My name is Jim Watson. At the time of this story I was thirty-five years old and going through one of the worst times in my life, so far. The day after I had pledged almost everything I owned to finance a business deal, I had a heart attack which landed me in the hospital for thirty-six days and unable to work for almost six months. The people I was doing business with were sympathetic but that did not keep them from attaching my property and taking it when I defaulted on the payments. That’s how I came to live in a mother-in-law apartment on the west side of the Cooper’s house.
Phil Cooper was a graduate engineer but was not able to ply his trade as a result of an operation to remove his pituitary gland. The operation was performed in hope of curing his advanced diabetes. Phil and his wife Grace were in their fifties and lived comfortably on their savings from his job at the Kennedy Space Center and the income from their investments. Phil spent his days listening to recorded books and Grace looked after him.
When I answered the ad for the apartment, I was impressed with Grace’s appearance. For a woman in her fifties, she looked good. It was obvious that she took care of herself. She was about five feet six inches tall and slender in build except for her large breasts. Her breasts were her outstanding feature, the one that anyone would notice first. The stress of Phil’s illness had taken a toll on her face but she was still a classic beauty.
I was younger than the tenant they were looking for they determined that since I was recovering from a heart attack that I would be quiet enough not to be a disturbance to them. Their assumptions were right enough for the first couple of months. I mostly lay around the apartment watching television or reading. I went to the doctor once a week to hear him tell me about the open-heart surgery that he knew I would have to have as he put it, “when I was strong enough.” The thought of surgery on my heart worried me greatly and as it turned out, was keeping me ill.
I was not allowed to drive a car so I took a taxi to see the doctor each week. After one appointment when Dr. Gloom-and-Doom told me I was no better, I decided that If I was going to die anyway, I might as well enjoy myself. I had the driver take me to a bar I used to frequent. I guessed that I would know almost everyone there and I did. I drank a beer and enjoyed the company of my friends until I was tired. I took a six-pack home with me. That was the turning point. After that, I began getting better. It was not the single beer that I had at the bar or the six-pack that I took almost six months to drink that made the difference. It was the fact that I quit worrying. I began showing improvement right away and a couple of months later was able to go back to work.
During those months of convalescence, I had many long talks with Grace. I visited with her and Phil many times and often she would visit my apartment. At first, she would come over to dust and vacuum. But later, I knew that a knock on the connecting door between my apartment and the Coopers meant she wanted to talk. Most of the time Grace was very upbeat but once in a while, the fact that her husband could not take care of himself and had been impotent for over ten years got her down. She confided that she had even thought about having an affair.
“Sometimes I think that I will just go out and have an affair but I could never do anything that would hurt Phil,” she said, looking as if she was about to cry.
“Grace, you are a beautiful woman and would have no trouble finding a man,” I said. “He would have to be someone special though. He would have to understand that he could share a bed with you when you want but that he could make no demands on you.”
“I don’t think they make men like that, do they?” she asked.
“Hell, if I was strong enough, I’d apply for the job,” I said not entirely joking.
We shared a mutual laugh and she said, “You’re just oversexed but I might just take you up on that but right not it’s time for Phil’s bath.”
I really wasn’t interested in having sex with Grace but I did give it some thought after that conversation. The thought was not unappealing. She was a good-looking woman and the thought of pleasing her made me feel good. Up to that point; however, my sexual fantasies had been on the woman who lived across the street.
According to Grace, her name was Pam and she lived with her husband, Gary. He worked in a manufacturing plant where they made boats. Even though they were only twenty-two years old, they had saved the money for a down payment and were buying their home. Their house was directly across the street from the Cooper’s house. I would lie in bed many afternoons watching her as she worked in her yard. She always wore bikinis while doing her yard work. Even though I was week, my cock would get hard as I watched her. I didn’t do anything about it but it felt good. When I began to feel better and stronger, I made it over to her fence to introduce and hopefully get to know her better.
“Aren’t you afraid of getting a sun burn?” I asked as I leaned against her chain-linked fence.
She was squatting pulling weeds with her back to me. At first, She ignored me but as I was starting to leave, she stood and faced me. I will never forget my first up-close look at her. It was like seeing a vision. She was short, about five feet, three or four and had blond hair that reached to the middle of her back. Her breasts were firm and round. They were somewhere between the size of large oranges to the size of grapefruit. Her stomach was slightly convex and her hips flared with a ‘come fuck me’ overtone.
“Not particularly,” she said with a generous smile.
I had been busily committing everything about her to memory and had disassociated that moment in time from anything that had preceded it.
“What?” I muttered.
“You asked if I was afraid of getting sunburn and I answered ‘not particularly’,” she repeated with a look of amusement.
Pulling myself together, I introduced myself, “Hi, my name is Jim. I live in the Cooper’s house across the street.”
“You don’t look old enough to have had a heart attack,” she stated. “You look hot though. Would you like a cold drink?”
She had extended her hand to shake mine when she told me her name. Instead of turning it loose, I held it. After a few moments, she took my silence as a “Yes” and using our clasped hands as a lever guided me to the gate about three feet to my left. When I went through the gate, she dropped my hand and turned toward her front door. I followed her, all the while watching her heart-shaped butt swing first to the left and then to the right.
Just inside her house was a living room and to the right through a squared archway was another room with a sofa and chairs but also had a full sized bed. Pam went into the kitchen and returned with two diet sodas. She handed one to me and sat on the foot of the bed. She sat cross-legged like Indians used to do in western movies. She was beautiful with just a small bikini top trying to contain her breasts and a wisp of the same blue checkerboard material covering her crotch.
“Are you married?” she asked.
