Last night, I met my primary lover's parents for the first time. It wasn't something I was eager to do, as they heartily disapprove of my relationship with their daughter, but I did it simply because she asked me to.
She and I have been seeing one another for a year and a half, on and off. At first, she was nothing more than a casual fling to me. Indeed, when I first became aware that her feelings for me had deepened, my first reaction was to cast her away, to put her out.
However, I couldn't stay away from her. We soon resumed our relationship, after which I slowly acknowledged that I also had feelings for her, and one day I realized that I considered her my primary lover.
Despite the wide gap in our ages -- she is a year younger than my son -- we get along well and understand each other. With the typical open mindedness of the young, she accepts me as I am; that I have slept with and will continue to sleep with other women, even as our relationship together deepens.
As I stated in an earlier entry, I'd bought her a sapphire ring for Christmas to match her eyes. Because her parents would be visiting on Christmas Eve, before continuing on to her aunt's home in Atlanta on Christmas Day, we exchanged our Christmas presents early. It was a private moment that neither of us wished to be witnessed by others, the details of which I'll share at some time in my other blog.
Meeting her parents last night, though a tense, uncomfortable affair all around, went about as well as could be expected. Though I'm sure they don't approve of me any more now than they did before last night, there were no overtly ugly scenes.
Her parents were corporate conservative Republican, and I saw their eyes raise at my long flowing hair as I arrived, wearing the leather jacket she'd given me for Christmas. I ignored their reaction, just as I ignored the expression on her father's face, as she hugged me and gave me a kiss.
Inside the restaurant, the conversation was stilted, the atmosphere awkward as we endured a Christmas Eve dinner together. Inevitably, as they got around to asking my age, I thought her mother was going to choke on her steak when I told them. It turns out I am three years older than her mother.
No matter. I wasn't there to gain their approval. I was there to please her and to underscore a reality to them that they couldn't change. In both these purposes, I succeeded.
After the meal was finally, mercifully over, I went home alone for the night, to allow her some family time with them. I'm sure my evening afterwards was much more pleasant than hers, as I imagine they spent the rest of the evening attempting to persuade her to break it off with me.
Not going to happen.
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