Pure fiction. My thanks to my editor: WindySwimming.
*****
We were sitting on the patio of a beachfront restaurant, sipping something tall and cold. She wore a straw hat and shades, plus a button-front shirt and walking shorts. One leg was propped on an empty chair, and the other across her knee, a flip-flop dangled (barely) from one toe. The cool breeze was playing gently with her hair. We had walked here from our B&B, a string of tiny cottages, each with a view of the beach and ocean, where we had spent most of the weekend stress-testing the bed. We were taking a break. I'll call her Jennifer.
"You know, they're all really starting to bug me!" she started. I waited. "Everyone, and I mean everyone, is telling me that I need to move on. It's 'time to get back in the game. I'm too young to spend my life hidden away, and other subtle questions as to why I haven't landed another man yet!"
I chuckled. "In fact, you have landed another man."
She turned her head and looked at me over her sunglasses. "Are you getting soft in your old age? I thought you said we were just a therapeutic fucking for the newly divorced mother of two?"
"I'll leave it to you to decide if I'm getting soft," I replied, smiling, "but I must admit that I have never enjoyed any woman as much as you. While I am not about to renounce my blessed state of bachelorhood, there will always be a place for you in my life, and bed."
"No matter who else is also in it ...," she added, with a smirk. "To tell the truth, you, and not just that mighty sword you wield, have done wonders for this poor lady's ego and self-confidence. God! It's good to feel like a woman again, instead of just a mother. In case I forget in the heat of the moment, thank you, thank you, thank you!!"
"As always, my pleasure." This was getting awfully sweet. "So what is the problem with being single and enjoying it?" I asked to change the direction. "Just tell them to buzz off."
"Expectations. You guys seem to operate under a looser set of rules, but women? Parents expect certain things, husbands, judges, co-workers, society - they all have these layers of expectations. That's what's bugging me now; I can't just be. I have to be this, or that, but never just me. Because of joint custody and 'societal norms', I can't be open about us. Don't even get me started on single motherhood! Talk about an impossible pile of expectations! It's a guaranteed failure! If I'd known it was this bad, I would have stayed married!"
"He left you." I reminded her.
"Yeah, but I might have been able to arrange for the three of us to live together. Geeze!" She laughed at herself. "Seriously, I would give anything to have some time with no expectations!"
She had me curious, now. "Where do these expectations come from? Other than work, I personally don't really feel any."
"Work, yeah, that's a contract of sorts, though there are a lot of unspoken expectations as well." she replied, thinking. She shrugged. "It's just who you are. If I were a drug addict, they would simply take my kids away and leave me alone. No one expects much of anything from a drug addict. And I tell you, if I hadn't had you to help maintain my sanity, I might have ended up going that route."
"Hm-m-m. So, it's identity? Who you are in society?" I persisted.
"Well, duh!" She replied.
Okay. "So how do you change your identity?"
"I don't know. Even if I went somewhere else to start over and re-invent myself, I would have the girls. I'm not giving them up, even for a reasonably free life." She sounded resigned, but not really happy.
"Well, maybe you could time-share." I said, speculating. I was slipping into the male problem-solving mode, even though I knew better. "By day, you wear the role of a hard working, divorced, mother of two. On occasional weekends, however, you are the favorite lover of a confirmed bachelor. Maybe you could expand on that kind of multiple identity."
She grinned. "Well, I obviously love the expectations of that second role. But it's wearing thin in the sense that my support system, the people I rely on to watch the girls for me when I am with you, are starting to rebel. A couple weekends alone to 'get over' the divorce is one thing, but as an ongoing lifestyle, it is raising eyebrows, and they don't even know what I'm doing!" She shook her head.
"Ah!" She sat up. "I'm depressing myself, and probably you. Let's go walk the beach."
So we did. I watched her chase waves back down the sand, and run away as the next raced in, like an innocent child. A few times she stood her ground and let the surf catch her and she wiggled her feet down into the soft, wet sand. The water was cold, and only wet-suited surfers were out in the water. I thought about identity and how one might change it.
