Dating a widower / Grief/loss / Tristan/Lola

Lola begins the story of her life, somewhere in the middle

I have decided to begin compiling thoughts for a novel which will be the story of my life. It will all be true, so I guess one could call it an autobiography of sorts, except autobiographies of no-names like me aren’t much fun. So let’s just say I’m now an aspiring author of a novel or novels which God only knows will ever be finished. For now, I will keep an account of these memoirs by sharing them here. And one day, maybe the book will actually be finished and be mildly interesting. That’s my goal, anyway.

Below is a memory that came to me early yesterday morning which I had to write down before I could fall back to sleep.  This memory is one of many romantic moments I had with Tristan, the tortured widower with whom I had a two-year on again off again relationship with until he finally said, no more. It was one of those May-December relationships, I was over 20 years younger than he.

They made passionate but tender love.  Their bodies entwined and their spirits became one as they reached that heightened moment of pleasure together. They fell asleep; he snoring gently with her curled up next to him, her head on his chest.

The next morning, he awoke her with passion left over from the night before.  As they kissed deeply, he suddenly paused and whispered her name softly. She looked up with a dreamy expression on her face as he solemnly gazed into her eyes for a long moment.

Then with obvious sincerity he said what she already knew in her heart, “Last night went a long way towards making us a couple.”

She was touched, but taken aback by his confession, since she knew his trepidation about having a relationship.

“You don’t have to say that on my account,” she whispered assuredly, softly stroking his beard.

He smiled gently and said, “Well just in case you were wondering what you were doing in my bed last night…” and his voice trailed off.

She looked at him with a slightly devilish grin and said confidently, “Oh I know exactly what I was doing in your bed last night.” 

“What’s that?” he asked with true curiosity gleaming in his bright blue eyes.

And without missing a beat, because her answer had been ready for several minutes she said simply, “I was making love.”

A wide smile broke out on his face, as he nodded slowly and uttered quite agreeably, “And what sweet love it was.” 


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