What Happened to Eden

When you do something truly shameworthy and embarrassing, you don’t tell a soul. Unless, of course, you are a woman who has invited a man she barely knows to her home in another city. Then you have to tell at least one responsible adult in case you’re murdered, chopped to bits, and fed to dogs. Someone has to tell the authorities I brought it on myself by giving out my address to a stranger.

I had already run a background check on the guy, but it seemed like an incredibly wild choice in my moment of morning clarity the next day. He was fun, kind, interesting, sexy, hilarious, and not a known sex offender. Great, right? But what if the kiss had lied? What if there were no fireworks in the dark? Or what if it turned out I was absolutely not ready to move on this much, and he was still in my house two more days?

I only told one friend what I’d done and she was stunned. First, stunned I lured a man to my home a thousand miles away, but also shocked it had happened so soon. Was I sure I wanted this? What if my husband changed his mind and wanted to work through it? What if I had a panic attack when this guy touched me? I had no answers.

Well, except for the husband stuff. I wouldn’t go back to a man who lied for sport if he came with a cash prize.

I wanted to be wanted in my own home. In my own bed. It was mine, and not hers, even though I’d never been desired there when she clearly had. Even if The Cop was blowing smoke just to have sex, let him blow it. Even cheesy flattery that didn’t ring true would be better than silence.

I packed furiously. I couldn’t invite a man to my house for the weekend and spend it packing boxes, so I got as much done as I could and moved anything I could lift to the garage so the house wouldn’t be unbearable. Did men notice things like that? I had no idea. He knew I was moving, he shouldn’t be shocked to discover boxes in the house, right?

Every day I was expecting him to cancel. Maybe a fake excuse, maybe a real one, or maybe none at all. He decided not to come, end of story. Instead, I drove to pick him up from the airport remembering that I hate driving in front of other adults because I am an extremely nervous driver. I was deciding how weird it would be to ask if he wanted to drive my car when I saw him waiting for me outside the airport, and then I forgot everything.

I recognized him, of course, but not with the immediate certainty of seeing someone you’ve known for years. It was the brief hesitation and wait, is that him? of seeing someone you have met in person two times – he drove me to the airport when I left town a couple days after our date. That unnecessary kindness took me by surprise – that and the kiss got him a weekend at my place.

He climbed in the car and I felt genuinely happy to see him. Being near him made me nervous. I only knew how my husband and I acted together, I didn’t know how people who had only been on a couple dates were supposed to act. Are we supposed to touch in public? I didn’t know how he felt about public affection, other than he kissed me on a back patio and in his car.

He leaned in to kiss me.

“Let’s go get lunch!” I suddenly felt like getting this guy to fly to another city just to see me was a bad deal and he should also get a tour of the place to make it worth his while. I insisted we try some local food even though I don’t think either of us were hungry.

The meal was quiet. I was spiraling. He was going to regret coming here, and oh, I’m probably awful in bed because why else would my husband cheat on me, right? A tour of town was not going to make up for that. Maybe I’d luck out and he’d be nervous, too. If anxiety was contagious the whole restaurant was contaminated with the waves of panic coming off my body. I was going to be rejected in my bed. Again.

We got back to the house and I gave him a tour of the precariously stacked boxes and piles of dust. He followed me into my room and stood in front of me, searching my face. I could feel him silently asking if everything was good. If this was what I wanted.

I kissed him first.

Having three kids does unspeakable damage to your body, and I’d worried a lot about that pivotal moment. I had trouble calming my breathing and wished it was darker so he’d see less. In a moment of bravery, I decided even if he thought I looked awful, he’d probably still have sex with me since he came all this way, and maybe I’d never find out he was repulsed by me. Maybe he’d make up some reason we couldn’t see each other again after this, like a gentleman should, so I’d never know for sure why he left.

He told me I was sexy and kissed me from head to toe. Perhaps it was one of his “moves” for his first time with someone new, but it was effective.

I’d thought it would be less…personal. Less passionate. We’d agreed to keep it really casual up front, so I’d thought the sex would be more…transactional? Like we’re just there for a good time, just to get each other off and say goodbye. It didn’t feel that way to me.

He took his time. He never made me feel like the attention he paid to every part of me was a chore. He did not reject me.

I got up to find my chapstick and saw a wild-haired woman with flushed cheeks, smeared makeup, and a smile staring back at me from the bathroom mirror. How long had I been smiling? I had to get better control of my facial expressions if I was going to keep dating. I thought of all the times I’d done this same thing after being with my husband and seen a woman with only a few strands of hair out of place. And a frown.

It’s supposed to be enjoyable. Fun, even. And you’re both supposed to want to do it. There’s kids and work and responsibilities that make it hard to get in sync after a few years, but was it ever this fun? It didn’t feel like a chore, or even a transaction – it felt like play.

We watched TV for a bit, awkwardly trying to decide how to lay there together in a very marital way without forgetting we had only known each other a few weeks. Does he like to be touched? Does he cuddle? Is he hot? Does he need another pillow? What a time to realize you don’t know shit about the person you’ve just had sex with. How many pillows does he use? I have no idea, but let me tell you what he did with his tongue.

I hated the show he chose. He suggested I pick something and I declined, and so I hated the show. Everything came into sharp focus – suitcase open on the floor, toilet seat left up, shoes on my carpet. I had just gotten a man out of my space, and now here was another man messing up my house. Being ready to hook up with someone new was different than being ready for someone to invade my precious space when I hadn’t had the chance to savor it alone yet.

It was just for the weekend, and I liked him. I knew if I’d told him I hated the show he’d change it, but I wasn’t in the mood to watch TV. Resisting the urge to hold him down and ask him everything about his life was difficult, because I was convinced if I knew everything about him, then inviting him to visit after one date would seem less crazy and desperate.

I started to fidget restlessly. What was there to do if I didn’t want to watch TV? I had no answers. Well, except one. He was a couple years older than me (a respectful number, calm down) and I didn’t know how that might affect…things. It hadn’t been that long since we’d had sex, so I figured I’d have to come up with something else. And maybe he had used up all his moves and just wanted to be left alone.

He caught my hand and pulled me to him.

Age is just a number.