Confessions of a MILF

Bonnie's large blue eyes teared. She dabbed at them with a napkin. Then she started to speak...

For some reason people like to tell me things.

Why, I don't know.

Maybe because I keep my mouth shut and listen.

And I don't judge.

At least out loud.

Last spring I listened as a woman I barely knew talked about her life in another state. She referred to herself as a "MILF".

It was a new term to me.

I'm not 17, so I can be forgiven for not knowing the suggestive meaning behind the acronym.

For the person who was just rescued at sea after 5 years: MILF means "Mothers I'd Like to F**k".

This woman --let's call her Bonnie-- came to Chicago. She and I had to work on a project that involved her company and mine. We had to see clients together.

Between appointments, we talked. Eventually the conversation turned personal.

"What would you think of me if I told you that my daughter's boyfriend told me he wants to sleep with me?"

I was shocked. Our prior conversations had centered on business only.

"Bonnie, I don't know. How old could this boy be?"

He was older than her daughter by a year; he was 24.

There was an uncomfortable silence. The waitress asked if we wanted anything else.

"Do you know what a 'MILF" is, Rich?"

I confessed that I didn't.

Bonnie didn't sleep with her daughter's boyfriend, but she confessed that she did sleep with a friend of her daughter's boyfriend.

"I wanted to," Bonnie said, slightly defiant. "I needed to."

I finally asked Bonnie why she was telling me this.

"Because I'm not alone out there," she said.

Probably not.

I think of my parents and my grandparents when they reached their late thirties and forties. It was a different world, and if the black and white photos I have seen are any testimonial, it shows a much older thirties and forties than woman today.

Forty may be the new 30. At least for women. Men don't seem to be aging as well. For men, who spend too much time plopped on the couch watching sports, forty is the new 60.

This was Bonnie's problem. She and her husband of 23 years were not close anymore, physically. " I just want him to touch me, to hold me," said Bonne.

I said nothing.

"I slept with him. He was nearly half my age. Do you think that's bad, Rich?"

I shook my head. Bonnie took that for a "no".

Bonnie's eyes teared again. Bonnie was attractive, blond haired, and very smart. She had written a book and was now a business owner.

"I don't feel guilty," she said. "Just confused. I need to be close to someone. "

Ironically, Bonnie's husband is a marriage counselor.

Bonnie emailed a while after she returned to California. She had gone to a family funeral and had met a childhood sweetheart. She told her husband that she was filing for divorce.

A few months went by.

I had told Bonnie that she seemed to still love her husband. She had none of the disgust and anger that characterizes most failed marriages. I just flat out told her that I think she still loves her husband. She didn't deny it.

She had taken that to heart, apparently.

She emailed one day and said she was back with her husband and trying to repair their marriage.

I thought that was good. She seemed to still love him.

A short time later I received another email. Bonnie and her husband had agreed that they couldn't repair the damage and that both had agreed to "move forward".

Bonnie then married her lost love childhood sweet heart. In the space of six months Bonnie had left her husband and kids (one still a minor) and had moved in with her new love in Texas, filed for divorce, tried to reconcile with her husband, and then married her new love.

They are married today, living in Texas.

Soon Bonnie will be back in town. I hope the topic of conversation will stay on business.

Bonnie is an attractive woman, like many woman in their forties, and I wonder if they find the temptation just too much. I wonder how long she will be happy with her childhood love when so many young men will catch her eye?