I very likely can be described as struggling with myself again.
Losing a husband of more than two decades is bad enough. Moving to a strange town on a whim, and a hope, is another trauma.
I sit here this evening alone, writing. I reach out for a tissue and wipe the tears from my eyes every few minutes, trying to keep them from blinding me as I type.
{Pills again. I take one}
My late husband Ted, would never have hurt me like this. I know for a fact he would not have.
My new man, Jon, is very nice and kind, but he isn't the man Ted was. Ted would make love to another woman because it was normal, Jon does it because he feels some need inside to cheat. At least I think so, perhaps all of that is in my mind. no matter, it hurts.
Oh, some will say, "same thing", it is not. There is a difference I find difficult to explain, few words fit the situation.
I caught Jon using my bedroom for a dallience with Carlita, one of the staff from the hotel/casino he owns a family portion of.
Anyone with real brains knows you never mess around with staff! I wanted to be outraged, I wanted to take a scalpel and do some harm.
I managed to keep my best professional air.
I am not a jealous person, at least not with Ted I wasn't. With him, sex was an easy and normal part of life, with Jon, it is something to pursue, and perhaps hide from others, ashamed of having done it.
Ted would never hide, he had no shame at all about what was perfectly normal to him. Do you begin to see the difference?
{In my bed!}
Not in my bed! I wanted to cry. Changing the sheets, covers, was helpful. Not enough.
I had the bed hauled off, replaced. That didn't do it, there was still the room. Jon cheating on me with her, her feet on my carpet, her hands on my vanity, all of that in my mind. Doing it was not the problem, hiding it was. Cheating. The beginnings of trust, shattered.
{More tears.}
I called a flooring company, had the carpets torn up and replaced. That didn't do it. I had every piece of furniture in there replaced, that didn't do it.
I knew what I needed to do. I needed it for me, not to punish Jon. I know, that doesn't make sense, what the hell does in this life?
Somehow I needed to feel desirable, alive.
{Look at ME!}
I am screaming inside, torn between what I should do and what I want to do.
I got up and showered, then as I was drying myself, I looked in the full-length mirror. It does not lie to me.
Mousy hair, straight, no matter what I do. Nice highlights, the fast approaching gray is well hidden. Nose too damned long and sharp, too damned thin to make it worse, cheekbones high from some oriental blood somewhere back in my family, or was it African? I don't know.
My eyes are obviously Caucasion, perhaps my best feature. They are big, and dark golden brown.
Sometimes I will look at someone I like, let my eyes stroke them. Vanity. I want to see if they notice my eyes, conscious deep down of doing it deliberately. My best asset. My pride, yes, vanity.
{Do I have to be so damned honest?}
Once in awhile I am rewarded. I see the eyes lock on mine, the beginnings of interest, then the eyes show desire. Just sometimes, most just look away, pretending they don't see me. It always sends a ripple through me when they notice. Sometimes I crave that look like a drug, then I feel a moment of satisfaction.
I watched Ted step away from me one day at the Post office, as a lady about my age struggled with packing a postal priority box. He walked over to her, handed her a larger box he had retrieved from the offerings.
I grinned as he said, "Please don't take offense, I am a married man and faithful. But, my God you are a beautiful creature!!"
I remember looking at her, she was mousy hair, thin, 50, like me. Just Ted, the way he was, he found beauty where the rest of us didn't look.
He left a simple housewife in heat that day, radient, delightful. For a moment she was now happy with herself.
Just like he did with me.
Ted would look at me and say, "You are beautiful!" and make me believe it. Jon looks at me and says, "You are beautiful" and they are practiced words. I cannot explain the difference, but it is there.
Back to my story:
I looked at my breasts, nipples soft and expanded from the heat of the shower. Small, god they are small! I would go have them enlarged but I fear the blade. I am a Doctor, I see the results of errors.
My body is thin, even the six pounds I have gained doesn't help that much. At just 117 pounds, 5'6", yes, thin as a rail. But I note with some satisfaction that my ribs no longer are so pronounced.
Yes, thin arms, thin legs, I looked at my pubic mound. As always, my fully regrown bush is sparse, the lips large and protruding. The source of so much teasing when I was in school.
I was not pleased with my reflection, but it was improving, or so I thought. I got out my new bikini. I had just purchased it the day before, same day I got back from Portland.
I knew my back deck afforded only partial privacy, the newer homes on the rise to the South overlooking the river had decks and balconies above my yard.
I put on the bikini, just a wisp of cloth, really. Naughty. The top covered my nipples, that is all. God how I wished for flesh to protrude out the sides, the top, very little did.
Oh well. It is what I have.
I slipped the bottoms up over my fanny, feeling the thin string slide between my cheeks. "Nothing hidden from back there." I thought, giggling at myself. I reached and adjusted the crotch of the suit, well aware the tiny triangle of cloth barely reached my anus.
I looked again at the image staring back from the mirror. A few wisps of pubic hairs escaped the top and sides of the tiny "V" of cloth. I turned, there was no back, I was naked from that vantage.
A shudder, involuntary, tore through me. Taking a deep breath, I picked up my towel and my water bottle, stepping out on the deck.
Glancing around, I saw no one. I sat on the deck chair, grabbed my bottle of lotion and spread it carefully. I had just the beginnings of color on my face and arms, my body was still mostly untouched by sunlight.
I lay back, basking, aware of sounds around. Still no one I could see.
{I want to be seen.}
I felt my nipples crinkle up at the thought, my breath changed.
It was just a few minutes when I heard a door. I looked up through slitted eyes, a man came out on his balcony about a hundred feet away.
He spotted me almost instantly, the colorful prints of the tiny suit I wore would be like a beacon against the natural wood color of the deck.
He paused, smiled, then went back inside. Nice looking, perhaps 35 or so.
I waited.
I noticed a stirring in one of the curtains, then a tiny flash of light. I realized someone was watching with binoculars.
I stretched, rewarded with the top slipping slightly aside. I glanced down, saw my right nipple came partially into view.
{Could he see?}
A spasm hit my groin then, I took another involuntary inward gasp of breath. The curtain moved. Then he walked out on the balcony again, hands out to the railing. He was looking my way with interest. He raised a hand and waved, I waved back. I stretched one leg out flat, taking a deep breath. He was staring right at me, a smile on his face.
