Postal Pleasures is an unusual Romance. It is about a divorced man, Michael, who was wronged by his ex-wife. He has moved on, or so he thought, and he was trying to get back to his center. It is about a beautiful, widow, Mary, living in the past, and denying herself all that life has to offer.
Author’s Note: Postal Pleasures is an unusual Romance. It is about a divorced man, Michael, who was wronged by his ex-wife. He has moved on, or so he thought, and he was trying to get back to his center. It is about a beautiful, widow, Mary, living in the past, and denying herself all that life has to offer. Mary doesn’t like Michael at the beginning of the story, or so it seems. The sex may be minimal for some and slow at arriving. Some might not like it for its lack of vicarious luridness.
After twenty years of marriage, my wife left me for a man she met while attending nursing college. I was the breadwinner for all twenty, and she was the “bored,” her words, stay at home wife for sixteen. That’s ironic, because she quit her job, shortly after we were married. She was a college student for the last four. My married life ended like a damn soap opera! The day the heartless harlot received her diploma, as a registered nurse, at fifty years of age, was the day she served me with divorce papers at her college graduation party in front of friends and family.
The trollop moved out the next day to be with her Registered Nurse stud, in their upscale lovebird townhouse. He is handsome to a fault; like a petulant male model. Lance has a full head of hair, perfect teeth and he is twenty-five years younger than the adulteress. He showed up the day after I was served to help her get her clothes and other personal things.
My sister, Sarah, and my brother-in-law had to restrain me physically, so I didn’t knock Lance’s perfect teeth down his throat. Sarah and I are two years apart, and we are very close. I always looked out for her, and I taught her dirty and lethal tricks to defend herself. Heaven-help any man who messes with my sister, because they will deal with me, assuming there is something left to deal with after my brother-in-law finishes with him.
I was brought up to treat women with respect. My mother and grandmother were strong women, who married strong men and raised strong sons and daughters. I thought we had a stable and comfortable marriage.
I tried to be considerate husband and open to her opinions and needs. I let the woman decorate our house the way she wanted it in flowery pastels and fashionable uncomfortable furniture, except for my wood-paneled den with my overstuffed chair and ottoman.
I paid for everything when she went to college. I paid for her plastic surgery and dental implants before she went to college. What a pile of dung! Look where being a considerate husband got me; it made me a cuckold and a chump. I didn’t see it coming, as my focus was elsewhere. Those last four years of my marriage were blockbuster business years for me; our sexual relations-lovemaking was tepid at best. In retrospect, I should have seen it coming. The adulteress played me for a fool, while I was true to my marriage vows.
Granted, I’m not a handsome man in any sense of the word. I have a receding hairline, and I keep my graying hair clipped short and neat. My hands are rough and callused from heavy construction work. However, I’m in great shape for a man of fifty. At six-two, I weigh one hundred seventy, the same as when I graduated High School. I’m a direct man, and often brutally candid, circumstances allowing, but I’m honest, and I always keep my word.
I gave the fornicatress certified Grade-A South Sea Island pearls, estate jewelry, from Metzenbaum Jewelers, on our third wedding anniversary. David Metzenbaum is one of the most honest men I know. She never wore them because they were “old and used.” Her idea of jewelry is anything new made of gold and diamonds, ostentatious flash and garish bling.
I discovered her further contempt for me when I found the necklace deliberately broken, and loose pearls scattered on our bedroom floor, on the day she moved out. There was also a note describing her sexual escapades with Lance in our marriage bed, plus a fresh urine stain, not smart, although my divorce attorney was delighted. I had the pearls cleaned and restrung, intending to sell them for a nice profit. I never got around to it though.
It was an acrimonious divorce. I hired an aggressive and ruthless woman attorney. My lawyer eviscerated the adulteress’s attorney, the boyfriend’s cousin. The harlot got half of the proceeds from the sale of our house and contents, except for the Bechstein Grand Piano. That was not negotiable, and she kept her jewelry.
In consideration of the fact that I paid for her education; in consideration for the income and pension she would have received from her job had we stayed married, the slattern signed off my retirement annuities and my business.
Do I sound bitter about my ex-wife? Hell yes, I was bitter! It would have been less painful had my ex-wife cut my healthy-beating heart from my chest with an Aztec sacrificial obsidian knife, and then to toss my body into an active volcano.
Two years after my divorce, I purchased a piece of property for taxes at the outskirts of town, One hundred acres with stands of hardwoods that included a modest two-story stone house and a stone barn. There is a spring fed pond on the property, emptying into a small creek, and an artesian well with sweet and cold water. I later discovered overgrown and potholed seasonal gravel road that ended at an abandoned gravel pit.
The structure and the foundations of both buildings were solid, and the most costly renovation was to the slate roof of the house. This required specialists in the building trade. I then brought the wiring and plumbing up to code. I painted the rooms in neutral, colors and purchased comfortable furniture. In time, I intended to put a concrete floor in the barn and a concrete driveway.
To celebrate being a single man again, I bought a motorcycle. It was a like new but used Red Harley Heritage Classic, and I visited some old haunts still open from my drinking and brawling days. The Black North, at Point Breeze, Lake Ontario was still open and was always my favorite.
I was wild for three years after high school, drinking, and partying in some rough bars and taverns. I worked for cash under the table at one as a bouncer-slash bartender. I eventually smartened up and joined the Army, where I put in my time and went to college on their dime. I’m not bragging, but let’s say I can more than hold my own, and there are no rules in a street fight.
Having a gravel pit on the property provided me with a source of crushed stone for the driveway and barn floor. In late October, I drove down to the gravel pit on my iron horse to check things out. It was my last ride before I stored my Harley away for the winter. It rained the day before, and I noticed a series of tire tracks leading to a narrow overgrown gully on the north side.
I walked in and discovered six heavy-duty plastic trash bags full of canceled junk mail. I used my cell phone and photographed the contents of two random bags I pulled from the pile. There are serious consequences, for Postal Carriers who don’t deliver all their mail.
The next day, I set up a surveillance of the road and gully with time elapse trail cameras to catch the person dumping the mail. I hoped it was my postal carrier because if it was, I had a proposition for her.
In mid-November, the cameras recorded her leaving another bag. I loaded the pictures to my laptop as evidence when I confronted her with my proposal. Before I confronted her, I called the security service I use when hiring potential employees. They provide credit histories, criminal records, and the like. Inquiries through the grapevine provided me with more information for her profile.
Mary Jones, my Postal Carrier was 42 years old, and a widow. She has outstanding credit, no debt, and her modest ranch house is mortgage free. Mary lived alone and didn’t have a boyfriend. According to my grapevine sources, Mary is polite and reserved. She is a woman who will broach no nonsense. I can attest to polite and reserved from the brief conversations I had with her on my front porch.
Mary is five-seven with a willowy and curvy womanly figure. As near as I could tell through her loose uniform, she had beautifully formed round breasts and a tight, round, compact ass. Mary has red auburn hair that she hid underneath her uniform cap. It appeared to be braided, although I didn’t know how long her braid was because of her ballcap. She has green eyes; a turned up nose and full, generous full lips, and a clear complexion many women would kill to have. She is a beautiful woman who plays down her natural good looks.
