After injuring my knee in a football game, I had to have an operation to repair my damaged ligaments. After the operation, I needed almost a year of physiotherapy treatment, which meant a weekly trip to the local hospital. The physiotherapy department ran a knee class every Wednesday morning.
An exercise program was worked out for me on my first visit, and you would be assessed by a physio every four or five weeks. On my second visit, I got talking to Linda. She was on the exercise bike next to mine, and as we were both due to be on there for 10 minutes, Linda asked me about how I got my injury. We chatted and Linda told me how she had injured her knee in a fall on an icy path outside her house. She seemed really friendly, although she was old enough to be my mother. She finished her time on the bike and smiled at me, saying, "See you later," as she got off. Her smile really was amazing, her brown eyes lighting up her face despite the crow's feet at their edges.
"See you," I said and watched her make her way to the rowing machine. She was a slim woman, with shoulder length, chestnut brown hair, flecked with grey. She seemed kind of shapeless in her baggy blue tracksuit.
Over the course of several weeks, I grew to look forward to seeing Linda at the gym. I never really read much into it, but as time went on, the tracksuit was abandoned in favour of tight running pants and vest top. The flecks of grey were gone from her hair too and we were soon having a drink together in the hospital coffee shop after our gym sessions.
I learned that Linda was 56 years old and was married, with three grown up children, all of whom had left home. Her husband was 63 and she dropped the odd hint that he was past it in the bedroom department. One morning as we sat at the table after the session, my eye was caught by a stunning young nurse passing the door. Linda caught me looking and playfully punched me on the shoulder.
"Hey you, what would your wife say if she saw you ogling at that young woman?"
"Oh, she wouldn't be too bothered Linda, she's not the jealous type," I replied.
"So is blondie over there your type?"
"Well... she's nice, but I prefer the darker type, maybe a bit more... mature?"
Linda blushed and looked down, smiling.
"I'm twenty-five years older than you Bob, behave yourself!"
As she said it, she allowed her hand to brush against my arm. I couldn't help but take a peek at her cleavage, her tanned skin accentuated by the white vest top. I smiled and looked away.
As our rehab program developed, we had to do more "resistance" exercises. With a partner, you have to try to move your leg, while the other person tries to stop you. The objective of this is to strengthen the knee joint. Linda and I naturally paired off. I think that was the time when I seriously began to think about her sexually, probably because of the close physical contact necessitated by our new exercises.
