It is 1989, and I am an old lady. I want to write about something that happened when I was much younger. It was a time with much different values. People look back at the media, advertisements, and culture of the 1950's and see it as much more proper than today. However, that was not always true. Television and the media painted America as some sort pristine white picket fenced landscape where mother and father always knew best, and every neighbor smiled when they saw you. In between cigarette advertisements, we had the grounded family values of 'Leave It To Beaver', and the hysterical wholesome goodness of "I Love Lucy'. But life was not always about having dinner on the table by five. Some people kept deep dark secrets that would probably get them kicked out of town if anyone knew. I walked that thin line.
I see kids and young adults walking and talking nowadays in ways that I would have never dreamed of doing when I was young. But it wasn't all cookies and cream. People's private lives were sometimes shady and worthy of keeping secrets. I have such a tale. It involved a big part of my life, and started in the year 1952.
I was just about to turn thirty. I was not looking forward to it. Women do that. They don't want to get to the point when they start to lose their youthful appearance. In the 1950's we wore beautiful hats and nice dresses to be fashionable, but also to try to hide our ages. We would get nervous even if our husbands had a good excuse for not paying as much attention to us. I was married fairly young for that time, in 1942. I wasn't quite 20 years old. We were so much in love, and we couldn't even make it to our honeymoon destination after the wedding without stopping to make love. It was tender for years. But as the economy shifted in New York City, so did the jobs. My husband had to take one shipping freight by rail. He would be traveling a lot, and the job would take him all the way to California. He would be gone for a week or two at a time. When he came back he would have a few days off, then on the rails he went again. Still I loved him dearly.
When he was gone I had very little to do. I would keep a clean house for no one in particular. The money was good, but I was lonely. In 1952 it was going on the seventh year of his job that would ultimately last nearly fifteen until he took a position that brought him home every night.
I sold cosmetics and cookware in my spare time just to keep busy. But each day alone was as cold as the nights in our East 60th street Brownstone apartment. It was unheard of at the time, for a woman to take care of her own needs. I'm sure it was done all the time, but no one ever spoke about it. I would never tell my girlfriends of standing up against the washing machine, or with some special soap in the bath. I would have never dreamed of being seen nude in my bed with a small device I bought over in the Bronx. It was also in this back street store that I saw my first smut film. I remember how I felt at the oral sex scene I had watched. It was dirty, but oddly erotic. I wore a wig when I went there.
I brought the device home and didn't touch it for months. I almost threw it away many times thinking my husband would find it. But it was kept in a leather pouch under a loose board on the floor of my closet. There was a rug and a suitcase on top of it. I was indeed paranoid. But I finally took it out just to hold it one night because I was missing my husband's touch. I had no idea at the time that a while later I would be in my bed using it. My long brown hair was matted with sweat even in the middle of winter.
After the release, and restful feelings I got from it, I was ashamed of myself and put it away thinking I would never touch it again. But it became my best secret friend. I justified using it by having my husband's picture nearby. When I would climax, I would close my eyes and see him smiling at me. But it wasn't the same. I enjoyed my guilty feelings, but it was no substitute for the warmth my husband filled me with on rare occasions.
Right after we moved in to the Brownstone I became friends with a young couple with an eleven year old boy. We would often have dinner together. I would sit with my lady friend in the afternoon and talk about what was on the radio, fashion, and other sorted things. When my husband brought home a television for our anniversary in 1951 we would talk about that. We were the best of friends. I watched her boy grow up, and always wished I could have a child of my own. But we had tried over and over. Actually in all of our years together, we never had protected sex. It didn't happen, so watching this boy grow up was important to me as well. I was his aunty in name of course. When his father left in 1947, I stepped up even more and helped take care of him while his mother worked. But in all of those years I never would have thought that I would be taking him to my bed many years later.
It wasn't until just a few months before we started having our encounters that I would realize my own potential to actually commit the act. It started the summer after his eighteenth birthday. I was in my kitchen doing laundry on a very hot evening. I was sweating and with the heat I was quickly losing my patience with the day's work. I think it's why I waited until late evening when the heat was more bearable. I had just finished hanging clothes on the outside line that runs on a pully between buildings when I saw him. It was just his shoes, bare legs and shorts that I noticed. I remembered his outfit when he brought by some washing powder that I borrowed from his mother a few hours earlier. I had sometimes suspected that he may have watched me a few times but didn't think anything of it.
