Of Choices Made and Paths Taken

Before parting ways, we checked out the bikes at Princeton. Briana liked what she saw, though she wasn't quite ready to plunk down a grand or more for a decent road bike. "I'll stick to just running with you for now," she said.

We did more than just run. The following week, following dinner out, we again repaired back to my place. This time, we got intimate, a "natural" progression from the week before. Beforehand, in my shaded bedroom, Briana made it a point to tell me two things. One, she had had her tubes tied. And two, she hadn't been intimate with a man since Mathew took a turn for the worse, when his cancer-ridden body could no longer tolerate solid food. In short, she'd been "stint" for over two years. For months, even the thought of getting intimate with another man had given her guilt pangs. "But then I'd remember what he said shortly before he died," she revealed. "He practically made me promise that I'd find someone else, someone to make me happy. And please don't get the wrong idea. I'm not ready to jump into a quote, SERIOUS relationship just yet. But so far, Jacob, I've loved being with you, talking with you, sharing my life with you. And now I'm about to share my body with you. I feel the time is right. Do you?"

I did. Those big elephants began to leave the room, leaving me free to pursue what I wanted, what we both wanted. Briana turned me on, always had. Mathew's a lucky guy, I'd say to mutual friends. Thou shall not covet, says the Tenth Commandment, and that includes another man's wife. I never did, not exactly, though I couldn't deny being at least slightly envious at times. We all keep fantasy material, and Briana, when she was dating Mathew, might have been part of mine. If so, their marriage put an end to any fantasies I once harbored. From then on, it was never in my wildest dreams, as the cliché goes. Well, what took place in my bedroom was no dream or fantasy. This was reality, Briana and I in the flesh, striped and ready.

We started off in the same way we climbed that hill out Oregon Ridge, slow, even tentative. Long foreplay wasn't my usual forte, yet that first time with Briana proved the exception. Hands and tongues wandered and probed. We were new to each other, in this sense anyway. My imagination ran wild with thoughts of Mathew looking down, seeing a friend making love to his pretty wife. Also, would Briana compare us? I admonished myself for these mental lapses, doing my best to stay focused, as focused as Briana appeared to be. Warm and sensual, she gave no sign that her thoughts were anywhere else but on me, expressed in deep, long kisses and endearing phrases. "I love the way you hold and touch me," she said. "You make me feel safe and secure."

"Thanks, that means a lot to me," I said as I lay diagonally on top of her, running my tongue over her nipples. "I hope I can always make you feel safe and secure." What was I saying? I had no intention of marrying the woman. "Always" would be another man's job. Dwelling on that wouldn't do either of us any good, and I tried to push it aside. She deserved my undivided attention. However, she didn't quite get it, for during the love making that followed, thoughts of Mathew crept in. I simply couldn't shake the feeling of making love to the wife of a guy who was once a close friend. His image kept popping up like some cardboard figure in a carnival shooting gallery. I'd "shoot" it down and moments later his image would reappear. Even so, I managed to keep enough focus to please and be pleased. I loved Briana's body type, tight and compact, with a narrow waist and boobs on the small but firm side. Her fresh, clean scent and smooth skin didn't hurt either, and neither did the way she responded, with warmth and affection. Me being tall and lanky, we were less than a perfect fit anatomically. We were living proof that different body types can still be in sync.

"Our first time and you made me climax," she said afterward. "That's a good sign, Jacob. I never climaxed my first time with anyone, Mathew included."

Naturally, I was pleased as we lay in bed, holding each other. Again, my mind wandered—Mathew, it was always back to Mathew. "Where are you at?" she asked, seeing that faraway look in my eyes.

"At the best place I can think to be—in my bed with an amazing lady."

She raised her eyebrows in a look of skepticism. "You look distracted."

I brushed it off. "And you look beautiful."

"Thanks." She began to play with my cock, flaccid and covered in bodily fluids. "You've made me a glutton for seconds. Think you can accommodate?"

"I can and I will."

And I did, bouncing her up and down while sitting on my desk chair. I was a novice at this position and found it incredibly exciting. She gripped the back of the chair, adding leverage and thrust to her bounce, while I sucked on her boobs and rubbed her smooth, meaty thighs. I just loved the way they looked dangled over my lap. Again, she climaxed, falling forward into my arms. Lifting her up with my cock still inside and her legs wrapped around me, I placed her back on my bed, then wedged between her legs. "Now it's your turn," she said, opening her legs wider. "Bring it home, baby." Bring it home I did less than a minute later.

Afterward, as I drove her home, Briana said she was glad that I decided to become more than just her personal trainer. In fact, it wasn't a decision so much as something that just happened. Some of us fall deeper into relationships that we once vowed to stay out of or at least to remain close to the periphery. Such was the case here, my reservations notwithstanding. We became an "item," dating each other exclusively, doing the usual things that mature couples do. That included sex, always at my place. Briana didn't feel comfortable doing it at her house, even if her kids stayed with their grandparents. That was fine with me, because I still felt the presence of Mathew's ghost between us, no matter what we did. Make love to Briana in the bed she once shared with him? No way.

