This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between the characters and real individuals is coincidence. All characters are over age eighteen.
A young man falls for the older woman next door. There was just something about her eyes, and behind them, something ancient and wonderful. Lucky for him, he lived to tell about it.
*****
I saw Ms. A. looking at me one day. I had just shut the garage door and was about to jump on my bike and go to school. Glancing up, I met her gaze. Her head was pointed downward just a little so her eyelids rested on her intense, blue eyes, giving them a heavy look. I nearly crashed my bike. It was embarrassing.
She had just moved in a week or so before. My mom thought she was nice and pleasant, but didn't trust her somehow. My dad didn't say anything, but I saw him looking out the window a few times when she was out. The other neighbors felt much the same way; the wives distrusted her and the husbands looked but said nothing. We all called her Ms. A., but honestly, no one remembered being introduced. She had just sort of dropped in out of the blue to live in the small house next door.
A couple of my friends thought of her as a someone's grandmother. But they would always check her out, then call her old, like they didn't want to admit how good she looked. The fact is, she was way sexy!
That day, man! Those eyes! Sometimes they looked bright blue. Other times, they were silvery. And heavy, they bore right through me, like she knew everything about me. I really can't say what color hair she had. Maybe it was blondish or silvery or something. Seemed to look a different color depending when you saw her. There was something about her. For the next couple of days I couldn't get it out of my mind. Why? Could this mature woman be interested in me? Could I be interested in her? She's easily over forty. Or is it fifty? Sixty? Did it matter?
These questions bothered me. I didn't know what was going on. I had kissed a girl from high school and she literally shoved me away. I moped around about it for weeks. Never gone to bed with a girl. Now this. All a little too much. I thought about Ms. A. all the time, wondering what she saw in me and what I saw in her.
A few days later, I got home from school at three, like every day. As I rode my bike up into our driveway I saw her in the garage struggling with her crappy old ladder. It was a great excuse to go talk to her. So I parked my bike and walked over there. "Hey Ms. A., need some help with that?"
"Oh, that would be wonderful," she said, smiling at me and lasering holes through my body. I swear she has superhero eyes! "I have to change a lightbulb and I just don't feel safe on this old ladder."
Well, they way she spoke and the way she looked at me got me nervous. Something was happening. I knew because there was a lump in my throat.
I brought the ladder into the house. Ms. A. had all this art in her home. Pottery that looked ancient, marble figurines, paintings, all of them depicting naked women.
"Don't be too distracted," she told me, too late.
Ms. A. motioned me into the bedroom. Of course it would have to be her bedroom! Setting up the ladder, I said, "Ms. A., you need a new ladder."
"I know. Could you hold it while I climb, please." She always said please.
Did I mention it was hot? Probably not, so let me tell you it was damn hot, even by Merde Vista, California standards. Did I mention she was dressed in shorts? Did I mention she was in a tight little yellow t-shirt? She had tied a knot in front that so her belly showed. No, I probably didn't mention any of that. I also didn't mention that I liked looking at her. Now she was fifty or two thousand years old or whatever, but her legs were silky smooth and lightly tanned and creamy and ooooh, those shorts were short and her butt was round, um, delectable. She looked hot!
Anyway she climbed up and the ladder started to squeak and wobble a little. So she asked me to get behind her and hold both sides. Holy shit! I ended up staring right into her butt while she tried to reach the light fixture. It took me a few seconds to realize that Ms. A. was looking down at me. Shit! She smiled and sighed as if to say, "boys!" So I looked down at the ground. As soon as she started fiddling with the fixture, I looked up again. Her butt was right in my face.
It took her forever to change the bulb. She had to clean the fixture while she was at it. So I got a chance to look her ass over carefully. Her shorts were white and really thin. I could see the faint pink of her panties through the thin cotton. Man!
Finally, she climbed down. "Don't let go," she said as her legs, butt, and then the rest of her came down between my arms. On the last step, she turned and stepped down with her arms on my shoulders and her eyes melting through my optic nerves and into my soul. Did I mention I was terrified? Well, I'm saying it now. Ms. A. cleared her throat, patted my shoulders, and said, "Well, look at you! Only sixteen, but I can tell with those big feet, you're going to end up tall and handsome."
"I'm eighteen."
"Oh, eighteen!. Mmm, hmmm." Ms. A. reached down and took hold of my hands. See, like a dumb ass I was still holding the ladder, trapping her. She took my hands and said, "Let's not let anyone see us like this. They might start spreading rumors."
What was I to say to that? Right. I said nothing but sort of laughed, the way a kid would laugh when he's nervous. That's because I was a kid and I was nervous.
"Oh, while you're here..."
Oh, boy, I thought, but I said, "Yeah?"
"Could I get you to move some boxes?"
So, okay, I agreed to move the boxes! As I'm carrying the boxes, I notice the mirror on her dresser and the mirrored doors of her closet. She was watching me. But here's the thing. She didn't look the same in the mirrors. She seemed taller and her hair was different. I only got a glance and didn't think anything of it. Ms. A. was twirling her hair the way a teenage girl does.
"Eighteen, huh? I bet the young ladies are all after you."
"No, they're not."
"No? I find that hard to believe."
"They don't see anything in me." And it was true. I'm not a jock, I wear my hair long and don't really worry much about my appearance.
"Does that mean you don't have a girlfriend?"
"No," I said.
"You're kidding!"
"No, I don't, I..."
"Have you asked any girls out?"
"No, I can't afford..."
"Oh, that doesn't matter."
"Do you like any girls?"
"Yeah. I still like Andie."
"Have you ever kissed her?"
"Yeah," I said. Now I suppose I could have been offended at her question, but I was thinking of being shoved away and she must have noticed something in my voice.
"Oh," she said. What happened? Did it not go well?"
"She didn't like it."
"She told you to stop?"
