The best combination I can conjure up for running into an old flame is to do it when you least expect it AND you look your best AND you’re on the arm of a gorgeous man who clearly adores you.  Even two out of three wouldn’t be that bad.  The killer is when you run into an old flame when you least expect it AND you look pretty rumpled AND he’s sitting with a new blonde. 

This morning I meant to put on some mascara.  I planned on brushing my teeth.  I even went so far as to pull out some clothes that were only half way down in the hamper.   It never occurred to me that I would run into an old lover I wanted to see.  I was very happy to see him.   I just didn’t want to see him in this state of disrepair.

As I opened the door to the coffee shop I rarely go to (I was purposely trying some place new in honor of my New Year’s resolutions) I saw him instantly.  He also saw me and seemed thrilled.  I waved enthusiastically and then turned my back.  He was clearly on a coffee date and I didn’t want to approach him and his new friend.

Luckily, I didn’t have to.  Our lattes came up at the same time, and I found myself chatting happily with Straight Shooter over at the coffee counter.  Mmmmm.  He looked divine.  He always did.  This beautifully tall, slim, older man sunk his teeth into me the second I saw him the first time.

Straight Shooter and I met for oysters at a local dive bar near his house last spring.  We had flirted a bit online and decided that that would be our first date.  He showed up in plaid and glasses.  I arrived in denim and heels.  Both of us looked damn cute.

After I came upstairs to his apartment that night and put on his underwear and T-shirt so we could use the building’s Jacuzzi, we both knew we would end up naked in each other’s arms later that evening.  We were wet and kissing and I lifted his soaking T-shirt over my head and off my torso even though any of his neighbors could see me if they peered out of their balcony blinds.  He told me the next morning that my line: “Let’s go upstairs and fuck” was the best of the evening.  Dare I say he had me at “Hello”?

Our affair sputtered on in typical fashion when neither party is willing to give up the sex or make enough effort for there to appear to be anything more.  Our nights included wine, frozen yogurt, basketball (he’s a fan—I’m not), my writing, light chit-chat, and heavy foreplay.

We accidentally ran into each other the first time at Opening Day of baseball season.   He’s tall enough to be noticed in a crowd.  He’s also good looking enough for a double take.  Looking adorable in pigtails and my team’s jersey, I spied him easily and waltzed up to him and stood on my tiptoes for a warm, delicious hug.

Today’s hug came after his ho-hum coffee date left in her Lexus.  He complained that she was his age and looked it.  I silently agreed and told him he looked great.  He asked me to text him so he would have my phone number again.  He asked about my writing, admitted he had tried to find me online, and caught me up on his life.

The thing about Straight Shooter is that he’s so fucking charming that it’s easy to get caught up in his bullshit.  He seems sincere.  He seems genuinely happy to see me.  He appears delighted for our freak chance meeting.

Peering into the coffee shop’s bathroom mirror, I realize that I don’t look all that bad with no make-up on.   I’m in my sweats and a hat—but it’s a very cute hat and my slim hips show off nicely in fleece.  As far as running into Straight Shooter goes—it could have been better and it could have been a whole lot worse.

I love the attention of men.  Memphis Blues isn’t coming around the way I’d like, so I’ve reached out to Crocodile and we have a date Saturday night.  It will be a sleep over date and I’m excited and nervous about the prospects.  There are a couple of other men who have expressed interest, so I’m nurturing those situations by sending playful texts and nearly nude snapshots.    I figure I should be able to pique the interest of Straight Shooter enough so that we end up naked again in the near future.  I know how to be alluring when it comes to sex and men.

Just like I can conjure the image of the perfect situation where I run into an ex-lover who I wish wasn’t such and “ex” anymore; I can get very attractive, very desirable men to sleep with me.  They come back hungry, wanting more.  What I cannot seem to figure out is how to get them to fall in love with me.  That will be my task for the New Year.  Turn the corner.  Get on board.  Work the magic.  That’s my resolve.