And I didn’t think of him in that way, since he was dating my mother. He was younger than she was. Even though he was a couple of years older than I was and extremely nice, fun to be around, and handsome, I didn’t think of him as anything other than one of my mother’s boy toys. He seemed to be more style than substance, which pleased my mother. She would date men like this in an attempt to deceive herself that she was aging. I never knew if the men were dating her for her money, for her advanced sexual techniques she flaunted about in her conversations, or for the fact that she put out. I don’t mean for that to sound bad. Men have a habit of knowing which women are easy to bed. Even he has said, “Men are like electricity. We take the path of least resistance.” Of course, he said it with a twinkle in his blue-grey eyes and with a smile playing on his lips. I have always found him to be the most handsome, the most charming, and the most aggravating at these times. I’m torn between wanting to kiss him and wanting to smack him as hard as I can.
