This is Chapter 8 of My Wife, Her Lovers and Me
As the party continues downstairs, Edgar remains in the spare bedroom. A thousand thoughts rush through his mind and he simply cannot concentrate. He knows he saw this bra on its wearer earlier tonight- or at least a portion of it, but cannot place it. He closes his saddened eyes and caresses the undergarment, clutching it tightly to his face.
Edgar again brings it back to his nose and inhales the sweet aroma emanating from the fabric. The more breaths he takes, the more intoxicating the scent becomes. Something stirs from deep within him- something he has not felt in years.
He trembles as he exclaims, "She is a goddess!"
To be sure, there have been other women to come and go from his estate- but they were entirely people he had hired to help maintain it. After all, taking care of a place as large as this is difficult for just one man. Currently, he possesses a staff of 8- the only women among them being the two maids and his personal chef.
Edgar has never once asked for anyone's sympathy. Since his wife's passing, he certainly had never pursued the intimate company of a woman. The old man is ensconced in a feeling he has not felt in years- that of complete sexual arousal!
He examines the bra closely and locates the tag. "Victoria's Secret," he says and then makes an almost pained gasp as he reads, "34DD."
Edgar presses his lips together and looks down to the floor- staring at the carpet as he furrows his brow and painstakingly stows the bra away into a pocket. Regardless of his now bulging pocket, he stumbles from the room and down the hall until he reaches the guardrail. Hands firmly planted on the wooden railing, he gazes below and is lost in thought.
With a deep breath, Edgar musters, "I must find her." He closes his eyes and pauses for a moment as a story he had read in his childhood suddenly comes to mind.
In that story, a prince met an amazing woman, but she fled when the clock struck twelve, leaving behind only a single shoe. The prince looked all over for the woman whom the shoe would fit. His brows furrow as he considers the similarities, pondering, 'Am I the prince in this tale?'
"The absurdity of only one woman being able to fit into a shoe." He shakes his head as he ruminates over the situation at hand.
"No, I'm no prince." He winces as his hands clutch tightly at the railing. "I am a 62-year-old man and there's no reason to think any of them would be attracted to me."
Somber eyes look down to the floor below and he sighs out of exasperation. Edgar suddenly realizes for the first time that he has lost years of his life where he could have felt the comfort provided in a woman's embrace.
Before her death, Dawn had told him that it would be okay to find someone else, but he simply could not bring himself to. To be blunt, it hurt too much. Edgar wipes a lone tear from his cheek as he considers whether he has been fair to himself along the road of his grief.
In his mind he has nothing to offer other that his wealth. This could not be further from the truth, however. He has a good sense of humor and even his personal chef has told him that he is a good-looking man. 62 or not, Edgar has aged well.
He steels his resolve as he slowly descends the stairs. He has been a successful businessman for most of his adult life and he simply hasn't wanted something this bad in a very long time. His hand finds its way into the pocket to caress the artifact- almost as if his fingers have minds of their own. Even they know the lone driving force of his desire.
He must find the woman to whom this bra belongs, but how to begin? He can't just walk out into the party and hold it overhead, asking, "Hey everyone! Is this your bra?"
Instead, Edgar watches the partygoers dancing, eating and just milling about. Many others are crowding at the bar as well. Above all else, the drinks are flowing and there isn't a dry glass in the house.
Unlike the fairytale, there is a much wider range in bra sizes. Edgar forgets any notion of proper decorum- not that there is anything that WOULD be acceptable in this situation.
He continues his search and tries to analyze the situation further. His singular, self-appointed mission is to find her and he will find her, whomever she may be! As he wanders through the room, his wandering eyes quickly zero in on every woman he sees- or moreover to their chests. Many are immediately ruled out as being too small.
However, women always seem to notice these things even when men try to be discreet- and he is not exactly being discreet at this moment. In fact, a few of the guests notice as his gaze falls upon them or upon their significant others. Some wink back and smile, others look irritated.
"Get ahold of yourself!" he mutters to himself. Edgar closes his eyes tightly and takes a deep breath as he tries to regain control.
No matter how much he thinks about it, he just cannot shake the idea that he has seen this specific bra earlier tonight. No, he is positive. It was someone wearing a low-cut top with a lot of cleavage showing, but who was it? His lips draw together.
The old man realizes the absurdity of his actions and decides to change his approach. Edgar reasons with himself, 'The owner of the bra surely has some of the largest breasts of any woman here."
He decides to do something he was going to do anyway, only with a slightly different motivation now. Edgar moves from table to table and begins thanking the employees and their dates for coming to the party. To that end, he will eventually meet every single person that came to tonight's party- even those he had missed greeting originally.
Mr. Williamson normally has a very good memory, but ever since he found the bra- this artifact- his thoughts have become a cloudy mess. The cascade of faces and bosoms of the various sexy girlfriends and wives of his employees causes his head to spin. He closes his eyes out of desperation.
What is he even going to do when he finds her?
Edgar rubs his trembling hand through his hair and exhales. The party has been a success up to this point. All he wanted was for his employees to have a good time. However, the whole thing has taken on an almost surreal aspect now. Breasts and faces and faces and breasts!
His tired and desperate eyes continue their vision quest. Meanwhile his erection pushes and pushes against the fabric of his trousers.
Just then, he sees Cheri and I sitting at a table across from both Bob and Rich from accounting. With a sigh, Edgar approaches to say goodbye.
He comes to a stop at our table and smiles, offering, "I just wanted to tell each of you, thanks for coming to the party! Oh, and Thomas, thanks again for your work behind the scenes. I do very much appreciate it."
I nod and offer him a smile. "I'm more than happy to help, sir." I stand and shake Mr. Williamson's hand.
Then Cheri offers Edgar a double 'Thumbs Up' and says, "This has been a great party Mr. Williamson! Thank you so much! I had the time of my life!" Then she adds, "Too bad we didn't get to dance together, Edgar! You're kind of cute and I would have liked that very much."
The older man smiles wholeheartedly and responds, "Me? Cute?" Flustered for a moment he says with a little regret in his voice, "I know it's late and everyone is tired. Perhaps next time?"
She nods, "Absolutely!"
Edgar suddenly notices that despite how cool the temperature is in the room, Cheri seems to be sweating a bit. His eyes move between the others at the table, seeing that although I am fine, both Bob and Rich are also sweating.
"Hmm." His brows furrow out of confusion.
