It was the summer after my first divorce. After sharing your life with someone for the last nine years, it felt odd not to have him around. I was adjusting to my single life, slowly.
The phone rang early in the evening. It was a former student. He was in town from college and wanted to catch up. I had nothing better to do. “Sure, come over after I put the boys to bed.”
I was surprised at how “grown-up” he seemed. He told me of his adventures in the big city. His creativity had always amused me. We reminisced our trips to the beach of which I had been the chaperon. And laughed remembering the times that I wanted to send him to detention. He had always been mischievous but harmless.
Then something changed. We started speaking of life in the present. Of life in the here and now. He was an adult. A male adult. A man that was very much interested in more than just chatter.
I had never even kissed another man besides my ex husband. He had been my high school sweetheart. And now, there were these crystal blue eyes gazing at me.
I didn’t even hesitate. He was nervous, but I didn’t find out until months later. He opened Pandora’s box. And the summer of sin began.
I will never forget the fireworks of that fourth of July.