The Coven 3

It all started when I moved, which followed after a decent recovery period to my losing everything that was not what I seemed to know any longer, or wanted. Despite close friends (who will be close friends regardless of geography, right?) and best intentions, I just needed to leave that life behind, to be able to value it for what it was, but not to sully it with getting over or getting on or whatever. I'm no psychologist, and it was no doubt about the last thing one of them would recommend, but it was right for me.

Fortunately, I have one of those work-from-anywhere professions (especially these days, right?), largely done online, and one in which I've built my client base pretty well. I travel to see each one about twice a year, but the bulk of work is done solo in my home office. Since it will bear on things, I'm 48 years old, 5' 11" (never could make that 6 foot mark, sigh), brown (ok, getting a few greys these days)/brown/Caucasian standard model American, started Midwestern but have moved around a lot, so not tied to a particular area, stay pretty fit (175#, honest 34" waist, 44 suit), CIS-gendered and hetero as all get out.

So, there I was, moving in to a bedroom community for the nearby big city, thankfully still with a village feel, where I'd lived long before, so I knew the layout and weather and some of the things to do. What I didn't know was about anyone. I took a whole week, with a realtor I found online (who turned out to be great), before making an offer on an upscale townhome in a quiet neighborhood, which was accepted so quickly I knew I should have offered less, but was still satisfied I'd gotten a reasonable deal.

Two weeks later, I'd closed on the deal, furniture moved in, ready to get on with life again.

On move-in day, in the midst of telling movers where to put what, the last thing I needed was to hear the doorbell and see a "senior" lady (she looked to be maybe in her 60s, but what do I know) at the door. I swallowed my only mild irritation, and greeted her. She told me her name was Sadie (no one in the past 70 years has been named Sadie to my knowledge, so my age guess may be low) and welcomed me to the neighborhood. I said I was a bit busy, and she immediately, thankfully, apologized, said she understood and just wanted to welcome me to the neighborhood. She had an infectious smile, and I thought maybe a playful twinkle in her eye.

And with that, she disappeared. Fine. I finished the off-truck part of the move-in, and said good-bye to the movers. Surrounded by boxes and thoroughly tired of it all, I got ready to order a pizza delivery for dinner, then realized I had nothing to drink with it, and, after all, beer, right? I'd grabbed my keys and headed to the door to procure same, when the doorbell rang again. Sigh.

Back to the door, there was Sadie again, but this time holding out in front of her, of all things, pizza and beer!

"Are you hungry yet, Jonathan?" she asked, and for some reason, I flashed on the voice of the queen from Snow White - "it's apple pies the men love," or something like that. She didn't have the crackly voice, but the image came anyway, and only for a moment. She was a neighbor, after all.

"Are you an angel, Sadie?" I answered, and opened the door for her.

She hooted at that, again a bit of an older woman's laugh there, and came in. She was going to just drop the supplies off, but I offered, and she accepted without resistance, to share. We spent more time than I'd intended killing that pizza, and a couple of beers (yes, they were cold) each, and getting acquainted.

She was, to steal a term from her generation, or maybe earlier, a pip. She was funny and quick, and I immediately liked her. She was maybe 5'2" at most, looked like a hundred pounds or so - slim, well-groomed in a casual dress, with short gray hair, blue eyes twinkling behind glasses, and a dry humor it took me awhile to tune in to. In the course of the conversation, I learned that she had children and grandchildren about an hour away and preferred it that way. You could tell she loved them all and was proud of being the matriarch. Her husband had died years before, and she recounted a couple of their stories fondly and without being sad at all. I put away all reminders of the controlling queen, and we just enjoyed things.

I told her enough of my story that she knew I was single (now) and worked from home and a little of my past, but nothing much very personal beyond that. Between the dry humor and the Neighborhood 101 that Sadie was providing, I almost missed the signals that she was, age be damned, something of a flirt as well. She wondered what I did to stay in such good shape (was that a come-on, I wondered - certainly an intentional compliment) and managed to pretty inoffensively discern that I was not gay. She also made some not quite off color but definitely adult oriented comments - I enjoyed them and gave back as good as she gave, or so I hoped. In showing her around the cluttered place, I commented on wanting to take down part of one wall to make an opening, and she said that would require a big tool and hoped I had one, I said I thought what I had would do the job, that sort of thing, with us both in on the joke. It was fun, and I was having the first interpersonal fun I'd had in quite a while.

