It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon and I wanted to get out, drink a beer or two, and listen to music. Checking the web, I found that a husband-and-wife acoustic duet would be playing at Bonefish Willys. I always liked Bonefish Willys. It's a small, family run seafood restaurant and Tiki bar on the Indian River Lagoon. The restaurant sits up on a hill and the patio commands a wonderful view of the river and Merritt Island beyond.
I rolled in around 3:30 and found five other folks in the bar. I found a seat at the end of the bar, two seats down from an attractive older woman. The group was rather talkative, and the definite leader of the discussion was Bob, a pleasant man, smiling, gregarious, chatty. Okay, he was a borderline obnoxious New Yorker and given to be loud by having lived in the city for so many years. Bob was leading the conversation which centered around the old TV sitcom I Dream of Jeannie and how living in Cocoa Beach was his slice of the paradise portrayed by the old show.
At one point Bob wondered if it was Major Healey and Admiral Nelson. He was referring to the military rank of the TV show characters. I chimed in that it was Major Nelson. I assured him that the Air Force had not appropriated the rank of Admiral and that Admiral Nelson was British and the hero of Trafalgar. The crowd was stunned quiet, and I thought I might have put my foot in it when Bob laughed and marveled at my memory.
I was invited into the mix and a fun conversation went on for some time. Alex, a mailman, in uniform, was the first to drop out. He had worked all day and wanted to head home after a couple cool ones. A married couple on my right whose names I never did catch left shortly after. They were moving up the river to the next Tiki bar in line at Marker 99. That left just three of us at the bar.
The woman introduced herself as Michele, I gave my name and shook her hand. I reckoned her to be a bit younger than me. She had nice, toned legs that led up to a firm, compact butt housed in white shorts, quite short actually. She wore a salmon color fleece top. Her breasts were average and looked firm. She was a brunette with a pleasant face and genuine smile.
I'm 65. I have long hair, just because I couldn't when I was younger and had to be responsible. Now I don't have to be responsible and work hard at maintaining that status. I'm in good shape. I lift weights, swim, and do yoga. I don't mean to toot my own horn but, by inspection of people near my age that I see around me, I'm more attractive than most.
The talk meandered. Michele was a very recent refugee from Blue State oppression and had moved from Maryland just four months before. She was bemoaning the high cost of rents and was living with a girlfriend. Everything was fine but, she wanted her own place.
Bob was a realtor and was proceeding to put on a full court press extolling the virtues of the area and advising her to consider buying. "Interest rates are at 5.5%." He Said. "They could be at 10%. You never know." He added with a sense of sincere urgency.
He looked over at me. "What do you do Tom?" He asked.
I've been a lot of things, mechanic, Naval Aviator, Engineer, Sailor but, now happily was living on investments. I found that when I answered that I was retired people saw me as old and when I said that I wasn't working people thought I was a bum. I thought for a minute on how to answer and settled on my best response. "I'm in between jobs." I smiled.
"When was the last time you worked?" Michele asked.
"2020." I said with a sip of beer. I got an odd look from Bob, but no one commented.
Bob began to monopolize the conversation and Michele seemed interested so, I swiveled my chair, ordered another beer, and began to watch the band which had just started up.
The afternoon went on at a slow enjoyable pace and soon I said I was going to settle up and head back home when Bob declared his intention to do the same. I looked over to Michele and her smile faded as she realized that she would now be left alone and soon probably would be heading home herself for lack of company.
I did something out of character for me. I looked over at Michele and asked her if she cared for one more beer. I said that I wanted to sit for a little while longer after all and would appreciate the company. Her face lit up but at the same time Bob's darkened. I wondered if he was thinking that he should have stayed behind. Little matter, we wished him well and he left.
That left Michele and I alone to talk more. We traded stories about how we had gotten here to Florida. I gave her an abbreviated version of my journey. When I finished my story, she told me hers.
Her road was a bit harder than mine had been. She had been widowed six years previously. She had no family in Maryland where they had lived and was getting by but, not living, not enjoying life. Her friends in Florida urged her to come down and live more simply. She pulled the trigger and so far, she was happy with her decision. Her job was working out and her friend was showing her neighborhoods and apartment complexes. She said she was smiling more now, and I told her it showed.
She asked what we do for fun on the Space Coast. I wondered about that question but still, I filled her in on fun local places and day trips as we listened to the band and finished our beers.
As I was settling the check, I thought more about her question and looked at her and said, "I know something fun we can do right now." She cocked her head to the side and half smiled, interested. "You wanna go make out?" I said.
"What?!" Was her predicable reply.
I allowed a small smile to form on my lips. "You heard me." I said. "I know a nice place about 10 minutes from here. Follow me."
"I don't know." She said stalling, thinking. "I don't usually do things like that."
"Michele, I'm 65. I'm safe, sane, and kind of a nice guy." I replied. "Michele," I tuned earnest as I asked, "When was the last time someone other than yourself made you cum?"
Her face flushed crimson. After a moment, "Awhile." She agreed.
