I'm new to Literotica and originally published this story in the Mature category. A kind reader suggested it belonged in Loving Wives, and after additional research and thinking, I agree, although it has elements of both. Please enjoy this dark age-gap, illicit one-night stand story. Comments appreciated and thanks for reading!
Janine wiped the kitchen counters and started another pot of coffee after she got the girls off to school. Her husband sat at the kitchen table cutting into his sunny-side egg, the pus-like yolk streaming onto his plate, "Why don't you leave for the shore Friday evening? It'll give you two nights."
"No, I can't. Bonnie has dance practice, plus I hate driving at night. And besides that, the dinner I planned has to be cooked just right," she explained after moving on to the tangle of towels from the dryer. "I'll just leave Saturday morning and come back Sunday evening. I gotta make sure the kids are ready for school, and make your lunch for work, dear."
"I can make my own lunch," her husband laughed.
She frowned, "No, just let me do it. It's easier that way."
"All right, then. You'll be home Sunday night, right?" he asked. He finished breakfast and left the dirty plate on the table as he got up.
She sighed, "Yes, I'll be home Sunday."
A few days at the shore to catch a break from dishes, laundry, cleaning, and feeling like every day for the rest of her life was going to be the same. She would be okay with that, as long as she could numb herself somehow in order to continue as expected. But first, she needed space and a place to reconcile her soul with that reality, and as it turned out, friends of friends who lived near the beach were on vacation and offered their house. She gladly took it.
Saturday morning, she kissed her three daughters goodbye and sighed as she drove away, a weight lifting from her shoulders. She could see the girls in the rearview mirror, running down the sidewalk, waving, and her husband standing on the porch. She felt a tear threatening, but pressed forward.
Just one more breath of fresh air, then I'll be complacent.
Sunny sky, ocean breeze, endless sea. No one in need and no same old four walls. Sitting on a bench by the beach, she closed her eyes and lifted her face, actually allowing the sun to reach beneath the brim of her hat and warm her skin.
Until she felt a shadow.
"Escuse me, may I sit?" asked a slightly accented voice.
She squinted her eyes. A man's dark form stood before her, the three o'clock sun behind his head shone like a halo. "Sure," she tipped her head.
He sat gingerly at the end of the bench. "Beach is busy today," he said.
"Yes," she replied and closed her eyes again, an image of his red T-shirt and light leather jacket imprinted on her eyelids. The breeze carried his scent of skin and spice to her.
He has nice teeth, and nice, strong hands.
She peeked at him; he was looking towards the ocean, with faraway eyes, his face still and melancholy for such a beautiful day. What was
he
here to escape?
She closed her eyes again and heard scuffing as if he rubbed his boots in the sand on the concrete sidewalk.
"Is a wonderful thing to sit by the ocean and do nothing." He said to her, or to the air?
She opened her eyes. He looked at her, the tilt of his head accenting his cheekbones in the bold sunlight, "Day off from work?" He asked.
"You could say that, but it's Saturday anyway."
"You look like a housewife. Every day a workday for you," he said.
She sat up and crossed her arms, "Housewife, huh? What makes you say that?"
"Ah, frumpy look, like you gonna' fade away at any moment," he grinned, eyes sparkling.
"Gee, thanks."
"And if you did fade away, would you mind?"
She squinted against the sunlight. "No. A handful of people would miss me, but otherwise, no."
"Aw, really? Why you say that?" He held his hands and turned to her, his arched brows knit.
She shrugged, "I'm just at a point in my life where I feel like I've seen and done everything I'm ever going to. Nothing left to do but raise my kids and bury my parents."
A wide smile lightened his face, "Wow! Wow." He looked at her again, "Did you know the sun is shining today? See that amazing blue sky? That's what
I'm
here for."
"Oh, I know. I didn't mean to bring you down. It
is
a beautiful day." She sighed, "I'm just taking some time to say goodbye to sweet youth, you know? It's my mid-life crisis, a transition."
"Yeah, I'm sorta here saying bye to something myself." He looked at his hands, folding and unfolding them. His expression changed like clouds passing before the sun.
She left him alone for a moment, then cocked her head and asked, "You wanna talk about it? I mean, there's no better person to tell your woes to than a stranger, and I got all day."
"But if I tell you, you won't be a stranger anymore."
"Well, then we'll be friends, and friends are for confiding, see? Win-win, any way you slice it. Talk, cry, laugh, then go our separate ways. A whole relationship in twenty minutes," she teased.
He laughed and leaned back, resting his elbows on the back of the bench, the T-shirt stretched across his broad chest, "I wish some relationships did only last twenty minutes."
"A bad one?"
He cocked his head, "Sort of."
"Uh huh." She waited. He spoke no more and she wondered if she crossed some line. Her negative attitude seemed to have bothered him already, so she brushed non-existent lint off her lap and cleared her throat, "Well, I gotta' stretch my legs." She stood up, then said, "Hey, I hope things go well for you. Have a good one," and walked towards the the beach.
