I overheard a couple talking in the diner the other day. They were both middle-aged, which, depending upon genes, attitude and luck, can be anywhere from 35 to 60. He was sort of a big, hard working kind of guy in a plaid shirt and jeans. She was petite and wore a flowered house dress under a tan raincoat.
They were pushing the remains of a western omelet breakfast around their plates as they spoke. At one point he placed his large, work stained hands over her smaller, dove-like ones and confessed, "I haven't been completely faithful to you."
She sat silently, looking down at their hands. "Go on." she whispered.
"I . . . uh, I fantasize about another woman sometimes." he explained. "I met her at work. She's a customer . . . we've never done anything. In fact, she doesn't even know I like her." He was silent a moment and when she looked up he looked her straight in the eye and said. "But I love you!"
The woman held his gaze, her face frozen and unreadable. Finally her eyes softened and the lines around her mouth relaxed a little. "I guess we're all attracted to other people." she finally said. "Remember when we went to the beach last summer?" she asked.
He nodded solemnly.
"There was a young lifeguard. He was tanned and muscled and when he walked he moved like a lion. His muscles flowing and rippling under his skin." she paused, took a sip of her cold coffee and continued. "I haven't been able to get him out of my head . . . I have fantasized about him every time we have made love since then."
Everyone in the diner stopped moving. There was dead silence. Finally, he leaned back and slouched a little, as if in disbelief, and asked in his soft, deep voice, "Both times?"
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