Nothing much erotic here, sorry. Just me bored, writing down what is in my head at the moment, and what is going on around here. Mostly for me, I guess, like taking notes?
My wife Debra is in Boston, I am here on the Oregon coast. Alone. Again.
After living with a woman for a very long time, I always thought that a man would or should know about everything they might do or think.
So, being with Debra for a decade and change, recent events were a shock to the old system. She decided to stay in Boston, leaving me with two options. Stay here in Oregon, or drop everything I know in this world and join her there.
"We make more money here in three months than I make working in a year." she told me.
Obviously, she did not know me as well as she thought she did.
One thing sure as hell is not going to happen, and that is me living in any big city like Boston. Noise, people everywhere, trapped in an apartment four floors up? No green everywhere, no.. Ocean a few blocks away? People all over the place, none of them I know.
Horse shit. Nope. Not going to happen. Debra should have known that, but she acted like she thought I would jump at the chance, because of all of the.. money. Like I give a fuck about money?
Her Mother passed, the surprise was her Mom left everything to her close to estranged Daughter, which is my Debra.
I admit that surprised me, too. But, part of that was in her will, written many years before, and nobody else left to inherit. So, Debra also had to deal with the laws in an unfamiliar State. We never spoke much about her Mom, I had a vision of an old woman, on Social Security living in some apartment.
Nothing could be further from the truth.
Money? Sudden wealth? Stuff, like an apartment building full of mostly college kids, some stocks and funds, an upper floor huge apartment full of.. dolls? OK, collector type dolls, like I cared. Also some Jones account, Roger or Edward or something like that.
I just didn't give a shit, but Debra seemed to. Yep, surprised me.
I just wanted things the way they were before.}
+++
One thing that seems to happen without fail is when a man, especially one with property, a few bucks in their jeans suddenly comes available, women then come out of the woodwork.
Some kind of underground signal system, beats me how that works but it sure as hell doesn't take long.
Yes, even to us old farts. Now I would say on the one to ten scale I am a six or seven, so for my age, I do pretty fine in attracting a few mature ladies. Part of that is probably some of them figured they wouldn't have to put up with me for long, then THEY would get the loot? OK, if I sound like I suspect some females just might have ulterior motives, well. I have been burned a few times.
Debra was in Boston and had made the decision to stay there and "take care of things" which is how she put it. Tearfully, I might add, upset that I flatly refused the idea of moving to a big city where I knew no one and nothing familiar was there.
I am an old man, I grew up half wild on a huge ranch, I need space, all there is to it.
Also, as close to stubborn as a Jackass as it is possible to be, with a wife every bit as stubborn.
Phone calls from Debra dropped to once a week, a few of my own calls went to voicemail. Working was what she told me about what was going on, I even asked her if she was making any new friends, and she understood quickly what I was asking and denied.
"I just use my toy." She told me, lowering her voice to a whisper. Then she told me that maybe I could go get a rubdown, or perhaps go see Charlene at the waxing spa to "take the edge off." is how she put that.
I told her what I wanted was her right back here with me, which got her to crying again. But nope, she still insisted that she needed to be there, because there was so much to deal with.
We hung up, nothing settled. Then? Women, interested.
+++
It only took maybe a half dozen people asking me where Debra was for the word to get out in our small coastal town.
The first one was Marilyn Baxter, a sixtyish lady with white hair that lived a few blocks away. Her husband passed away about two years ago, and we saw her around from time to time. Enough to say hello, and that was about it. Typical bit on the pudgy side single lady, the world is full of them since we men seem to kick off first.
Imagine my surprise, I was sitting watching the news about how the Democrats wanted to get their hands on the President's tax returns when a knock came at my door.
It was Mrs. Baxter... with a pie? OK, I like pie, and if I want one I can just make one. I looked down, Apple pie, the sticky juices welling up through slits in the crust, I had to admit that looked good. Smelled good, too.
But? Mrs. Baxter? Why? In the few years we had known her, mostly in passing, she had never been to our house, not once.
Now, here she was, nicely dressed, white hair suddenly dark with highlights, all curly. Makeup, too. Got to wear makeup to bake pies, I guess.
I let her in, got out some Vanilla ice cream and some Coffee, we sat at my kitchen table and ate some. Damn, the woman could make good pie, I had two pieces.
It hit me somewhere in there that Mrs. Baxter had on a skirt, just above the knee, bare legs which would be fashionable if she was 30 but she is at least 60. Reasonably attractive older lady, (listen to me, I am 75).
A bit on the chunky side, showing the signs of her age but carrying it fairly well. Also a blouse unbuttoned far enough to show some white and freckled cleavage and likely the fact that she was probably braless since things hung down a tad and appeared rather soft.
In my house, like that, where she had never been before.. bearing.. pie?
OK. Got it. Sometimes I am not completely dense.
Nice visit, nice chat, nice pie.
I managed to get her back out the door, said some pleasantries, went back into the kitchen and had me another piece of pie ala mode. Damn good pie, had to admit that.
