Between the lines

He’s running off the rails, full speed ahead.

A few years prior to the pandemic, I was lost in the selfish paradise I had created. I sometimes think if it as a reward for surviving a series of uncontrollable, gut wrenching losses followed by walking out of a 32 year dysfunctional marriage. So pandemic dating didn’t seem like a big deal: get the vax, wear the mask and get to know men without the pressure of physical intimacy. That’s what I told myself. I had some nice outdoor dates, even a few dinners. 
Until I met T. 
He was an affable, funny, 67 yo gentleman who worked as an nurse anesthetist who was also a prolific painter, and played guitar. He told me he was recovering from an “unexpected” divorce; she gave no reason, just left after 25 years of the good life they created. The night we finally met for dinner, I was opening the door of my vintage convertible and the key snapped in half, so we walked to his house nearby in the quaint seaside village. He tried calling an Uber because his car was at the bar several miles down the road where we met earlier in the evening. But, we discovered much later that night that Ubers don’t come to quaint seaside villages at night.
It all seemed innocent at first, no pressure, a fabulous massage and oral sex for both of us. But at one point he said, “I think you will be my next addiction”. Tamping down the bile that started rising in my gut, I tried to put that statement out of my mind in the coming weeks because that night I fell in love with the sound of the train that whooshed behind T’s backyard and the mesmerizing feeling of multiple orgasms.

The next morning 
Me: Riding in his unkempt, badly dented Mercedes, I was looking around the rumble and picked up a short straw, “Is this a coke straw?”
Him: “Uh yes, I’m actually on leave from work and in rehab. I was planning on telling you”
(Don’t freak, he’s trying to do the right thing. That is what I told myself.)
Me: “How did you get wrapped up in coke culture at your age?”
Him: “I was trying to kill myself because someone extorted $6000 from me after I sent a dic pic to a woman online and 
I was worried about my reputation getting destroyed”
Me: <speechless>

Second week
I accompanied him on a plein air painting excursion followed by a romantic seaside dinner.
Me: “Todd, you smell like cigarettes. Didn’t you say you quit two years ago? I’m a cancer survivor so smoking is a deal breaker for me”
Him: “My rehab counselor, saw me sitting alone during the break and said if I was going to get to know anyone, I’d have to take up smoking”
Me: <speechless> 

Third week
Me: “I have burning sores on my labia. Do you have something you need to tell me” 
Him: “My ex wife always had cold sores, see I have one on my mouth right now”
Me: He had seen his ex in over a year, who else is he seeing? Thankfully, the doctor at Planned Parenthood said the culture revealed it was an unusual case of Herpes Simplex I. Therefore, one treatment of Valtrex was all I needed and I was not worry about transmission once the sores healed because I wasn’t about to get pregnant and besides, 80% of the world population has already been exposed to HSV1. He chuckled at the thought that at age 63 I had never been exposed. Planned Parenthood was there for me in college and as a health care professional, I appreciated their candidness and anonymity. 
Maybe Todd was telling the truth? 

Fourth week:
He was back at work, and the sores were healed. He invited me over his house for dinner for a special announcement. He made soft shell crab and oysters on the half shell, served with champagne. Cooking was just another one of his super powers.
Him: “I’m retiring”
Me: “Didn’t you just return to work?”
Him: “ Well, it’s more like a forced retirement.”
Me: <speechless>

The whooshing sound of the train stopped me dead in my tracks. I turned around unexpectedly, kissed him on the cheek, walked out the door and never looked back.