Momma Bear

Once in a while, I write a story that is partially from my own life experience, and this is one of those. It's not a stroke story, although there is sex in it. Mostly, it's a look at two mature people and the reasons why, even with strong mutual attraction, they can't stay together.

I won't be reading comments written about this story. I quit doing that after getting flamed for some early stories by people hiding behind the "anonymous" mask. I don't care to read indictments of me personally just because someone didn't like what a character in my story did. But I will read and respond to emails about this story or any other. It takes a bit of courage to write to an author, but it takes only a coward to leave anonymous slander.

*****

I've been widowed for a few months now. Some people say you have to wait a year or more to begin dating after your mate dies, but at 64, time is precious. I retired to take care of my wife, and I'd watched her deteriorate for 14 months, so I was ready to get on with life. Besides, she didn't want me to shrivel up and be miserable.

It's not that I am desperate for a woman, but I do enjoy the company of intelligent women, and my life these days is mostly solitary. I also still like sex, and for various reasons, my wife of nearly 30 years had not been able to have normal intercourse for over 10 years. Oh, we found other things to do, but it had been a long time since I'd felt that unmatched feeling of sliding my full length into a warm wet pussy. As the saying goes, I'm old but I'm not dead.

So, when I met Susan on a dating site, my fantasy life started to ramp up. When I met her in person, I was incredulous that such a person was out there and unattached. No, she wasn't a skinny, ravishing beauty. Actually, she was pretty far from that physical description. A nice face, quite a bit of extra weight, hair that had no hint of gray, and a year older than myself. She had been widowed for five years.

It turned out that we had quite a few acquaintances in common. She rents a room in the home of a couple. He is someone I've known since the mid 1970s, and she is Susan's best friend. Susan dated at least one man I knew pretty well in years past, and we found all kinds of social connections going back as many as 40 years ago. We may have actually been at the same parties in those days, but we never met.

She had always been involved in the arts as an actress and playwright, and as everyone should know, that is a recipe for poverty in your old age. Her Social Security check is insultingly small, and she has no savings. Despite that, she gives the impression of self sufficiency, although her life is on the precipice. The art she creates these days is exciting and demonstrates a lot of talent, but it is not being hung in galleries or selling for vast amounts of money. Truth be told, she is really set up for disaster. She needs, as well as deserves, someone to take care of her.

Susan is almost bereft of family. She has lost all her relatives except for the daughter she bore in her late 30's. I knew they were incredibly close, although I didn't realize all the ramifications of that closeness. Susan, I found out too late, is a real Momma Bear.

Savannah, the daughter, is also in the art world, which in practical terms means she works a variety of waitressing jobs to support herself. Savannah is a 26 year old beauty and talented singer/songwriter/performer. None of that translates to economic security.

Savannah should be married to a lawyer or banker by now. She is about 5'9", with dark red hair, beautiful skin, and a face so beautiful it would stop you in your tracks. However, she suffers from self-image problems. Her shyness is interpreted by eligible men her age as haughtiness and unapproachability. The only guys with enough courage to pursue her are the ones who hit on every woman. Consequently, she winds up getting hurt, which contributes to her low self-image.

(Let me stop here and tell you that I don't get involved with the daughter in this story. It's the mom I love. If you're looking for that hookup to happen, it won't. After all, this is a story based on reality, not male fantasy.)

Younger folks probably won't appreciate this fact as much as I do, but you have to be mentally in sync with your lover or your relationship will be miserable and probably not last long. Sex is very important, but you only spend a fraction of your time making love to a lover. The rest of the time, you have to talk about something, go places together, watch the same movies, cook and clean together, and do all those other activities together. The best sex in the world is worth very little if you have to spend your life with someone you despise in order to keep the sex going.

Susan is someone with whom I could happily spend every waking minute. We both hate sports. We have the same political beliefs. We're spiritual but don't subscribe to any religion. We read books on different subjects and teach each other what we learn. We appreciate the same kinds of movies. She had the potential to become my best friend, and we hadn't even kissed.

