Unpacking the dishes 2

I looked at the clock, one of the items I made sure I put up right away.  I can't stand not knowing the time even if I have nowhere to be, I just need to know.  The clock said it was noon.  No wonder my stomach was growling.  I decided to fix a sandwich and some coffee.  Taking my lunch outside, I couldn't help but take in the view.  So pretty, rolling waves on the lake, no neighbors on top of us and there was a gentle breeze blowing.

I'd been unpacking all morning so feeling sweaty and grimy, I decided to take a quick shower and cool off a bit.  There they were, my towels, then my shower gel, blow dryer and body spray.  Everything I needed.  The hot water rolling over me helped to relieve the tension in my shoulders and my mood.  It felt wonderful, almost making me want to take a nap.  But I have more items to put away so I dry myself off and look for something to wear.  I choose a pair of short cut off jeans and a halter top.  Just cool enough for the warm weather and cool enough to make me not sweat so profusely while I unpack boxes.

On my way back to the living room, I grabbed a hair pull out of my cut off jean shorts.  I looked into the full length mirror and it occurred to me that I may have just cut the jeans a tad too short.  I could almost see my crotch area, but I shrugged thinking I had no one to impress and being home alone, with Mike on a business trip, I continued to pull my hair on top of my head.  The hair was damp from the humidity and a lot of my curls were laying in little, damp ringlets at the back of my neck and forehead.

I  took a long look at the vast array of boxes in the living room and dining area and wondered just how I'd ever get them all unpacked and put away.  Well, I thought to myself, stop wasting time, those boxes won't put themselves away.  Where in hell is that damned air conditioning guy?  I was growing more impatient by the hour.  I figured he's probably some old guy, a fat old guy, slow, probably one of those guys who's ass crack showed each time he bent over to fix anything.  I groaned inside at the thought and giggled a little to myself imagining that ass crack vision.  Never the less, I just hope Old Fart knows his stuff and that Mike has left him some detailed instructions.  I hate being the sole one at home when man chores crop up because I don't know the first thing about them.Getting back to unpacking I found myself engrossed in unwrapping each piece of glassware when, suddenly ,what in hell?"

Excuse me lady, I didn't mean to scare you but I 

I stood up quickly, and what I saw left me stunned

I knocked and I guess you didn't hear me so I took the liberty of letting myself in.

"

Shirtless, muscles rippling and a six pack that I'd only seen in body building magazines was here, in the flesh.  Holy shit!

"I will get to work as soon as you show me where the unit is located."

I must have obviously been staring a him because he almost looked uncomfortable under my gaze. 

   

Unpacking the dishes

I stopped unpacking the dishes for a moment and looked around the kitchen, my kitchen, I still couldn't believe it.  Mike had finally purchased us a house of our own, he made good on his promise to me.  It wasn't that I didn't believe he would, but I think this house is a way of making things up to me. 

 The previous relationship I had before meeting Mike, left me not really sure I could ever trust men again. 

But we just aren't as intimate these days as we were 12 years ago when we first met.  I convinced myself that I didn't miss the sex so awfully much.  Mike is attentive, sweet and tells me he loves me every day we are together, but he just has no interest in sex anymore.  I have my battery operated friend but somehow it's not the same as a warm, erotic touch from a man. 

 I know I'm 35 and he's 60, but no one told me sex drive wanes when guys get older. I couldn't help but laugh out loud about his chosen profession, especially given his disinterest in sex these days.  He's half owner of an erotic film making company. 

Mike is the Midwest Porn King, or so the big newspapers and the television news have called him. 

How ironic. The very thing he's not interested in in his real life, has made him rich in the fantasy world

Looking around, I couldn't help thinking how, just a few years ago, we'd be making love on the big counter in this kitchen.The thought of that made me feel a bit sad.  I love Mike, but without sex, well, it's just been a long time since I have felt sexy, wanted, sensual or very pretty.  I also felt a bit guilty for thinking like this. Mike is away on a business trip for two weeks, so I'm left here, alone, to put away most of our things that the movers just dropped off for us. 

