The blast of the car horn jolted her. Some old codger was giving her the finger. "Men!" she thought, "impatient arseholes." All except her Jim. He had been wonderful, right up until the last. Until he had passed away, peacefully that night. How long ago was it? Two years? He had slipped away while she held his hand tightly.
They had shared twenty-five wonderful years of marriage. It was hard to imagine a life without him, impossible to imagine that any man could every replace him. He had tried to reassure her from his hospital bed, "You'll find another man, my love." She had shook her head. "I just want you to be happy, tell me you'll try." Eyes watering, she had agreed to make some sort of attempt, doomed to failure though she was sure it would be. No-one could replace her Jim.
The black cloud had eventually drifted away, or at least dissipated somewhat. She had shaken herself back into life, re-visiting friends, looking for something to fill in the lonely hours. A quilting group, that would do it. She loved making quilts, in particular the traditional patterns of the Amish.
Karen pulled into the parking lot, grabbed her quilt bag, and found the meeting place. Of course, everyone there was female, who ever heard of male quilters? She was content, no worries about some randy old man trying to hit on her. Despite what Jim had said, she was happy to have lunches with her friends, quilt, and keep an eye on her grandchildren when needed.
The buzz of conversation kept the place alive, fabric was draped all over the tables, piles of fat quarters abounded in bags, and out for show.
"That's a great quilt!" one of the other ladies said. "Hi! I'm Paula. You're new here aren't you? Don't remember seeing you around."
"I've been a few times," said Karen cautiously, "over the last couple of months."
"Ah, that explains it! I've been away on holidays for a bit." Paula had an infectious smile. She looked keenly at Karen, staring straight at her breasts for a moment. "Oh, excuse me! Just trying to spot your name badge."
Karen pulled her cardigan aside to reveal "Karen".
Paula's eyes flicked back to her face. "Hi Karen, pleased to meet you." She held out her hand.
*
Karen had found Paula's sense of humour refreshing, and also found that, unlike a lot of the quilters present, Paula would actually pause and listen to what she had to say. She appreciated that. They sat next to each other in the following meetings, laughing together and enjoying the sewing, the show-and-tell sessions, and each others' company.
Paula had asked, "What's your husband doing, while you are here? Where does he work?"
"He died a couple of years ago," replied Karen, a shadow passing over her face.
"Oh, sorry. I didn't know." Paula briefly put her arms around Karen's shoulders in sympathy.
"That's OK, I am gradually becoming used to it," Karen replied, comforted by the arm around her. It had been a long time since she had felt the touch of another person, which magnified the effect. Her eyes felt a bit damp.
Paula removed her arm, leaving Karen wishing it had stayed a moment longer.
"And
your
husband?" Karen inquired.
"I never married, couldn't find the right person."
"I'm surprised, there must have been lots of men who would love to marry you."
"Yes, perhaps, but it never worked out somehow." Paula looked wistful. "There was someone, a while back, but ..." She looked off into the distance, then down at her hands, disconnected from the present for a moment. "What lovely fabric! What are you going to make with that?"
Karen realized she had touched a sensitive spot. No more talk of husbands today.
*
Over the next few months they had met at the quilters group. Then a few of them arranged to meet in each others' homes. Coffee was served, cookies were brought, and good conversation was had by all. Lots of it.
Paula suggested that Karen go to a concert with her. Beethoven piano concertos. One of Karen's favourites, in fact. She readily agreed.
The concert was fantastic, the pianist wonderful. Afterwards they had supper and coffee at a small café.
"Found a new man yet?" Karen asked, feeling relaxed but stimulated by the beautiful music.
"Not yet," Paula replied wistfully. "I'm seeing someone from time to time, but I don't think that they view me as romantic material."
"Oh that's too bad! Men can be such pigs!"
Paula hummed acknowledgement. "It's hard when you fall for someone, but they they just regard you as a friend. But how about you? With your looks, you must have half the town after you."
Karen blushed. She wasn't used to being called good-looking. "No, nothing like that. In fact I'm glad we are friends Paula, I would be lonely if I wasn't seeing you every few weeks."
A pained expression passed Paula's face.
"What is it?" Karen asked, alarmed.
