In lieu of ice cream after Liv's recital last weekend, we opted for over-priced lattes and ridiculously fattening bakery items from our friendly neighborhood Starbucks. I stood at the counter waiting patiently for our drink order while Todd and Liv stayed in the car. I nibbled disgustingly on my ridiculously fattening bakery item while I bided the time it took my barista to make our drinks. Of course, it is between a mouthful of fattening bakery item that I should lock eyes with an old lover placing his order at the register. Yeah, that one. There he stood with his smoldering hotness erupting like lava all over the cashier. I sympathized. After all, I'd been under the spell of his charms, I was so hypnotized by them that I spread my legs for him. And that was at a time when I spread my legs for no one.
After our eyes met, we both quickly looked away. Neither one of us was willing to commit to the moment, to acknowledge the presence of the other. There's nothing to say. Any dialogue exchanged would be so empty. The nature of our relationship was that he deflowered me one sordid night in January 2001. Sure we had somewhat of a friendship, but underneath that friendship, the only thing it was leading up to, was that beautiful fuck. I thought I loved him. But the truth is that I only made myself believe that because I thought I had to justify my wanton behavior.
Eventually he walked over to where I stood with a little bag of baked goods to wait for his own drink. I looked over at his hands for confirmation that it was him. He had the most distinct hands, rough and dry with oddly bent thumbs. I gasped softly when I saw those hands. Hands that had touched my body in the most intimate way. Hands attached to a man that had shared the most vulnerable moment of my life. He stood two feet away from me but he might as well have been standing on the moon. For a second I thought about saying hello, catching up. Maybe he had the same thoughts. Perhaps he was waiting for me to make the first move, break the ice, let him know it was OK. Or maybe he was glad I didn't try to engage him in conversation. I leaned nonchalantly against the counter and knocked over a little paper sign. I felt like an idiot. I looked like shit. I took my lattes, thanked the barista, took one last look at those lips I've kissed and walked away.
Have any of you had a strange encounter with an ex-boyfriend or lover?
2 hours ago