I fell in love with her that night. She invited me to the opera. Her husband had no interest in going, though he said he would if she really wanted him to. Instead she texted me, knowing that I love the arts and had been to the opera many times. That’s the beauty of open marriages – you can find partners to spend time with doing things you love to do that your primary partner isn’t into.
I booked a bed and breakfast through Airbnb. A wonderful suite with a four-poster bed, antique furniture and large banks of windows covered with satin curtains that let in the light but not the wandering eyes. The pre-show sex was… amazing. I’m sure the neighboring rooms heard us. I don’t see how they couldn’t. We were mad, tender, vigorous and noisy. It was perfect.
After showering we dressed, her in a stunning green dress and me in a sport coat and black collared shirt. We went downstairs and drank wine and ate a few snacks before walking arm in arm through downtown to the Steven’s Center for the show. The venue was gorgeous, a sea of red velvet curtains and gold accents. The crowd was bustling, the air energized with anticipation for the all-star cast.
I sat next to her that night, her warm hand in mine, filled with the euphoria of an experience I never would have dreamed possible a few years prior. She was young, almost twenty years my junior, and yet an old soul who I’d never seen as anything but my equal. Her brunette, goddess length hair, her ocean blue eyes and a voluptuous body that filled her dress in a way that would draw the attention of men of any age.
When the show ended and the crowd stood in thunderous applause, I clapped loudly, not just for the performance upon the stage, but for the theatre of life that had blessed me with such an evening. My heart soared, filled with balm and belief, the sorrow and strife of the past forgotten in the perspective of this snapshot of perfection.
I fell in love with her that night. Every smile, every laugh, every applause, every step along the pavement of the city. I’d cared for her from early on in our relationship, but that night put a brand upon my heart that will never fade. It was an experience beyond any other, which I still routinely reminisce about. I don’t know if she understands just how much that night changed me, healed me, returned to me a piece of my soul I long thought stolen and irrecoverable.
Her name was Sarah. It means “Princess”, but she’s more than that. She is a Queen, ruling over my heart with a scepter of passion. I will forever bow before her grace, and her presence will live on within my soul until it returns to the dust from which it came.