A few days past, I found myself in the throes of a pain crisis. My physician was summoned, administering a potent morphine infusion that sent me spiraling into a deep slumber. After nearly two days of rest, I emerged, renewed. My appetite returned, and the promise of brighter days ahead filled me with a renewed vigor. As always, I sought solace in my sanctuary, my study. There, I took up my notebook and began to write.
The setting was a grand real estate Exhibition and Congress, the exact date lost to the annals of time, but most likely nestled between the late 80s and early 90s. The beauty of such gatherings is the reunion of old friends. It was there I reconnected with my university comrades, our bonds as strong as ever. It's worth noting that I've been the most financially successful among us, but I wouldn't dare label any of them as failures. Each has carved out a respectable professional path.
In the midst of our jovial banter, a familiar voice rang out, "Goldilocks." My gaze was drawn to Dania, or "Goldilocks" as she was fondly known. Her melodious voice echoed, "James, won't you greet me? Have I wronged you in some way?" Memories of our college escapades, where I was known as "Fat James," flooded back. "Hello, Dania, as radiant as ever," I replied. "You're always such a charmer, James," she retorted. The buzz around us was palpable, our friends and former colleagues couldn't ignore the undeniable chemistry between us.
To provide a brief snapshot of our university days, Dania and I were the pair everyone assumed would end up together. Yet, there was never anything more than friendship between us. Despite her flirtatious advances, she always rebuffed me. We came close to becoming something more, but it never materialized. After graduation, we each embarked on our separate journeys.
Dania was a beauty in college, but seeing her now, she was nothing short of breathtaking. Petite, standing at 1.5 meters, with porcelain skin and sapphire eyes. Her golden curls framed her face, her petite figure accentuated by her small, well-proportioned hips and a pair of legs that would make any model envious. Her professional success was evident.
After a brief exchange under the watchful, teasing eyes of our friends, we arranged a dinner date. The venue, an exclusive portside restaurant, not far from our hotel. We arrived together, sharing a taxi. She was a vision in a short cocktail dress that only amplified her beauty. As we settled at our table, we began to catch up. She inquired about my life, and I shared my journey as a widower, managing my company and raising my children. She revealed her status as a divorcee, childless.
As the night wore on, fueled by dinner and a few drinks, our conversation deepened. "Have you ever considered starting anew?" she asked. "No, my focus has been my work and my children," I replied. "What a pity," she sighed. I played along with her flirtatious game, but she soon realized that I was no longer "Fat James." I was now Mr. Williams. As the night drew to a close, we decided to return to our hotel.
In the elevator, en route to our rooms, an awkward silence hung in the air, the tension palpable. Suddenly, Dania leaned in, planting a kiss on my lips. She whispered, "It would be a shame if after all these years of playing, we didn't score like we used to in college." Without a moment's hesitation, I swept her into my arms, leading her to my room.
We found ourselves at the same stage of life, and we took care of each other beautifully. Her physique was enviable, her black lingerie accentuating her figure. We made love like a pair of infatuated college students, our passion unyielding throughout the night.
As dawn broke, we awoke, entwined in each other's arms. She looked at me, her gaze intense, "Why did we have to wait 20 years?" she asked. "Perhaps because back then, I was Fat James," I replied. "No, it was never that. I was afraid of falling hopelessly in love with you," she confessed. In response, I kissed her.
"And now?" she asked. "Now, we return to our lives. We both cherish our freedom," I replied. "Promise me something, James. If we're both still single, we should do this from time to time. You can't deny our chemistry is exceptional," she proposed. "Agreed," I replied.
The remainder of the conference proceeded without incident, our usual banter and jokes punctuated by a few promising business opportunities that we shared.
In the hazy passage of time, whether it was a year or two after our encounter, I can't quite recall, a letter arrived. It bore an invitation, a call to celebrate the union of Diana and her former spouse. Their love had been rekindled, and the news of their impending parenthood was enclosed in a tenderly written note. My obligations at work held me captive, preventing me from attending, but I ensured a lavish wedding gift was sent in my stead.
The connection Diana shared with Goldilocks, I always believed, was more of a carnal dance than a romantic waltz. We were two companions, bound by an insatiable hunger for intimacy, nothing more.
As I secure the cap onto my fountain pen and close the worn pages of my notebook, I allow myself a moment to savor the burn of the whiskey. I ready myself for the embrace of sleep, yet I can't shake off a wistful longing for the vibrant days of my university life.