'We passed that summer lost in love,' as the song goes, but it wasn't beneath lemon trees. We went to movies, restaurants, classical music concerts and took day trips to the beach. When Briana bought a road bike, we filled our backpacks with food and cycled into the countryside to picnic. Once we took her kids along on a bowling date. Things were going great; that is, until early fall when she dropped the C word: commitment. We were lingering over coffee and dessert at a Greek restaurant. "Please don't feel I'm pressuring you, Jacob," she said. "But, as you know, I'd like one day to remarry. My kids need a man in their life full time. Not just any old man but one that makes ME happy also, one that I love and one that loves me."

"Sure, no pressure," I said after swallowing a bite of rum cake. "But you want to know if I'm free next week to look at rings. Right?""

She doubled over and smacked the table. Sharing lots of good laughs is another thing we had going for us. "Good one, Jacob," she said after she recovered. "But seriously, I love you and if I'm not mistaken, you've told me you feel the same."

"You bet."

"Okay, so I've been thinking that you're that designated man and that one day you might be able to commit to me in a big way. If you know what I mean."

Of course, I knew all too well what she meant, and it was something that I still had a problem with. "Let's see how things go," I said. "We've only been intimate for a few months." This wasn't a complete dodge because I too felt there was a chance, albeit remote, that I might one day be able to commit.

She smiled and took my hand. "That's fair. I love you, Jacob. I can wait."

But for how long? I didn't ask, didn't even bring it up again. She didn't either, not until late winter. "Maybe we could at least look at rings," she suggested. "Not set a date, not even buy a ring. Just look at rings. You know, take it one step at a time."

To me, that one step would be the start of that thousand mile journey that I still didn't wish to take. Briana didn't hide her disappointment, yet was willing to give me more time. By early spring, the strain of incompatible goals and expectations began to take their toll. We bickered more than we agreed, cried more than we laughed. She was ready—I wasn't even near ready. We broke up one rainy night sitting in my car in front of her house. Our eyes from crying were as wet as my windshield. "Maybe we can one day be friends," I said.

She shrugged and wiped her eyes. "I don't know, Jacob. Somehow I doubt it. But maybe."

Aside from a few subsequent phone chats, we went our own way. During the end of President Clinton's first term, she remarried. Her name had changed to Ruddick-Wollman. A couple years later, I did as well, to Margie, a once married gal who had a grown son. Years later, Facebook allowed me to peer into Briana's life. We weren't "friends," but her page was chock full of photos and postings. It appeared that she was doing quite well for herself. She was still married and still worked at her photography business. Heather and Rachel, both married, had two kids each. Heather worked as a pharmacist, Rachel as a graphic designer. Robert appeared to be single and worked in his mom's business. I could see a strong physical resemblance between him and Mathew. Dad would have been proud of each of them; proud of Briana, too, for being so strong, for holding things together.

If you're wondering, dear reader, if Briana and I ever crossed paths since our breakup, wonder no more. We did, on the Super Tuesday that elected Donald Trump President of the United States. We lived in the same district, big enough to where we had managed to avoid each other until then. She was entering our polling place, a middle school, as I was leaving. Our eyes met, we flashed a look of surprise in unison and then chatted for awhile against a wall near the entrance. She still looked good, a little heavier and a little grayer but firm for a gal in her sixties. She spent several days a week in the gym and even climbed the hill out Oregon Ride on good weather weekends. Most of my premature graying hair, what she once called sexy and distinguished, was now white and half gone. We had both given up road running for cycling and light treadmill work.

Normally, meetings like this go no further than catching up on mundane matters. This one went further, back to our relationship, back to those difficult few months before the breakup. "I still think about what could have been," I confessed. "Margie's great and I'm reasonably happy. But, well, you have qualities I miss, that I wish she had."

"Okay, since we're confessing, I'll make one of my own," she said. "Phil's a special guy. He took on baggage that not many men would, including you, and I love him. But he doesn't have your intellectual depth or sense of humor, especially the latter. You made me laugh. Him? Eh. Plus, he's not in such great physical shape. Obviously, you still are."

"I try. You know, Briana, we make our choices. Life goes on. And we're doing okay. But do you ever wonder what your life would be like if Mathew hadn't gotten sick?"

"I try not to. But yes, once in a while. I'm not sure if I'd be much different. My kids, on the other hand, might. After all, Phil helped raise them and he's the dad they've known for the last twenty years, longer than my first marriage."

"Life is so unpredictable, isn't it?'

"Yes. I mean, I didn't count on my beloved Mathew dying at age forty. We were so compatible. Truth to tell, Jacob, you're the only guy I've met since that could compare."

I reached out and hugged her. "I'm so sorry I couldn't commit to you."

"Don't be. Like you said, we're both doing well. Obsessing on what could have been gets us nowhere. We must stay focused on what is and make the best of the choices we make and the paths we choose."

I nodded, my arms gripped around her shoulders. There wasn't anything left to say. I sensed she knew that. Still, we kept staring at each other, neither willing to be the first to let go. She must have read my mind. "Yes, Jacob, you can kiss me. I'd like that very much."

Oblivious to the people around us, I closed my eyes and pulled her body close to mine. Then we kissed the way we once did, deep and passionate. For a brief shining moment, the years seemed to melt away. The way she felt and smelled—it was almost as if we never parted, as if the door to share our lives for the rest of our days remained open. "Oh, Jacob," she sighed when we pulled away. She started to say something else, then shook her head. "Look, I better get in line before I start crying. You take care, okay?"

I told her to do the same, then stood frozen in place, watching as she made her way toward the queue of people waiting enter the booths, her words about paths and choices echoing inside my brain.