My name is Dean. I am 32[M], 6’2″, brown hair and blue eyes. I’m taking a walk down memory lane. Back in the day, I was a water polo player. You get the idea. Lean, toned, v-cut abs, etc. These days, I look like I retired from the pool to lift weights, nap, and drink beer. Ya boy got a bit thicker. It happens. However, THIS story is from the glory days.
I met Sara when I was 23. We have mutual friends. Married people seem to hang out with other married people, and in this case, I was invited along to liven things up and generally be that wild and single 5th-wheel. Sara was 28, whip smart (with a freshly minted STEM graduate degree and a promotion), and very married. Basically, she was a functioning adult with her shit together. We kept in touch for the next two years. She would tell me about being a grown up and I’d regale her with my stories of debauchery and sin. Still married, though I eventually heard rumblings of discontent through the grapevine. Her husband never quite warmed up to me. Weird.