I didn't push the physical part because the mental part was so good that I was afraid to mess things up. For several weeks we dated, and I never made a move. We were going out up to five nights a week, and I hadn't even tried to give her a peck at the door when I dropped her off. Then one night as I dropped her off, she put her arms around me and gave me a good solid kiss as I opened her front door. My old cock got hard in seconds. We said a few words, and I watched her walk in smiling, and she closed the door.

From then on, we would hug and kiss often. Typically, we'd be sitting on the couch after a movie ended, and I'd hold her and kiss her gently, never making a move to touch her in one of the "danger zones". One night fairly early on in our relationship, we had this conversation:

"Sweetie, if you don't stop me, I'm going to keep going. I love to kiss you, and I want more. Actually, I want all of you. But I love being with you, so I will do whatever it takes to keep seeing you."

"Steve, I want us to have a sexual relationship, too. But I'm scared. I'm scared for you to see my body, and I'm scared to risk my feelings. I think you're a great guy, and I can't believe my luck after all this time. I had given up on finding a guy like you. Just give me some time. I really want us to have a playful sex life together."

That last bit has stuck with me, the bit about being playful. I think I may have finally learned what she meant by it, but the word struck me as odd at the time.

Finally, Susan let me know that she was ready to move our romance to the bedroom. I did things up right. There were flowers, a light meal with candle light and mood music, a romantic movie, and some kissing and cuddling on the couch before I led her by the hand to my bedroom. There, with fresh sheets on the bed and a candle on the bedside table, I undressed her and eased her into bed, with many kisses to her face and shoulders. To be safe, I'd dropped a Viagra an hour earlier, although I was pretty sure it wouldn't be required.

You know how this goes, I'm sure. Our hands roamed over each other's naked body, I kissed her voluptuous tits, and I began working my way down to the ultimate prize. In my marriage, cunnilingus had always been a part of lovemaking. In later years, it was as close as I got to intercourse. My wife loved how I ate her, and I was sure I could give Susan satisfaction with my mouth. I got as far as her navel before she stopped me.

"No, please, not that."

There followed a short discussion wherein she told me that oral sex tickled too much, and that she didn't want me to do it. She said she was happy to take me in her mouth, if I liked, but she didn't want the favor returned. I asked for just a taste, thinking I could win her over if I showed her my fantastic technique, but she declined.

There went that plan. What was I supposed to do now? My tongue was my ace in the hole, so to speak. It was my best shot at making her so horny she would be hooked on me, and now that shot was, well, shot. So, I fell back on a little finger action while she gently stroked me, her hands lubed up and feeling delicious. Soon, there was nothing more to do but put my cock in her.

Susan seemed to be enjoying things as I slid inside her. She moaned softly, closing her eyes and turning her head up and to the side. I moved slowly, mindful of the fact that older women have very tender pussies, and that Susan probably hadn't been with a man for some time. I had the nerve to whisper to her, "What can I do for you, honey?"

Never opening her eyes, she raised her arms above her head and said, "You can just pretty much take me and have your way with me."

I took that to mean she wanted it harder, and so I stepped it up, although it was a struggle not to come too quickly. I held her wrists down and plowed into her steadily and with some force, trying to wait for a signal that she was close to cumming. She looked beautiful and so sexy under me, and I told her so. She squirmed a little and pulled her knees up to give me deeper penetration. Finally, I could hold out no longer, and I let her know by my groans that I was cumming, hoping to trigger a climax in her, but I could detect none.

I held myself above her on shaky arms until steady breathing returned, and then I rolled off her and pulled her to me. I asked again what I could do for her, and she said she was fine, which I hopefully took to mean that she had come, too. I really wanted this night to cement us as a couple. I wanted her in my bed from then on, and I wanted her to desire me as much as I did her. She was very sweet and lovable after sex, but I still had nagging doubts about whether I had truly won her affections.

So, that began our intimacy.

