Flavor of the Week: The Intermittent Older Man
When I was 12 years old, my dad introduced me by saying I was 12 going on 30. Im nearly 23 now, but my dad still sees me as his little girl. If I am mature for my age, I guess its fitting (and more acceptable) that men in their forties find their way on my dating schedule. And its been one man in particular who allowed me to be confident in that conviction.
It never made me nervous to see Eric 37. I was only nervous this last time because I hadnt seen him since Id learned to finally let go of my reservations.
I first met Eric on a ski trip in Colorado a few snow seasons back. Eric 37 is how I saved him in my phone: The distinct age helped remind me he wasnt like the other Erics I knew.
This particular trip was a daddydaughter one, and I was only 19. Its a favorite of ours to unwind at the apres-ski bar, and wed just ordered a bowl of spinach-and-artichoke dip. You could smell it from the top of the gondola, and it caused the man behind us to sit up and lean over.
Taste as good as it looks? he asked. Sure does, my dad replied. Here, have a try. And, with no regard for being complete strangers, he twisted back with the plate of dip.
Too kind. Im Eric, and youre right: too delicious.
The tongue that cleaned his lips intrigued me as much as his straightforward approach. Hands took turns at shaking and, as Eric 37 held mine that extra, intimate second, I began to discredit the dip and consider the fact that his true motive may have been that Id just unzipped my jacket.
His ski trip companion, Debbie, was a life-long friend, with a similar kindness and vivacity. As the sun dipped behind the mountains, the conversation and sexual tension increased. I noticed Erics focus on my youthful smileconstantly responding to his humor. It was a unanimous decision that we would all regroup for dinner, and later we decided in favor of meeting on the slopes the next morning. Our daddydaughter duo had become a foursome.
Deb and dad are skiers while Eric and I are snowboarders, so when one trail veered for boarders, neither of us hesitated to ditch the old-fashioned pair. In a tweaked version of romance, Eric and I plowed through the powderhim frequently teasing my lagging. I liked it, and would throw back sass, suggesting hed had years and years (and years) behind him. And he liked that, too. I joked that Id taken my first steps as a baby when hed first mounted a board. Plus, his thinning hair worked in an aerodynamic advantage. For the rest of the day, my playful banter kept him on the edge of his chairlift.
That evening, the four of us put our swimsuits on and traveled to Strawberry Park Hot Springs. It was dark, but the moon lit up my intentional striptease. I knew why Eric 37 had recommended we go for a dip.
The steam from the 104-degree water obscured everyone, so when Eric slipped away from our huddle, I felt a subtle tug to follow. Our getaway went unnoticed as we made it to a ledge. It was just the two of us in the steam, under the moon. I felt nervous in our privacy, sensing how young I actually was for the first time all day.
And then he did it. I knew he would.
He leaned in for a kiss.
I backed away. He knew I would. So he leaned in more.
I just couldnt do it. Its OK to want to kiss me, Eric said. Its not: My dad is right there. Right where? Eric countered. We cant see anyone but each other. Youre beautiful and scared. Its OK: You can kiss me.
I cant. Im sorry. We went back to the others and later said our goodbyes. But I got his number and stored it in my phone: Eric 37.
When I interned in New York the following summer, Eric and I would meet for drinks often. This is Eric, my uncle, I said when I introduced him to my friends.
He hated it, but it made him laugh, too. In retribution, hed hold my glance that extra, intimate second, like hed done before. I hated it, but it made me smile. I felt secure in his company. He valued my youth; I was impressed by his nerve. But the night always ended the way it had before: I cant; Im sorry. When I went back to school, I was giddy at his phone calls. When I traveled for months in Southeast Asia, I was giddy at his emails. After returning from my travels and returning to New York, I felt I had shed my naive layers. I was empowered, fueled with passion, endlessly inquisitive and explorative. I felt in control of the woman I was becoming. Id learned to be more intrigued than afraid of things unknown, trying everything onceoften twice.
When my incoming call read Eric 37, I was quick to answer: Uncle Eric! He said hed already reserved our table:
Be there at 8.
We looked at each other in the same way we had that first time, as if it were just us, under the moon, surrounded by steam again. We shared our characteristic jokes and smiles. He understood my introspective victory.
And then he did it. I knew he would.
He leaned in.
I held his glance for two extra, intimate seconds. And then I did it. I kissed him back, like he said it was OK to do. And I liked it.
In that second, the remaining girl in me completely vanished. It was as if Erics lips sucked her right out of me. It wasnt that I felt like that hypothetical 40. It was that I felt like myself.
Eric 37 is still penciled into my dating schedule. But I dont call him Uncle Eric anymore. ------
Read more of Stacy Tasman's writing at [stacytasman.com]