Once upon a time, back when the word Corona only elicited thoughts of a beer with lime, there was an older man in his late fifties. His name was Tom. He was a good husband and the father of three grown kids. Tom and his wife Grace lived in a nice neighborhood in a nice town. Both had good-paying jobs, he as a part-time consulting engineer working mostly from home, and she as a scrub nurse. They laughed together, hiked together, cuddled together, and slept together. What they no longer did together was have sex. She simply didn't want to, claiming it was uncomfortable for her. Giving or receiving oral sex was also a big no-no for her -- she thought it was dirty. As one might imagine, Tom was rather frustrated by this state of affairs. Porn, Second Life, and Literotica provided some relief, but he usually released his sexual tension by fantasizing about his wife's friend Cathy.
Cathy and her husband Chris lived nearby in a much nicer house in the same neighborhood. Chris was Cathy's second husband. He was a urologist. Tom didn't like him, and was never quite sure what Cathy saw in him. They were obviously well-off based on their house, cars, and Cathy's extensive wardrobe of expensive clothes and accessories.
All Tom knew about Cathy's first husband was that he had left her and their ten-year old daughter for his much younger assistant and moved back to China. Cathy's daughter had taken a job working for her father in Shanghai after graduating from Cornell. Cathy and Chris had moved to the area soon after they got married.
Grace and Cathy had a lot in common. Both of them grew up in China. Both were scrub nurses, although they worked at different hospitals. At 52, Grace was four years older than Cathy. But the two ladies didn't have everything in common. Cathy was a runner and a yoga devotee. Her body would be the envy of a woman twenty years her junior. She had jet black shoulder-length hair. Dyed, according to Grace, but sexy as hell according to Tom. To top it all off, she had small perky breasts and an alluring thigh gap that she proudly showed off in the yoga pants she often wore.
Grace wasn't fat or unattractive, but she was anything but toned. Any thigh gap she might once have had was ancient history. Unlike Cathy, she wasn't turning anyone's head when she walked into the room. She kept her hair short, and she was adamantly opposed to doing anything about the increasing number of strands of grey. She dressed for comfort, not style, and the tallest shoe heel she had was an inch.
Cathy's custom-built closet was four times the size of Grace's. That closet was full of attractive outfits and accessories, and from formal event to working in the garden Cathy always dressed to impress. She had a large collection of shoes, and had this sexy way of dangling her red-soled high heel shoes when she was sitting on a chair or couch at a party. All of the men in the room pretended not to notice.
Tom was deeply infatuated with Cathy. He saw her in social settings just often enough to keep her front and center in his mind. From time to time, he thought or imagined that Cathy was attracted to him. But Tom had a sensible streak. He wasn't prepared to risk blowing up his otherwise-pleasant life by openly declaring himself to her. He consciously limited himself to mildly flirtatious comments, lingering hugs, "inadvertent" touches, and paying extra attention to Cathy when they were together. And to frequently jerking off to his collection of dozens of photographs of her.
And so it was and so it would likely have continued until one day a new virus came forth from either a bat or a lab and changed the world....
Grace was washing fresh-picked vegetables from the garden when her phone rang. She called out to me. "Tom, can you look and see who's calling? My hands are wet."
I put down my Kindle, and reached for her phone. The caller ID showed it was Cathy. Seeing her picture on the phone gave me a little tingle of desire.
"It's Cathy," I said.
"Tell her I'll call her back."
I answered the phone. "Hi, Cathy. It's Tom. How are you?"
"Hi, Tom," she replied in a very subdued way. Her voice was lacking its normal rich sultry tone.
"You OK, Cathy?" I asked.
"Not really," she said. "I've been feeling lousy, and I've tested positive for Coronavirus."
"That's not good," I replied after a brief pause. Grace looked up from the sink as I said this.
"What's wrong?" she asked as she began to wipe her hands on a towel.
I beckoned Grace over as I told Cathy "You know I had it, right? It was an unpleasant week or so for me, but I'm fine now. I really hope it's mild for you. Here comes Grace. Hang in there, Cathy. Take care of yourself." With that I handed the phone to my wife. She pointed to the kitchen sink indicating that I should finish washing the vegetables.
"What's wrong Cathy? Do you have Coronavirus?" asked my wife.
After my wife went to work the next morning, I went to my computer and brought up my favorite picture of Cathy. I was surprised how upset I was with the fact that she was sick. I had caught the virus right at the beginning of the outbreak, a week before things started closing down. I figured it was the result of an enjoyable evening at a Florida strip club which culminated in a private dance session where the young lady let me suck, kiss, and fondle her breasts. In this particular club, breasts were a high touch surface. For me, having the virus had not been that big a deal. I was crossing my fingers Cathy would be OK.
I decided that I had a good excuse to text Cathy to see how she was doing. I had texted her occasionally over the years whenever I could concoct a plausible reason to do so. I was mainly hoping to start an ongoing conversation, but she had never struck at my conversational bait.
Tom
: Good morning, Cathy. How are you feeling? Is there anything I can do to help?
She didn't reply right away. I was afraid she might not reply at all. And then about thirty minutes later, my text alert sounded.
Cathy
: Hi, Tom. I'm a little better this morning. My fever is down. Didn't sleep well because I was achy all over, so I'm tired.
Tom
: I guess you're quarantined.
Cathy
: Yup. Two weeks. Chris moved down to the basement guest room.
Tom
: Go try and rest. Sleep is good for you. Remember I walk within a block of your house every day unless it's raining or snowing, so let me or Grace know if you need anything at all. Take really good care of yourself. Please.
Cathy
: Thanks, Tom.
After our text exchange, I took my regular ninety-minute walk through the neighborhood and into the local state park. On the way back I took a different trail through the woods and emerged at the backyard of Cathy's house. I was quite tempted to go up to the house and knock on her door, but in the end I chickened out.
That evening, Grace called Cathy. They talked for a while. I was in my office working on a report, so I didn't really hear much of the conversation. After they hung up, Grace went into the kitchen. I wandered in a few minutes later, ostensibly to refill my glass of iced tea.
"Was that Cathy you were talking to? How's she doing?" I asked.
"She says she's getting better," said my wife. "I'm going to make them some food. She's not hungry, but is worried about feeding Chris without infecting him."
"Hasn't Chris heard about McDonalds drive-thru? Or take-out pizza? Can't he even make rice soup for her in an Instant Pot?" I answered with more feeling than I perhaps should have. I knew that rice soup is the Chinese magic go-to food when someone is sick.
My wife laughed. "Cathy says Chris has a hard time boiling water."
By bedtime, my wife had prepared some containers of food, including rice soup. She told me to bring them over to Cathy in the morning. Since I had been confirmed to have recovered from the virus, she wasn't concerned about me being exposed.