I learned Mary is an accomplished pianist and ardent reader. I was pleased to learn of her musical talent because I play and can read music. My Mother saw to that. My piano lesson started when I was four, and gradually tapered off when I was twelve when I took up for football, and I enrolled in Mixed Martial Arts. My father saw to that. At sixteen I discovered girls, and then it was girls and football, and the martial arts, provided I did well academically, but I digress. I learned Mary attends book club discussion groups at the Swan Library twice a week. Besides Music, Mary also is into antiques, flea markets, and community theatre.
A week before Christmas, on a Friday, I greeted her at my mailbox and gave her a sealed red envelope. The envelope contained a Christmas card and photos of her dumping the trash bag. The following Saturday evening at around six, Mary appeared at my front door and said, “Mr. Stone, we need to talk.”
I invited her in and asked her to sit down at the kitchen table. She took off her long puffy teal green down coat, hand-knit red hat, and sat down. She was wearing a baggy white cable knit sweater, and baggy faded blue jeans and pink moon boots.
She wasn’t wearing any makeup, but then I never saw her wearing makeup, and truthfully, she is beautiful with or without it. Perhaps it was because she didn’t have a man in her life, or perhaps not. Mary’s styled her hair in a single three strand braid down her back. It ended at the bottom of her pert ass. The braid was very thick although it tapered almost to a point the last six inches. I wondered what she would look like with bangs.
I offered her a cup of coffee or tea, and she declined. I sat down with my coffee, took a sip, and said, “I have you dead to rights, Mary, and I’m not interested in your reasons or excuses. You know the consequences.”
I slid a green envelope on the table and said, “I’ve written down my proposal. Six months from now, I’ll burn the mail, and bury the ashes. You may even enjoy our time together. I want six months of your time, mostly on the weekends, occasionally during the week if something comes up. Call it an adventurous tryst. You can trust me to keep my word.
I’ll give you a week to decide and get ready.”I stood up, and so did she, gathering up her coat, and not bothering to put it on. I showed her to the door and opened it. Mary walked on to the porch, and then turned and looked at me. “Well, Mary, what’s your decision?” She took a deep breath as if to say something, but instead walked to her Green Jeep Wrangler and drove away.
The next Saturday morning Mary arrived at her appointed time. I let her in and locked the door behind her. Per my instructions, she had styled her long hair in a classic braided chignon. She removed her down coat and was wearing a fitted white ruffled front silk blouse with a dark grey skirt.
Perhaps for the first time in her life, Mary was wearing a red lace garter belt to hold up her stockings. She was also wearing high heels, something she was unaccustomed to by the way she walked in them.
I opened the pocket doors leading to the next room and walked through.
Mary followed me in and went right to the piano and put her hand lovingly on it. She had an expression on her face as if fighting back a smile and said, “It is magnificent, Mr. Stone. This Bechstein is an Art Nouveau model in mahogany with contrasting wood inlays. I’m amazed you own such a thing. Did you purchase it for investment purposes; or is it merely an expensive ornament to stroke your leviathan ego?”
I ignored the sarcasm and said, “I know you are an accomplished pianist.
This piano was my Mother’s. It was a wedding gift from my father. I had it tuned for you. I can play. However, compared to you, I’m a clumsy amateur where the piano is concerned. I have callouses on my hands and dirt underneath my fingernails. My playing is anything but refined and mechanical at best. I can tell you appreciate what a fine instrument it is.
I want you to play this sheet music.”
Mary picked up the sheet music from the rack, looked at it, and asked, “You want me to play Rachmaninoff’s 3rd piano concerto? Can you play it, Mr. Stone?” She said, knowing what a difficult piece it is as she placed the sheet music back on the music rack.
I wouldn’t attempt playing Rachmaninoff in front of you at the risk of embarrassing myself,” I truthfully answered, “I tried after it was tuned.
You, on the other hand, are special, and I mean it as a compliment. You graduated from University of Rochester Eastman School of Music, my Mother and Grandmother’s alma mater. They were both music teachers. You have a Masters in Music, am I wrong?”
She didn’t answer except to say, “I have to take my shoes off first,” and Mary sat on the bench and removed her high heels. She began to play, and it was a privilege to watch her confident hands work the keys like a lover’s caress. There was nothing passive or shy about her aggressive and precise style of playing. Mary is more than an accomplished pianist. I looked at my large stubby fingers and smiled.
I then closed my eyes and let the music wash over me, each note a lover’s kiss. Her playing moved me, and when she finished, I said, Beautiful music is the art of the prophets that can calm the agitations of the soul; it is one of the most magnificent and delightful presents God has given us.”
Mary turned and looked at me. “You’re quoting Martin Luther. Did you recently memorize it for my benefit, and am I supposed to be impressed?”
“Despite my rough edges, I’m not without some refinement. My name is Michael. I have a Masters in architectural engineering from RIT thanks to Uncle Sam.”
“Are you trying to calm the agitation of your soul with me because of your vitriolic divorce, Mr. Stone?”
“I stand by the quote. What do you know about my divorce?” I asked surprised, perhaps a bit angry of what she might know.
“It is a matter of public record.” She replied matter-of-factly.
“Something tells me you know more about me than you’re telling me,” and I was thinking about the ex-wife’s graduation party.
“Perhaps, I do, and perhaps I’ll tell you six months from now.”
“Tell me now.”
“That’s not part of our agreement,” Mary replied, and she was right. Loopholes like this are what happens when amateurs like me draw up proposals.
“I’ll answer all your questions in six months if you do the same, agreed?”
“I’ll think about it, Mr. Stone But then, why should I. I don’t like you, Mr. Stone.”
“Well, being available as my lover and companion is part of our agreement, and all the stated and implied particulars thereof.” I walked into the front room, and she followed. I pointed to a spot on the floor in front of my leather chair and directed her to stand there before I sat down.
I was in control again. While Mary was standing there, I opened the waiting bottle of chilled Champagne and sipped a glass, while she slowly partially stripped for me. I stopped her when she is wearing only her stockings and garter belt and red silk lace panties.
“Come here and sit on my lap,” and when she did, I said, “Your nipples are hard, and you are blushing,” and I removed the hairpins from Mary’s bun and watched her braid drop down between her ass cheeks. I said, “Chantilly lace, my pretty Lady, and soon your ponytail will be hanging down.”
I was referring to her short red silk camisole and matching panties trimmed with Chantilly lace. “Your breasts are magnificent, sweet Mary. Is your delicious plump pussy, moist and welcoming? Perhaps I will taste your sweet nectar now, as an appetizer to what I have planned for us.” She didn’t answer. I chuckled and said, “Fine ignore me.”
Now I should mention, I picked out and paid in advance for everything she was wearing this day, ergo her appointments to some very exclusive establishments. I’m including everything she will be wearing when with me for the next six months. Mary will wear next to her skin, only the best garments and lingerie of fine cotton, cashmere, and wool, linen, and silk. There were to be more appointments to follow. The only thing missing were pearls. Silk and pearls complement the beauty of a woman, and her essence enhances their soft luster.
I took her hair out of the braid, and then ponytail, watching as Mary’s luxurious hair flowed long and silky to the bottom of her ass cheeks. It was very beautiful, and a definite turn-on.
“Do you like prime rib and fresh seafood?” I asked as Mary sat on my lap.
“Why do you ask, Mr. Stone?” She said, gaining her composure after realizing I didn't intend to be rough or harsh with her.
