Hello readers, my name is Maisie and I would like to tell you a little story about something that happened to me a couple of years ago.
You think you know someone, but when it comes down to it, you don't really. I thought I knew my husband, Patrick. But I didn't. Even after almost fifty years of marriage, I realised that I didn't know him at all. It was only after his untimely death that I found out all about him.
You see, you would expect that when you marry, make your vows, sign the marriage licence and the register that you would honour the bit about being faithful, honest and true. You would expect that, wouldn't you? I did. How foolish was that? I decided to trust my life and everything I had to man I loved and respected and expected the same in return. Like I said, how foolish was that?
But the day after he died, was the day I found out how much of a ride I had been taken on, after almost fifty years.
Now before you start speculating, no, he wasn't unfaithful. I suppose I ought to be relieved. In all honesty, I could have forgiven him, maybe. It could have been easier to deal with, if that is what I discovered after he died. But he had been one hundred per cent faithful to me.
I thought he had given me a good life, had taken good care of me and given me everything I ever wanted. Believe me, I am not high maintenance, nor do I demand a lot. We had a very nice house, not far from the ocean, with a very nice view. We brought up three marvellous boys, now all living their own lives and thankfully they all came to their father's funeral, despite one living in Australia and one living in New York.
But the day after he died, I found out that most of what we had shared was a sham. My wonderful husband was lousy when it came to managing his and our finances. Thus, after all the funeral expenses had been met, after all the credit card bills had been paid (he apparently owned 6 credit cards that I never knew about), my finances were at zero. I was broke and there was still a chunk of change to be paid off on the house.
I was forced to sell my beloved house, but I didn't have anywhere else to live. The one son I had who still lived in England, lived very far away and he didn't have the room.
So after the dust of the funeral had settled and the house was sold, I was lucky enough to find a job in country house hotel. The prospect of going back to work after so long away from it, didn't fill me with glee. But as restaurant supervisor, I had a small house out in the grounds attached to the hotel.
That was ten years ago.
The job can be demanding, but despite me being almost seventy years old, I have never been afraid of hard work and thankfully I had the stamina and strength to deal with whatever tasks were set for me.
It was while working at this hotel, that I met Kevin. The hotel had a lobby bar with a piano in it and Kevin was the resident piano player. I would have said he was in his early sixties, but I later discovered that his hair had been greying since his late twenties and he was in fact forty two.
I am about five foot two, tall. That's about 160 centimetres for our European readers. So I am not very tall. Whereas Kevin towered above me at five foot nine and was fairly slim. He once told me that he didn't each much bread and went to the gym three times a week to keep fit. His salt and pepper coloured hair made him look distinguished and added accent to his olive coloured skin. He would tell me later that he was born that way. His mother had told him that when he was born, it was with a full head of hair and a perma-tan.
I first set eyes on Kevin when he was standing in the queue in the hotel's kitchen, awaiting to get his evening meal. I was instantly attracted to him. I walked over to him and introduced myself.
"Hello, my love," I said. I know, maybe a little bit to forward, but I got his attention. "My name is Maisie. You must be the new pianist."
"Hi Maisie," he replied, as I placed my hand upon his folded arm. " Yes, I'm the new guy in town. My name is Kevin."
He smiled down at me. A warm and comforting smile. I felt as though I had known him forever.
He didn't move when I wrapped my arm around his waist, I am relieved to say. In this day age, some would accuse me of sexual harassment. But Kevin just stood where he was and didn't make any attempt to move.
One night, as I made my way out of the hotel, to go home, I walked through reception, as Kevin was performing. It was a pity that there were no people in the lobby to hear him, because he was really very good. His voice had such a warm and inviting timbre to it. It sent shivers down my spine and caused goose-bumps to rise on my arms. Not many men have had that effect on me.
It was odd, but when I went to bed, that night, I found myself thinking about Kevin and even fantasizing about him.
I knew very little about him, because we hadn't had a moment to chat. I was always busy in the day and he lived in an apartment that was a 10 minute walk from the hotel, a little further down the road. The only time I saw him was either in the kitchen, or when he was working, as I was going home.
When we did meet, it was brief, with only time to say "hi" and "how's your day been". Even though we ate at the same time, we didn't eat in the same place. He chose to eat in the staff lunch room. But because of my busy schedule, I had to eat on the run, chomping down my food and heading straight back to work.
If we met in the kitchen, I tried to get close to him, without arousing suspicion from the other staff members. I didn't want rumours to start.
One time when we were standing next to each other, in the dinner queue, I risked putting my arm around his waist.
He turned to me and whispered in my ear, "You know with you giving me all this attention, Maisie. I might have to marry you." Then he winked.
Was he actually flirting with me? I hoped so.
When I went to bed, that night, my head full of erotic fantasies and I began touching myself, between my legs. Something I had not done in a long time. Masturbation produced a long and heavy orgasm in me and reawakened a desire, that I thought was long since buried.
I decided that I needed Kevin in my bed, between my legs and in my dormant pussy. If only I could figure out a way to get him there.
I'm sure you are all aware of the saying, "everything comes to he who waits." It's a saying that was supposedly derived from a poem, by the French poet Violet Fane (1843-1905), called "Tout veint qui sait attendre," which translated means, "All things come to those who wait."
Well, I waited and bided my time and was rewarded, big time.
The hotel was hosting a conference for bikers. Not bicycles, but motor bikes. We had a hotel full of bike enthusiasts, of all ages, genders and countries. The car park was turned into an exhibition centre as bike manufacturers showed off their latest creations and allowed some bikers to test drive them.
Over 300 hundred people stayed in the hotel that weekend. It was a busy time in the restaurant and I would have liked to have told you that the guests and the salesmen acted with courtesy and politeness towards the staff. Some did, but we also had some animals. Our waitresses, me included, wear a uniform that comprises of a close fitting white blouse, an equally tight fitting, knee length black skirt, black tights, or stockings and black pumps. Being the head waiter allows me to wear a blazer style, black jacket.
There amount of complaints that I passed on to our hotel manager over certain male guests trying to feel up the girls, touching their bottoms over the their skirts, whenever they bent over to serve the guests their meals and sliding their hands under their skirts, was dizzying.
While I didn't experience this abuse myself, I was still susceptible to verbal abuse.
