Mary was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am about to relate.
Mary had been my wife for over twenty years, mother of our kids, confidant, no doubt the best thing that had ever happened to me. She was not, I hasten to add, perfect, nor was I, by any means, and we had the usual ups and fortunately few downs. However, one morning, Mary just didn't wake up. This isn't about her death, and there was nothing traumatic about the whole episode - I pretty much sleep walked through the process of calling 911, ambulance response, later pro forma police response, supportive neighbors and friends going through the mourning and other legal wrap up and such. At the other end, some months later, I found myself pretty much accustomed to being single again, but I hadn't taken any steps to enter the social world. I had enough money from insurance and turning over my business (while maintaining an income stream from it). I still went to the small office I'd kept, and one assistant who was mediocre at best but put up with my occasional idiosyncrasies. I even had the occasional consulting job if I felt like it, thanks to that business having carved out a niche in an industry that sometimes needed niche advice.
I wouldn't say I was exactly "happy" per se, but I certainly wasn't depressed - just pretty much on automatic much of the time.
Oh, and the kids are grown and flown, had been great during the funereal chapter, and were now back with their own careers and concerns. After some months, realizing the price of gas and such, I increased my walking a good bit. I played enough golf to keep my business contacts in touch, since business had become pretty much my primary interest - but for the sport and social part of it, I really couldn't have cared less. I was as on track as anyone could be in my situation. If pressed in conversation, I would admit to missing the presence of a female in the house, and each time I said that I knew silently there was more I missed, like the comforting hip to rest my hand on as I drifted off to sleep at night, and of course the fucks. But I just wasn't up to dating, not yet. The internet gave me adequate and free sexual fantasy and outlet for my still active hormonal needs, and even let me investigate ideas I'd known not to mention to Mary, most of which confirmed earlier suspicions that those predilections just didn't do it for me (for instance homosexuality, cross-dressing, anything with pain or humiliation) - turned out I was pretty vanilla after all, well, at least for the most part.... All in all, I considered myself fortunate.
That said, the day in question was a cold, bleak, biting one. I'd gotten up early, inspired (or misguided), bundled up, went for a long walk around town (too nasty for golf), cleaned up, read the Journal and surfed the market movements, and had a meeting with my financial advisor who was trying to get me into some options in the market, something I'd been pretty good at playing with in the past. By the evening, I was back home, reheated some soup for supper, and settled on the couch in the living room to read a bit. I had the gas logs in the fireplace going and was comfortably clad in only sweatpants and a denim work shirt. I expected to read a bit, then see if I was motivated enough to work some on that novel I keep flirting with getting serious about.
True to form, however, the reading and warmth led to drowsiness and soon to one of those deep sleeps.
I awoke sometime later to the rarely employed front door bell ringing. Checking the clock, I saw that it was 1 a.m.! Who in the world would be knocking at this hour, my bleary head asked me. I struggled to my feet and headed to the door, bit by bit realizing that the long sleep had actually refreshed me. I got to the door to see through the peep hole an attractive female, dressed in jeans and a loose sweater, shivering on the porch.
"Hello," I think I offered, noncommittally, opening the door.
"I'm so sorry to disturb you, especially at this hour, but I saw your lights on" she said, smiling pleasantly. "I'm Belle, your new neighbor. I just moved in across the street - in fact, I saw you the other day when the movers were here, but I was too busy to introduce myself then. Listen, I'm so sorry to ask, but I'm still unpacking and the movers just stacked boxes and left, and some of them are just too high for me. Is there any way I could impose on you to give me a hand getting a few of them down? I'm determined to straighten things out as soon as I can, and . . . "
I watched her as she spoke, and when she paused I quickly replied, "Hello, I'm Ben. And of course - that's what neighbors are for, right? Come in out of the cold, let me grab some shoes, and we'll go take care of things for you." In that amount of time I'd easily registered that she had medium-length, dark blonde hair, was maybe 5' 4" or so, and was nicely proportioned from what I could tell. There were breasts under there, but not discernable as to size or firmness, certainly nothing bodacious, and I could see her jeans were tightly covering nice legs leading to an ass I looked forward to following to check out further. Her age was indeterminate - maybe early 30s, maybe 50 - I really couldn't tell. Certainly younger than I, but maybe not scandalously so, my id reasoned.
I slipped on some boat shoes over my bare feet, not expecting to be out for long, pulled the door behind us, and we walked straight across the street, up the porch, and into the opposite townhouse. I thought for an instant that I knew the place was empty but hadn't really even known it was on the market, much less noticed any "sold" signs or moving trucks - tells you how attuned I was, I guess.
We entered into a crazy quilt of furniture all set up, flanked by stacks of those standard moving boxes, stacked clearly above her reach but within mine (I'm not tall, but 5' 10" does make a difference over 5' 4". None of the boxes was labeled - she must have had a pretty lousy moving company, and I wondered if she really had the money to be in the neighborhood since it was somewhat upscale and mortgages were tight these days.
"So, all of them down to on the floor?" I asked.
"Oh, thanks - no, if you can just get the top ones, I can get to the rest later. It's just those way high ones that scare me, since I don't know what's inside each. Be careful, some may be heavy with books or china, others light with just stuff - they packed everything, just didn't label, and I had to see to something else so wasn't there when they did, and - oh well, we'll see if I really got taken or what as I find what's inside them."
As I started lowering the upper row of boxes around the room, I reflected that she must be a really trusting soul - I'd be damned if I'd have signed off on someone trying to pull that sort of lousy service on me. I hadn't built a success in trading commodities by getting taken by crooks - that was for sure. Farmers like to come off all aw shucks, but when it comes to dealing in their corn, they're a fierce lot and you've gotta be tough sometimes - it's business! Ah, well, anyway, back to it: I felt a bit sorry for her, but also felt pretty good that I was being able to help out someone, something I'd not done much of since Mary had died.
There were more of the boxes than I'd registered at first, and I went from room to room, lifting down, setting in orderly rows. Belle scurried about, unpacking and putting things away, and between boxes and scurries, we got to know a bit about each other - not much, but that I was widowed and retired, she a work-from-home analyst who'd taken to the village and moved for its advantages. She didn't mention marital status. Although I noted she was ringless, I wasn't about to ask - that and a woman's age and weight being topics I learned long ago not to pursue.
The heat was on and it was a lot warmer than in my place, and I was getting warm as I worked. I guess Belle was too, and I immediately noticed when I saw she'd shed her sweater and was now toiling in a tank top that was conservative but which left little doubt that she was braless and that her breasts were very nice from what I could guess - I was thinking B - to - C cup, with just enough movement to confirm the braless thing - plus, her nipples were pressing against the material. I was thoroughly enjoying the sight and was enjoying feeling my dick starting to swell when I realized I didn't have on underwear. If I grew much more, I'd be displaying, and that she'd probably be horrified thinking I was some perve if she noticed, yet that I'd be disappointed if she didn't. Notice, that is.
I turned back to my work, determined to keep at least this first meeting above board, as I was already thinking of maybe pursuing things and changing that on another day. Chivalry first, then maybe light friendship, then the rack - nice progression, I thought. I also thought for a moment about Mary and remembered we'd both said when one of us survived the other, the survivor should "shed the chains" as she put it, of our marriage, to live life fully again. I reckoned I didn't have chains to shed but did register that I wasn't exactly living life fully again and that Belle's tank top was indicative of one part I was missing.
