After 36 years of a truly great marriage, my wife, Jane, passed away after a lengthy battle with cancer. Needless to say I was at once grief stricken and, at the same time, glad that her long struggle was over. Four days after her death, our small town had one its largest funeral in many years, a testament to Jane's popularity and in recognition for all the good works she had performed. Most of the attendees were a blur as they offered condolences. One of the last to approach me was Jane's best friend, Marge. Ironically it seemed that only a short time before, Jane and I had been consoling Marge on the loss of her husband, Hank. We held each other for a brief moment, kissed each other on the cheek, and then she was gone.
Two months had gone by and I had gotten back to work and the job of keeping house for myself. On Saturday morning, as usual, I went to our supermarket to do my shopping for the week ahead. I was standing over the meat display, trying to determine which steak looked the best when I heard her voice.
"Well, hello, stranger."
It was Marge whom I hadn't seen or talked to since that day in the cemetery. "Hi Marge, it's good to see you and I apologize for not calling you."
"No apologies necessary. I know how much you've had to face since...well, you know." We stood there, making small talk for a few minutes and were about to part when Marge said, "Oh, Pete, how would you like to come to my place for dinner tonight?" I thought for only a second...a chance to have a home cooked dinner that I hadn't prepared sounded awfully good to me.
"I'd love to, Marge. What time should I come?" She smiled again, "Any time after five and I'll let you bring the wine." Of course I agreed and we then parted.
Marge was, at 57, two years older than Jane and the same age as me. She was a somewhat short, only an inch or two over five feet, small frame, though a little hippy, very small breasts, dark brown eyes set in a pleasant face and with snow white hair that, on her was quite attractive. She and Jane had been very close and the four of us had often gone out to dinner together. While the two women had been very close, Hank and I had very little in common, managing only to be civil to one another. He had a rather loud mouth and always had to be right. I had often wondered how Marge had put up with him for so many years.
It was about ten after five when I arrived at Marge's, two bottles of a good merlot in hand. She greeted me at the door with a hug and kiss and welcomed me into her living room. Since Hank's death she had redecorated with all new furniture and curtains. The room was bright and cheery. "Place looks nice, Marge. You've rally brightened things up," I told her. "Well," she said, "I just wanted to get rid of the darker stuff. Hank always liked it, said it was 'sexy'. I just went along with him but it never seemed 'sexy' to me."
Marge got out two wine glasses while I uncorked one of the bottles of merlot. I poured for the two of us and we sat in the living room across the room from each other and talked. During our conversation, I began to realize just how close the two women had been as bits and pieces of Jane's and my life began to surface, personal things, sexual things that I had never discussed with any of my friends.
Jane and I had been blessed with mutually high sex drives, engaging some kind of sexual practice at least four times a week, some of it most people might consider 'kinky'. These were some of the things Marge had eluded to in our conversation.
About half way through our third glass of wine, Marge suddenly jumped up, saying, "My goodness, I think I'd better check on our dinner. Don't want anything to burn." Since I am a smoker, I called out to her, saying I was going out on the front porch for a cigarette. "Don't be foolish, Pete, you can smoke here in the house. It was Hank who was death on smoking. If you'll wait a minute, I'll join you."
When she returned from the kitchen, she brought an ash tray with her and placed it on the side table next to me, then, instead of returning to the seat across from me, sat on the couch, within reach of the ash tray. "Aren't you going to offer me a cigarette," she asked. "But I didn't know you smoked," I replied, passing her one of mine. As I leaned forward to light it for her, she smiled at me and said, "You'd be surprised, I've picked up some very naughty habits in the past few months. Maybe I'll tell you about them later, after dinner."
About half an hour later, we went into the dining room to eat. Marge had prepared a delicious casserole and we opened the second bottle of wine. We made a lot of small talk during dinner and, while I was anxious to hear about her 'naughty habits, the subject didn't come up again. After dessert of hot apple pie, I helped clear the table and put the dishes in the dishwasher. We returned to the living room with the last of the wine and for an after dinner cigarette. This time we sat side by side on the couch.
