An “Old Soul” – that’s what my English teacher called me. My peers spelled it “S T R A N G E.” Whatever anyone wanted to call my inability to fit in, I called it “painful.” I didn’t enjoy the parties and sleepovers, playing spin the bottle or truth or dare, but longed for meaningful conversations and opportunities to learn. Always the intellectual, I was labeled “geeky bookworm” at an early age. Wearing glasses by the fourth grade only served to substantiate that label.
I had been gifted or cursed, depending on how you looked at it, with a keen awareness of others’ feelings. But, even the most blissfully ignorant would have seen my peers didn’t understand me. Feeling their disconnect resulted in me withdrawing further into my shell. I didn’t know how to engage or relate to the other kids my age. I didn’t enjoy the usual lunch table chit-chat or gossip. What was the point of it? So, I sought refuge within myself, becoming deeply introverted and introspective. However, something inside me craved an intimate connection with another – a kindred spirit.
I was also a romantic at heart with a huge fantasy life. I didn’t realize until later the significance of my fantasies always containing older men. Despite my other differences, I felt the same sexual awakenings and urges as my peers. My shyness hindered my interactions with boys, so I explored these cravings on my own, masturbating to my own romantic fantasies. Eventually, boys reached an age where my boobs overshadowed my oddness. And I did have a great set of boobs.
After years of solitariness and now desperate to connect with someone … anyone … I engaged in sexual activities even though the emotional attachments weren’t there. Pricks my age, hurriedly jabbing me with their pricks, left me lonely and unfulfilled. They would roll their sweaty bodies off my unsatisfied one and go on their merry way, without a second thought to me. I longed for something deeper. But boys my age weren’t about anything more than getting off as quickly as possible. They could only emotionally connect to their precious cocks. So, I retreated back into my head each night, playing out my love life in my dreams. A grown man's face always gazed upon me in these fantasies, as I touched my breasts or slid my hand into my panties, pretending it was him touching me. He would whisper sweet somethings to me after we made love.
By twenty, I turned to the online world for companionship. I started writing as a way to express myself, hoping to find a connection that way. One day a reader messaged me asking if I wanted to chat. His name was Richard. What did I have to lose? So, I engaged with him. Surprisingly, he began asking lots of questions about me. Not the typical, “How old are you?” or “What kind of movies do you watch?” He dug deeper. “What makes you happy?” No one had ever asked me that question before. I told him learning and exploring made me happy.
Our conversation grew from there. We quickly switched to the phone after finding it hard to chat with the volume of information we were now sharing with each other. When I asked him questions, he responded with a page of information, not the typical one-sentence answers I was used to receiving. I heard his age in his voice but didn’t ask that question. He had not asked my age yet either. For me, over time our ages became the elephant in the room. We discussed everything but our ages. Maybe, we were both afraid to face it if the difference was great.
The time came to meet in person. We decided to meet in a quiet park. I couldn’t bare watchful eyes of the public witnessing my initial response to him. I felt it would be intense. I was right.
As soon as I saw him walking towards me, I sucked in my lower lip and looked at the ground. My feet shifted uncomfortably. Even when he was right in front of me, I couldn’t raise my eyes to look at him. I think I was afraid to see his response to me in person. Would our incredible online connection be there in the physical world?
He knew how I was feeling and pulled me into his chest, hugging me. I squeezed him tightly, afraid he would disappear if I let go. After some time, he lifted my face to look me in the eyes. It was at that moment, I first noticed his wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. To me, they signified his experience – his worldliness. His lines around his mouth showed me he had laughed a lot. He would have stories to tell and I longed to hear them. I would end up calling his vertical lines between his eyebrows his WTF lines. Those deep furrows told stories as well. And most importantly, his wrinkles made me feel safe. He knew things I didn't. He had learned from mistakes and could possibly spare me from making the same ones. He was a grown-up - something I was still struggling to be.
~~~
While other college students were at frat parties and ballgames, Richard took me to plays and museums. I loved every second we spent together. I could never accurately describe all the emotions stirring inside when I was with this man. I had felt it in my dreams and pinched myself to make sure it was real now. Sexually, he took things slowly - just kissing and light petting. Kissing was so different with him. Boys didn't understand what a man knew - kissing is a foundation for intimacy, so don't brush past it.
As we spent quality time together, he acknowledged my intelligence and respected it. We discussed our beliefs about life. I felt understood by him and accepted. My heart beat faster before each meeting with him. No one had affected me this way before.
The time came when he invited me to his home. As soon as we were inside, he kissed me – a slow, deep, meaningful kiss. Richard always kissed me first. And I was a girl who needed to be kissed first before touching proceeded. He led me by the hand to his bedroom. It was dimly lit, with the covers turned down. He gently lay me down on the bed with him. Pressing his forehead against mine, he studied my eyes, my soul, fully seeing me. He lifted his chin to connect his lips with mine. It was such a soft, unhurried kiss.