I didn't mind, this big house will become a bed and breakfast once we are settled in.  Mike figured it would be a nice business for me, maybe a distraction to keep me busy and my mind off the reality of our marriage.  I decided to stop for a moment and look around the house.  It's a beautiful house, but a few things do need fixing.  Mike likes to fix stuff at home, but right now, he is away because he has to make sure the business is running smoothly.

 I have always wanted a big, beautiful house, but not a mansion,, I didn't want it to be vulgar. It's the kind of house where I can do my own housework and be the domestic goddess' I always wanted to be.  This one is great and we plan to expand it a little more. 

Mike had wanted to build one on the ocean, but I was worried about hurricanes, so we compromised and decided on a nice, secluded old Victorian on the great lake in Ohio.  

I wandered towards the dining area of the house to look out the patio doors at the back, the lake was stunningly lovely today, but inside was hot, sultry, the kind of day where the humidity was thick and you worked up a sweat walking across the room.  Mike had promised me a pool but right now, at this moment, I'll just be happy to have the central air fixed. 

 

Losses

When we have a relationship, as women, we tend to believe what we read in books, what we see in movies or even what we are told about love by our peers.  It doesn't matter if we are preteen, in our teens or older.  We women are the same, pretty much, we not only tend to believe, we want to believe. Even if we are told certain truths, by older, wiser women who have gone before us, we still think: "That was you, this is me and it's different."  So I'm told: You cannot tell them, they have to live it to learn it.  Is it because when it's learned it sticks with us better?  Perhaps.

What is it we need to believe, to hold on to and yet, many times we discover love and relationships are just the opposite of what our brains have held on to.  

We want to believe if we love them enough, they will never leave, it will not turn sour, love conquers all, we found our soul mate and if we love him enough, he will love us the same.  There is so much our parents, our friends and others we know, do not tells us too,

We are hardly ever told that a real relationship takes work, or it will sour, no matter how much you love him.  No, just because you love him, does not guarantee he loves you the same.  I believe we all have an agenda in our lives.  Maybe you are just there, he needs mothering, he needs to leave home (if young), he needs someone more stable than he is.  Whatever the reasons, they may not be the same as ours.

We want that right guy to fill us up, emotionally, we want that more than we will even admit, we want that usually before we even know who we are.  Before we learn to love who we are.  We think he is supposed to love us no matter what, unconditionally like our parents maybe did, or didn't do, so then we want him to fill a void our parents or parent, did not fill.

Finally, when it does fall apart, turn sour and it breaks up, we are stunned, we don't get it right away.  We feel an ache that is left behind, an ache we feel should not be there.  An ache, longing, a hole in our hearts that take a long, long time to get over. 

Can any of you relate?  

For love part 4

 “Hi, are we ready to go then?” 

 “Yep, don’t wait up for me Dad.”

  I was looking over my shoulder as we headed 
for the door.

“How long you plan to be out, Sweat Pea?” 
Dad asked with a sort of accusing tone to his 
voice I'd come to know so well, like he was 
challenging me and letting me know that 
anything past midnight would be the wrong 
answer.  

 “Oh probably at least past midnight, so you 
know you need your sleep, Daddy, don't wait 
up.”

  I turned to Steve: “Dad’s health hasn’t been 
the best lately,” I explained.  

“My health is just fine,” Dad replied.  “Don’t 
you worry about me; I plan to be here a long 
time yet, Sweet pea.  Now about when you plan to come home tonight."


 I grabbed Steve’s arm, steering him to the 
front door quickly.  The sooner we left the 
better.  I had a twinge of guilt on my way to the 
door so I turned back and gave Dad a big hug 
and kiss before I followed Steve outside.


“I’m pretty sure your dad might not like me 
very much,” Steve said when we were safely 
inside his car.  
I just laughed and assured him it wasn’t personal, it 
was the fact that I told Dad he had chosen the 
Army as a career instead of an accounting job 
or something.  Steve looked at me, an 
expression of confusion crossing his face. 

 “I know it’s a contradiction, my dad being a lifer and all.  But he thinks I should have a husband, one day, with a stable job, and we will live in one place, the little house, picket 
fence, a few kids and all.   Don’t get me wrong, Dad loves the Army, but he knows it was hard for  me, all the moving and such, I know he means well.”
  

I didn’t tell Steve that my dad was sure my mom had left him because he had chosen a career in the Army.

