Watching Jason* finish his water from across the room, I felt an unexpected surge of desire, despite having only met him that very day. When he placed the glass down and approached me, the tension was palpable. His kiss felt electric – one of those moments you instinctively know will lead to something more. I happily led him to the bedroom, where we shared what I can only describe as brilliant, passionate sex. Yet there was one complicating factor: this intimate encounter happened immediately after a funeral.
A Complicated History
This marked my first experience of a one-night stand following a funeral service. Remarkably, I believe it was some of the best sex I've ever had. The funeral honoured a man named Nicolas*, whom I'd known since childhood through his work with my father. Our families were close, with Nicolas and his wife Anne* frequently joining us for dinner gatherings.
Through these family connections, I became familiar with their two sons: John*, who was ten years my senior, and Jason, who was fifteen years older than me. While I knew John reasonably well, his brother Jason lived abroad in Austria, meaning I only glimpsed his life through occasional social media updates.
A Tragic Turning Point
The summer of 2007 brought devastating change when John died in a sudden accident. My parents attended his funeral, but I remained at home, never getting the opportunity to offer my condolences to his grieving family. This tragedy profoundly affected Nicolas and Anne, who withdrew into their grief, causing our families to gradually lose contact over the following years.
My only remaining connection to them became Jason's social media presence, where I observed from afar as he relocated to Greece following his brother's passing. Meanwhile, my own life progressed: I embarked on a journalism career, entered a spontaneous marriage in my late twenties that ultimately ended in divorce, and began raising my two children as a single parent.
Reconnecting Through Loss
After losing both my parents, I felt compelled to reconnect with Nicolas, believing it would help me feel closer to my mum and dad. Despite years of silence, when Nicolas agreed to meet, our connection felt immediate and familiar – his eyes still held that characteristic sweetness, and his warmth remained undiminished.
I began visiting Nicolas and Anne monthly with my children, rebuilding those familial bonds. Then, last year, Nicolas passed away, creating another profound loss that felt like the last living connection to my own father disappearing. Heartbroken yet grateful for the chance to pay my respects, I attended his funeral completely unprepared for how the evening would unfold.
An Electric Encounter
On a warm August morning, I dressed in my only black outfit and headed to the church service. Seeing Anne understandably distraught, I noticed the handsome man supporting her and immediately recognised Jason. Now in his forties, the resemblance to his late brother was striking – the same height, facial structure, and distinctive grey eyes.
When I approached to offer condolences, he surprised me by kissing both my cheeks, causing me to blush unexpectedly. At the wake, we managed to speak more substantially. "My brother talked about you all the time," Jason revealed. "He said you were a real handful." The attraction I felt was undeniable, and our conversation gradually shifted from memories of the deceased to our personal lives.
When I shared that I was divorced and raising two children alone, he regarded me with such genuine interest that I felt butterflies all over again. The mutual attraction became increasingly apparent, so when I found myself in his car as he drove people home from the wake, I didn't object. He offered to take me home last, and during our mostly comfortable silence, I reflected on the unfortunate timing of our first proper meeting.
From Water To Passion
Once we reached my building, I suggested he come upstairs for a glass of water. In the elevator, I desperately wanted to kiss him, though my rational mind scolded me for considering such intimacy with a man who had just buried his father. Yet once inside my flat, everything changed. Our passionate encounter felt incredible, after which we simply lay together in satisfied silence.
Eventually, Jason rose to return to Anne's house, and I agreed this was the sensible choice – he should be with his grieving mother. Walking him to the door, I waited hopefully for him to suggest meeting again, but he said nothing. Initially disappointed, I gradually reconsidered: perhaps this night represented exactly what we both needed – a temporary distraction from grief that required no further definition.
An Evolving Connection
A week later, however, Jason called to ask me out for a drink. Since that call, we've been dating regularly and enjoying what I would describe as good, fulfilling sex. I wouldn't label it a traditional relationship, as we've never discussed exclusivity; instead, it's what modern dating terminology might call a situationship that currently suits both our needs perfectly.
While I never imagined finding intimacy at a funeral, this experience demonstrated how human connection can sometimes help process grief and stress. Our encounter allowed us to momentarily soften each other's pain, proving that sometimes, people navigate profound sadness through the most fundamentally human of connections. Two individuals dealing with loss found unexpected comfort in one another, creating a memory that transcends conventional expectations about appropriate behaviour during mourning.
