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As promised to Robert, I put myself "out there" again. Over the next few months I joined two dating sites. The first was one of the more mainstream sites many of my friends had used over the years; the other was a site aimed at introducing adults who were into more alternative lifestyles and kink. I had a few nice, bland dates with some men from the first site but no sparks developed from any of them. The second site was filled with men looking for either one night stands, or men who wanted to "own" me despite the fact that my profile indicated I preferred independence outside of the bedroom. Most of all, at 42, I was discouraged by the lack of men my own age who were interested in dating women above the age of 30. Ah well, I mused, it was worth the try but perhaps it was time to shut down my profiles and take a break from dating for a while. It was leaving me frustrated and feeling more alone than ever. I also needed to start planning my summer. My twelve-year-old daughter would be leaving in a few weeks to stay with her father in London for two months. Frank had moved back to his native country after the divorce, and Addie stayed with him over the summer and winter breaks. He's a good father, and moving so far from his daughter has been very difficult for him, but his family business needed him. He visits Addie a few times through the year in addition to seeing her when she travels to him. Our fire died long ago, but Frank and I had parted as friends and continue to co-parent together amicably. I'd used the time apart from Addie the previous summer for an investigative journalism project I had wanted to do for years. It had taken me to southern Sudan to interview an international team of midwives striving to establish improved prenatal care and help lower the staggering birth mortality rates. The experience had been difficult but inspiring. I'd hoped this summer to begin a new project, but decreased funding for public radio had limited any new stories. In fact, I'd been encouraged to take some time off for myself while they aired a few weeks of my "best of" clips. It was just as well. My three bedroom bungalow was in dire need of a makeover. For years I've dreamed of a gourmet kitchen, complete with stained concrete counters, Mexican tiled backsplash, Viking range, and new cabinetry. I'd taken a class years prior on tiling, but the rest I'd need to contract out. In the end, I decided to take a "stay-cation." *** My Küçükköy escort bayan radio show airs in the late afternoon. This gives me time in the morning to walk Griffin, read the paper over coffee (I still prefer the crinkle and smell of newsprint over the glare of a screen), then go to the gym which is where I find myself now. I try to make it here at least four to five days a week, unless I have time to work in a hike instead on one of my days off. It's a large gym that gets crowded in the early morning, but by 10am the crowd starts to thin and there's no waiting for equipment. Today is no exception. As I walk in, I realize how much I appreciate the crowd that prefers to come here rather than some of the other flashier gyms. Although there are a few women that dress as if ready to go to a dance club, most of us prefer good old gym clothes and practical ponytails. Today, I'm wearing spandex capris that just go below the knee, a sports bra, and an old, comfy t-shirt with a picture of Lou Reed on the front. Its neck is cut out to help keep me cool, but I also know it attracts a little attention as it tends to slip off my shoulder during workouts. I've got my hair up in a sloppy ponytail, although other days I'll wear it down. Occasionally I run into a friend and socialize a little, but mostly I go in, work out, then hit the showers. It wasn't until the past year that I started to open my eyes and notice the men, and more to the point, notice them noticing me. It startled me at first, but if I have to be honest to myself, I enjoy the attention. More and more I find myself discreetly looking. There are many attractive men here, and seeing them taking care of their bodies and health is a turn on for me. My ex-husband is an attractive man, but took little interest in working out or taking care of his appearance during our marriage. After stretching, I head over to bench to use some hand weights. The wall in front of me is mirrored, allowing me to watch what's going on in the gym behind me. As I start some bicep reps, my sight locks on the one man here I can't seem to keep my eyes off of. Sadly, he's also the one man whom I'm apparently invisible to. I've been timidly watching him for months now, but he's never spoken to me, let alone even looked at me. Today would seem to be no exception as he takes a seat on the weight bench next to me and immediately begins to do his own bicep Escort Mecidiyeköy curls with hand weights that look ten times bigger than mine. I think about what