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The Man with the Golden Tongue

He had a golden tongue. She had never been treated to such a gift of language, of persuasion, of flattery. He could sweet talk the shirt off of a freezing man’s back.

And wasn’t she basically freezing? Her husband, God love him, provided well enough, helped her manage the kids well enough, was dutiful in many ways well enough, but romance was not his strong suit; paying attention to her was not his strong suit; sex was not his strong suit. She was out in the cold, all right. And she had been for many, many winters.

But this man, this new man, was dashing, elegant, mannered, attractive and, most importantly, was very interested in her. It felt at times like he could hardly stay away from her. And he noticed everything, her hair, her shoes, her blouse, her jewelry. He was so attentive. And he was so sexy. It wasn’t long before his comments about her necklace were laced with how the bright silver laid against her delicate, smooth skin or dangled in her mesmerizing cleavage. His praise for her blouse included how ove1whelmed he was with her sumptuous figure. Her eyes, he swore, were deep pools in which he could dive deeply, never needing to emerge for air.

Such a chance meeting, in the grocery store, A discussion about 2% milk. Innocent enough. Safe enough from this very nice man. How that chance conversation in passing became coffee after the groceries were purchased, she didn’t quite know. She just knew that she was thrilled. She felt alive, more alive than she had been in 15 years before her first was born. And shockingly, phone numbers were exchanged, emails were exchanged. She had quickly launched from flirting in the dairy aisle to cavorting with this tall, dark and handsome man.

Within a few short weeks, their furtively arranged liaisons to do no more than sip coffee, taste a pastry and share conversation (he assured her) became longer and harder and far more involved goodbyes at their parting. She felt like a kid again. Their first kiss was electrifying. The first time he brnshed against her blouse set her on fire. Now, neither could barely leave the other alone.

When he begged her to meet him, not for coffee, but far from the public eye, her answer exploded over the phone. “Yes!” She could not contain herself. Their rendevous was quickly arranged. Their meeting, their bonding, was everything she had fantasized it would be. Afte1ward, as they rested in each other’s arm’, she knew she was in love.

There was just one problem. She was married. Actually, there were two roblems. He was, too.

The dreadfully boring march to antiquity that was her life had rapidly tu ed into a joyful train wreck.

Michael Manely