Diary of a MILF in Progress

Flying

My plane was delayed. By the time we boarded, the events of the week and the work of the conference had taken their toll. I was tired and restless.

I closed my eyes and began to replay the night before, and some of the conversations that led up to it. How we flirted in the staff office as I prepped the meeting materials, although we both admitted that we flirt with everyone. The agreement to meet for a drink after the booth closed, with the implication that this was more than just happy hour, and not planned as a group get together.

I skipped over the memory of waiting for you as our planned time came and went. When you finally arrived, two hours after expected, it was almost too late. The people who had stayed with me were taking their leave, and I would have been gone as well, and our chance would have been missed.

I remembered the moments in front of the bar, and moving to a table as the bartender gave us our last drinks before he closed. The closeness of our barstools, the "accidental" brushes when our legs shifted. And the knowledge, for us both, that this was not about my marriage or yours. It was only about a man who likes to have fun, and a woman in need of reaffirming something she may have lost or may not have had to begin with.

As I rewound and replayed stepping into the elevator, I smiled at the memory of you pressing first the top floor, then the lobby, to make our time on board last longer. We exited on your floor, and snuck through the hallway like kids sneaking into a closed dormitory after curfew. Your keycard stuck a few time before working, heightening the tension. Once inside, we barely got the door closed before you had me pinned to the wall, your hands beneath my sweater, my arms flung over your shoulders. As we hastily stumbled toward the bed, quickly moving aside your laptop and other items tossed there before you left earlier (perhaps I was wrong in assuming you knew we'd be coming back there) I lost track of time.

I drifted to sleep on the plane, remembering bits and moments that gave me a flutter in my stomach and a familiar ache. There is a line I can't cross, but we didn't reach it yet. Even if we don't take another step in that direction, even if we go back to just the co-workers we were a week ago, revisiting those few hours can take me back.

Labels: Casey

What happens at the conference...

Single malt, on the rocks, for you. A lemon drop martini for me. And a conversation I was very surprised to have.

You said the small things were what did it for you. The way I leaned back against the desk while you were checking emails. How I tuck my hair behind my ear while I talk. The look I give you when I'm challenging what you've said, the way I say "Really?" and raise my eyebrow. The joking conversation we had before harassment training, and how you sat on the other side of the room not because you didn't enjoy being near me, but rather that you may enjoy it too much. The feisty attitude when I pretend to scold you for something.

You say that Dan and Isaac notice some of the same things. That when the door to your shared office is closed, the conversation inside is less about marketing than it is about the cut of my suit and height of my heels.

I haven't seen you since I left for my hotel room that night, and I don't know whether what you said in the small hours of morning will hold up under the fluorescent lights of the office, whether coffee would encourage you the same way Glenlivit did. But our glances and smirks have just taken on a whole new meaning.

Labels: Casey, new identity

Standing on the edge

I was never that girl- the one who caught everyone's attention. I don't get drinks sent to me by strangers in a bar. I don't inspire double takes when I pass by. I was always the safe, unthreatening girl. Everyone's buddy, and therefore no one's date. I had close relationships with boys when I was younger, close enough for them to feel very comfortable telling me all about the unattainable objects of their unrequited love or lust.

I'm not a bad looking woman, but not necessarily a good looking one either. My husband saw something in me he liked, and still likes, and I in him. And we are good, we are fine, we still love each other after over ten years of marriage in every sense of the word "love." But there comes a time when you start to wonder whether you are loved and desired because of familiarity and comfort, or whether anyone other than your other half sees anything there.

I was never that girl- the one men saw as sexy without trying to be. I was never watched appreciately as I walked across the room. I never had a man buy me a drink at the hotel bar and invite me to his room.

Until now.

Labels: new identity