Fate is a funny thing: A chance encounter, missed bus, or innocent remark, can change our whole lives. So it was with me...
I suppose it could be blamed on my rape, initially. I was a teenager then. I never saw the baby; it was whipped away for adoption, and I was free to get on with life. That life was about average I suppose. I left University as a result, and took employment in advertising. At the age of twenty-six I married a man ten years my senior. We jogged along for seven years, and then parted ways. Having no children from the marriage left me free to engross myself in work and furthering my career. A few casual, very short-lived romances, and an occasional one-night-stand took me through to the big Five-O.
Taking a chance, I branched out, and started my own business. Though mortgaged to the hilt, prospects were good, and things looked rosy - then the devastating '9/11' debacle. Like many others, my business collapsed in the aftermath of the towers' rubble. Losing everything, I found myself reduced to owning a rundown shack in the rougher part of New Hampshire, and working as a soda jerk to exist. Broke, depressed, worn out by long hours for little pay, I had no time, or money for a social life, and no inclination for sex. Most spare time I spent in bed sleeping, or feeling sorry for myself.
On one of my rare outings into the park, I sat on a bench and idly perused a newspaper someone had abandoned there. Nothing really registered until a personal advertisement caught my eye: A young man was looking for cheap lodgings. I had a spare room, and could sure use a little extra cash. On impulse, I tore out the advert, and - more in hope than expectation - phoned the requested number. There was only an answer phone; I left my number, and instructions to call me after nine any evening if he still wanted lodgings. I got a return call that evening and, after asking a couple of pertinent questions, invited him round the next evening to view.
He seemed a pleasant enough young man in his early thirties, and stated he'd taken a year out to do some research to complete a book he was writing. The solitude suited him, and the stated rent fitted nicely with his budget. Though having some misgivings at ever replying to his advert in the first place, there was something particularly appealing about his countenance and demeanour. In fact, I was embarrassed that I felt some sexual stirrings within me. He moved in that weekend.
We seemed to have a natural affinity for each other. Of necessity, he had the run of the house whilst I was out. Normally, the thought of some stranger possibly checking out my personal belongings, even having access to my bedroom and underwear, would have been quite abhorrent. In his case, it did not cause me any concern. In fact, in some way, it actually excited me. We saw little of each other the first few days. When I was home, he was either out, or in his own room. It was not until the following Sunday we really got to talk.
Sunday was my one day of the week away from work. I usually had a lay in, rising around ten thirty in the morning. That day was no exception. It being warm, and with no thought of my lodger, I traipsed sleepily into the kitchen to make coffee. He was in there, in the midst of making coffee himself. He greeted me politely, and asked if he could pour me coffee, and maybe make me toast or something. He appeared relaxed, and happy. This was confirmed when he spoke again.
"I sure appreciate you letting me live here Mrs Tovell. I find it very comfortable, thanks, and you've made me feel really at home." I muttered some appropriate reply, and realised I was wearing only a rather revealing nightdress and was in bare feet. Making an apology, I quickly held the gaping neckline together.
I'm so sorry, Mr Rogers, I didn't mean to embarrass you. I was half asleep, and forgot you were here. I'll take this through," - indicating my coffee - "and leave you in peace." He rose quickly as if to stay me.
"Oh, please, Mrs Tovell, I'm the one that should leave. It is your kitchen." He made to collect his own drink, adding.
"Please call me Martin, and you certainly didn't embarrass me, Mrs Rogers. If I seemed to stare it's because I'm not used to female company, and you have a very - I mean - well - sorry. I'd better leave." He looked uncomfortable, and made his exit bowing further unspoken apologies.
After he left, I felt confused and silly, thinking I should not have let him go, sorry I'd changed his happy mood, and conscious again of a somewhat disconcerting sexual flutter. Making sure I was indeed alone, I released my neckline, looking, and trying to visualise what he had been able to see of me. I was secretly flattered that his stilted remark indicated I had a nice figure. Although I'd passed my fiftieth birthday, I knew I had worn well. Being reasonably tall and slim with a not over ample bust, and having kept active, my figure had not exactly gone to seed. I still had a slim waist and hips, and my breasts had filled somewhat, without the usual accompanying sag.
Whilst taking my shower, the thoughts of the encounter pre-occupied me, and for the first time in months, I fondled myself, culminating with masturbating, and inducing an unexpectedly strong orgasm. Flushed and with an unaccustomed light-headed, carefree feeling, I sang contentedly as I set about the weekly cleaning chores. Having completed my own, on impulse, I tapped on his door.
"Come in." His quick, cheerful response set my pulse racing. I tapped on the door again, and partially opened it. He'd been sat writing, and was rising politely.