“I have late lunch reservations in a private booth for us at Delmonico’s. I will be wearing a dark blue suit, and it will be a pleasure to have you on my arm.”
“Do you mean like a date?” Mary asked, surprised I would do such a thing, “Delmonico’s is very expensive.”
“Yes, like a date, and if I asked you to go out on a date without coercion, would you have accepted?” and she didn’t answer, so I said, “You wouldn’t have accepted because, after five years, you’re still grieving for your husband, Life ….” She got off my lap and interrupted.
“How dare you!” and there was anger in Mary’s voice, and fire in her green eyes, “My private life is none of your business. Leave it out of this!”
I stood up and said, “You’re right, Mary, it isn’t my business. I’m going have my say, regardless. You loved your husband, and you miss him. I get it. Perhaps you feel betrayed that he died and left you. It is not your fault, or his either. You were blessed with a loving relationship right to the end. I envy you for it. For five years you have been true and loyal to that love and his memory.
My wife abandoned me after twenty years. I was true and loyal while she committed adultery. I should have seen it coming. It was a well-planned betrayal starting sixteen years into our marriage. If you don’t already know, I’ll tell you. She served me with divorce papers at her college graduation party with friends and family attending. She didn’t love me at all. It was all a lie. I was a means to and end. Life goes on. I’ve moved on.
Maybe you should too…..” and despite being practically naked, she slapped my face. What a little spitfire!
“You can go to hell, you bastard. How dare you tell me how to live my life!”
I smiled, my confession to her was a burden lifted from my soul, and I said, “Excellent, honest and passionate anger. I admire that. Tell me what you are thinking. Do you want to hit me again?”
I crushed her to me and kissed her lips. I then stepped back smiling at the indignant look on her face, adding to her anger.
She slapped my face again, and I said, “You taste delicious, and that slap was worth a kiss. You’re upset; get it out of your system. You have my permission to try and hit me again.”
Mary tried, and this time throwing roundhouse punches. I moved out of the way or blocked her fists with my palm so as not to hurt her. She took two steps back, glaring razor-sharp daggers, telegraphing her intentions with her posture and eyes and said, “Stop showing off! Stand still and let me hit you, damn it! Are you afraid I’ll hurt you, tough, guy?”
“I didn’t say I’d let you hit me, so don’t even think about kicking me where it counts. I get it, OK. You don’t want to be here. You’re here under protest, and I’m an uncultured bastard.
I suggest you make the best of it. Lovers shouldn’t be hitting each other in anger. I’m going upstairs to get dressed.”
Mary wore her hair up again in a braided bun. It was a classic and sophisticated hairstyle for her conservative attire. It was a quiet repast at Delmonico’s. I made sure there were two dozen fresh red roses on the table as the centerpiece. We didn’t talk at all, and she was obviously still upset.
On the plus side, my medium-rare prime rib with broiled sea scallops was fabulous, and the Caesar Salad as good. Mary ordered prime rib with twin Maine lobster tails but picked at her meal. I offered a few of my scallops for a piece of lobster, and she ignored me. Most of her meal went home in a take-out container.
After our late lunch, she played more Classical Sheet Music, and then I let her go her home early for the Christmas Holiday. There was time enough for the erotic delights I had in mind for us. She was to return on December 31st. She also left with written instructions.
Mary returned for our next tryst in the evening around four in the afternoon. She was wearing a short strapless black dress that accentuated her figure and long legs. For the next six months, stockings and a garter belt were mandatory. Mary was also wearing her thick, silky hair loose and free down her back.
It was blunt cut all one length and about twelve inches shorter. It was now delightfully waist length, and I was also pleased to see that Mary had long bangs that set off her green eyes. She looked mysterious and sexy with bangs, and she was the first to speak.
“Let’s get something straight, Mr. Stone, I don’t like you at all, and I’ll never like you, but I’ve decided to make the best of this situation. I’ll follow it to the letter, and to the bitter, bitter end, or until you tell me otherwise. I’ll be gracious and polite. I won’t try and hit you again; what’s the point. We will talk things out. You’re so predictable, and I know what you want.” Why don’t you sit down? I sat in my leather chair and Mary slowly undressed in front of me.
When she was completely naked, I said, “I made reservations for us at the Grand Manor. It will be my privilege to have a beautiful woman on my arm, you. We will celebrate with dinner and dancing to ring in the New Year. Believe it or not, I do know how to dance.”
I got up from my chair with the glass of Champagne, and said, “You are a beautiful, talented woman, Mary Elizabeth Jones.” I held up the glass to her lips, and we shared a glass of Champagne. “You asked me if you are here to calm the agitation of my vitriolic divorce. The answer is yes, in part, and then I heard you play, and I stand by the quote. You slapped me, twice, and I had it coming, but not for kissing you. Your generous lips are meant to be kissed and kissed often.
It was a burden lifted from my soul when I confessed to you about my marriage and divorce. I’ve never told anyone how I’ve felt. I’ve kept the rage and angst it bottled up inside of me. I never intended to tell you at all. You called me a bastard, and maybe it’s true in your eyes, but I’m an honest bastard.
I dropped the glass to the floor, and I lightly kissed her lips. Getting behind her, I kissed her neck and shoulders while I gently caressed her perfect firm and round breasts, rubbing her silky tresses on them. I felt her nipples harden at my touch. I commented on the fact of her arousal and watching her blush, with pleasure, I hoped. I lightly stroked her plump shaved pussy, a nice surprise, and nothing I asked her to do. I whispered my plans for her, oral and otherwise, enjoying the sweet musky wetness of her arousal, and then I abruptly stopped.
I reached up and put my hands on her shoulders, gently turning her to face me and said, “There is no time for that now. I adore your haircut, and you look incredible with bangs. They set off your emerald green eyes. They were on fire when you slapped me. Do you know what I say about women with green eyes, I say, “She beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.”
“Composing herself, Mary said, “You didn’t say that first. Give Shakespeare his due.”
“William Shakespeare is not here now. I’m doing the wooing in his place, and I want to arrive early and pick out a good table. I’m going upstairs to my bedroom; you may join me, or you can get dressed down here.”
We arrived early enough to get a great table that gave us a good view of the room, close to the dance floor, but away from the speakers. As we watched the people arrive, a married couple recognized Mary and waved. “I heard Mary mutter under her breath, “Oh, just great.”
They walked over to our table, I stood up, and then Mary.
“I didn’t know you are dating, Mary,” the woman said smiling and hugging her, “That explains your haircut and wearing your hair down. You’re keeping secrets from me, but good for you. It's about time you moved on. I’m glad you’ve finally taken my advice. Are you going to introduce us to your gentleman?”
“Michael Stone, this is Ann Bennett, and her husband, Joe. Ann is a front desk clerk at the Post Office, Michael, and Joe is a retired postman. I took over his route a year ago.” I shook Ann’s hand.
“This tough lady sure did,” Joe said proudly, shaking my hand with a firm, friendly grip. “It is the hardest route in the City, and it ends at the old Miller place. When I was a boy, old man Miller let me and my pals swim in his pond, and shoot our twenty-two rifles in the gravel pit. Isaac was a gruff old codger with a heart of gold.”
“Will you please join us,” I offered, “we have plenty of room.”
“Thank you, we’d be happy to join you,” Joe said, smiling broadly, “Would you mind another couple, my brother Steve and his wife Laura are coming.
