Beautiful Woman Paradox

I've been wanting to write this story ever since I began writing erotica. It's a bit of a departure from my previous stories. It's still an erotic story, but it's also personal. I hope you like it.

This story is fiction. Any resemblance between the characters and real individuals is coincidence. All characters depicted are over age eighteen.

***

My company sent me to a customer site three thousand miles away for a six-month consulting assignment. It's a lot of time to be away, yet not enough time to really get to know the place or meet anyone. It may not have mattered; I was always so busy, there was little time to do anything but work. Add to the list not having a washer in the apartment my cheapskate company rented. I had to walk halfway around the complex to do my laundry. It was like living in the dorms again, and I'm in my fifties. Three weeks into the assignment and I hated it.

As luck would have it though, it was in the laundry that I met a beautiful woman. She was young, maybe in her mid-twenties, but seemed more mature than that. Her long, dusty blond hair hung in a ponytail over her right shoulder. So cute. Her clear hazel eyes went nicely with her gentle tan. She wore little makeup; she didn't need any. Everything about her spoke of balance: young in age but mature in temperament, beautiful but not overstated.

We said hello to each other, then went about doing our laundry. I would sneak glances at her and each time wish I wasn't old enough to be her grandfather. But I was that old and knew not to get any hopes up.

While I was still loading my washer, she got up and approached her dryer. I could tell she was tall before she got up, but didn't realize how tall. I'm nearly six feet four and she seemed at least five foot eleven. Her black tights gripped her long, shapely legs beautifully. I took her for an athlete and could easily envision her in a volleyball uniform.

Of course, I tried not to stare, or at least not so that it was obvious. At one point, she looked back. It wasn't a glance and she didn't seem to mind being watched. Or so I thought, then quickly dismissed it as delusion. But then I looked again. Not only was she looking, she had let her hair down, and wrapped it all around one shoulder. My knees wobbled.

When I started my washer, I turned and smiled at her politely. She smiled back. I paused to read a flyer advertising a pool party for the next night.

"You going?" she asked.

"Me? No, I don't want to be the token grandpa there."

She laughed and said, "Oh, you're not a grandpa."

"True, but I'm old enough."

"I don't believe it."

"It's true," I replied, as I got out my phone, tapped the face a few times, and turned to show it to her. I said, "See, here's a photo of me riding a mammoth to my high school prom." As she looked at my phone, which just showed my default screen, I said, "Just kidding."

She laughed at this, smiling at me. "I fell for that."

"Sorry. Are you going?"

"I'd like to, but there's a guy here in the complex that's a real...jerk. Even when he's not drinking, he's always hitting on me and doesn't seem to know what 'not interested' means."

"Oh, let me guess, he's the guy with the muscle car, right?"

"That's the one."

"So I take it his machine doesn't impress you."

"Nope, nothing else either."

I paused for a moment, then said, "I'll probably just do what I usually do, read or watch a movie or work or eat some worms."

"Eww, so, nobody special?" she asked.

I looked back at her and said, "No...nobody at all. If I was a hundred years younger, there might be, but my guess is she's attached to someone born this century, and I'm afraid of rejection."

"Please, you're not that old. Sometimes I wish I was older or something. I wouldn't be on my own."

"On your own? You? How can that be? You're gorgeous!"

At this, she blushed. "Oh, stop. Doesn't seem like there's anyone out there. The only guys that ask me out are jerks."

"Ah, yes, BWP."

"BWP?" she asked, chuckling.

"Beautiful Woman Paradox. So beautiful, decent men think she has at least one if not a dozen boyfriends, all of them richer or more handsome or more something than they are. They're intimidated and feel inadequate. So they preemptively give up. That leaves only the jerks that think they're heaven-sent gifts to all women."

"I see. Is there a cure?"

"Yeah, but it means you might have to do the asking."

"You mean ask a guy out?"

"To hell with the gender stereotypes. Or if you're uncomfortable, make it clear some way that you'd like him to ask you."

"I've never done that." She laughed, then cocked her head to one side as she looked at me. An awkward silence followed as we looked at each other. "Well?" she said finally.

"What?" I said. She only raised her eyebrows and smiled, which made her even hotter than she already was. "Huh?"

"Well...?" she said again.

"Oh, you're..." I said, blinking. "Wanna have lunch sometime, uh..., I didn't catch your name."

