Author's note.
I actually wrote this story ten years ago around 2014, but never finding the time, chance, energy, and ideas on how to go on with it... Finally I am happy to say that I have managed to wrap it up to let it loose.
I am seriously interested in a second, further instalment, according to how it goes with the readers.
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The Quarry Skinny Dip
For some years now, mum has been secretly hinting that she would love it if I spent a week with her at our old home. Now don't get me wrong, it's not that I didn't visit mum. I actually did that quite regularly.
I just never thought about spending the night though. As to why that is, I can't really explain. I mean my old room was still the same as it was. My other brothers had married or moved out, and it would be just us two hanging out, most probably reminiscing about the good old days. Nice and quiet.
With my neighbours starting on a re-decoration project, including an extension of their home at the back, I finally relented to spending a week with her, if only to escape the noise.
I had married eleven years earlier, following which my father suddenly passed away eight weeks after that. Unfortunately, my wife and I divorced spectacularly after five years.
So, for the last six years I was single again, enjoying the life of a divorcee, not exactly drowning in sex, but not bereft of any, either. I often indulged with a friend of mine at work, who similarly enjoyed her single status too much to be bogged down by conventions such as dating or settling.
About twice a month we went out together for a meal, or a movie, and generally stayed over at her apartment for a night of mutual backscratching. Worked fine for me, and I guess, also for her. I had once tried to broach the subject of sharing a space but was firmly told to 'never mention that phrase again'. No big deal. We weren't kids. I could understand it.
Honestly, I also enjoyed my independence. Didn't have any kids, and enjoying life as it came. Whenever I needed human companionship, I usually made my way to the gym, the football club, or the Rocker's Hangout. For everything else I had Nibbles, my rescued cat. But really, I was not too keen on extra-curricular events after work.
After a hectic day, all I needed was to absolutely shutdown and keep myself to myself. The swimming pool at the gym was about the only place I indulged, as I loved the trance of raking up lap after lap in quiet solitude.
Having said that, I'll add that I wouldn't mind if I had a long-term companion, I certainly had the space available, but certainly not something akin to marriage. Perhaps it's because I never found the 'right girl'.
So there, that's a little bit of a background about my life after leaving home. Now nearing thirty-eight, I was in pretty good shape overall. No six-pack, but no flab either. I was happy with how things were (not) evolving in life, and I have rarely felt calmer.
The day before going for my stay at mum's, I prepared some clothes, and charged up my main weapons of media consumption. My iPad and MacBook made their way into the travel luggage I elected to utilize. Of course, my Kindle was a dead cert, and nobody goes anywhere without a phone these days.
I also threw in a large pack of Purina cat-food as well as some wet-food pouches for Nibbles who would be coming with me. There was no way I was going to leave her behind me. She'd go nuts. My sweet docile companion made her way into the cat-carrier with no fuss. She just curled up on her favourite towel, and promptly went to sleep. I've often marvelled at the way these wondrous creatures did that without a problem. Insomnia was my bitch.
It was a longish three-hour drive to my mum's and the heat was brutal even at nine. The AC strained but did its job reasonably well. I didn't want Nibbles to be too cold, so I had strapped her to the back seat. The low temperature would affect her less. Her catching a cold would really throw me into a panic. I'd rather be sick myself.
Traffic was light, nothing to write home about, and as I moved from the motorway to the suburbs, old memories came flooding back. The roads were far less busy back then of course, less cars, and less buildings, although sadly, many of the older blocks were boarded up and being unhappily ravaged by time and weather.
Mum's neighbourhood was still a thriving community though, and I was really surprised to find that they had been enclosed as a gated facility. I don't think she had mentioned this to me before, but it was cool. Safer, in more than one way.
I presented my identification to the guard, who remembered me from school, and he issued a barcode I stuck to my windscreen.
"It will enable you to go through the gate up there without intervention. The gate will open by the time you come up the road as the cameras get your barcode." Billy told me.
"Thanks Billy. I didn't know security had tightened up here."
"Well, a lot of crazies in these times. Staying here long?" he asked.
"Yeah, spend at least a week with mum. Perhaps we'll have time for a drink and a yap?"
"Sure enough. The old gang is still around. We usually hang around in the bleachers of the old training stadium."
"I know where that is. I'll make sure to meet you all." My promise was solid.
Billy was a good guy. Just not good enough with school. Fantastic carpenter though. Funny that. Some folks can't do school but have an immense talent with their hands.
Arriving and parking in mum's garage, I let the door down, and Nibbles was the first to alight from the car as I opened her box. She'd been here before and knew her way around. Straight to the potty she went.