She also told me about the various neighbors on the block, and of a group of her friends that she called "The Coven" - alarms again, but they passed - who were the only single females on the block (all the males were married as well) and who enjoyed being that way. She added that they had decided, when they saw me moving in and saw no sign of female companionship, that the least they could do was to keep me fed for a couple of days in the evenings, just so I wouldn't have to be dealing with that myself - their impromptu Welcome Wagon, I guess.

She laughed about it being like the ghosts in the Scrooge story - that she would be the Ghost of the Past, since she was oldest, that a friend, Julie, would cover the next visitation as the Ghost of the Present, and that the third Hen, Angela, could play the Ghost of Things Yet to Come, since she was the youngest. I thanked, and said no need but thanks anyway, and thanks so much for the pizza. Sadie said not taking no for an answer, and no thanks required, but to expect the Ghost of the Present to arrive soon. We laughed some more, killing the pizza and the beer in the process.

After an hour or so, she caught me in a yawn and gave me strict orders not to unpack anything until I'd had a good night's sleep, which led to my admitting I hadn't even found sheets for the bed yet, then to a quick search during which she came across the box with my underwear, socks and gym gear. She laughingly congratulated me on the tight nylon boxer briefs (I wear them under a set of red bike shorts when I'm cycling, in case you're wondering - I have black ones, too, so there) among the less interesting things therein, and in with the usual cotton t-shirts, several white cotton ribbed basketball jersey style "muscle" shirts, telling me I needed to model them for her some other time. I was a bit embarrassed and laughed that we'd have to see about that, or something to that effect. We soon then found the sheets and pillows, and she helped me make the bed (a queen size, which brought more joking about my definitely not being a queen but that she liked the wrought iron frame and said it must be good for tying things to!), then left me to my own devices. She did offer on the way out that she appreciated being allowed into a single man's bedroom again - it had been too long, she joked!

The next day I spent on more unpacking in the morning, and managed to pretty well set up my office. I grabbed a deli sandwich in the village, then hit the local grocer for a cartful of cleaning supplies and whatever food occurred to me as I meandered my way through. I also got enough beer, wine, liquor and mixers to at least offer something more substantial than tap water. Back at the house, I spent a couple of hours in my home office, organizing and even getting some actual work done.

Feeling pretty good about the progress, I realized it was after 6 when the bell rang. I opened the door to see a very attractive lady, probably 10 years my junior. She was holding a picnic basket. Before I could say anything, she preempted me with, "Hi, I'm Julie from down the street. Sadie said you'd be expecting me, so here I am!"

And with that, she swept by me, into the kitchen as if she owned the place, nudging aside some boxes on the center island to make room for her basket.

"Oh, I just love what you've done with the place - early twenty-first century cardboard! After all, tan is the new orange, or black, or whatever, isn't that right?" She laughed, her Southern accent infusing both her speech and somehow her laughter as well.

I had to laugh back, "Yep, very carefully designed, I might add. This has got to be the most hospitable neighborhood anywhere! Despite what you may have heard about men, I really can fend for myself, but whatever you have there smells better than anything I could have come up with, I'm sure! Now, as to plates and forks and such . . . " I apologized, and started to open a likely looking moving box.

"Oh, tush - I brought all that - you just sit yourself down and let me, darlin'!"

I hadn't been called "Darling" for quite some time, and not sure if I'd ever been called "Darlin'," not being particularly Southern myself. But it was meant sincerely, I thought, and while I chuckled inwardly at the familiarity, I figured it sure beat a neighborhood where no one ever talks to each other. While I sat on a bar stool at the kitchen island, she arranged, and soon a delicious meal of roast chicken with vegetables, wonderful bread, and an already chilled white wine appeared, served out of a downright elegant picnic basket, but it all worked.