I was not sure at that moment why I was not bothered by young Stanley being a peeping tom. It was obviously some sort of flattery I felt. I would have weeks without any attention and suddenly I reveled in it. As I went back into the kitchen to attend my wash, my heart rate began to rise from the mild excitement. As I began to feel around the laundry hanging in the kitchen I could see him out of the corner of my eye. He had taken a position on the catwalk. He was nearly in plain sight and seemed not very good at what he was doing. I could have turned and scolded him easily. But the rest of this true story probably wouldn't have happened if I did.
I remembered once when he was much younger, and he called me pretty. I had thanked him and patted him on the head. Suddenly I wondered if he still thinks so. Using feelings I had never had before, coupled with the heat, I made a decision. It was almost as if I had just opened a door and closed it behind me. I was going to let him have his peep show.
With my back turned to him I unbuttoned my blouse and removed it, tossing it in the washing machine. Slowly I unclasped my brazier from the back and did the same with it. My back was still turned as I unzipped my dress and let it fall to the floor. Leaning down I picked it up and added it to the wash. I could feel his eyes on me and my excitement grew. It was of course mixed with my feelings that I was committing an inappropriate act. But the exhilaration grew. For one thing, he was not running away. Perhaps I was still attractive after all.
So I turned around, pretending not to see him, mildly visible in the shadows of the window. As I faced his direction I briefly fanned my face with my hand, then ran my fingers over my medium sized breasts. I came very close to reaching down and relieving myself of the rest of my undergarments. But then I thought that there should still be a little mystery, especially given the thoughts I had of him at that moment. After furthering the show by taking a glass of water from the sink counter and drinking it with one arm raised, I decided that was enough and turned the light off and went to the bedroom.
My heart was racing from the attention. For a moment I wondered if he was still there. I went to check only to discover he was gone. I wondered what he was thinking and soon entered into a wild and forbidden fantasy. I stood in front of my bathroom mirror and imagined him coming in off the catwalk and entering my bedroom. I would turn around in mild shock and scold him. But not send him away. I would have him. I quickly went to the closet and took my device and got into bed. I had never pushed it so far, and so fast, and I knew that I was way too loud. But as I finished the guilt set in. I had pleasured myself thinking of someone else. Quickly I dressed, and went to sleep.
The next day the guilt lingered and I could barely look at him when he brought the morning paper up that I shared with his mother. I had noticed that he had a difficult time looking at me as well. Very few words were spoken but I did see him look at my breasts a few times. As the days went by, the guilt subsided. Perhaps I was becoming use to the lustful thoughts I had. But it wasn't until the day he came up to help me fix the sink that I knew I had to either act or do something to stop these feelings. It also happened to coincide with my husband being gone for an extended period of time.
It was into the forth week of his absence. I had taken care of my own needs regularly, sometimes thinking of my husband and sometimes Stanley. It made me think sometimes as if I were a whore. But it was just the thoughts I was feeling. At this point I had not acted on them. But it wasn't until Stanley was under the sink tightening a pipe and I was above him watching that I felt an urge that was stronger than any I had before.
"I think it's tight enough Mrs. Mason," Stanley say from below.
"Alright let me turn it on," I said as I turned the faucet handle.
I looked down at him on the floor and for a moment he met my gaze. He was just inches away and below me. I was wearing my white dress that stopped just a bit below the knee. I was not wearing stockings because of the heat and because I had not left the house that day. I looked at his strong muscles as he worked. Then I felt it. It was such a strong desire. My entire body shivered as a wetness started. It seemed so uncontrollable and I didn't hear him when he said I could turn the water off.
"Oh! Ok," I said as I turned the faucet off.
"I guess it's not fixed," Stanley said as he looked up at me with a pipe in his hand.
"Oh I'm sorry Stanley," I said looking at him now standing and quite soaked from the unintentional shower I had given him.
Embarrassed, he looks himself over, and stood to offer an apology. It was quite a bit of water I had dumped on him during my daydream and he was soaked.
"Gee Mrs. Mason, it's quite a mess," he said as he started to clean it up.
"Oh that's alright, it will just take a moment," I said as I started to mop up the water.
Stanley helped me clean the floor. But I noticed right away that his pants were soaked through. I realized that he would try to go home soon and I desperately wanted the company, besides the other thoughts that were swimming in my head. It was like some sort of condition that I couldn't ignore. I had to do something. However it only took him a moment, and he was gone, indicating he had to change before finishing the job. After he was out the door, I tried to calm my feelings. However I did not get a chance.
"Gosh Mrs. Mason. I'm locked out," he said as he came back, "I left my key in my other trousers and mom won't be home until after six."
"Oh that's alright Billy," I smiled, "I can see if Mr. Mason has anything to fit you."
