Note: This post is intended for mature readers regardless of age.

He’s pretty much the hottest guy I know. Probably the smoothest too. And I slept with him. Again. And, I loved every minute of it.

“I’m gonna need you not to just do this man once a year around the Holidays,” she told me.

And I agree. I like her idea of once a quarter, but I’m not sure that my life allows for such a decadent schedule of escape. And it would be an escape; a rabbit hole away from my path to something darkly magical and seductive.

And another thing, I don’t know if he’d want me around once every quarter. That’s a lot more often than our history has allowed since high school.

See, this very hot, very smooth guy is an old high school buddy. Not a best bud, because we ran in different crews; but someone I shared a connection with. We were friendly; we were interested. He and I had one date. And as dates in early high school go, it was a good one. I kinda though he’d ask me out again. I didn’t realize he was waiting for me to make a move, and my consistently friendly approach didn’t cut it. And to be fair, from his perspective, it was a pleasant hands-off, non-commital attitude. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. He thought about talking to me, but he didn’t have my number. I didn’t give it to him and he didn’t ask for it.

Ah. There’s nothing like the memory of high school awkwardness to bring two adults together and transport them back in time to a place and time when anything could have happened.

There was so much low hanging fruit for our taking, we just didn’t know it or see it, or think that we could indeed take it. And I’m probably describing me more than him at the moment. He had his own orchard of fruit; and he was busy harvesting. Remember, I told you we ran in different crews. We really had different friends, different lives; but there was enough between us, just enough, that we saw each other and invested in the opportunity to think there was a chance that we could bridge the divide.

We could probably imagine it more like our orchards shared a fence line and every now and then, we took the time away from our fruit harvesting to share a chat and hold hands, each still on our own property but willing to reach across for a shared connected moment.

It still very much feels that way. Different friends. Different lives. Still investing in the opportunity, in the chance, to bridge the divide.

We reconnected on the other side of college, marriage and everything that comes after. First it was online chatting. Then it was coffee. Shortly after, there was a magical evening where I hauled off and kissed him, just because I was so happy in that moment – with him, with me, with us.

And you know easily a kiss can turn into sex…

He is a beautiful soul and I honor our amusing, awkward history; our periodic delicious-and-decadent present; and whatever the future holds.

I hope that it offers more time at the fence to hold hands, and less preoccupation with the fact that we’ve always been in different orchards.