In the meantime, while she arranged, I got to check her out. She had amber colored hair - in passing, I wondered whether it was genuine - maybe a reaction to the Southern accent and my until then unexamined prejudice about the South (we non-Southerners pretty well get indoctrinated that way early on) - and the green eyes to go with it. Her curves were evident, almost ample, thanks to tight jeans and a polo shirt that was stretched across the front - I guessed a C for sure, if not a D cup underneath. She had something of Maureen O'Hara going, and I flashed back on "The Quiet Man" movie sexiness that Ms O'Hara had exuded to John Wayne's Yankee newcomer and knew that's what was my mental linkage.

She bustled about efficiently, and yet there was a touch of the blatant showing off - just a swing of the generous hips here, a glance back at me across her shoulder there - I was getting turned on, but I also knew that it may very well be all my overactive imagination making it happen. I'd been without female "companionship" for some time, and my hormones were making their intentions known. I'd have to quell them, at least until I got clearer signals, if I was going to avoid being known as the carpetbagging masher rather than the nice guy newcomer.

Shortly, we were sharing a delicious chicken dinner, eating with our fingers and reminding me of that scene in "Tom Jones." I didn't mention that part, but it definitely occurred to me. I did asked about the Southern accent, and she said she'd moved here after her divorce, just to get far away from her previous life, and picked the village more by chance than much else. She raved about the neighborhood, mentioned how close she and Sadie and Angela were, and went on about restaurants I should try and things to do. She did most of the talking, which was fine with me - I had no great urge to bare my soul, and it was pleasant just listening to her lilt and watching her breasts move around in that polo shirt. She had to be wearing a bra, I concluded - no sign of nipple bump, and once or twice I saw the back strap imprinting on the shirt - but it couldn't be very substantial as evidenced by the liquid flow when she turned toward me. I was almost busted once when she did that once, staring right at them, and wasn't sure if she'd caught me at it or not. I determined again not to be a cad about things.

After a nice dinner and chat, Julie gathered up her bringings and, as I walked her to the door, turned and kissed me on the cheek, saying, "It's been so nice, getting to do something for a man again. You're sweet!" I hadn't been called that for a long time either, probably with good reason, but it sounded sincere and I was definitely flattered. Then she disappeared back into the night, leaving me to another good night's sleep, albeit with some strange dreams about swimming with mermaids - lovely and with great flowing breasts, but maddeningly out of reach and unapproachable as well, in their vagina-less states. Shades of Wagner, with fins.

Third day in the place, everything pretty well put away and settled, Wi-Fi working fine, internet downright speedy (I'd been concerned about that), and almost like clockwork, the doorbell and yet another new female, this time the third in the trio of friends, Angela. She was as different as the first two - a good 5'10" of solid female - I wondered if she might be gay, just from the somewhat masculine aura - dressed in loose khakis, an also loose, pretty shapeless button-down oxford shirt, her hair if not unkempt at least unattended, and no makeup. She was certainly large - not fat by any means, but that big-boned thing, and barely shorter than I, if at all. She was shy, seeming embarrassed to be offering dinner to a single man she didn't know, but offer it she did - it was good, some sort of salad, obviously vegan. I wondered how she could maintain her frame subsisting on greens like those.

Anyway, we did dine and chat thing, mostly with my trying to drag her into it - she was certainly shy, but as time passed, she seemed to get more relaxed. She was a single woman, lifetime village resident, worked in the city about 30 minutes away from us, preferred the village to the city by far, and spent spare time getting out and hiking with her "best friend," a black lab I looked forward to meeting (I love dogs, cats not so much) - camping when she got the chance. She and Sadie and Julie were close friends, the other neighbors all being married and living in their own worlds. The three of them went to movies and concerts together, shared meals in and out, and so forth. I sensed some lingering sadness in Angela that I didn't in Sadie or Julie, and wondered about that, but knew not to pry.

When we'd eaten and I offered Angela an after-dinner drink, she seemed to get a bit flustered, and declined, saying she needed to get some work done that evening, quickly gathering things, and almost fleeing. I hoped I hadn't done something offensive, but couldn't figure what it might have been. OK, now I'd met the Three Amigo-ettes, or Witches of the Coven, or whoever, and was all settled in. I wondered just what might arrive the next night.