"Beryl," she said, laughing. "How about the party tomorrow evening?"

"Uh...wait. Really, you're serious?"

Beryl nodded as she looked at me. "I am."

"Umm...uh, Jeesh, really? Me?"

"Yeah, why not? I'm done with immature men."

"That's why I'm stumped. I'm as immature as they come."

"Stop," Beryl began, picking up her basket. "You're not old and you're not immature. See you tomorrow evening."

I looked her in the eye and tried to fight my disbelief. "Okay, then, see you tomorrow."

The next day dawned and flew by, and while the sun sank, my nerves rose. I didn't know what to wear and felt like a high school kid. My mind wandered to what might happen at the party. I imagined awkward questions like, "Oh, Beryl, is this your grandpa?" Or answers like "No, this is my date," to which all the residents of the complex would stare, the music would stop, the crickets would chirp. "You're on a date with your grandpa!"

Finally, I just told myself, You have a date with a beautiful young lady that seems into you.... On the other hand, maybe she just wanted to go to the party and be with someone so that the jerk didn't bother her. On the third hand, she really did seem to be looking at me while I set up my laundry, so....?

When I met up with Beryl that evening, I was stunned all over again. She wore professionally ripped jeans that hugged her rump and legs like tights. One of the rips exposed a tanned slice of her thigh. On top was a thin, silky, olive colored blouse with a couple of buttons undone, revealing a silky swath of tanned skin and a thin gold necklace with a small amber pendant that matched her earrings. She had converted her pony tail into a long, thick braid. The amber and olive color coordination was perfect too. The blouse fit her perfectly, if not just a little small, and really showed off how trim and shapely she was.

I was about to complement her, but she beat me to it. "Oh, that looks really good on you!" she said. I was wearing an old pair of jeans, my one white button down business shirt, and sandals. I didn't think it worked at all.

"Really? I literally had nothing else to wear for something like this. But you! You look gorgeous. That olive top complements your eyes really well."

"Oh, thank you! Wow, a man that understands color coordination."

"Then again..."

"Uh, oh," she said, looking a little worried.

"No, no, I was just going to say that you'd look gorgeous wearing a surplus army tarp too."

"I doubt that."

"I don't."

We stayed together at the party, mingling with people. I was worried about awkward questions on the age difference between Beryl and I, but such questions came only in non-verbal forms. Women whispered to each other while looking at us. Men just stared, dumbstruck, and I suppose a bit jealous.

Beryl edged closer to me and said, "Richard's here, behind me."

About thirty feet away, Richard was there with a young, blond hottie. I took that to be good news, thinking he would be concentrating on her and not Beryl. No such luck. Richard kept looking at Beryl, only occasionally paying attention to his date. Why? Well, the blond agreed to go out with him; Beryl didn't. Men like Richard not only can't handle rejection, they can't handle even the lack of interest. It drives them bats when women aren't in some way impressed, interested, or submissive.

"I could tell by the way he watches you," I said. "I'll keep an eye out, so you won't have to."

"Thanks, I really appreciate that," Beryl said, trying to hide the worried look on her face.

"Are you afraid of him?" I asked. "Do you feel threatened?"

"Not right now, with you. Can't let him keep me bottled up in my room. He just can't understand he's not all that."

"That's part of a package deal with the car I think."

"Maybe so."

"Looking back on it," I said, "it's a tough thing for a young man to learn how to deal with rejection, a rite of passage. It's something that should be learned fairly early in life. Judging by his age, he's not growing out of it, which suggests he has other issues." As I said this, I wondered if this date was legitimate after all, that my role was to protect Beryl and to show Richard that she had protection.

My concerns must have shown on my face. Beryl looked at me with a bit of hurt in her eyes. "I hope you don't think I asked you here just to protect me."

I looked down at my feet with my mouth full of food. The music was thumping in the background. As I chewed, I thought of what to say. "Uh, I'm just not used to the idea that a younger woman would have an interest in me, especially one like you. This doesn't happen to me, ever, even when I was your age."

"It's happening now," she said, gently stroking my forearm. You're nice, polite, funny, and...um..."

"Go on."

"Like a great big teddy bear," she said, and stroked my arm again. "I can't explain right now. But, it is real."

I didn't see this coming. Beryl removed my doubts; she was in fact attracted to me. "I'm sorry; I'm just still overwhelmed I think." I looked at her as the music and all the other people faded into the background. "You know, you've got your head screwed on awfully straight for someone so young. I'm a little envious; I was a raging moron at your age."

