Ch 2 almost
At this point there were hormonal resonances from both of us. Chemical changes whose only outward indicator is a certain retinal opening, the precursor of other openings to be pried and poked. Someone will no doubt invent an app to tell you the optimal time to put a mouth to a mouth or a finger to a pussy.
I try not to let him see my grin. He must know by now I am shameless. But I persist with my feigned indifference. "Now how did we get onto that topic?" Spoken with a schoolteacher's authority.
Then I moved off to another chore, knowing he would find me squatting comfortably and casually in the metre high lettuces that were going to seed, or cutting back some scorched raspberry canes.
He makes appreciative noises about my flexibility. Men are so transparent. It's a lighthearted but gently escalating flirtation. He kept coming back to topics relating to my sexual disposition. My replies an attempt at womanly restraint yet politely engaged. Fooling no one.
Restraint not my strong suit but I had to retain dignity. A more sensible woman would have silenced him with a terse 'None of your business'. Or just grabbed him, or showed him a tit. Making the first move is not one of my social algorithms. I wanted him to fully out himself. Would he let the words tip into action?
Later, chit chat about dating sites. "I don't want to trade in one old goat for another."
"You need a young man. You can advertise on Gumtree!"
"Good idea. Applications taken." Can't make it much clearer than that.
"You could go clubbing."
"Not my style but I appreciate your suggestions."
The last time he was here we talked about houses and how he thinks I should give him one. "You could adopt me." A nice neutral way to put it. He is indecently young.
He attacks some unwanted agapanthus with the pick, I cut back dead grape tendrils I planted on the pool fence, noting to myself to put paper bags around the few grape clusters lest the birds pick them to the stem before I can harvest them.
Last year I had a good crop of grapes, but this year not too many. Within weeks I'll be leaving my bountiful garden behind, never to return to its tending.
I suspect this sweet fellow is actually quite inexperienced, maybe shy. All the clever comebacks I had rehearsed in my fantasies discarded. I'm newly embarrassed by my own experienced but rusty flirtation skills. It's like riding a bike, comes back in a rush, full-blown. This dear young man has not been round the traps yet. My verbal traps cautiously laid.
"Don't think I'll do internet dating. I'll join a bush walking group, or a book club, or go dancing...I'll bet you have lots of girls chasing after you."
"Of course." In a bragging tone that meant not really.
I giggle. "Good. That's the way it should be."
Next he's telling me about an exercise that helps a good butt. I used to have a good butt. Then it's squats he recommends.