It was a last minute thing for us. You know how hard it is to get tickets here on New Year’s Eve, and how expensive because of the renown buffet.
We came here early for a good table, and this is perfect.”
As Joe said, “perfect,” and as if on cue, a young man from the florist I contacted earlier, delivered four dozen red roses in a vase, with a Hallmark Card addressed to Mary, from me to our table. I took him aside quietly slipped him a fifty.
The surprised look on Mary’s face was priceless, and the approving look Ann gave me after Mary read the card, and thanked me, scored me a point with her.
We chatted for half an hour while people claimed their tables. I learned Joe is a serious fisherman, and we are the same age, as are Mary and Ann. I also learned Joe fell off a ladder and sprained his back while he was painting at his cottage on Conesus Lake. At the time, he had six months to retire with a full pension.
When Joe returned to work, he was in constant pain. He said, “Let me tell you, Michael, towards the end; the job was almost tolerable except for all that damn junk mail.”Before he could say anything else, Ann interrupted and said, “He doesn’t want to hear about your aches and pains, Sweetheart,” and the look she gave him said, ‘Shut up, stupid.’ “Yes, of course, sorry about that, Michael. You ever fish the St. Lawrence?”
A few minutes into that discussion, Joes' cell phone vibrated. He excused himself and took the call. When he returned to the table, he said, “I’m sorry Mary, Michael, my sister-in-law had a family emergency, and they can’t make it. They’re on their way to Michigan. They didn’t want to waste the tickets and gave them to Tom, and my nephew is bringing a date.”
“Of course he is welcome, Joe,” Mary assured him, and Ann didn’t look happy at all, “Tom finally got the message. I haven’t seen or heard from him in over a year. Michael, Honey,” Mary said sweetly, “I need to talk to you in private please.”
We walked to the middle of the dance floor, and she said, “This is a disaster. Why did you invite them to sit with us?”
“What was I supposed to do, Mary, they’re your friends?”
“I’m upset, and I suppose you’re right. Tonight could have been a tolerable evening. Ann and Joe are my dear friends, and it’s not them. Joe always looks out for me, and especially after my husband died. Its Joe’s nephew, Tom, I’m concerned about.”
“Does Tom work for the Post Office?”
“No, Tom’s a vain, obnoxious, jerk. He plays guitar in a Rock and Roll Band and imagines himself an actor and singer. He does Elvis impersonations. He also thinks he’s God’s gift to women.”
“Is this Tom guy a bigger jerk than me, Honey?”
“Will you please be serious and stop calling me Honey?”
“I take it Tom’s asked you out more than once.”
“Yes, I told him, many, many times I’m a have no interest in dating or having another serious relationship.”
“Is he handsome? Or does he have a mug like mine?”
“Will you please be serious, Mr. Stone?”
“Fine, what do you want me to do?”
“I want you to keep him away from me.”
“Ah, the devil you barely know, as opposed to a worse devil.”
“You said you could dance. We’ll pretend we’re dating, and are an item.
I promise you all of my dances, just don’t let Tom cut it.”
“I’m a lover, not a fighter, Mary.”
“I know otherwise, you were an Army Ranger, and you’re not afraid of anything or anybody.”
Mary had Tom well pegged. Not to disparage Elvis, but Tom looked and dressed like a young Elvis Presley; long slicked back jet black hair and all.
However, he lacked the King’s quiet manner, charm, and likability.
The New Year Party included an open bar with gourmet appetizers until the Grand Manor’s renown New Year’s Eve buffet was ready. Then it became a cash bar only. Tom and his groupie date, Sharon, drank like it was their job. They had a stash of drinks lined up in front of them. Although she was pretty, I didn’t think much of Sharon, and we’ll leave it at that. From the time he first arrived, Tom’s eyes lingered on Mary. He would leer, at her and smile, and then look at me, smirking as if to say, “What are you going to do about it.”
As the DJ was setting up, I went to the Men’s Room. The jerk followed me in and leaned against the door to block me from leaving. He said, “Hey, Grandpa, how did you get that stuck-up cunt to go out with you?
She wouldn’t give me the time of day. A bitch like her should be grateful for a charity fuck. Nothing personal, but you’re what, at least sixty-five? What’s your secret?”
“The secret is,” And I pointed to the ceiling with my index finger, and the stupid looked up.
I forcefully drove the heel of my hand into Tom’s solar plexus. There’s a cluster of nerves there near the diaphragm that help you breathe. When struck or punched, the diaphragm spasms, the person has difficulty breathing. They are in intense pain, and they sometimes wet themselves. It is a quick and efficient way to end a fight or to begin a conversation with an obnoxious punk. Call it an attitude adjustment.
“I’m glad we can have this private talk,” I said menacingly, locking the door, and keeping my voice low to make him strain to hear. “That was nothing compared to what I will do to you if I ever hear you refer to Mary, as a stuck-up cunt or a bitch in front of me. Mary is a gentle and refined, Lady. She is my Lady exclusively. Do you want me to hit you again?” He shook his head for no.”
“I repeat, Mary, is a gentle and refined, Lady. She wants nothing to do with you, ever. Do you understand,” and I grabbed his black silk shirt, and slammed him hard against the door. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he gasped, with an embarrassed, mortified look added to his pain.”
“Good, and by the way, you wet yourself.” I let go of his shirt and relieved myself in the urinal. As I was washing my hands, I added, “Don’t talk to Mary and don’t look at her. Stay completely away from her. Don’t go near her again in your lifetime.” I threatened as I wiped my hands with paper towels.
I pushed the wet paper towels into Tom’s face twisting them and said, “Get your date and clear out.”
Tom left soon after he came out of the Men’s Room, no explanation or goodbyes. His clueless girlfriend shoved three bottles of wine coolers in her purse before he pulled her away from the table.
When the music began to play, Mary and I were the first on the dance floor, her idea, and it was a slow dance to Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable,” Mary wanted to know what I said to the jerk. I held her close, but not as close as I wanted.
“What did you say to Tom?” she asked, “And why was the front of his pants wet?”
“Does it matter, Joe and Ann, are not upset Tom’s gone, and you asked me to keep him away from you. Gone is unarguably far away. I deserve a kiss for going above and beyond our agreement. Please kiss me?”
“You will take a kiss regardless,” she replied, whether I’m willing or not.”
“We’ve been out twice, together. Have I treated you other than a Lady in public? You asked me to keep Tom away from you, and I did. Did I cause a scene tonight and embarrass you now in front of your friends? As I said, friends, another song began playing, “A kiss to build a dream on” by Louie Armstrong.
“I don’t like you, “but at least you’re not groping me while we dance or when we’re sitting at the table. I’ll concede your mother taught you to be a gentleman, and you have nice manners, and can be charming, and that doesn’t change a thing.”
“You do like me, Mary, you don’t know it yet. May I hold you a little bit closer, and will you put your head on my shoulder while we dance?” I teased. She didn’t answer. “You are beautiful, and therefore to be wooed.
You are a woman, and therefore to be won.”
“Good luck with that, Mr. Stone, because in less than six months, I won’t give you the time of day.”
I pulled Mary a bit closer and said, “That will be my regrettable loss, but until then, it will be my privilege to take you dancing often. I will have all your dances this evening, as you promised, and nobody is cutting in. Joe and Ann are watching, so remember, we are pretending to be an item, and we like each other. I’m not pretending. Smile darling.” I held Mary close, while we danced, my only liberty was playing with her beautiful hair, and she didn’t put her head on my shoulder.