  He and my mom used to fight often and one of my earliest memories was of them fighting, about my dad being in the 
military and gone for so many weeks at a time. 

One night, when I was 5, my mom said she was going to the store to get some milk and we haven’t seen her since. 

 I think she had a boyfriend because once when we went to the park, my mom introduced me to  a guy she told me to call, “Uncle Charlie.”  That seemed like so many, many years ago now. 

Since I haven’t known Steve very long I decided this was information he didn’t need to know; yet. 

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For love Part 3

I was excited tonight, this was our first date and I was looking forward to showing Steve off to all my high school friends at the party.  I 
refused to allow my dad's disapproval of dating Steve to ruin my excitement.



“Get the door Daddy,” I yelled from my room 
again.  

“Do I have to?”   He was kidding, I think. He 
often used that tone when he was not happy 
with one of my choices though.


 “Yes, Daddy, please, for me?”  I begged him.

 “I’m going, I’m going.”  Opening the door, he 
looked this handsome young man up and down 
with a critical eye as I peeked around the 
corner, from my bedroom door.  

 “She will be down in a minute, Son, take a seat 
on the sofa.”
I hurriedly did a last check on my hair and makeup, then almost flew down the stairs, 
hoping Dad and Steve didn’t have to have much 
of a conversation.  I had no idea where a 
lengthy chat might lead, especially in my dad’s case.

  I knew Dad could ask some uncomfortable questions, making them sound almost like an interrogation sometimes.

 He has done that in the past with the few dates I ever did manage to land. 


“Hi Steve,”  I said, giving him a peck on the cheek.


Steve was smiling and by the look on his face, I knew I'd picked the right outfit for the evening. 

He seemed very pleased when he saw me.

For love part 2

In order to understand where my dad is coming from in his objections of me dating a guy who has chosen a career in the military, you need to know that he too chose a military career, so the job itself isn't something he thinks isn't a good 
choice, it's one he thinks isn't a good choice for 
me to marry into. 





 My father has been in the Army for 26 years now, he is a Drill Instructor and I grew up as sort of an Army brat, moving around a lot from town to town from the time I was born until I turned 15. 

It has been a life full of a lot of moves, new schools, new neighborhoods and so I never made many friends in most of those other places.  I mean why bother to make friends 

when maybe next year you would be living 

somewhere else?  I just never could see the 

point.  

  

I’ve become a very good student though, in
spite of it or maybe because of it. I guess I 

threw myself into my studies to make up for 

my lack of friends and I loved reading because 

I could always count on books to be there, in 

the next town, the next library.    I have my
favorites, books that is, and they have, over time, become my best friends.  I suppose I became an avid reader because books were 
where I read about the normal kids, with 
normal houses and normal families; normal 
meaning, for me, staying in one spot all their lives.



 Usually while other kids were having birthday 
parties and going to camp, I was packing to 
move yet again, to the next base where my dad 
was assigned to work. 
 I’m also a diabetic so I’m prone to having 
problems if my blood sugar gets too low or my 
insulin needs to be adjusted.  
That often made the other kids almost afraid of 
me because I’d get sweaty hands and eerie skin 
pallor during one of those diabetic moments. 
Those moments didn't do much for helping me 
make friends.
  Most kids in elementary and middle school steered clear of me like I was contagious or something, leaving me to be pretty much of a loner.

  Sometimes even the teachers seemed to be nervous about my condition, I'd often catch them looking at me, like they were looking for signs of a 'spell' coming on me.



 I even made one teacher panic so badly she spoke to my dad about the possibility of home schooling me.  


 My dad and I had grown close over the years, 
especially after my mom left us.  He became very good at adjusting my insulin and helping me watch my diet so I stayed healthy for the most part. 


I love my dad, he seems so strong and sure of himself and I’ve grown accustomed to listening to his advice because he has always taken very good care of me.


 I rarely, if ever, questioned his judgement or went against his wishes.  He always had pretty good instincts as far as I was concerned, so I ended up trusting what he said, while growing up under his roof.




But dating Steve is the one thing I am now determined to do, defying my dad this time, something I usually never do.  I know he has my best interests at heart, he has never steered me in the wrong direction with his advice before, but 
this time I have decided to stand my ground if I have to.


