I had no idea what Carla looked like. We had chatted on Facebook and I had a vague recollection of her as a young child when we grew up together in a close-knit and conservative part of Dallas. Our Facebook chats were light-hearted but deeply engaging. The one phone call we had was similar. “Maybe we could meet up some time,” Carla suggested. I was quite happy in my marriage and not looking for anything to happen but I reasoned that it would be nice to reconnect with someone from my past, someone I didn’t know in depth, but who I found fascinating, none-the-less. We exchanged text messages and agreed to meet at a Starbucks halfway between the cities in which we each lived. Since I had no idea what Carla looked like, as she kept her social media presence very low key, I told her she would have to hunt me down and make herself known. I sat down on a couch at Starbucks and surveyed the room. A few minutes before our scheduled meeting time, I spotted Carla as she wandered into the coffee shop. I recognised it was her, because she sported the family trademarked blonde hair and good looks. I sat still, a şişli escort bit taken aback by her beauty. She had a Kate Hudson-like body that turned heads. I stood and we instantly connected – exchanging hugs like old friends. I gave her a light peck on her check, which made her blush. “Oh wow!” she said. I took a pace back and smiled, as I looked down at her feet and slowly worked my eyes up her bodacious body. “Nice shoes,” I remarked. Carla laughed. “Fuck the foreplay,” she whispered. “Oh… my… gosh. You’re not a bad looking guy yourself.” Carla fanned herself in a fake attempt to cool herself off. “Thanks,” I replied, “but time and gravity have a way of catching up to me.” Carla reached forward and grabbed my forearm. “No,” she said, “I’m serious.” I looked into her eyes. She had the most beautiful blue eyes. “Do you really want coffee, or would you like to go somewhere else and maybe chat a bit?” Carla asked. “Why don’t we start with coffee?” “Sure,” she responded and sat on the couch. Her above-the-knee-skirt barely covered what needed to be covered, as she crossed one leg mecidiyeköy escort over the other. If Carla wanted to get my attention, she sure knew how to do it. “What will it be?” I asked. “Whatever you’re having.” She flipped her long blonde hair back over her shoulder and winked as she answered. At the counter I ordered our drinks and then settled back on to the couch. “You know,” I nervously began, ‘you’re not what I envisioned.” “You neither,” Carla responded. “So what were you expecting?” “Older, heavier, maybe a pot belly… I don’t know,” Carla responded. “I’ve met some of the folks from our old neighborhood and most have aged quite well. You seem to have kept it all together.” “Number sixty-eight,” the barrister called out. I looked at my ticket. “What’s our number?” Carla inquired. “Seventy one.” “You couldn’t get sixty nine?” she teased. While waiting for our drinks, I did my best to stay focused, but her uncovered bare thigh was too damn distracting. Carla was in the middle of a nasty divorce and had just relocated to live with her sister. We chatted about her soon-to-be ex-husband. “We’re miles apart. He is on one planet and I am on a totally different one.” “Frustrated?” I asked. “You don’t know the half of it,” Carla replied. The barrister called our number and I stepped up to the coffee bar and grabbed our drinks. I turned and Carla was standing right behind me. “Sorry,” I said, bumping into her. I handed her one of the cups and she took a quick sip. “Come on,” Carla beckoned, “Let’s go sit in my car. I’d feel more comfortable chatting in private.” I followed her out to the parking lot and sat in the passenger seat of her Lexus SUV. “Wow!” I remarked, settling on to the plush leather seat. “A Lexus.” Carla didn’t seemed moved by my compliment. I glanced at leg as her skirt settled high on her thigh. She made no attempt to move it or readjust its length. It was as though she either didn’t care or was totally oblivious. “You know the hardest part?” Carla remarked as she continued her husband bashing, “It is the lack of intimacy.” “Uh oh,” I thought, as our conversation took a seemingly dangerous turn. “I can handle stupidity, dishonesty, snoring, and bad habits, but I have to have intimacy,” Carla pressed on. “How can you have intimacy with someone who you don’t trust, and with someone who doesn’t otherwise meet your needs?” I asked.