Mabel, a retired professor of electrical engineering now seventy-four, had been a widow for over two decades.
Living alone, she didn't need the big five-bedroom house: she kept it mostly for her visitors. Today she had two, one long-planned, the other impromptu. Joan, her best friend for over fifty years, had arrived a couple of days ago for a three-week visit -- mostly to celebrate her eightieth birthday two days hence. Their friendship dated from when Joan -- then a PhD student -- had undergraduate Mabel as her student in an engineering math course.
These days, Joan was a functional widow - hubby had gone Alzheimer's a few years back and was now completely and permanently incommunicado: there was no real point in visiting him anymore. Joan, a math teacher, was mentally sharp as a tack.
In addition to Joan there was Mabel's other visitor was her only nephew, Andrew -- who had arrived unannounced this morning. A thirty-seven year old scientist, he traveled across country frequently, was welcome to drop in extemporaneously, and often did, under cover of Mabel's standing invitation.
Andrew's bag was still beside the kitchen door as Mabel did introductions. He and Joan had never met, but felt as if they knew one another well, since each had heard
in extenso
about the other from Mabel over the years. Sitting and chatting over coffee, Andrew had been instantly captivated by Joan's wit and charm. They quickly discovered a shared interest in fast repartee -- especially three-level puns larded with double-entendre and sexual innuendo.
When Joan and Mabel were talking to one-another, Andrew studied both women discreetly. Mabel --unfortunately - seemed the older -- mostly because she'd gained some un-needed weight, and her skin hadn't aged well: too much sun early in life. Weight notwithstanding, Mabel was actually in good condition -- she insisted on her daily hour or more of yoga, a fifty-year practice.
Another long-time yoga practitioner, Joan had fared better, aided by both genetics and her longstanding determination --not to call it obsession- to stay in good condition. She and Joan did their yoga together during every visit -- it was nice to have a partner.
Andrew watched as Joan got up for more coffee -- she moved with a subtly feline grace and smoothness due to five decades of dance atop the yoga. Although always an amateur she had, in fact, danced corps in a big professional production of CATS long ago. Joan was small, just short of tiny, about five two and one ten, light-boned, childless and slim hipped, with the gentlest pot-belly -- it was perceptible only when she was standing and completely relaxed, which she didn't let happen often.
Andrew was pleasantly surprised to see she still had a genuinely attractive bottom: unlike so many elders, she had no slightest trace of their common bowlegged flat-butted droopiness.
More details accumulated. She had piercing brilliant blue eyes, lovely facial and neck skin that befitted her age, but nicely so - parchment thin and carrying plenty of wrinkles that showed mostly when she smiled. Lips still full and attractive, with none of the creeping "old-lady" vertical simian lines. Not a dot of makeup anywhere, either. Only the backs of her hands fully agreed with her calendar age, but even there the age-spots were light and hadn't yet begun to coalesce. Beautiful, unusually white teeth, an asset she was inordinately proud of and which got very special care. No upper-arm wattles. No extra chins. No overly loose neck-skin.
Her long hair was purest silver, not a streak of color anywhere, and still looked soft and flexible and full-bodied. He shook his head mentally as he studied the hair -- she'd done one of those "women and their hair things" that men find so mystifying -- a tight bun, held improbably in place by a single lacquered chopstick. He wondered what it would look like if set free and floating, a special liking of his.
In toto, Andrew decided rather to his surprise that he found this woman extremely attractive despite their wide age-gap, a gap that inverted the usual arrangement for attraction. It didn't hurt a bit, either, that she was an incredible flirt and practiced on him almost non-stop.
After two hours of coffee, juice, pastries, and delightful conversation, Andrew's bag still sat beside the kitchen door. Mabel finally noticed it, jumped up and said "Andrew, Joan's in the number one room downstairs -- you get the other." She turned to Joan: "Of course that means you'll have to share the bath... I assume that's okay? It has two doors, you remember."
Joan said she could manage. Andrew knew the layout. The bath sat between the two relatively large, well-appointed guest rooms and had a door to each. The rooms had floor-to-ceiling window-walls that looked due east out into the garden.
Andrew disappeared downstairs with his bag: Joan and Mabel moved to the living room. Andrew re-appeared in a few minutes, in running gear. Mabel looked at him closely, up and down -- eighty or not, she appreciated a good male body. Andrew saw her appraisal, recognized that she had intentionally let him see it as part of her flirting, grinned at her, stuck his tongue out, said he'd be back in an hour. Then they could all do something about lunch. Light, preferably.
He returned as promised, sweaty and glowing, to find lunch on the table. Joan mentioned wistfully that she no longer ran -- walking yes, lots and fast, but running no. Some body parts were getting far too delicate, she was having a not-yet-obvious struggle with osteoporosis, and showed them the slight hump she was developing between her shoulder blades despite her efforts.
Andrew commiserated as best he could, then announced to Mabel's utter surprise that he had taken up yoga himself recently... and complained in turn about how much his runner's hamstrings interfered with everything yogic. Joan suggested that later, say well after a light supper, they should all do an hour of yoga together: maybe, she grinned, these two old women could give him some useful advice?
The third downstairs 'bedroom' was Mabel's dedicated yoga nook. Tiny, really nothing more than an oversized walk-in closet with no window and little ventilation -- but it had a ballet-barre, a big wall mirror, and good wooden floor. For one person it was fine: for two, marginal but adequate. For three it was a close fit, and all had to be both friendly and careful.
The women had done yoga together for decades, and had their routine. Andrew followed along as best he could: keeping up brought him into another good sweat pretty quickly -- about 80% of the strength in the room belonged to him, but the two ladies had about 95% of the total flexibility and balance. Many times when he was unable to even approximate a pose, the women would stop and help: in particular, Joan's touchings were frequent and uncompromising -- she was enjoying herself immensely.