Part III
I arrived at the bar shortly thereafter, and walked inside. It was still early for a weekend, and the place was only about a third full. I looked around, and almost everyone seemed to be paired off already. Most of the men were with younger women, women who were in their early twenties. The disgust washed over me as I thought, "Look at all these young girls. They have perfect bodies, perfect smiles, and youth on their side. Look at those firm, high breasts! Those tanned, athletic legs. What do they know about running a department in a corporation? I'm a strong woman, with experience and money of my own. I have power too."
I felt low, as I realized that I was no longer young. "45 isn't so old," I tried to console myself. "I still have a great figure, and I know how to please a man." The bartender came over to take my order. "Maybe that's my problem." I thought, as I settled into my seat at the bar. "Maybe these men can't handle a powerful woman. A woman who is their equal." Yes, that had to be it! "Men are such simple creatures. They can't handle the thought of a strong woman." I thought. The bartender placed my drink on the bar, and winked at me. "He's not such a bad-looking fellow," I thought, as I took a sip. "He makes a really good Kahlua & Cream too." Nevertheless, I knew that just a good drink couldn't make an empty life be any better.
I sat there, thinking nothing in particular. I let my gaze wander around the room and thought again of all the couples and groups of people having a good time. I finished my drink, and the bartender appeared unbidden to place another before me. As I sipped at it, I looked around the place once more, and realized that no one was outside on the patio. "What better place to be alone, in a bar full of people?" I said to myself, as I lifted my drink from the rich brown wood of the bar, and walked outside. I sat down at one of the empty tables, and looked out into the twilight.
As I gazed out over the golf course, I thought about what sort of man could handle a woman like me. "He'd have to be young," I thought. "At least 10 years younger than I am, maybe more." A giggle escaped my lips as I daydreamed about a younger man, one who wasn't a stuffy executive. "Perhaps a working man." I mused to the empty space. "Yes, some young guy who works with his hands. A construction worker. A bricklayer or a carpenter. Yes, that would be great. A guy who toiled with his hands, who sweated for his living, working outside at some dusty construction site." I thought to myself, "I surely didn't need money, what with my career, so I could make him be whatever I wanted him to be."
The waitress came out to my table, with a smile on her face, bringing me yet another drink unbidden. I realized that I hadn't ordered it, when she said to me, "I saw you through the window, and it looked like you needed another one. Please forgive me, but are you okay?"
"Yes, I'm fine." I replied. "Just lost in thought. I had a long day at the office."
"Okay," she responded cheerfully, "I just wanted to check on you."
I watched her walk away, and noticed the swing of her slender, youthful hips. I remembered a line from a Bob Seger song I had liked in my own youth.
"A little too tall, could have used a few pounds. Tight pants, points hollerin' out. She was a black-haired beauty with big, dark eyes, and points on her own, sittin' way up high."
"She is pretty," I thought wistfully. Any guy would be lucky to have her. "Maybe what I need is a woman!" I chuckled to no one in particular. "No," I thought, "What I need, is a MAN." I smiled. "A dusty working-man. One who knew how to make hot, sweaty, I-want-to-scream passions erupt within me. Someone who knew his "Night Moves." I laughed aloud for the first time in days at the thought. "He's out there," I said to myself. "I know he's out there, and I'm going to have him when I find him."
To be continued...
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| When you least expect it... Part III |
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