Eventually, we had walked the length of the beach and back to our cottage. She took my hand and pulled me in. I had barely locked the door before she was naked and sitting cross-legged in the middle of the messy bed.
"What would you like as a pre-dinner appetizer?" she asked, happily.
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Three weeks later, she called. "Busy tonight?" she asked, with no preliminaries.
"Where would you like to go?" I asked in response.
"To bed, with you, your place is fine. Don't bother to clean up. What time?"
"Wait," I laughed, "even that august source, Playboy Advisor, says 'Never make love on an empty stomach - take her to dinner first!'"
"Cute," she acknowledged, "I'll be eating with the girls. You go find yourself a large plate of oysters. What time?"
"Okay, eight?" I was guessing.
"Would nine be all right? Then I can put the girls to bed before I leave."
"I'll see you then. You do remember how to get here?"
"Oh, yeah! I can't wait! Bye!!"
The phone went dead, and I stood there looking at it for a few seconds. I cleaned up the place, anyway.
She knocked at about 9:20. I was not surprised. I have heard that kids are hard to put to bed when they know you are going out. She came in past me as I held the door, dropped her purse and car keys, turned around and put her arms around my neck.
"No questions yet; just make love to me." Her lips brushed against mine, and any questions I might have had drifted away.
She was passionate and somehow demanding. She wanted, and gave, full measure each step of the way: undressing each other, manual foreplay, oral foreplay each way, and if I can remember, four different positions before I lost control. I lay across her, legs tangled, completely spent, feeling my cock shrinking inside her.
After a moment, when I had caught my breath again, I propped myself up on one elbow. She was lying on her back, arms over her head, eyes closed. I could see the track of a tear trailing down from the outside corner of her eye. "What's going on?" I asked quietly.
She held up a finger for me to wait, then pressed a thigh up between my legs and rotated her hips in a vain attempt to push me further inside her. When she relaxed, I popped out completely and she gave up.
"I can't make it next weekend. No one will take the girls for the weekend, damn it!" she whispered into the gap between my shoulder and cheek. Now, the evening made sense. I just held her. She was crying, trying not to be obvious.
Eventually, she calmed down and sat up against the headboard. "Next door neighbor girl is really desperate for baby-sitting money, so I have coverage for evenings, but ..." Her voice trailed off and a couple tears started again. "Damn it! I don't ask for much!"
"All those expectations again. Somehow, we're going to have to change your identity!" I half meant it as a joke. She didn't laugh.
She shrugged, and I saw her make the effort to put it behind her. "Now I want a drink. Do you think I can burn off a Scotch on the rocks before I leave tonight?" she asked with a weak grin.
"You bet!" I replied, slipping out of bed and making note of the time. I would not let her leave for at least two hours. A moment later she joined me in the living room, and I handed her the Scotch, her favorite brand. She was naked except for a washcloth tucked between her thighs and her pussy. She caught me looking, and apologized for her sexy underwear with a sarcastic tone and a little curtsey.
I plopped down on the couch with my drink, and patted the seat next to me. "Actually, since I'm the reason you're wearing it, it is in fact very sexy, so come on over here and let me hold you, you wonderfully sexy babe!"
She grinned, and snuggled in next to me. I loved the completely un-self-conscious way she moved, completely naked and vulnerable yet confident and relaxed. She had become so comfortable with her body. When I put my arm around her, she nudged my hand up onto her breast.
"Ready again? Already?" I asked teasingly, nuzzling her neck.
"Of course! And no," she replied, "I just love being held and caressed and fondled. You, of all people, should know I don't hold back certain body parts only for sex."
That was true. A two hour drive to a weekend getaway was an acutely painful exercise in splitting your mind so as to pay attention to both the driving and to all of the gentle, low key, fondling going on. As I dwelled on these thoughts, something was nagging at the back of my mind. Oh, yeah.
"Remember all that discussion we had about identity and expectations?" I started. She nodded. "But with me, you are free of the expectations, right?"
She nodded again, warily. "Well, there are expectations, but only the ones we have of each other. Plus, we can't just fuck in the middle of Main Street!"
