“It rings at the door of his house. She’s another woman.”

First day

I am German, but I have lived in France for more than half of my life. I was in a relationship for twenty-four years, I had two magnificent children, an exciting job as a researcher. I had this happy existence that I hardly dared to dream of. Our couple moved away, the desire melted and we separated.

I signed up for dating sites for older people, like DisonsDemain. I contact and meet a few men. It works for a bit and then it stops. On Pascal’s profile, there are a few sentences that caught my attention. I don’t particularly like him in his photo, but he put a picture of a Volkswagen van, and I like that. This bodes well for a vacation opportunity and a freedom-filled mentality.

“He rings at my door. He is in advance. I do not like it very much. I didn’t pay much attention to my clothes. »

Pascal is not subscribed to the site. He can only send me likes. He does it almost every day. I’m starting to think to myself, “Poor guy, what do you want from me?” I can’t do anything for you. He ends up paying to be able to trade. I realize that in fact I had already been in contact with him, he was under another pseudonym. He gives me the usual chatter, “your profile interests me”, all that. He pushes for us to talk on the phone. I don’t really like his voice. I don’t like people who speak slowly, whose end of sentence you have to wait for. His voice is soft but drawling. I don’t want us to spend weeks writing novels, I prefer that we meet quickly to see right away if it fits physically.

He rings at my door. He is in advance. I do not like it very much. I didn’t pay much attention to my clothes. I leave my house and I find no one. Where is he ? He had however told me to be downstairs, it seems complicated to me. I see a not very well dressed gentleman with a small dog appear. He has a red mountain jacket, shapeless jeans, long gray hair, he doesn’t look like his profile picture. He looks at me.

“Is it you who have an appointment with me?” », I asked. Yes it’s him. I find it weird, this man with this tiny animal. We go for a walk. A complicity is set up, in the conversation and also in the walk, walking and getting closer through the puddles of the path. I notice that he limps: it’s not very promising for me, who loves mountain hiking so much.

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