She smiled, "I doubt you were ever a moron; you seem to have your head screwed on right too."

"Maybe, but it took a long time and a lot of effort," I said.

The truth was, life was never kind to me and when I was young, I was a mess. But I wasn't about to go into any of that. Not yet anyway. I lifted my beer and said, "Well, here's to not being morons."

"Here, here," she replied, clinking her beer into mine.

We drank, then I said, "Maybe it's a generational thing. It seems to me that the whole world is getting dumber, but at the same time, there are some really smart younger people, like you, that give me hope."

"Maybe so. Therapy helps," Beryl said, looking at her feet.

I got the impression Beryl wanted to tell me something serious, but was also ambivalent. "Oh," I said, lost for words.

Beryl kept her eyes down, then off to the side, and finally back to me. It seemed as if some sort of darkness came over her.

"Beryl," I said. "I don't want to pry, but are you okay?"

"Stronger than ever," Beryl replied, looking up. "Most of the time, but not always. I'm a survivor."

Beryl had pronounced that word, 'survivor,' carefully. It's a word often used by rape victims to signify a healing transition, that they no longer think of themselves as a victim. "I believe you" I said. "Surviving can be difficult."

She smiled at me and nodded, but said nothing. All this time, I had forgotten about the party and about Richard. As we stood there, Richard's date, walked up behind Beryl with an angry look on her face. "Uh oh," I said.

The blond tapped Beryl on the shoulder and said, "He's all yours; he can't get his mind off you anyway."

"Who, Richard?" Beryl said. "Not interested."

That wasn't the answer the blond was expecting. She glanced at me, then back to Beryl. "You mean...Ugh, Richard said you were.... Shit. Well, fuck him and I'm sorry. I just...."

"It's okay, don't worry about it," Beryl said.

Both Beryl and I watched her click away, slamming the gate as she left. "Yep, he's a real catch alright," Beryl said.

"He must have fed her a line of bullshit." I was busy scanning the crowd to find Richard. When I did, he was near the bar, alone, rage-chugging a beer with frog eyes on us. "Um..." I began to say.

"This isn't good," Beryl said. "Can we go?"

"That would be wise I think, yes." I took another glance at Richard, who was staring at the back of Beryl's head. We began walking away and when we reached the gate, I glanced back again. Richard was following us, and looked angry. Hormones and alcohol are a bad mix all by themselves. Add moron to the recipe and there's bound to be trouble. "He's following us, Beryl. He knows your apartment, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, shit!"

"Then come to mine, if that's okay with you. It's closer."

"Okay."

We walked fast. I hadn't been in a fight since I was eighteen, and that was with my brother. I'm in pretty good shape for my age, but Richard was a lot younger, worked out a lot, and was now clearly on a beer jihad. As I glanced back one more time before turning a corner toward my place, Richard was walking even faster and people behind him at the party were looking on.

"Aw hell!" I said. "It's a goddam spectacle."

"I'm sorry, we shouldn't have come," Beryl said.

"Forget it. Over here, up the steps." We ran up the steps and I unlocked my door. We managed to get it shut quickly, but I wondered if Richard had seen us.

As I locked my door, I turned to see Beryl with her face in her hands. "Hey," I said. "We're safe now; he can't get in. And if he tries, he'll have me to deal with."

Beryl nodded, closed her eyes, held up a finger as if to ask for a minute, and began taking deep breaths. I realized that she was using a breathing technique to deal with the anxiety.

I stepped over to her, intending to rub her shoulder, then thought better of it and asked, "How about some hot tea?"

Beryl sat down on my couch while I started the kettle. I then walked back and sat by her. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I think. I'm fine."

"I believe you."

"The breathing; it's just to..."

"I know. I do it myself sometimes. Our breathing gets shallow when we're stressed. It makes the anxiety worse, then we breathe even less. It's a vicious cycle. The breathing exercise you did is perfect."

"You know about that?"

"Yeah, I know. It helped get me through some rough times. Still does."

We just looked at each other and managed to smile. She was so beautiful in that moment. Where some people might see vulnerability, I saw strength. Where some would see a wound, I saw healing. Where had she been all my life?

"I learned that from my counsellor, and went to a couple of women's workshops," she said.