Between dances, and during dinner, we talked and laughed with Ann and Joe, and if Mary wasn’t having a good time, she hid it well. They eventually joined us on the dance floor. At midnight, Mary put her hands on my shoulders and lightly kissed my lips, but it was for show. Before we left, I shook hands with Joe, and Ann hugged me whispering, “Her favorite flowers are yellow roses.”
Afterward, Mary and I returned to my house. We didn’t make love. I woke the next morning to find her sound asleep and pressed up against me, and I liked it. I didn’t wake her and let her sleep, enjoying being close to her.
I lay there for quite awhile watching her sleep, and my mind was racing.
I made us breakfast, scrambled eggs, homefries, rye toast, bacon, and coffee.
Mary played her favorite pieces of music from memory. We then sat together on the bench and played several duets, fun songs we learned as children, such as “Heart and Soul” by Hoagy Carmichael. We played the “West Side Story Melody” by Leonard Bernstein, “The Hungarian Dance” No 2. by Franz Liszt, and “Let it be” by the Beatles. I sang along to “Let it be,” with great enthusiasm. Mary didn’t sing with me, but was a good sport and humored me. She left with more written instructions to keep two appointments that I made for her.
It was in the middle of the next week, on Wednesday, and the roads were plowed and open for travel after a lake-effect snowstorm from Lake Ontario. I was in line paying for my groceries when Mary approached me and touched my shoulder. I turned to look at her and noticed she was wearing makeup, and her hair was swept up in a French twist. Gone were the baggy jeans, and in their place form-fitting ones, and the same for her green cashmere sweater. I also noticed she was wearing pearl earrings. Pearl earrings are classy and refined in my book, a single perfect white pearl on a post. Mary looked lovely and desirable, and I wanted to kiss her.
“Mr. Stone we need to talk. Things are getting complicated and out of control. May we have coffee together across the street?”
“Is, everything all right, Mary? Why aren’t you working?”
“They’re as well as things can be. I’m trying to sort things out, so I took a two-week vacation.”
“Do you like the yellow roses I sent? I understand they’re your favorite. If I’d know beforehand yellow roses are your favorite, they would have been on the table at Delmonico's and the Grand Manor. I’m partial to red carnations myself.”
“Yes, thank you. May we talk, please?”
“Kiss me, Mary? I’m still waiting for my kiss.”
“Will you please be serious, this is important!”
“I am serious, and yes, I’ll meet you in ten minutes.”
There was a hot cup of black coffee waiting for me when I arrived. “What do we need to talk to me about?” I asked, sitting across from her in the booth.
“The first thing is the two-dozen red roses at Delmonico’s. Then four dozen red roses delivered to me on New Year's Eve. You sent eight dozen yellow roses to the Post Office with a musical card addressed to me that played, “Some Enchanted Evening,” We are the talk of the place. Now my co-workers have a misconception about us.
Ann brought the yellow roses to my house and thought it was very sweet and Romantic. She said I was very lucky to find a man like you. If she only knew. Joe and Ann want us to meet them at the Black North this Friday for a fish-fry, and then go to the Community Theatre to see, “Kiss me, Kate.” Go figure; they like you, and I don’t! I don’t ever intend to like you, so don’t get your hopes up. I didn’t believe you when you said you could play, and then we sat together, and you did. You are holding back. I know you can play better than that, and we need to talk about Tom.”
“Is he bothering you? Tell me where he is, I’ll…” and Mary interrupted, “You’re right about what you said about me. I didn’t want to hear it.
Life goes on. If nothing else, you’ve got me thinking about things. Please tell me what happened between you and Tom.”
“I will, but first, I like your hair up like that, Mary, you look especially lovely today. The best news is life goes on, just look at us.” and I sincerely meant that. I wanted the best for her. “You can now look for a man who will cherish, respect, and protect you. There is nothing to hold you back.” I wanted to be that man. “Are those South Sea pearl earrings you’re wearing?”
“Yes, please tell me about Tom?”
“Tom followed me into the Men’s Room looking for trouble. He was trying to bait me and get a rise out of me. He resents the fact you turned him down, and you were out with me. He made some vulgar comments about you that I won’t repeat. I know his type well. He’s a braggart with soft hands and a weak mind.”
“Let me understand. Were you defending my honor?”
“You were my date for the evening, Mary. You were my responsibility.
That’s what men do. After the vulgar comments, Tom said, “Nothing personal, Grandpa, but you’re what, at least sixty-five? What’s your secret?”
“What did you do then?”
“I said, “The secret is,” and reached past him and locked the door so nobody could walk in on us.” I took a sip of coffee.
“What did you mean by secret?”
“There was no secret; it was a distraction. Next, I said, “The secret is there on the ceiling.” And I pointed to the ceiling with my index finger, and twenty plus years of hand-rubbed stupid looked up.” She put her hand on her mouth to suppress a smile, and I took another sip of coffee, enjoying being with her.
It was excellent coffee.
“I hit him with the palm of my hand,” and I showed Mary by putting my fingers on my chest and said, “When struck or punched, here, the diaphragm spasms, the person has difficulty breathing and is in intense pain.”
“Is that when he wet himself?” Mary asked, trying to suppress another smile.
“Yes, I told him you were my Lady, and I slammed Tom hard against the door to annunciate the point and told him to get his date and clear out.”
“I’ve called you a bastard, I told you I don’t like you, and you still defended my honor.
“Sticks and stones, right, and if that’s your summation, I offer no rebuttal.”
“What kind of man are you?”
“A good, man, for the most part, I hope. I was wrong to do what I did to you.
I had no right. I have no excuses, and I apologize. I ask for your forgiveness.”
“What will happen when our agreement is over?”
“You told me you'd never give me the time of day. Forget our agreement. Tear it up or burn it. Consider it void by mutual consent.”
“I’m referring to you know what?”
“Put that out of your mind. I burned it in a brush pile soaked in diesel fuel and buried the ashes. I deleted everything from my tablet and laptop.”
“When did you do this?”
“I did it New Year’s Day after you left.”
“My final summation, Mr. Stone. Right from the beginning, you had no intention of turning me in. I worried for nothing. It was all a distraction and bluff to get me to go out with you. Why didn’t you ask me out?”
“Yes, that precisely sums it up. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask you before I found the bags. I should have just asked you out and not taken no for an answer. I can be very persistent. You don’t know it yet, but you will like me given a chance. Did I tell how lovely you look today?”
“Why are you telling me about the bags, and all of this now? I can now walk away.”
“I’m hoping you won’t. I am hoping you will forgive me and will give me a chance to make it up to you.”
“Do you remember when you said to me, “I have you dead to rights, Mary, and I’m not interested in reasons or excuses?” she asked.
“Yes, I didn’t want to know the reason in the beginning, because I got what I wanted. I figured it most of it out while you slept in.”
“I don’t understand, how?”
“After you left, I looked carefully at the postmarks. The dates coincide with the time Joe returned to work after his injury and then retired six months later. He was in constant pain and needed to lighten his mailbags to finish his route.
When you took over, you delivered all of your mail, including junk mail.
I hate junk mail. Perhaps you noticed the paper shredder by the front door. You are a good and loyal friend. Joe’s, Ann’s, and your secret are buried and forgotten.”