else those strong, lean arms could do. I try my best to stare forward and complete my set, but as if with minds of their own my eyes keep gazing at his reflection while he stares straight ahead. As always, I can't get over how my body reacts to seeing him. I've never been attracted to "pretty boys." I like men looking like men, with character in their eyes and callous on their hands. He's tall, at least 6'2", with a lean, toned body. Despite no overt bulk, he exudes strength and quiet confidence. As usual, he's wearing long track pants and a long athletic shirt. His sleeve is rolled up a little and I can clearly see the border of a tattoo on his left forearm just below his rolled shirt cuff, although I can't quite make out what the design is. His short, disheveled hair at one time may have been a light chestnut brown, but it's now nicely peppered with grey. He has a strong, angular nose and soft lips perfectly framed by a well-trimmed beard, also dappled with grey. All that aside, it's his piercing ice-blue eyes under thick, expressive brows that catch my breath every time. Definitely not a "pretty boy." At this point I've lost count of how many reps I've done and I realize my arms are feeling like jello. In my head I coach myself, "Talk to him, say something... Anything!" Instead, I put my weights back on the rack and sulk off to the cardio equipment feeling a bit embarrassed for myself. I take my frustrations out on the spinner bike for the next 40 minutes until I'm breathing heavily and my t-shirt is drenched in sweat. Since I have the time to shower at home today, I left my car keys and wallet in one of the convenient smaller lockers that are along one wall of the gym. The lockers are the size of small cubbies, and stacked in columns of five. Of course, the only one available when I'd arrived was up top, so I find myself on tiptoes attempting to retrieve my keys and wallet when I feel someone kneel below me to get to their locker. A little annoyed that they couldn't wait until I'm done, I look down only to see those ice-blue eyes staring back at me intently. I open my mouth ready to say something but his gaze renders me mute and I clamp it shut abruptly. His lips twitch upwards a bit with my action, or inaction Merter escort as it is. He continues to look at me in silence, almost questioningly. I feel a flush begin in my cheeks and work down my entire body until my head feels light and my legs become weak. Staying on the ground looking up at me, he finally speaks, "I enjoy the days you wear your hair up." For a woman who uses her voice for a living, I can't remember how to speak but I also can't look away. He continues, his eyes looking straight in to mine, "We have been watching each other, haven't we?" I think to myself, "We have? You have?" Somehow I find my voice again, and quietly say, "I've never seen you looking at me." He grins a little and his eyes brighten. He teases, "So you admit then that you've been watching me?" I feel myself blush. Kindly, he continues, sparing me from admitting that what I thought was well concealed ogling was in fact blatant gawking. "I've enjoyed watching you over the months. " His smile drops a little. "Although it took a while for you to notice me." He pauses, perhaps to see if I'm ready to speak but I'm back to staring mutely down at him. His gaze slowly moves down my body until it rests on the waterfall tattoo spilling down the side of my right leg. "I especially enjoyed when you first came in with your new tattoo. It's a large piece; it couldn't have been easy for you." Gently he reaches out his hand and with his knuckle caresses the outline of my ankle bone where the waterfall crashes down on to some rocks. A deep shiver travels down my spine. "This area is very, very sensitive. It had to have been incredibly painful for you." Without thought to what I'm saying, I reply, "I can take pain." His smile drops altogether and his eyes widen. He looks up at me pensively. Slowly his tongue wets his bottom lip before he speaks again. "I like that." Once again my mouth opens but I can't speak. What is wrong with me? I feel my flush deepen and I hear him slowly let out his breath. He stands, just inches from me, and is now looking down at me. His voice lowers just bit as he leans in even closer, quietly adding, "The color on your cheeks is incredibly sexy." He pauses, then adds, "I may have to find other ways to bring it out." We continue to stand there, our eyes locked on each other's before he shakes his head a little and his warm smile returns. This small action puts me at ease and I feel my body relax and brain kick in again. I can't believe the effect this odd conversation is having on me. He reaches for his wallet and pulls out a card and hands it to me. On it reads, "Patrick Eberstark -- Master Carpenter," along with his bonding license number, phone number and email address. The card is warm, grainy off-white with deep brown lettering.