliant, articulate gentleman who wrote like a poet. He wrote love letters to me. Me! He had good manners and was respectful.
No one our age has no baggage and he had plenty. He had definitely been around the block. After his last relationship died, he took time off to really examine why he couldn't find the love of his life. He decided to change him first and get to know what he wanted and needed. He did change himself and came to the conclusion the only way he would ever be able to sustain the kind of relationship he wanted was to truly give himself 100% and make his SO the top priority in his life. Forever. Time passed and he met no one suitable. He dated but there was no chemistry or the women he met were so absorbed with other things in their lives, they had little to give to a relationship.
Then we met. From the beginning there was that little flutter of chemistry between us. We wrote about everything. Books, news, hobbies, and interests. I loved his brain and critical thinking skills. We were comparably educated but in vastly different fields. We wrote for weeks and finally I realized he was way too comfy behind his computer monitor. I was the one who bit the bullet and told him to grow a spine and ask me out already. Surely he knew we would get along well enough to share coffee or a walk in the park? He agreed, I think somewhat reluctantly, because things were so good between us. I'd seen his picture and he had never seen mine. He asked but I said no, he had to take the chance. He had to prove to me that he was for real when he said other attributes were more important than looks. We made arrangements to meet for dinner at a local restaurant.
I walked towards him in the parking lot and smiled. That's when he knew it was me. I gave him a hug and a kiss. That was it, the house was on fire and the hurricane hit. We were head over heels in lust and we even suspected, love. That dinner was our 1st thru 10th dates and we haven't slowed down at all since then. IRL he was gorgeous with a voice sexier than words can describe. He was just as bright and well spoken in person as he was online. Even more romantic in person. He was a delightful anachronism. The man I thought didn't exist anymore.
It's been more than 6 months now and this man still writes me love letters. He makes sure I know how much I am loved every single day. Real life does interfere but he is imperative we know when to put real life away and concentrate on us. Sometimes I walk in and find the place full of candles and he is finishing dinner. He loves to shop and cook together. Snuggling on the couch or in bed, maybe watching a movie. He also likes to go out and do almost anything. He actively wants to please me and make me happy. He doesn't see my myriad flaws and thinks I'm beautiful. On top of all the love, syrup, drip stuff, he is an awesome intellectual challenge. We talk and talk.
Sex. I'm not going to go into details but I'll tell you this. Anyone who says you have to accept less at 'our age' is full of baloney. There is so much I never knew about sex till I met this man. And respectful...... Sometimes he still asks if he may have the honor..... Of having sex with me, or maybe a dance, or just an evening of conversation. He is honored to be with me.
So far, I can say I was lucky and it sure looks like I hit the jackpot. No one ever knows if it will last and I lost my crystal ball years ago. No matter what happens long term, I am a better person for having known this gentle, romantic, soul. At 54, I truly fell in love for the first time.
Cuebald your story was outstanding! TY for sharing that, honesty, loyalty, and your life journey that brought you to today.
On October 26, 2002, two silly 26 year old's were getting ready for their renaissance theme wedding. Outdoors in hot, sticky Texas, we had picked out a campsite with a gothic looking conference center that overlooked the lake.
With $200 bucks in our pockets, we pulled together a huge bash calling in every favor we could for food, chairs, linens, and wine. It was to be the first party of our lives together with everyone we loved and cherished.
We had arranged the decor hand made to make the common grounds a castle, the trees in the courtyard were lit afire like amber in the autumn, and the guests arrived in renaissance costumes like pages from a history book. We were star crossed lovers, old romantics, and loved to role-play!
They all gathered in a circle around a very yellow oak tree in the middle of a circular walkway with a trellis of lights and leaves, waiting with their costumes, cameras, and bubbles for the bride and groom.
Lord Michael, as he was called back then, was marrying Lady Helena, which was me. I peered out from the campground bathroom several steps away from our altar under the tree to see who all showed up to the wedding. It was moments before our procession of 4 ladies and 4 family members would walk in single strides down the leafy path, through the forest, and to the altar. I noticed all of my family in the circle, all of our friends on the backside, but not a single person from Mike's family had come.
Mike's mom was walking in the procession with my parents and 5 siblings, but not a soul from her family, or my future father-in-law, or his side. We knew it was a long shot seeing how my family lived in Texas, and his family up in Michigan, but not even an RSVP nor a card came for him.
I looked harder at the crowd, feeling knots in my stomach like an empty pit to nowhere. This was to be his moment, after all, it was my second marriage and I had done the white dress thing already. This was for him. This was all for him as much as it was for me, I wanted it to be a day he would cherish with everyone he loved, and who loved him in return.
The more I thought about this, the more I felt the mascara burn my eyes and my mind raced trying to solve this puzzle and think of kind words for my husband when I would see the look of sheer disappointment on his face.
The music started. I watched the lines of dressed up giggling girls with flowers walk down to the altar. One by one they strolled through the leaves and the crunching seemed to echo in my ears. My blood pressure rose and the music was drowned in the background as I swallowed my sadness for Mike, and got ready to round the corner to see him, and take his hand.
The Kate Price music played, Slovic Nights, as he smiled at me instantly and I felt his warm hand slide into mine. I could feel the energy of the guests floating towards us as we strolled really slow to keep in time with the tempo. Then it happened.
His eyes scanned the crowd just as mine had before, and I felt the grip of his hand tighten into mine. Tears welled up and I choked on the last bit of moisture left in my mouth. My tongue twisted and I concentrated on my steps as they slowed in pace with his.
He stopped walking. I stopped and turned, I waited what felt like an eternity to turn to him. I dreaded the look of disappointment on his face and blocked the tears from streaming as long as I could hold them down. I would fight as hard as I could to make this man happy today, if it meant ruining every wedding picture with stained cheeks and black raccoon eyes.