All during this time, I had been taking her to dinner and events, all at my expense, of course. I was happy to pay. After all, I'm the one who could afford it, and she was such good company always. In fact, I looked for ways to make her life better by doing things for her that she didn't have the money to do for herself. After Savannah had a tire blow out on the highway, stranding her many miles from where we were, I insisted on buying a new set of tires for her old truck. While I was at it, I had the truck inspected and got new brakes for it. I got the special synthetic oil and did an oil change on Susan's car, which was in fair shape otherwise. I bought an expensive telescope because she was interested in astronomy, which I have a bit of knowledge about, and I took her to a hill out in the country where we set it up and watched star clusters, galaxies, and satellites in the night sky. We saw movies and went to nice restaurants several times a week.

Susan did things for me, too. She brought me lovely paintings she had created. She cooked for me some. She introduced me to interesting people and got us invitations to a couple of great parties. She set up my first encounter with bubble tea, for which I'm grateful. There were lots of other nice things she did for me. We were good together.

Once in awhile, we had sex, and it was always good for me. As smart and eloquent as she is, she was not very helpful when I asked what she wanted me to do for her sexually. I got her a vibrator, which she used some and seemed to like, but she never allowed me to get my mouth close to her vagina.

A few times, I noticed a urine smell on myself after sex, and I decided that part of her problem with oral sex was that she probably leaked a little and was embarrassed about that. That may gross some people out, but it's just life. It is what it is, as they say. I didn't care about a little urine smell, and I would have eaten her anyway, if she had let me. As you get older, you get these kinds of things. Luckily, I don't have much wrong with me yet, but I will, unless I get hit by a bus tomorrow.

(Before I tell you the story about Savannah, I should mention that, in addition to the money I was happily spending to have good times with Susan, I had loaned her $150 at one point for art supplies. That is important not for the amount, which is fairly small, but for a situation I will relate later in this tale.)

Then there came a crisis with Savannah, and I stepped in to help again. Now, I wish I hadn't, but I really thought I was strengthening our bond. Susan's daughter was about to be homeless, through no real fault of her own. The economy stinks for young people these days, and housing is expensive in our city. I have a garage apartment that is unoccupied, and so I offered it to Savannah rent free for as long as needed. They gladly accepted. I had a bunch of stuff stored in the apartment, and it took the better part of 2 days to deal with that and clean it up enough to be habitable.

Savannah moved in, and life went on. At one point, there were problems in the bathroom that caused me to hire a plumber to clean the drain. I put in a new commode at that point, and there was a lot of cleanup. Otherwise, I wasn't in the apartment at all for a couple of months. In that time, Savannah and her 2 cats (I hadn't counted on cats being there) were in and out of there at all hours, but that didn't bother me. She was off-and-on with a boyfriend (another loser), and sometimes she wouldn't be home for several days. She's an adult, so what she does is fine with me.

One day, after a heavy rain, I found her quilt out on the sidewalk, soaking wet. I don't know why she left if out there. I told Susan about it, and she told me it was an heirloom. I took the quilt and washed and dried it, and then slipped in and lay it on her bed. At that point, I noticed that the apartment was pretty junky, which didn't sit well, but I let it go. It seemed to me that Savannah was certainly not living up to her potential, which is not surprising, given her emotional and economic problems.

Savannah was soon away more than she was home. Apparently, she spent lots of nights at her shit head boyfriend's house. His thing, apparently, was running her down emotionally while screwing her. Not a good situation for her, but not something I could really do anything about.

Thanksgiving was approaching, and my daughter from out of town was visiting with her family. She's not my biological daughter, but I love them all just as if she were. I'm also friends with my wife's first husband and his (3rd) wife, and we all met the Sunday before Thanksgiving at his house for a meal. As often happens in family situations, there arose a shouting match between my daughter and her bio dad, and the result was a lot of tears and a big change in plans. They were all coming to stay at my house for the week instead of his house, which put my plans with Susan on hold.

