When my wife and I were much younger we took in a neighbor kid, seeing him through his last year of high school and tech school. That situation gave me the idea for this story, hopefully you'll enjoy it.
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I didn't much like where I was living, a two bedroom apartment with no garage area or storage, the only redeeming value is that it was on the first floor. I arrived in Kansas City two months ago, a 57 year old refrigeration journeyman taking a job with another commercial refrigeration company. I had worked for Andrews Refrigeration for 27 years, it wasn't the company I wanted to get away from, it was all the memories of my failed marriage and loss of my closest sibling. I'd lost my wife to another, someone I didn't have the equipment to compete with. A beautiful bronze skinned female doctor from Jamaica, who in time moved back to her native country taking Marion with her.
In the last year I had lost the other love of my life as well, my sister, younger than me by eleven months. Karen and I were so close in age and feature's that folks thought we were fraternal twins. We were always together, even after we were married and had families. At family functions you would find us on the couch together, standing next to the other in the kitchen doing whatever, we were just always together, we always seemed to have something to talk about.
We were referred to as "the lovers" in a snickering sort of way, it came about when we were being sought for lunch on a family Sunday when mom blurted out, "oh, the lovers are sitting in the swing on the front porch", there was much laughter and guffawing, but the supposed joke never ended. From that point on anytime one or both of us was being sought at a family gathering it was always the same. Where are the lovers?
My wife was a heavy drinker, something I chose to overlook before we married, and realized too late after we were together. She was a slobbering closet drunk, wine being her poison of choice. She also never learned to let go of her high school friends, so being out with them clubbing every few weeks wasn't unusual. I admit I was blind to most of her loose behavior, but I think only because I foolishly chose to overlook it, hoping it would change on its own.
Karen's husband was an over the road trucker gone most of the time. When she discovered there were two other women he was living with as wives she ended the marriage after 28 years together. A few weeks following my wife told me she was going to Jamaica with her lover, Karen and I leaned on one another even more. Had we paid closer attention to the signs that existed we may not have been so devastated, but we hadn't and the hurt ensued.
The loss of our marriages was the impetus that brought us together again, Karen didn't want to live alone but wasn't ready to sell her house, we made a joint decision she should move in with me and rent her place. After all, who would question a brother and sister living with each other following divorces. What we hadn't foreseen was becoming lovers after years of stuffing the urges to be intimate.
She and I always knew we loved the other, more than a simple sibling love, we also made damned sure we never gave into the urges neither of us ever voiced. Standing in the kitchen talking, sitting on the couch together, or on the front porch swing had to be enough, that's just the way it had to be. That is, until we moved in together, both in our early fifties and both still in love with the other. It wasn't one of those situations you read about where she suddenly had to have me, we ripped our clothes off and screwed all over the house for two days. Those stories for the most part are bullshit.
Ours started out very subtle and slow, we'd been referred to as "the lovers" for so long it had become a natural thing to hold hands if we were out together. Most of the folks in town knew us and didn't refer to us as Ted and Karen, we were jokingly referred to as the lovers. Even old Sam Johnson at the hardware store would ask when we walked in together, "What can I get for you two lovers today?"
Therefore, it meant nothing to the towns people to see Karen and I walking around holding hands, or our arm around the others waist, it did however begin to make a difference for us. It was no longer simply grabbing her hand, or she mine, it had become the art of slipping my hand into hers or vise versa, the soft touch of our fingers intertwined, or my palm on the small of her back, the sweetness, the tenderness in our voices as we conversed. The feeling of being complete and relevant in this world when we were together, a preference to be with no other, we were all we needed.
Giving in to our sexual urges didn't occur for months. We had always kissed hello and goodbye, nothing sensual, just a quick kiss, we did the same each morning and evening now that we were in the same household. Something else we'd done was develop a foolish back and forth in the morning. It all began one morning when things were not going right for Karen, I told her to have a crappy day, she instantly responded with enjoy your crummy job.
It was now a running joke that as I was leaving one would say 'have a crappy day, followed by 'enjoy your crummy job' by the other, chuckles and another quick peck on the lips. That changed on the morning we kissed, literally kissed, not a peck, she pulled back, stroked the side of my face with the palm of her hand and told me to have a productive day and be safe. I'd hurt myself the day before changing out a compressor, telling her about it at supper, this was Karen's way of telling me to not abandon her now that we were together again.
She normally left for work a half hour after I did and always finished dressing after I'd leave. She'd have on her terry cloth robe tied tightly shut, her face and hair would be ready, but she would wait to dress, making sure we had our oatmeal together before I left. I would wonder what she had on under that robe, was she in undies or as bare as the day she was born? As I was leaving she would stand on tip toes kissing me sweetly, patting my chest and telling me to have a crappy day.
Our morning kisses heated up over time. A day after I'd accidentally scratched the top of my head leaving a long scab in the middle of it she held me tight as we kissed goodbye, not releasing me. Looking into my eyes she half scolded as well as admonished,
"Teddy, you make sure you come home to me tonight ... undamaged."
Pushing me out the door she smiled and mouthed I love you. I know I made it to work that morning, but I certainly don't remember driving there. My service manager asked if I needed to go home, when I asked why he told me because I sure wasn't there. I cleared my head, picked up my first service call and hit the road. Karen would get home an hour or more before me so she typically had a meal ready when I walked in, if I was still running calls and knew I'd be late I would text her. Her response was always the same, "I'll know you're home when I see the whites of your eyes." No pissin and moanin, no nasty attitude, just, I'll see you when you get home.
As I walked in from the garage I didn't smell supper, very unusual. I called out Karen's name with no answer, her car was in the garage, wonder where she could be. Walking down the hall to my bedroom she exited hers looking like a million bucks, reaching for me for her kiss, then telling me to get cleaned up and ready, we're going to dinner ... and wear something nice. As she walked away I watched her ass twitch, making her skirt sway as she walked, I was sure she knew I was watching because she made it do more than normal. As the skirt swayed I could see enough upper leg to make me begin hardening.
Karen is an attractive woman, always has been, and is even more so in her older years. She stands five foot three, has a tiny waist and short torso, having never bore children her hips hadn't widened much since high school. I thought her chest was perfect, I knew it was a 34B because I looked at her bra, she generally wore cotton bikini or boy shorts underwear, but I had also seen some shinier ones in the laundry, probably nylon or satin. In my estimation she was a complete package.
I showered, shaved, slapped on some British Sterling, her favorite cologne, a dress shirt, tie and dress slacks. When I walked into the dining room she gave me a wolf whistle and wiggled her eyebrows as she smiled. She stood and slowly spun around, looking wonderful in a flowing black skirt and bright white blouse with seamed nylons and three inch spiked heels. The most appealing part for me was the amount of skin showing, her skirt ended just below mid-thigh, the blouse was open enough to know she had cleavage without showing it.