"Please come in Mrs Tovell, sorry about earlier. Can I help you?" I found myself saying,
"Didn't mean to disturb you. I wondered if you would like to vacuum out later? Or maybe I could do it for you?" Following it before he could reply, with,
"Don't blame yourself for earlier, Martin, it was my fault, and if we are going to live together, you'd better please call me Angela," I laughed, joking, "having you call me Mrs, sounds so formal, and makes me feel quite ancient." He responded quickly.
Well you certainly aren't that, Mrs Tovell, and it will certainly please me if we are on first-name terms, Angela. And if I may say so, Angela is a delightful name and suits you." He indicated the vacuum cleaner.
"I could certainly use that, thanks, though to be honest I never used one before."
"In that case Martin, just holler when it's convenient, and I'll give you a run over." He encouraged me to enter.
"Well, if it's not imposing on you, right now is fine, I'll get out of your way." He moved towards, and past me, suiting action to words,
"It's a bit of a mess, I'm a typical male I'm afraid. Maybe I can help you out with some heavier chores some time." Then he was out. I plugged in and set to cleaning the room as I had always done before his arrival, but noticing the male touches, reminiscing on happier past times when first married, and the cosy feeling of clearing up the mess an untidy lover had managed to make with seemingly no effort. A sigh brought me to reality. Finishing quickly, and replacing the vacuum in the under stair cupboard, I was greeted by a call from the kitchen.
"Angela? I made fresh coffee if you would like a cup?"
We sat drinking in silence a few moments before we both started to speak at once. I urged him to continue.
"Well, it was a stupid thought - I wondered, as it's a nice day, and you haven't started lunch - well maybe we could eat out, and - well go somewhere or something. Sorry, Angela, what were you going to say?"
My heart gave an extra thump, irrationally, I felt like a teen being asked out on her first date. I'm sure I blushed, and tried not to sound so eager.
"Well that sounds like a great idea, Martin. It's kind and thoughtful of you to suggest it." The way he reacted showed he was just as pleased as I.
"Oh! If you really think so, Angela? I'll get changed, and if you have any preferences or suggestions we can take it from there. Say, ready in half an hour? I'm really looking forward to this." I said a half hour was fine.
"Right. Good. I'll get a quick shower." He stood, rubbed his hands as if in anticipation, and left me trying to hide my excitement. Though sure he was being nothing more than a thoughtful gentleman, a series of imaginative images flashed inside my head - We were holding hands across the table in a corner alcove, or running wildly together in a secluded meadow. Maybe even holding hands, and touching knees as we watched 'Gone With The Wind', in an empty cinema, or riding a roller-coaster together; kissing goodnight, then looking at each other, and him leading me into his room. As juices started to flow, I was jerked back from my romantic musing, by him calling,
"Bathroom's clear if you want it Angela. I'll wait for you in the lounge when I'm dressed."
"Okay, thanks Martin." I hollered back, and my first thought was to change my damp panties.
He was waiting eagerly when I returned clothed ready for the outing. I'd debated on what to wear. I didn't want to appear overdressed, but wanted to impress him. I finally settled on a black slinky number I hadn't worn for years. It had a low cut, loose 'V' neck, and when coupled with an uplift bra showed my bust off to its best. I wore a light open cardigan with it, and applied a small amount of make-up with extra care. It had the effect I wanted. I was glad I'd slipped spare panties in my purse, I had a feeling I would soon need them.
"Hi. WOW! You look absolutely stunning, Angela." I could see he really meant it.
"Thanks, Martin, that's a nice thing to say. You look very becoming too. Shall we go?" I turned to hide my blushes, and waited.
If you don't have any preference, I know this Bengali restaurant - Bengali Princess - you may know it? I've eaten there a couple of times, and the food and service is good. Unless you have some other spot in mind?"
"Oh, no. That sounds fine. I've never been there, it will be a nice experience." I'd passed the place, but the menu outside meant nothing to me, and prices were beyond my budget anyway. He took my arm, and we left. Closing the self-locking door, he led me to his car, opened my door, and made sure I was comfortable, then got in his own side.
"You comfortable enough Angela? It's only a short ride anyway." Satisfied by my reply, he started the engine, slipped it into gear, and we were off. He made small talk in a relaxed voice. I managed to give appropriate replies, whilst inside I felt like a Cinderella going to the ball.
The restaurant was almost empty. Martin nodded to the waiter who appeared, and declined the offered table, saying,
"That alcove with the outside view looks fine." Without further ado, he guided me to a semi-screened table for two in the far corner. The waiter followed, pulled out a chair, and bowed me into place. He retrieved a menu, and handed it to Martin."
