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When the kisses are immediately intoxicating, you might want to pay attention. Something is not right. Yes, she’s gorgeous. And, sure, she said she’s been single for over a year, since that last horrible breakup. The narcissist after her ex-husband. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”
She was a bit out of my age range. She had two young kids, appropriate to her age. And I was an amazingly inspired choice. But the inspiration that lit her up and compelled her to invite me into her bedroom was somewhat fragile. I had just mentioned how kissing on the couch was a complete high for me. There seemed to be some pressure to have sex. A hunger. A longing. An opportunity after a year or more of isolation. “Healing myself,” she’d say.
It was a somewhat accidental courtship, fueled by a Facebook connection and the fact that we were both life coaches. I was five years ahead of her, she was doing her training in a month or so. Perhaps a fascination. Perhaps a curiosity. Or was it just my charm and wisdom?
I was unclear how her soft lips applied additional blood pressure. And I was happy on her couch smooching and rolling around. She wanted to accelerate the engagement. I had only seen her bedroom once, on the initial tour a week or so earlier. This time, I was a bit more attentive. I wasn’t sure what role the golden puppy would play, but he was in the bedroom with us as well. Perhaps that was part of her confusion.
I had brought my laptop into the room to stream music. I put on a playlist and put the computer in screensaver mode and when I turned around she was completely naked, standing beside the bed. Now the kisses had a new urgency, a new high. I leaned in for a taste.
She wrestled and reprimanded the puppy a couple of times before putting him in his crate in the other room. And our kissing and explorations began with a little more enthusiasm. Until something snapped in her. “I’m just not feeling it,” she said.
I couldn’t tell what had changed between the couch and the bedroom, I mean other than the clothes. “We don’t have any sexual chemistry,” she continued. “I’m so sorry. I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“You’re not hurting me,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure it’s not chemistry. We’ve got chemistry on crack.”
“I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
“I’m okay. Just a bit confused,” I said. I was putting my clothes back on.
“It’s just, I looked down at you, and something about the gray hair, I just wasn’t prepared for that. You’re, like, old.”
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