Sandwiches

Sandwiches

When I was 22 I read a poem that changed my direction in life. It was 'Cycle' by Ron McKuen. The lines that kept coming back to me for days, weeks, and even months after were, ‘Only lonely men know freedom. Love, as lovely as it is, still ensnares. Is it better then to be on the outside in the dark and free, or caged contentedly, yet still looking out beyond the bars’?

Was I lonely? I really think not. I had great friends who shared great adventures with me. I had access to some very interesting, and very sexy young women.

But was I really happy? I wondered.

I remember thinking about just what made me happy. I enjoyed the respect from my fellow adventurers. I enjoyed the intimacies from the young women I knew. And, as I always had, I enjoyed a good sandwich.

But I noticed that some of my friends had one thing more than me. And they seemed to cherish that one thing more than any of our adventures. They had a partner, a friend with benefits, a soulmate. They had a wife.

One day, in a remote location with no outside influences, I decided to map out a possible change in the direction of my life. I decided to consider a real, lasting, relationship.

But I knew from my own past experiences that a pretty face, nice tits, and a great little ass can make you overlook the big picture so I decided to make a check list. I even put together a grading system to go along with each category. From that moment on, if I had more than one date with the same young lady, I would begin to rate each category that might apply from each new encounter.

There was one young lady from my recent past at the time that did pass my testing system but she was in my past and too far away to rekindle anything.

I believe I mentioned that I like sandwiches. I’m a pretty darn good cook, if I say so myself, but I’m not really into big meals. Give me a loaf of bread, some kind of meat and cheese, a jar of Miracle Whip and I’m good for the day.

And I do know how to keep a place clean, do my own laundry and even iron my own clothes.

I never really cared for my mother and didn’t want another one. And I didn’t want a maid either.

Two years later and more young ladies than I’d expect you to believe, I had a blind date. I didn’t want to go on that date and I found out later that neither did the young lady. But one of my co-workers and her best friend at the time decided we should meet.

Looks, check! Personality, check! Intelligence, check! Religious beliefs, check! Sex, check. And on down the list, check, check, check!

We married three months after that first blind date almost 47 years ago. Besides all of the wonderful sex, I remember our first moment of incompatibility. I don’t know if it was one of the first days after we wed but she had prepared a complete meal with a roast and several sides. I had been at work and when I came home, I just wanted to get that sweet young thing back in bed. But she smiled and suggested we eat ‘food’ first. I noticed the table with the roast and other stuff, got out my loaf of bread and the jar of Miracle Whip from the fridge and made a couple of sandwiches, ate them, and waited for her to eat whatever she had on her plate and pulled her back into the bedroom.

After our sex, I noticed that her feelings were hurt. I knew that she’d gone to some amount of trouble to prepare the meal but I also knew that pretending to be something I wasn’t wouldn’t be a good thing. I think that was the first, of more than one, time that I said, “I don’t want another mother”.

In looking back, maybe we should have written our own wedding vows? I might have included, ‘not my mother’, after ‘I take you to be my lawful wedded wife’.

Now I’m sure that the vows were the standard ones. Hey, we weren’t paying that much attention, we just wanted the legal document because she wouldn’t just live with me.

Now I don’t know if I ever gave thought to the vow, ‘forsake all others’, or not. I know that I’ve never been the jealous or possessive type and don’t think I was back then. I was always more of the ‘save the last dance for me’ kind of guy.

We were married around three years when really good friends, a couple we’d known for a couple of years, explained how being friends can involve more than just good conversation.

And that experience led to similar experiences with three other married couples and one single guy and his girlfriend.

I remember the single guy asking me for a repeat, but with another lady friend of his. I, of course after discussing it with my wife, agreed. I knew that she liked the guy and so did I. I don’t think he even told me what this other girlfriend was like because it didn’t matter. We liked him.

A couple of days before the date, he said that the girlfriend couldn’t make it. We were really disappointed but told him we understood.

Did I mention that I like sandwiches? I look back and realize the err in my ways at the time. I should have simply said that it wasn’t a problem and that he should come by himself. I loved my young wife. I loved her being happy. I loved seeing her enjoying anything that gave her joy. I believe that I would have enjoyed being one of the slices of bread as much as she would have enjoyed being the meat and cheese.