Mike turned to me and took my second hand. His face was stone, his eyes a cool blue like a frozen lake, and his hands began to shake. He looked me in the eyes and said,
"You are my family now. If I get too nervous up there and forget to tell you, I love you and I always will for the rest of my life." He smiled the biggest grin he could and his cheeks flushed in happiness. I smiled a huge stupid in love grin right back, and as we began walking again towards our destiny, someone captured that exact moment on camera.
That picture has been on my mantel for 7 years. That picture reminds me of a boy, who left his family behind, and became a husband. I will scan that picture someday and post it, but for now it's treasured on my mantel in a soft gold flecked frame.
A picture of two people in love who had never smiled so big in all of their lives before, and would smile just as wide for every year thereafter.....
. . . Then we met. From the beginning there was that little flutter of chemistry between us. We wrote about everything. Books, news, hobbies, and interests. I loved his brain and critical thinking skills. We were comparably educated but in vastly different fields. We wrote for weeks and finally I realized he was way too comfy behind his computer monitor. I was the one who bit the bullet and told him to grow a spine and ask me out already.
She had the story pretty much right until she said "We wrote for weeks." In actual fact, it took her all of two days to tell me to grow a spine and ask her out. It took another few days to get to do it, but to tell you the truth she had me with "Hello."
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
I walked towards him in the parking lot and smiled. That's when he knew it was me.
She really had me with that smile. And, that walk.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
I gave him a hug and a kiss. That was it, the house was on fire and the hurricane hit.
She forgot the tornado blowing, the blizzard (don't laugh, it snowed one day last December here in Vegas) bristling, the thunderstorm booming, and the atomic bomb blasting. I'll forgive her this time . . .
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
We were head over heels in lust and we even suspected, love.
Suspected, she says. The suspicions turned to firm evidence after, oh, about two hours worth of precisely the type of conversation she described earlier. And, for the record, you'd have had to be a fool not to fall in love with her. Since I vowed my fool days were long gone, you do the math . . .
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
That dinner was our 1st thru 10th dates . . .
Darling, please. We've never plagiarised each other yet, and there's no point to starting now. * . . . he ducks . . . he runs . . . . . . *
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
IRL he was gorgeous with a voice sexier than words can describe.
She lies. She's the one with the sexy voice and the sexier eyes. I'm just the man who has the honour of receiving them and their message of love.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
He was just as bright and well spoken in person as he was online.
OK, I cheated a little. I had radio experience prior to our meeting. In fact, I'm back on the radio now. Amazing what microphones can do for you . . .
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
Even more romantic in person.
You take one look at her eyes, one listen to her voice, get one gander of her mind and her heart, and take one good look at the way she walks, and you try to resist being romantic. Can't be done.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
It's been more than 6 months now and this man still writes me love letters.
It's easy when you have the proper subject matter. Namely, her!
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
He makes sure I know how much I am loved every single day. Real life does interfere but he is imperative we know when to put real life away and concentrate on us. Sometimes I walk in and find the place full of candles and he is finishing dinner. He loves to shop and cook together. Snuggling on the couch or in bed, maybe watching a movie. He also likes to go out and do almost anything. He actively wants to please me and make me happy.
To know her is to want to please and make her happy.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
He doesn't see my myriad flaws and thinks I'm beautiful.
Well, she has one wounding flaw---she lies through her teeth about her "myriad" flaws. And I don't think she's beautiful---I know it.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
On top of all the love, syrup, drip stuff . . .
I'm tempted . . . but I'll remain a gentleman.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
. . . he is an awesome intellectual challenge. We talk and talk.
She is even more of an awesome intellectual challenge. She'll deny it under oath, but I know better.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
Sex. I'm not going to go into details but I'll tell you this. Anyone who says you have to accept less at 'our age' is full of baloney. There is so much I never knew about sex till I met this man. And respectful...... Sometimes he still asks if he may have the honor..... Of having sex with me, or maybe a dance, or just an evening of conversation. He is honored to be with me.
It is an honour to be with her.
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
So far, I can say I was lucky and it sure looks like I hit the jackpot. No one ever knows if it will last and I lost my crystal ball years ago. No matter what happens long term, I am a better person for having known this gentle, romantic, soul. At 54, I truly fell in love for the first time.
p.s. Darling, if you're eavesdropping . . . it'll last. I'll make bloody sure of it.
p.s.s. I should congratulate you, baby---this is the first time you've ever mentioned either of our ages without following up at once with another cradlerobbing joke!
Quote:
Originally Posted by yellowsnow
It happened.
Fixed!
And I will never, ever let it un-happen.
Paul Newman: I go home to steak every night. Why should I go out for hamburger?
Yours truly: I've got filet mignon every night. Why should I go out for mere steak?
WhistlerMCMLV, you are sooo romantic!!!LOL that was the nicest thing I read in a long time.
I wish my story had such happy endings....I am near tears right now...I feel stuck, suffocated and lonely...married to a man that seems to love me, but not cherish me....no romance for me. It is hard to not have that in your life. No matter how much I pretend that I don't care.
Oh well, que sera, sera....I got other priorities in my life, I guess.
She forgets that it takes two to make a love story. And if that's the only brain vapour she experiences, I'm even luckier than I knew myself to be in the first place.
yaya, never forget that a man who does not romance his lady for all time can never really call himself a man. And, never forget that your true day will come. When you're not necessarily looking for him, he will find you, one way or the other. And when he does, may he feel even half as fortunate for finding you as I am for finding my yellowsnow.
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Now, when I am asked out on dates, I like to invite them over for a steak dinner 
Then the miracle happened....
