I’m no longer 18 – I’m 80

Ariel and I were sitting on the couch in our sunroom. We’d just finished watching a romantic movie on Netflix and were leaning shoulder-to-shoulder enjoying each other’s warmth. Before I knew it, we were kissing and nuzzling – not heading anywhere, just being.

When I was a teen, I sometimes had a frenzied make out session with a girl, but since we were both young and not yet ready for further intimacy, I had to settle for lips and passion and the occasional awkward groping on my part.

But now, I’m no longer eighteen years of age – I’m eighty. I don’t have the frenzy of youth, but I do have a depth of experience, not only with Ariel and physical intimacy, but also with the art of being where I am. I’ve become skilled at savoring the moment, without trying to get on to something else.

Ariel and I lingered there. I reveled in her palms upon my cheeks, her lips upon mine. The fire was a slow burn and my chest warmed as my body responded.

It doesn’t matter where we went from there. What matters is I was there for the sweetness of the moment while savoring that kiss.