In addition, I had tension building up over my mother-in-law, who had not spoken to me since my wife's funeral. We were all invited to Thanksgiving dinner at her house, and I was stressed about that. I had to go, even though I knew the old lady hated me and had for years. She blamed me for corrupting her daughter's religious and political beliefs, which is demonstrably untrue.

So the stage was set, and the first act began with a slow running sink in the kitchen. With so many people in the house, some food had probably gone down the kitchen sink and made it run slowly. This reminded me of the toilet overflow problems I'd had a couple of months previously in the garage apartment, so I went out to check. Savannah had not been home for several days, so I went in to flush the commode and make sure it was running properly. As I opened the door, a cat shit smell hit me. The place was wrecked to the point it almost looked like it had been vandalized. In the bathroom, an entire roll of toilet paper had been destroyed by cat claws.

As I began to clean things up, my daughter poked her head in to see what I was up to. (Maybe she'd heard me cursing.) She kind of cocked her head and gave me a look that said she thought I might be losing my mind. Was I an idiot for providing a rent free apartment to a woman who returned the favor by trashing it? The obvious answer was yes.

As I cleaned, things got even worse. Empty and half full beer cans, shoes and clothes strewn about, dirty kitty litter, and then the topper. An open can of beans, nearly full, with bugs crawling all over it. I had been humiliated in front of my daughter, too. I finished the clean up and made the call to Savannah's mother that was to end my relationship.

"Susan, I know this may damage our relationship, but the apartment is a wreck, and it was filled with trash. I have just spent half an hour cleaning up. There was an open can of beans attracting vermin. I want you to tell your daughter that she is no longer welcome here."

Susan's reaction was chaotic and emotional, but it boiled down to "don't do this to me" and ended with a hangup. She tried to call back several times, but I let it go, thinking things could only get worse by talking at this point. I won't go into the vicious email attacks on me by the Momma Bear over the next week, and what I considered to be my measured and honest responses.

I was in no mood to back down. Would Susan even want a guy who was so spineless that he would let a 26 year old woman abuse his generosity and show not the least common courtesy? I had not asked to be repaid for anything I'd done. But I had never even gotten a single thank you from Savannah for any of it. Okay, she's shy. But even a shy person can show some gratitude. I'm kind of shy myself sometimes, but if somebody does me a favor, I say thanks and I don't piss on their shoes.

I won't go into much of what happened in the next few weeks, largely because not much did happen. After the initial emails, I quit hearing from Susan at all. The only notes I got were to tell me she was coming over to get Savannah's stuff, which got postponed a few times. Finally, the only thing left of hers was a bed, and after several false starts, she got a friend with a pickup to come by and take the bed. In all these weeks, I had not seen Susan. I missed her, but I still felt justified in what I'd done, although I regretted the way I'd handled it. I really regretted that I had made that phone call without thinking it through first.

The thing it taught me is not to get in between Momma Bear and her cub, no matter who you are. I could have been really good for Susan. I have the economic stability she desperately needed, and I truly love her, even now. But love is not always enough, as I know well. To come back to me, Susan would have had to take my side, in some sense, against her daughter. I would have made it easy for her. If I had gotten a simple apology from Savannah, I would have forgiven her and even let her move back in, but there was never any word from Savannah to me. And as much as I miss Susan, I have enough self respect to stand firm and not make this out to be my fault.

She did try to patch things up to a level of friendship. I was invited to her house to watch a TV series we had started together, but on the day of the show, she wrote telling me that she had been so stressed thinking about me coming over that she was backing out of the invitation. So, I suggested that we meet, at a time of her choosing, at some neutral location. I'd buy her dinner, we'd talk, and maybe we would resolve our differences and end as friends, or at least not enemies.

I walked into the restaurant and found her already seated in a booth. She didn't stand up or look like she expected me to hug her, so I sat down opposite. We both slowly acknowledged the tension between us, but we somehow made it through the meal, although neither of us felt much like eating. I suggested early on that we not try for a serious discussion in the restaurant, but that we talk in my car afterwards.