It turned out that nothing did. After a good productive day of work and further arranging the place, I half waited at the dinner hour, not wanting not to be there if someone came by, which seemed to be a regular thing. Since no one did, I fixed myself a bachelor's dinner of not much and beer, watched something unforgettable on TV, and hit the sack.

The next day I resumed my usual routine of early up, go for a run, or do my set of workout calisthenics (I'd need to find a gym soon), get cleaned up, work 'til noon, grab a sandwich, work some more, take a break to bundle up and walk into the village to check the mail, dine on my own, and get to bed. At the tail end of that, it hit me. Damn! Three nice ladies fix dinners for me, we start down the road to be friends, and what do I do in return? Nada, zip. Damn and double damn!! It was my turn - duh - what a doofus!!

I fell asleep while mentally constructing a way to thank them back.

Next day, I managed to work in a bit of personal internet time, and by the end of the day, I had printed off invitations to my place and stuck them in their three front doorways, arranged a catered dinner at my place, and made sure I had more than enough wine to complement the food. I even went ahead and set the table as much as I could without the food there. I'd asked for rsvps and hoped they could all make it - and I set three days from then for the date - a Saturday, hoping it might be open.

By that evening I had positive replies from each of them, and it was on. Sadie asked about what to wear in her quick email back, and going with the flirting that she'd established between us, I said anything she liked, or nothing at all. She came right back saying she wanted to hold me to modeling the red unds, and I told her I'd see what I could do about that. More harmless fun flirting.

Now for my part. I had speakers and internet, so no worries about a bit of background music. I had sufficient dinnerware to cover everything for four. I figured I'd be a maitre d'hotel, waiting on them, bustling around, pouring wine, serving food, trying to bring some humor to it, linen cloth over my forearm and the whole stereo-schtick. Women liked to be waited on, right? And they'd pretty much done that for me, so I'd get back, and in spades.

When the appointed evening came, I received the delivery of foodstuffs, hardware, and serving cart, put things in my oven to keep warm, and got some good wines chilled. I changed into my tux, remembering to have the muscle t-shirt and the red boxer briefs on underneath, just as my personal joke to myself, and was all set, enjoying a bourbon on the rocks a good 15 minutes before the appointed hour. Right on time (another surprise - I expected fashionably late, but was fine with on time), the bell rang and I opened it to see the three friends together, all looking happy and relaxed, except maybe for Angela, but that seemed to be her way, just an on edge vibe - we'd have to loosen that up with some wine, I thought.

As I ushered them in, they voiced surprise that I was so dressed up and suggested they go home to change and return. I shushed them, announcing that I was in charge of the dinner, and that it was the least I could do to even up things after their warm welcomes to the neighborhood. I added that I was there to wait on them, and their only duty was to relax and enjoy. I told them I was there to see to their "every need," at which point Sadie hooted and said I'd better be in good shape if I was going to manage that, clearly being risqué about it. I hadn't intended it that way, but I laughed back and said I'd do my best! I popped the cork on a bottle of bubbly, and they all agreed that was a great start, so I poured flutes for them, and toasted their welcome to my home.

As they took seats in my living room, I got to check them out a bit more. Sadie was looking fine - in some kind of flowing loud Hawaiian shirt patterned kind of mumu (OK, I don't know fashion - it had a-collar-and-sleeves, calf-length, buttoned up the entire front, and belted so it didn't look too blousy), not what I'd ever have expected, but it worked with her somewhat outlandish persona.

Angela was as expected, sort of uptight - high collared blouse, knee-length skirt, low heels. She could have come straight from the board room. I decided that loosening her up was going to be one of my missions that evening.

Julie - ah, Julie- was show-stopping. She shed her light sweater at the door, revealing a cocktail dress that dipped deeply in front, lots of cleavage on display, low enough that I wondered just what kind of bra could be both containing those melons and yet be out of sight. A mystery - and I do love a good mystery. The skirt was just above the knees, making her legs look deliciously long above higher heels than I think are safe - I'd have to make sure she didn't have to run anywhere during dinner!