“It is not forgotten, but I’ll say this for you, Mr. Stone, you’ve been bluntly honest with me, and I don’t doubt your veracity,” Mary paid for our coffee and left. I ordered a piece of apple pie with a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese on the side and had another cup of coffee. I sat there thinking about what she told me, and second guessing myself.
On Saturday, the forecast called for more snow and sub-zero temperatures.
I didn’t hear from Mary. I assumed it was over between us. I was puttering in my barn the following Sunday afternoon when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Hey, Stone are you in there?”
“Yeah, Joe,” I called back, “Come on in.”
“You and I need to talk,” Joe said walking in and glancing near the door, picked up my pickaxe.” The words OH, SHIT!” came to mind.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, steeling myself for a fight and hoping to talk him out of it. Mary will never forgive me if I hurt Joe, and I had no intention of giving up on her. I had fallen for her in a big way.
“What the hell kind of man are you?” he asked.
“Calm down, Joe, and let me explain.”
“Calm down my ass. I’m here to set things right. Do you have any idea how upset Mary is?” She’s been crying all morning. Ann is with her now trying to console her. You screwed up big time! What’s the matter with you?”
“What do you mean by setting things straight? Put the pickaxe down.”
Joe let the handle slide through his hand until the blade rested on the floor and said, “I’m going to need this.” He tapped it on my new concrete floor.”
“What are you talking about, Joe?”
“I’m talking about you and Mary. I thought you cared for her. My nephew got what he deserved. I don’t know what you said or did to him. It doesn’t matter. I have eyes, and he had it coming. That’s what got me to thinking about you, and thinking hard. I know you from somewhere. It was a long time ago. You had long hair and a beard then. You don’t remember me, do you?”
“No, I honestly don’t.”
“You were a bouncer at the Old Lamp Light Tavern.”
“I was, yes” I answered suspiciously, “did I do something to you?”
“You sure as hell did. You saved my keister when those pool sharks hustled me, and I couldn’t pay them Johnny-on-the-spot. You convinced them to wait for my sister to bring the money.”
“You were that fish, Joe?” I started laughing, “The Morgan brothers hooked you for four-hundred if I remember correctly.”
“It was four, and when Cindy showed with the money, they blocked the door and wanted eight-hundred unless I threw her in as interest. You walked over and said to me, “Give me the money, stupid,” and you put the money in your pocket. You said to them, “The young Lady leaves now, and you get your money. Otherwise, the young Lady still leaves now, you fight me and stupid, and you get nothing, except being banned from here. What happened after we left?”
“I gave them three-hundred and put the other hundred on the bar. I whistled through my fingers and announced, “The Morgan brothers are buying three rounds of drinks, and the fourth round is on the house. What could they say or do about it? They saved face and made a joke about it. I made them popular for a change. It was good for business, and good public relations for me. You need to tell me why Mary is crying.”
Joe became quiet and serious. He looked down and then up at me and said,
“I should have known. Mary never told you that her dog, Missy was dying yesterday, and passed this morning. She wants to bury Missy under the elm tree in the backyard. A wise man doesn’t argue with a Lady he loves about such things; he finds a way. I need the pickaxe because the ground is frozen solid, and I broke two shovels. We should leave now. I’ll drive.”
“I’ll do you one better. I’ve got a backhoe behind the barn that will cut through the ground like a red hot knife through frozen butter. I’ll meet you at Mary’s house in thirty minutes.”
It didn’t take me long to dig the grave for Mary’s Golden Retriever after we took down a section of the privacy fence to get the backhoe in. Mary wrapped Missy in a red plaid blanket when we laid her to rest. I suspected Joe’s back was hurting by the way he was walking, and I insisted he go inside and lie down, or help Ann who was preparing a fried chicken dinner for us.
It started snowing again, and round two of single-digit temperatures with another two to three feet of lake effect snow for the next two days.
Mary was still standing by the little grave looking down, while I nailed the fence back in place and then secured the backhoe on the trailer. When I finished, I joined her at her vigil and stood next to her. After about ten minutes, Mary reached over and took my hand, “I still don’t like you,” and she turned and looked at me, smiling, and “I can’t put into words you showing up like this. Let me show you,” and she hugged me, putting her arms my neck and her head on my shoulder.
“They’re watching us from the window, and it is getting colder. Don’t you think you should go inside?”
“Let them wait a little longer. I feel warm and safe with you holding me.
I can hear your heart beating, Mr. Stone, and it’s a good man’s heart. Missy was a sweet, girl.”
“I’m sure Missy was,” I said gently, “I buried my Black Lab when I was twelve. We were inseparable. We were the same age, and we grew up together. Duchess was a good old girl, and she loved the water; retrieving anything I threw in it. The marker on her grave says, “Duchess, a loyal companion, and a loving pet; especially when she was wet,” and yes the epitaph may be corny to some, but not to me. I have her dog license tag on my key ring.”
“We can do something like that for Missy’s resting place in the spring,” she said brightly, “Oh, Michael, will you help me?”
She said, “We,” we as in us. Mary forgave my trespass, and I silently said a small prayer for my ex-wife. I was back to my center again.
“Yes, of course, I’ll help, but it is time to go inside now. Ann is banging on the window and waving at us.”
Ann’s fried chicken was the tastiest fried chicken this side of Sunday. Included in the home-cooked delight were buttermilk biscuits, mashed potatoes with chicken gravy, glazed carrots, and Mary’s homemade pickled beets.
Joe was telling the unadulterated tavern story over coffee while Mary was serving Ann’s homemade rice pudding for dessert. “Always defending a Lady’s honor,” Mary said, and I shrugged. “I can’t imagine you with long hair and a beard.” She sat next to me and kissed my cheek, “I prefer you the way you are now, Michael, well-barbered and clean-shaven. My Dad used to say, “A shave in the morning puts a shine on a man’s face.” And her compliment put a smile on mine.
Joe’s back was still bothering him, and they went home shortly after dessert before the storm hit. I helped Mary in the kitchen by scrubbing the pots and pans, while she rinsed the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. I was thinking, ‘Mary’s kitchen is modern, and the theme of her home and decorations are mostly antiques. There is comfortable furniture to be sure, and barrister bookcases everywhere.’
I was standing in front of the sink drying my hands on a dish towel when Mary put her arms around my waist and said, “Missy used to sleep on the end of my bed. She was such a comfort to me. I don’t want to be alone tonight, will you please stay?”
“Yes, of course, I’ll stay if that’s what you want. I can sack out on the big sofa,” and I turned to look into Mary’s warm green eyes.
“Michael, you’ll do no such thing. We’re alone, and you haven’t kissed me today,” and she put her arms around my neck while I pulled her close and kissed her lips long and deep. For the first time, Mary returned my kiss with the same passion and enthusiasm.
“I get it; you want me to sleep curled up on the end of your bed.”
“Funny guy, let me show you what I want,” and Mary took me by the hand, and led me to her bedroom, “You may want to shower first while I change the sheets. I’ll have my shower after yours. There are razors for you to shave if you don’t mind pink ones. Please shave for me.” I wasn’t about to pass up a hot shower on a cold night like this, and if my Lady wanted me to shave, I'd shave.