I had just my usual wheeled luggage case with me. Overkill, but so easy to pack everything in.
As usual Mum had visitors, but she greeted me warmly as she led me to the living room. She introduced me to Stella and Joann, two women her age, and Trudy, a stunning blonde approximately my age. Stella's daughter apparently.
I pecked each of the women on the cheeks, lingering at Trudy's hug. My god. Instant attraction. I smiled at her as I greeted them all.
"New around here?" I asked, my gaze momentarily going to Trudy's bountiful breasts.
"We just moved in a few weeks ago." Stella told me. "Easy living. Although it's a bit difficult on Trudy as it is mostly older folks around here. The youngsters have all moved to the city." She did not mince words.
"Well, I'm over here for the week. Perhaps I can show her around town." I tried to hide my delight.
"I'd love that", Trudy said. "The evenings are very lonely here."
I looked at my watch, noting it was already close to two o'clock. The drive had taken a bit longer than expected
"Want to go out somewhere and grab a bite to eat? Nothing special, no need to dress up."
"Why not? It'll do me a world of good. Let me get my purse."
Of course, what woman would be without a purse?
Fifteen minutes later I took the only road out of the gates, and headed on to the westbound carriageway to a steakhouse I enjoyed visiting. A short but extremely pleasant thirty-minute drive later we were there. It was only when we arrived that I remembered to ask Trudy if she ate meat.
"Hooves and all" was her short answer.
We sat at a table at the back of the huge, converted barn and scanned the menus. We decided on beer and a good old fillet steak with everything thrown on it.
The beer was delivered, and we toasted each other.
"So, Trudy... tell me. WHAT are you doing here with your mother?" I asked.
"Long story. But here's a short version. I was married for a few years to a guy I thought would be my ultimate man. The one who would fulfil my dreams. The father of my children. Instead, I found a bully, a drunk... a wife-beater.
He was okay until he started drinking with his buddies during the weekends and bullying me around. He always claimed he was just having a bit of fun, but his hand grew heavier week by week. At first, he always hit me where clothes would cover my bruises, but he grew bolder and started hitting me round the head.
I tried to hide things until my sister turned up unexpectedly one morning, finding me with a black eye. My explanation of tumbling down the stairs did not hold with her.
She pretended she'd accepted it. The following day, a police car showed up at the door. I just had to let them in, and while they waited at the front door, they asked me to call my husband.
He was already on the way to being drunk by then, and as I told him that they wanted to talk to him, he hit me again. The meaty sound of his fist hitting my face and the thump I made as I collapsed to the floor taking down a couple of vases with me, brought the police in with a rush.
I woke up in hospital, barely able to see out of one eye. My jaw was wired shut, and I spent three months recuperating before I could eat solid food again.
The fucker was charged in court, and the judge handed him community work. Would you believe it?
I knew he would be after me. So, I bought a gun. He showed up at home threatening to kill me as soon as I opened the door. As if I was going to let him in! He broke it in."
Trudy stopped at that... She tried to compose herself. Visibly moved, I put my hand over hers.
"And I shot him dead", she added.
I looked at her in shock.
"He slammed my face against a wall, really bruising me, but I got a shot in, then called the police before fainting from shock and pain. I was absolved totally. But it took a lot of work by my shrink to get me out of that deep dark hell hole."
I didn't know what to say. I just gripped her hand in sympathy.
"Don't feel sad about it. He got what he deserved. I've come to my senses about it. He asked for it. He got it."
I could only nod in agreement.
After a few minutes of silence, I opened about my divorce, letting nothing unsaid, but there was never any violence.
"We just grew bitter about each other. Yes, we argued, but never did I ever raise my hand, and neither did she, either. A couple of plates being smashed, but nothing serious. More by accident, really. But life became unbearably toxic. We sniped at each other practically over everything. Eventually, I started living upstairs, and she took the lower floor.
Our breakup was spectacular as she thrashed me with everyone who was willing to listen. Mostly lies. That was what pissed me off, really.
Funnily enough, we became friends after divorcing, but that was the extent of our relationship. We knew we had occasional partners after our separation, but that was nobody's business but ours. We, uh, became intimate twice after that. It was actually very pleasurable, but just a fling to scratch an itch." It was still painful to talk about the parting.
The food arrived, breaking our serious talk. It was a relief. She had gone through a lot. Nobody should have to do that. Domestic violence will remain a blight on manhood forever.
"So", she said, with a smile, "I'm a killer... how's your food?"