"Nothing, I value our friendship too, very much." Paula reached out to briefly touch Karen's hand. Smiled into her eyes.
After the coffee they drove back to Paula's place together, as they had taken one car.
"Come inside for a glass of liqueur?" asked Paula? "It finished a bit sooner than I expected. And I don't have to get up early tomorrow."
"Sure," Karen agreed, happy to put off going back to her own house, now with only Jim's memories in it.
Paula lit the gas fire, as the evening was a bit cool, and poured them both a drink. They sat side by side on a fairly snug couch, bodies touching slightly. Karen felt a bit uncomfortable at their closeness, but there was nowhere else really to sit. She worried that Paula might resent her touch, but Paula seemed happy.
Paula reached for a recent quilting magazine on the nearby coffee table. "Seen this? There are some great new designs."
"No I haven't got that one yet."
"Here, take a look at this pattern." Paula spread the magazine out over their knees, turning the pages slowly and admiring the fabrics and creativity of the submissions.
Karen was feeling a little intoxicated. The glow from the fire, the glow from the liqueur spreading through her body, the memory of the concert, and now the warmth of the touch of another body against hers. She felt a little fluttering inside, it was almost like being on a date. Going out to a concert, eating out afterwards, going back to someone's house, touching someone. "Don't be ridiculous!" she told herself, "get a bloody grip on yourself." She clenched her teeth, and thought, "trouble is, you haven't had a man in your bed for so long you are starting to feel a bit frisky. Maybe it's time to visit a dating web site."
Wrenching herself back to the present, she noticed that Paula had rested her hand on Karen's leg and was lightly stroking it. Startled, she looked up only to find Paula's eyes locked on her breasts.
Discovered, Paula leaned across and planted a light kiss on Karen's cheek. "Thanks for the wonderful evening," she whispered.
Karen wrenched herself away, stood up. "What's going on?"
"Can't you tell? I'm falling for you."
"You can't! I'm not gay! Don't touch me!" Karen grabbed her things, and rushed out to her car.
"Wait ..."
It was too late. She saw Karen's tail-lights disappearing in the distance.
Back in her own home Karen was aghast. What had happened? Come to think of it, Paula never had specifically said she had now, or had ever, a boyfriend or a husband. She had just assumed. And what had Paula said in the café?
"I'm seeing someone from time to time, but I don't think that they view me as romantic material."
Oh no! She meant her! Karen! "But I'm straight!" she said to herself. "I've had a happy marriage, children, the works. I've never even looked at a woman in that way in my life."
As Karen lay in bed that night conflicting emotions shuffled around in her brain, like pieces of a quilt that didn't quite fit together. She
had
enjoyed the evening, she
had
enjoyed being touched, and the kiss was lovely. Her memories of the wonderful evening — apart from the last bit — and her own sexual frustration flowed over her. She reached between her legs and gently started touching herself. She had to have some release.
As the pleasure built, Paula's face swam before her eyes! Fuck! She was supposed to be fantasizing about men, not women! She banished Paula's image, and summoned up a male instead. Trying to think of someone suitable, first an ageing politician appeared. She felt ill at the thought. Then a young football star. Better. She focussed on the footballer as she moved her hand, getting wetter. The footballer's face did a slow dissolve into Paula. Christ! But it was too late to stop. Her hand moved faster and faster with Paula's image smiling sweetly at her. She shuddered into the biggest climax she could remember for a few months, as Paula's face slowly disappeared. What the hell was happening to her?
*
Next afternoon she saw Paula's car pull up outside the house.
"Christ, I have to hide!" Karen thought. Then sanity prevailed. "I'm 50, not 15. I'll go and tell Paula this has to stop." She answered the doorbell.
Paula stood on the doorstep wringing her hands. "I'm sorry," she murmured, a tear running down her cheek. "You are just so adorable I couldn't help it."
"Adorable? Me?" Karen asked herself. "You'd better come in," she said aloud.
Then they were both inside, sitting down in the kitchen with a cup of coffee each, sitting on opposite sides of a wide table. Karen went on, "look, you know I've been married. I'm not gay. I like you a lot but I can't lead you on like this. I've never kissed a woman, never slept with one, never had feelings for one, not that way."