I was rinsing what was left of Mary’s Raspberry Mist shaving cream from my face when she walked in naked and yanked off the towel that I had wrapped around my waist. She put it on the floor in front of the shower saying teasingly, “Who is in control, know, Michael? Now you’re on display for me.” She put her hair up with a large hair clip and got into the shower with a big smile on her face.
I was sitting on her antique poster bed, and leaning up against the headboard on pillows when Mary walked naked into the bedroom. She picked up her hairbrush from the dresser and stood in front of the cherry wood oval antique free-standing mirror. “I know you have a thing for long hair. You couldn’t keep your hands out of my hair when we were dancing. Will you brush it for me?” Mary asked, taking her red auburn hair down while arching her back and shaking her head.
I stood behind Mary with a rock hard erection and started brushing her thick and luxurious hair “You look mysterious and sexy with bangs.”
“Thank you; I haven’t had bangs since my early teens. You did this before, haven’t you?”
“Yes, in the past, but now, and forever, I only have eyes for you.”
“I don’t doubt that. What if I were to tell you that I enjoyed some aspects of our agreement, such as how you made me dress, and being sent to a strange place to get a haircut, while not knowing how short my hair might be cut and styled? You are a dangerous and forceful man. That aspect of you arouses and frightens me, as much as your thoughtful and gentle side intrigues me.”
“I’ve thought about that, Mary. I wondered if you enjoyed being with me just a little. I contemplated why you returned three times and didn’t walk away. Then there was our conversation over coffee on Wednesday when you said it is not forgotten and you did walk away. You were wearing perfume that day, the same perfume you’re wearing now.” I slid the elastic hair tie from the handle of the hairbrush and began brushing Mary’s hair back and gathering it up for a high ponytail, and I was thinking, ‘Interesting, Mary likes to watch us in the mirror. What a great idea! We are like voyeurs watching ourselves.’
“Your nipples and hard, Mary. I can see our reflections in the mirror, and I can smell the musky arousal of your sweet, moist shaved pussy. Does this turn you on, because it does me, and I’m going to screw you hard and fast.”
“Michael, I,” Mary started to say before I interrupted, “I want a sexy ponytail, baby. This brush has other uses besides the obvious, so be a good girl and take your medicine,” and I tapped the brush lightly on her shapely ass.
“I want you to play with your pussy while I finish your ponytail. Do you masturbate in front of the mirror often?” and Mary blushed, and then smiled, that I guessed her secret, the mirror shows all. “Yes, that’s right, honey, your secret is safe with me. Did I tell you how breathtakingly beautiful you look this evening? Make yourself nice and wet for me,” and I rubbed my rock hard cock on her ass cheeks, as I stroked her thick silky ponytail from top to bottom, enjoying the thickness and soft, smooth texture between my fingers.
“In the Victorian Era, Erotic Literature referred to a woman’s long hair as bedroom hair, and here we are. It is time to follow through what I started on New Year's Eve.”
I cupped her perfect, and firm, round breasts in my hands, caressing her rosy upturned nipples with my thumbs as I kissed the sides of her face and neck, making her moan with pleasure. Mary fingered her plump pussy and rubbed her ass against my hard throbbing cock.
I got down on my knees and began rubbing Mary’s shaved pussy with my fingers followed by spreading her flower petals and licking her clit with my tongue.
She tasted delicious, and soon she was wet and moaning loudly, and moving her hips, holding my head, and pushing her vagina into my face as I licked her clitoris.
When I knew Mary’s was approaching her orgasm, I stopped, prolonging the inevitable.
"Why did you stop Michael... it feels so good," she said licking her lips and sighing....."Please, Michael, let me come.”
“Soon, get on your hands and knees in front of me and face the mirror,” and when she did, I entered Mary slowly from behind, and held in place with her long ponytail. Mary moaned with pleasure as she pushed against me, rotating her hips and clenching her thighs. “Have you been done it like this way before?” I asked…no answer, she was in her erogenous zone, and I was fast approaching mine.
I started off slow, gradually increasing my cadence and the power of my thrusts, pounding her now dripping pussy with my hard cock. “Oh God. fuck me harder,” she said, “Pull my hair and fuck me harder, fuck me harder. It’s been too long, too long, make me fucking come, damn you,” and Mary was bucking and twisting from side to side.
Although I was trying to time my orgasm with Mary’s, her exuberant sexuality was an incredibly arousing experience. I selfishly wanted to come first. I’ve never been with a wildcat in the bedroom like Mary before, with her unadulterated vocalization, coupled with her raw, primal enjoyment of fucking, on the floor, and in front of a mirror, and there were more surprises to follow.
I fucked as if our lives depended on it, and our orgasms were a rolling crescendo of thunder and lightning. A few seconds after, I stood up and offered Mary, my hand. She stood and took my face with both hands and kissed lips long and deep. Then with a lascivious smile, and a mischievous look on her face, Mary put her hands on my chest and pushed me back to the bed, and of course, I let her push me onto it, and lay there on my back, waiting.
“No, talking, Michael. Be a good boy and pay attention, because school is in session,” and Mary got on the bed and knelt between my legs, and said, “Your first lesson this evening Mr. Stone, will be on the uses of bedroom hair.”
Mary took her hair out of the ponytail, and it flowed like a red auburn waterfall over her shoulders and down her back to pool and ripple at her trim waist. She leaned over me until her thick silky hair covered my chest and stomach, and then rubbed her long luxurious, thick, silky hair on my cock and balls, getting me instantly hard again. I enjoyed playing with her hair when dancing, but this was the culmination of a man’s fantasy hair play.
Mary began licking and sucking, fast and slow, running her tongue up and down the shaft and licking my balls. She then licked the tip and then the shaft while, while running her tongue from top to bottom, looking up into my eyes and smiling. Mary then pushed her hair forward to keep it out of her mouth, and it covered my chest and neck. I buried my hands in it as she took my entire cock into her mouth licking and sucking, teasing and probing.
She was totally in control, and I was at her mercy, as she performed a salacious and sensual lip and tongue symphony, to equal her performance of Rachmaninoff’s 3rd piano concerto.
My orgasm was like a volcano shooting streams of white-hot semen in her mouth; Mary swallowed all of my semen not spilling a drop.
I went limp. I didn’t want to move. I was floating on my warm Nirvana cloud of contentment. As I lay there with my eyes closed, totally relaxed. Mary said something I didn’t catch, She then kissed my lips and said, “Mary to Michael, I never knew you to be at a loss for words, Grandpa,” she teased, “Just a minute, I want to model something for you.”
She returned wearing white silk camisole and silk panties. “What do you think, lover?” she asked slowly turning in a small circle.
“I think I found my words. You look sexy and desirable, and I have very good taste in selecting your sleeping and lounging attire. I prefer to sleep in the buff, in case something suddenly comes up, and being with you makes that a certainty.” I teased back.
Mary smiled and cracked the window a few inches to let in fresh air and then joined me underneath the covers. She snuggled up for me to put my arms protectively around her. She was mine. “This is nice,” I said, “It’s snowing to beat the band. You’re on vacation, and so am I. My crews won’t be pouring concrete until the weather lifts, and it’s my slow part of the year.”
“Cuddling and talking is something I miss,” Mary agreed, “and the close intimacy and comfort of sleeping next to somebody.” I was thinking how she was pressed up against me on New Year’s morning. “We are an item now, Michael, so let them talk. I’m going to tell you some things I’ve never told anyone. In many ways, he wasn’t like you at all?”
