I’m finally with the far-away-boy, for five days. It’s snowing. I don’t know what we’ll do with the weather, dinner with his daughter tonight, I guess, and maybe climbing indoors tomorrow, or a bit of skiing if he can think of a place to go in the forest where we have some visibility. And we’ve got many activities we can do in bed.
Last night we tried out massages. He’s got a real table and a book about erotic massages. We paged through it together. All very odd, but still sensual, and made me realize that he thinks about that sort of thing. We love sex, and we love sex together. So we tried sex on the massage table. We’re like rabbits, teenagers, people in some movie that no one would believe because old people like us can’t really be into sensuality that much. I love touching him. I love being touched by him. Would anyone look at a couple of fifty something old farts and imagine us going at it every chance we get?
The radio is playing Pennies from Heaven. He leaves a jazz radio station on all the time that I’m here (no idea if he does that normally, but probably). He’s beautiful. He makes me beautiful. I look in the mirror and I see someone in love, and she’s pretty, and happy, and I wish her the best of luck.