"Good for you."

Beryl looked at me. You should know, I...uh..." She cleared her throat, took a deep breath. "I was raped...back in college, and uh..."

I touched the so-called safe spot on her forearm, "I'm so sorry that happened to you. I know what you meant when you said you were a survivor. So am I." Beryl had a question on her face. "I was six, and...my neighbor..."

"Oh! I am...so...I have no words," Beryl said, going pale.

"We can talk about me some other time. Tell me your story, if you're comfortable. I'll listen to as little or as much as you want to say." She told it all, and it was brutal date rape at a college party. Such a story is all too common, yet each one is a unique slice of hell. Friends didn't believe her. Campus cops, the university, did nothing.

"It blew a hole in my life," she said.

I couldn't speak for a moment, so I slowly reached an arm around her, which she accepted. Finally, I said, "When someone harms you, it's normal to expect them to fix it. But for this, the perp never would and we wouldn't want them to. We have to do it all ourselves, mostly alone. Right?"

"Absolutely right. I had to take a year off from college, then went to a different, smaller university that has a zero tolerance policy. Changed my major too. That cost me almost another year, but it was worth it. I met the right people, learned a lot. But its not over, obviously."

"Its never completely over. The only way it can ever be over is with a time machine to make it not happen. Speaking up about it helps, with those you can trust. It also helps to reach out and help other survivors. Healing heals the healer."

"I knew there was something about you," she said, and put her head on my shoulder.

We finished our tea and walked to my window to look for danger. Again, there was movement below as I lifted a blind with my finger.

"He's still there isn't he?"

"Someone is."

"Asshole! I've finally gotten to the point where I could date again. And guess what happened? I used a dating site and I shouldn't have. By dumb luck, Richard also used it. He recognized me from my profile and instead of trying to connect there, he came by my apartment, unannounced."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't open the door. I just said he should have pinged me on the app and now I'm not interested. Since then, it's like he's watching for me and tries to talk to me when I'm on my way to work or something."

"Up to you, but have you considered filing a complaint with the apartment manager, or the cops, or hell, a restraining order? And, do you carry pepper spray or pack heat?"

"Pepper spray, yes, right here," she said, patting her pocket. "I'm in a self-defense class too. I'll start with the apartment manager, but from what happened in college, I'm not hopeful."

"Yeah, I know. You can call me too, anytime."

Beryl looked at me steadily and smiled. "I know." She looked at the floor and said, "So, then you came to do your laundry, and I just felt, I dunno, safe somehow. And that paradox you mentioned made so much sense, though I still don't think I'm beautiful."

"Beryl," I said. "You are. It goes right to the bone, too. What would your counsellor say to you?"

"Well, she'd say that I'm beautiful."

"Precisely," I replied, "and you saying that you're comfortable with me is the best compliment I've ever had."

Beryl nodded, said, "I wanted to make sure you don't think it's a daddy issue or anything. My father is a good man."

"You should know that I've never dated a younger woman, never thought it possible. I preemptively give up. But now, I think maybe that it's not about age at all, but soul, or something."

Beryl nodded, suddenly looking shy. "I'm at a crossroads."

I looked at her, expecting more. "What kind of crossroads?" I asked.

"I just want...a normal life, you know? I want...those things that, um, people consider normal, like dating, you know...." She stopped then reached out, held my hand, and pulled it toward her. We hugged. Our faces touched. I had never hugged such a tall woman before and was used to their faces hitting me much lower. But Beryl's ear was right next to my mouth, her abdomen, hips, and thighs touching mine.

I wanted to kiss her. All I had to do was turn my face, but I didn't think it would be appropriate for the moment. I wanted her to lead. She initiated the hug after all. Then Beryl turned her head so the corner of her mouth almost touched my cheek. I could hear and feel her breath. I shifted my head just a bit, bringing my lips closer to hers.

Beryl responded by opening her lips and gently pressing them into my flesh, then again closer to my mouth. She then turned and kissed me on the lips, softly at first, then again with more purpose. We didn't stop.

Responding to that, I held her just a bit tighter, and brought one hand up her back to where it touched her braid. Beryl pulled back and we looked into each other's eyes, both of us unsure what, if anything, to do. I thought that the moment might last a long while, then abruptly she kissed me again, and again. A moment later and we were holding each other tightly, kissing, passionately but slowly. Neither of us was in a rush.