“Who are you talking about, Mary.”
“I’m talking about my husband, John.”
“Your husband was a well-published Archeologist if I’m not mistaken?
“Yes, John was Historical Archeologist and seldom home. I traveled with him the first few years until I realized that nomadic life in the field under sometimes primitive conditions without my books and my piano was not for me. I’m more of a homebody. John was a good man and brilliant in his field. He was also dependent on wealthy donors to bankroll his work, and they wanted results and perks for their money.”
“Let me guess; those wealthy donors hit on you, thinking themselves entitled? You strenuously rejected them, and you stopped their advances in their tracks; kicking or kneeing them where it counts, and then, they threatened to cut off your husband’s research money.”
“ Yes, exactly. John handled things differently than you. You’d confront them directly and in no uncertain terms tell them to shove their money, because that’s who you are. You see life from the perspective of black and white, with smidgens of gray. John was a gentle and forgiving man, and he hated confrontations. I stopped attending his fundraisers altogether. He was very thoughtful and gentle with me. Although I still loved him, towards the end, he lost all interest in sex and intimacy. His research became an obsession which affected his health. John was true to his wedding vows though, as were you.”
“I meant everything I said about your playing, Mary, We like many of the same things. Music, and antiques, to name a few.”
“Don’t forget dancing, kissing, and fucking Michael?” And she reached down and lightly touched my manhood, “I adore being with a man who is not intimidated or turned off by my exuberance. I’ve never made love like that before. I like it slow and gentle too, though, and getting my pussy licked, by you.”
“You know, Honey, after experiencing your exuberance, first hand, I desire you more than ever. I’ll give it to you any way you want it, after that amorous and salacious blowjob, and the way you use your hair while sucking on my cock. It is a diametric contrast when you dress conservatively in a silk blouse and modest skirt, and definitely with your hair up,
You instinctually comport yourself as a Lady. As ex-military I know. It’s in your bearing and posture. Not that you won’t stand up for yourself as you demonstrated when you slapped me. You were practically naked. You’re a little spitfire, and still, I can’t imagine you saying fuck, let alone any profanity in public.”
“Thank you, and you never will, although, “Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer.” So said, Mark Twain, and add literature to our list of what we have in common. We can attend the theatre together, and you will fit in just fine with my book discussion groups.
How did you know they were South Sea Pearls I was wearing?”
“There is a story regarding white pearls. I heard it from an honest man who sold me a necklace of them. He said when God cast Adam and Eve out of the Garden of Eden, their tears became pearls.”
“I never heard that story. My Grandmother called them mermaid tears.
The pearl earrings were originally my great-grandmother's and passed down until they came to me. There is something special about wearing jewelry with a history. Take estate jewelry; I believe they have a small part of the essence, of the woman who wore them that adds to their luminescence. All the good qualities, the love, and the joy shared of the woman who wore the jewelry to be passed on and shared.” I was thinking; ‘Mary is a woman after my own heart. She will treasure any gift I gave her, no matter how big, or how small.’
“How do you feel about motorcycles? Do you want to be my biker babe, and ride with the wind in your hair?”
“Do you have a scoot?” She asked, “I assumed those days were behind you?”
“Scoot? It sounds like you’ve ridden before?”
“Not in years, I still have my license, though, and I’d love to be your biker babe.”
THE TIME PASSED QUICKLY, and it was soon, Summer, our Summer of Love. There was no denying I loved Mary, or her me. I built her a curved redwood bench that went around the circumference of the elm tree for Missy’s grave, with a bronze plaque commemorating her friend and companion.
We spent our nights together, taking turns, her house and then mine. Mary rode on the back of my Harley, day trips when the weather permitted, and
loved walking my property, and our private picnics at the pond.
We took my Harley and spent a Sunday morning in August at a mega-outdoor flea-market. It was going to be a scorcher that day, and we planned to go swimming in the pond, followed by a picnic, a nap, or perhaps something other than a nap, ending with a nap. I had a surprise for Mary, that day for she delights in the little things I do for her. I trimmed the two largest weeping willow trees next to the pond to create a bower, and I installed a large rope hammock between the trees knowing how much she likes to cuddle, and me too. It would be our private retreat to catch a cool breeze and escape the summer heat.
Mary and I were in the kitchen preparing for our late afternoon picnic when the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” she offered, “I still need to get the small ice chest out of my Jeep,” and shortly after Mary called out, “Michael, you have a visitor.”
I went to the front room, to discover my ex-wife, Sally was standing there staring at Mary with an incredulous look on her face. That look was followed by another that could curdle and sour a tanker truck full of fresh cold milk when I put my arm around Mary’s slim waist and introduced her to Sally as my Lady.
Admittedly, compared to Sally, Mary looked stunning, with her hair swept up in a loose bun. She was wearing an airy pale-yellow lace trimmed Pima cotton sundress to compliment her trim and lithe figure. She was also barefoot at the time and was sensibly makeup-free because of the heat.
I did know from a reliable source; the boyfriend dumped Sally when the money ran out, and she lost her nursing license for a year by falsifying a medical log. Lance hooked up with an eighteen-year-old nursing student.
I won’t describe what my ex-wife was wearing, except to say it wasn't becoming on her. Sally had gained weight and looked bloated, despite her artificial indoor tan. Her recent lip augmentation injections were a disaster. Sally’s lips were ridiculously large and clown-like. She had cut her shoulder length light brown hair in a short, spiky pixie with a side part on the right and an under shave on the left. It was also bleached platinum blonde with neon green and pink streaks. As for her makeup, let’s say Sally’s makeup was as glaring, without consideration to her age.
Mary politely excused herself and made a graceful exit to get the ice chest, leaving us in the front room. I invited Sally to sit down, and shortly after, Mary brought out a tray with a pitcher of ice water, lime wedges, and two glasses before returning to the kitchen.
I didn’t comment on Sally’s appearance. I was calm and dispassionate, as I sipped my ice water. Sally did all of the talking. She was well rehearsed and spent an hour describing and embellishing in chronological order the dating highlights before, and those of our marriage. She said she still loved me and wanted us to get back together. She was contrite and repentant. She had big plans for us and made promises she couldn’t keep. She asked me to forgive her, and then I spoke for the first time.
“Sally, I was very bitter when you betrayed me. I’ve made peace with God.
I’m at my center again. I forgive you, and I wish you well. I have a new love in my life. Save your breath and save my ears. Now for the good news.
Bob Hanley from the Homestead Resturant owes me a solid for work I did for him. I’m sure Bob will give you a job until you get your Nursing License back. You were waitresses when I met you and a good one.”
I made the telephone call in front of her, and when I thanked Bob and said goodbye, it was a done deal. Encouraged, Sally asked to borrow five-thousand dollars to get back on her feet. I declined, congratulated her on her new job, and firmly escorted Sally to her mother who was waiting in my driveway in a parked car. Mary was standing outside on the porch, watching as they drove away.
When I went back to the porch, Mary asked, “Was that your ex-wife?”
“Yes, Sally, and her mother, Betty. Did you catch any part of our conversation?”
“Yes, beginning with I made peace with God. I liked the part when you said, ‘Save your breath and save my ears.’ That’s one of my Dad’s favorite expressions.”
I took both Mary’s hands and kissed them, and said, “I only have eyes for you, Honey, and I have a surprise for you when we get to the pond.”