Definitely not "love at first sight."
Although it took us awhile to remember once we got together, I'd been in the bookstore where she was an assistant manager and rummaging through books she thought were a little too old for me. (I was a thirty-year-old man trapped in the body of a child of 10 or so.)
When we did meet for what we thought was the first time, it was several years later and we were working together. I was twenty-three and she was thirty-six.
She always said it was love at first sight for her. Or at least she soaked through her panties. According to what she always said when the topic came up, it was my broad shoulders, narrow waist, and blue eyes first. Then, she claimed, when I said: "Hello," my deep, rumbling voice (her description) made her thighs clench. Then, I turned and walked away... and frankly just thinking about what she said about the view still makes me blush. "... that panther-like grace and his delicious ass filling out those jeans..."
I was more than a bit clueless. While I couldn't help but look, I wasn't looking
, if you see.
I was working on my third doomed engagement with a girl who lived five hours away from me where she was working on finishing college.
While I wasn't bothered by the thirteen year age gap (not least because she actually looked younger than me), even if I hadn't been engaged to someone else and determined that this time it would work, she was married to another man (unhappily) and there were still some things I just wouldn't do. She also had two kids. The oldest only eight years younger than me and the youngest still closer to my age than she was.
But, there was something about her that when she was in the room, I couldn't seem to look away. And, man, was she smart. And funny. She could always make me smile, no matter how my day was going.
It took her catching me in the break room and tonguing my tonsils with her hand on my crotch to get the message that sex was
an option as far as she was concerned.
And my brain turned off for about six months. Until her husband caught us together.
Over the next several months, I often wished he'd just killed me and have done as I came to grips with what I'd done. Something I believed with all my soul was wrong, no matter that he had been having affairs since two months after they were married (having left his first wife and child to marry her). No matter that he'd abused her verbally, emotionally, and even physically a few times. No matter I wasn't the first affair she'd had. Or even the first she'd had that day.
I can't be accountable for what other people do, after all. I can only be accountable for what I do.
So, I left and moved back home. To leave her to work it out with her husband and children. And me to try to focus on my engagement.
My fiancee forgave me, but I couldn't and ended up breaking off that last engagement myself rather than look in her eyes every day for the rest of my life and know what I'd done.
About six months after I'd left her behind, the woman who would become my wife followed me.
And pretty much saved my life since I'd been headed down a pretty dark road.
I don't know. Maybe I'm more of a romantic than I'm comfortable admitting, but there was just something about a slender delicate hand slipping into mine and telling me that no matter what road I chose, she was going to walk it with me that made me choose a different path.
Last October, after twenty-two years of marriage, twenty-five years together, she closed her eyes while lying beside me and watching me while I slept and left this plane of painful existence behind.
Any road. It's Valentine's Day. And I happened to notice this thread in passing and thought I might share our story.
I only hope you aren't sorry you asked. And if any might read this on this special day who have someone special and maybe feels a little more inclined to do something special for them, then that's more than I could have asked.