 I don’t even know why for sure because Steve isn’t even the kind of guy I usually dreamed about falling for.  

 He is rugged looking, he looks like a jock, the look a professional football player might have.   I always thought I 

was more attracted to guys who looked like surfers, blonde hair and slender.

  

Steve has big bulging muscles, like he works out at the gym 
several times a week.  I guess that's what the Army workouts do for some guys.  He also has dark hair, dark brown, almost black. 

 But somehow, when our gazes met and he shook my hand at the barbecue, it suddenly felt like a jar of lightning bolts had been opened, hitting me with jolts of awareness that I found impossible to ignore.  


  Truth be told, I usually never noticed guys much anyway, but the ones who had caught my eye were usually surfer 
types, something Steve definitely was not.

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For Love

“You will not marry a military lifer if I can help 
it.”  My father was yelling from the living room 
because I had told him I have a date this 
evening with Steve, the guy I met just one 
week ago at our home barbecue, the backyard 
party my father decided to put on for some of 
the military  people from the local Reserve 
Center in Penn Yan, New York, where we live.  

The weather forecast, the day of the barbecue, had called for sunny skies, warm temperatures and little did I know, 
with a mixture of love in the air.

  The last thing I had planned on was meeting an Army man 
that I’d soon become infatuated with. 
I was used to seeing young men come and go at 
our home most of my life, so this was nothing 
new.   

They all apparently liked my dad a lot because they’d come over to see him and talk with him almost daily. 
 But I must admit, that sunny afternoon of the barbecue 
though, I could not ever remember seeing so 
many young men all at once at our home.  

In fact, Our backyard was so full of handsome 
young military men that day, my friend Angie 
remarked: “It looks like a smorgasbord of men. 
Something that every young woman dreams 
of.” 


I do remember looking for a place to sit down once 
my plate was full of food.  



 Suddenly I found myself looking at one of the handsomest guys I had ever laid eyes on ,  and he was sitting by himself.   He didn't notice me because he appeared to be pretty engrossed in the food on his plate.  


I decided to work up my nerve and go sit down 

across from him.  He barely looked up, but for a brief moment he did smile, say hi but then immediately began 

attacking his food again.

 “I guess the chef here knows how to 
barbecue.” 


 He stopped chewing and looked up, with an 
almost perplexed look on his face like he had 
no idea what I was talking about.   I smiled, 
drew a breath and decided to begin again. 



“I mean you seem to be very pleased with the 
food, meaning  the chef must be a pretty good 
at barbecuing,” I said.  

He nodded his head now as if he understood I was referring to the food on his plate.  I couldn't help but notice his body.  He was slender but muscular.  I wondered how he stayed looking this good by eating so much.

“Oh, well, it’s just that I really do love a good 
backyard barbecue.  I suppose I look like I 
haven’t eaten in a long time, kind of making a 
pig of myself I guess.”  

I suddenly felt embarrassed that he thought might be comparing him to a pig. I felt a flush creep across my cheeks.

Now almost stammering:  “Oh, I just meant,” He cut me off before I could finish my lame apology. 


“Hey, its fine, I know I was pretty wrapped up 
in my plate here.”  He reached out his hand: 
“Hi, I’m Steve and I’m pleased to meet you.”  I 
took his extended hand . 

“I’m Lacey Montgomery and I’m very pleased 
to meet you too,” I said in return. 


He paused for a moment as if he was deep in thought.   “Montgomery as in:"


“Yes as in the same last name as the DI who 
lives here; I’m his daughter,” I finished the sentence for him.

“So this is;” 


Yes,” I interrupted again, “this is where I 
live.” 

Now  his face seemed to turn a light shade of 
pink, like he was embarrassed with this new 
found knowledge.  


That’s how Steve and I first met, with me 
practically calling him a pig and so I’m always 
amazed he even liked me at all after that analogy. 

But he did like me, in fact he liked me enough 
to even accept an invitation to my 18th birthday 
party my best friend Angie was throwing for me 
the next weekend.  

Here I was now, the weekend of my 18th birthday party, me looking in the mirror, checking my choice of attire and my dad embarrassing the hell out of me by yelling up the stairs like some crazy person.