She pulled her hat down to secure it to her head, praying the wind wouldn't grab it and roll it to the man on the bench.
Walk away...keep walking...
She walked straight towards the pounding surf, the waves breaking on the beach, desperately climbing the sand until they were no more than white fingertips sliding back into the sea.
Keep walking
. But a few moments later, she heard, "Hey, mind if I walk with you?"
Oh no.
"Uh, sure," she turned to smile at the young man, "I think there's room on the beach for both of us."
He laughed, "Yeah, I'd say. You got a sense of humor sometimes, huh? You ever let yourself enjoy it?" He took a hop to catch up alongside. "Whew, gettin' warm out." He wiggled out of the leather jacket and slung it over his shoulder, his bicep bunching beneath his short sleeve. She looked, and looked a moment too long. He caught her.
"Hey, I mean, if you'd rather walk alone, I can go," he looked at her with those dark-lashed eyes.
"No, I think you should stay," she smiled, looking at the sand she kicked while walking along, "we haven't worked on becoming friends yet." She held out her hand, "Janine."
He enveloped her hand in his, "Javier."
They walked and talked until the sun hung near the horizon. She told him about her home and husband and children in the suburbs, and many things she wouldn't tell anyone else. He told her about the market his parents opened in the city when they moved from Mexico many years ago, and a few secrets of his own. She shared her disappointments; he shared his adventures. He listened intently to her wisdom; she soaked up his enthusiasm.
Playfully, she lay her hand on his arm, "We almost make a good team."
He raised a brow at her hand, then took her arm in his, "Why almost?"
She looked at him, yet hoping the brim of her hat kept her eyes in the shadows, "Because I'm married and you're far younger."
They continued strolling just beyond the surf's reach, "We can be friends, though, right? We got to that point?" He asked.
"Yes, I think so." She tightened her arm around his.
Before the sun could lower the curtain of pinks and golds on the day, the shifting wind brought dampness and clouds. He walked her to her car, where he took her hand.
"I better hit the road," he said, looking deeply in her eyes, "beat the rain."
She didn't want to let go, "Yeah, I guess." Her face tightened as she took off her hat and leaned into him. He embraced her, his body taut against hers. The wind picked up.
"Give me your phone number, okay?" He whispered in her ear, "I'll give you mine. No reason we can't talk once in a while. Amigos?"
"SÃ, amigos." She sniffed and nodded, and eventually let go. They exchanged numbers and parted.
Rain pattered her windshield driving back to the beach house. Jumpiness and joy, feelings long a stranger, kept her company until she turned into the foliage-hidden driveway. Rain came down harder as she smiled, still feeling his arms around her. Then she shook her head to banish the thought. Time to call home and check in, which she did in the car. Everything was fine, her husband said, "Relax, enjoy yourself." Right.
She gripped the railing as she made her way up the slick stairs and prayed that Javier drove carefully. He had a long drive north to get home. She scuffed the sand off her shoes on the doormat, and turned the key.
Cool, still house. No cooking, no dishes, no responsibilities except open a bottle of wine and light every candle in the house. And dream.
A cold glass of wine in her hand, she wandered to the living room and sank into the armchair by the window. Rain drew down the panes with watery fingers, only to erase its creations and draw them again. The wine, the wind and sun, the young man, the mesmerizing rain; she dozed off.
Until the phone rang. "Oh, what now? I just called home," she frowned, hauling herself out of the chair to answer the phone in the kitchen.
It wasn't home. It was Javier.
Already?
"Hey, are you okay?" She asked, "You shouldn't talk and drive in this weather."
She heard a long sigh, then he said, "I'm not driving. I was. I left, but I turned around and came back."
"Oh?" She traced the black waves in the cold granite countertop.
"You still alone?"
"Uh, yes."
"All night?"
"Yes," she answered.
"What's the address?"
She stood silently, holding the phone to her ear. He waited until she answered, "I'm...," she took a deep breath; one second, one sentence away from the tipping point, "I'm at 12 Tulip Lane, Swanson. Gray house, black shutters."
"I'll be there in ten."
She nearly spilled the wine as she poured another glass and started chugging, then stopped. She looked at the clock-nine minutes. He won't really come.
What am I doing?
Nothing. Just a friend who didn't want to drive home in the rain. She was allowed to have friends, right? Young, hot ones?
No.
But why not? Just friends. Yes.
Eight minutes.
You don't have to do anything. Maybe he hates driving late in the day, like you, and wants a place to hang.
Right.
Just one more sip. Don't get drunk.
She wiped the counters.
Seven minutes. She grabbed the edge of the granite countertop, sucking its coolness through her sweaty hands.
Fix your hair.
Oh, fuck it-this is not a date.
Six minutes.
I'm gonna puke.
No, you're not.
Wipe up that wine, you lush.
