As I approach late middle age with not a little foreboding, it helps me come to terms with my encroaching years to dwell on a few pleasant memories, and few of my memories are more pleasant then those of a decade or so ago and a young lady called Nicky.
I had been widowed for a few years by then, and the initial grief had subsided. My children were grown and gone, apart from a few times when they visited for various periods, and I had downsized, selling the big family house, buying something smaller and cosier, and considerably cheaper, and investing the extra cash to give me a small second income which allowed me to work fewer hours and enjoy more leisure time. I had the odd dinner date with a lady or two, but basically I was quite happy and settled on my own.
The small house next door to me was owned by an absentee landlord, and tenants came and went, but after I had been living there for about a year a young woman in her early twenties rented it. This was Nicky.
Her career had brought her to the area, and she knew nobody locally apart from her workmates. We chatted a few times over the garden fence, and invited each other round for coffee once or twice. Despite the age difference, we got on quite well and enjoyed each others company.
Now before I go any further, I would like to dispel any notion that I am one of these sleazy old guys who struts about with a much younger woman on his arm to demonstrate his wealth and status. To my mind, these guys are kind of sad, trying to regain a long lost youth by proxy, and the girls are little better than hookers anyway. Please don't anyone tell me that they are attracted to these wrinkly old perverts because of their looks or personality. No. This is pure sugar daddy syndrome, and if these guys didn't have a damned sight more in their wallets than they have in their shorts those girls would be off like a shot.
Plus, what happened wasn't my idea anyhow, I just went along with it. What guy wouldn't?
One evening, Nicky arrived on my doorstep with a clipboard.
"I'm doing a survey, part of the work for a course I'm on," she explained "and I wonder if you'd mind answering a few questions, John?"
Of course, I said yes, invited her in and brewed some coffee for us both, then we settled down and she began to ask me questions, making notes on her clipboard as I answered her.
The questions seemed a bit odd to me, and mostly personal, but she assured me that it would all be in confidence, so I answered candidly. She asked about my kids, how intelligent they were. Well as both had gained university degrees that was easy to answer. She asked to see photos of them, which puzzled me a bit, but I drew her attention to the graduation pictures I kept on a side table, and she seemed pleased with what she saw there.
Some of the questions then got very personal. Like, how often would a man my age want sexual intercourse? Did I have any fetishes or deviant sexual leanings? Did I think that sex outside marriage was wrong or sinful? Did I smoke or drink heavily? Did I currently have a regular sexual partner?
She made notes of everything, thanked me profusely for being so open, and took her leave. I quickly forgot about the episode, until a few days later she arrived on my doorstep again, with a serious expression on her face, and asked if I had time for a talk with her, as she had something she wanted to discuss.
Again, I invited her in and brewed coffee for us both, then we sat down, face to face in my easy chairs, and she fidgeted for a minute or so, then started to talk.
"John, can I have your word that what I say to you here never goes beyond these four walls?" she asked.
"Of course, Nicky, I'd never betray a trust." I answered.
"OK. Thank you John, I totally believe that. Well, the truth is, I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about my life, my future, what I really want to do and where I want to go."
She took a sip of her coffee, seemed to steel herself, then began again.
"The truth is John, I realised some time ago that I'm not the marrying kind. Now don't get me wrong, I like men, I've dated plenty and slept with a couple, but I like my independence, my freedom to be me, not someone's wife, so I don't intend to settle down with anyone, at least not until I'm much older and maybe don't want to be lonely."
I shrugged, "I understand that Nicky," I said "I was happily married, until my wife became ill and died, so I think marriage is great, but everyone to their own. It's your choice."
"Exactly," she answered "however, although I don't want a husband, I do want a baby."
I put my coffee mug down, and looked at her quizzically.
"So what exactly are you saying Nicky?" I asked.
"I've decided that I want to have a baby, soon, while I'm still young and fit."
