Sometimes

not very often

after the summer was over and we had resumed our normal lives, I would visit my summer lover. These visits were always a disappointment and only confirmed that summer lives

and loves

are very different from normal lives. We discovered that we did not have much in common, after all. Our friends, activities and interests were so different that, absent the commonality of summer, we had very little to share.

Eventually, reality set in and sadly, I recognized that the love-of-a-lifetime was over. To this day, however, I have each name inscribed on my heart. Regina, Naomi, Carol, Susan, Karen and Sally are names that will live with me forever, because these were my summer loves.

Even now, some 40 years removed from those carefree days, I still feel sadness and loss as summer turns to fall. I think of my summer romances and of the thousands of young people whose romances will soon be over despite valiant efforts to keep them alive. To this day, I feel the loss that they will soon feel.

...but that is in the past...or is it?

My name is Dennis Johnson, a 58-year-old man from Minnesota. I own a business, which provides consulting services to new and struggling businesses. It is true that I own the business, but I am the only employee. My staff is made up entirely of independent contractors who work out of their homes. This means that my business office is anywhere I happen to be, and with the ubiquitousness of wireless internet, that often means sitting on a park bench with my computer while people

girl

watching.

I divorced my wife, Julia, 15 years ago after our only son, Brien, turned 18. I grew tired of the way she babied him. At the rate he was going, he would be a dependent on Mommy and Daddy for years to come. Ever since Brien was born, Julia and I dreamed about traveling after Brien "left the nest". The dream faded with every dollar the kid squandered. He was

and still is

his mommy's baby boy and dependent upon her for almost everything.

As the time and distance from my domineering wife and needy son grew, so did my fortune. I took care of them, beyond even what the divorce court ordered, but not in the lifestyle that they would have liked. As a result, I was an outcast in my own family.

I have not had a romance

summer or otherwise

since my divorce. I have had sexual partners, just no romances. Last spring all that changed, and at 57 years old, romance again entered my life. To understand the story of this summer romance, it is necessary to go back about seven years, to the middle of a Minnesota winter.

Just before Christmas that year, I was surprised to read an article in the local newspaper announcing Brien's engagement to Tatiana Lakova, a woman from Russia. I figured some Russian babe was trying to get a permanent visa to stay in the USA and Brien was her ticket, but, since he was an adult, and would not take any advice if I offered it, it was none of my business.

I got another surprise when Tatiana called me one day soon after the first of the year and asked me if we could go out to dinner to get to know each other. She said that Brien was not interested in coming, but she felt it was important for us to become acquainted.

I was intrigued but suspicious; if she had ulterior motives in marrying Brien, she did not need to strike up a relationship with me. Still, she may have discovered that I was well off and could be using this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone: get her green card by marrying Brien, and build up a nest egg by getting friendly with me.

I did not know if she drove or not

hell, I did not know anything about her

, so I suggested an upscale, quiet restaurant near her apartment.

When the date came for us to meet for the first time, I dressed business casual: starched white shirt with no tie, blue blazer and khaki slacks. I arrived a little early and while I waited, I tried to figure out what to talk about. If she wanted to buy business-consulting services, I would have had no problem, but this was my future daughter-in-law. Not only did I not know what to say, I was not convinced that this was not a set-up for a swindle.

When she walked into the dining room, I knew immediately it was Tatiana. When we talked on the phone, she said would be wearing a red dress. As the maître de directed her to our table, I took stock of the woman who would marry my son. She had a very pretty face and brown hair cut fairly short. She carried herself with confidence, and even though she was slightly overweight, the dress was a perfect style for her shape. It showed a lot of cleavage, but not enough to be "trashy".

She appeared to be very tall, much taller than Brien was. As she came around a table, I noticed the four-inch heels that gave her additional height and made her legs and ass look very nice.

She was attractive, but in a few years, if she were not careful, she would look like a Russian Babushka

just as wide as tall

. I could not help smiling to myself thinking about how Brien would take it when her weight ballooned.

I stood as she arrived. She offered her hand and introduced herself as Tatiana Lakova. I took it, and in the style of the Europeans, kissed the back of her hand and introduced myself. She had a distinctive Russian accent, but it was very easy to listen to and understand; even a simple introduction sounded special.