*Author's note. I've pushed the age envelope in a couple of my stories, but as I become more aware of just how many older women (50-70) there are who are still incredibly beautiful and young looking, it seems much less far-fetched to imagine younger men dating and possibly even marrying them for reasons other than money.
Like all other stories, this isn't reality. It's a romantic tale of possibilities, not likely probabilities. So if this one comes across as a bridge too far, enjoy it for what it is—a brief break from the reality of life.
These are just stories; romantic tales of love and making love. My characters are either divorced or widowed and like their counterpart, ready to fall in love when they meet. Oftentimes, they're not even aware that they are until they meet that special someone and everything falls into place. You know...just like in real life. :-)
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"You're awfully quiet today, Donna."
"Oh, sorry, DeeAnne. I got a ticket on the way to work."
"No offense, but you don't exactly follow the posted speed limit. This can't be any big surprise."
"Getting pulled over isn't a surprise. Getting an actual ticket is," she replied.
"Oh, okay. So...you just bat your eyes and flip your hair and get off with a warning, right?"
"Well...yes. I mean, I can't remember exactly how many times I've been pulled over since I started driving, but I can count on one hand the number of times a smile and some subtle flirting didn't do the trick."
"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know. I've been pulled over three times in my life and I've been ticketed all three times. You're a very attractive woman, so it's kind of hard to feel too sorry for you if you finally had to take your medicine like we mere mortals."
"Thank you for saying that. I think. Maybe it's silly, but since my husband walked out on me, I can't help but think it's over."
"Over?" her co-worker said seeking clarification. "What's over?"
"Yes. Over. For me, at least. Looks fade. Women start becoming invisible."
"Oh, like me," the other woman said rather glumly.
"Come on! That's not fair," Donna told her. "I know it's vain, but my looks have been a huge part of my identity. If they're gone, too, what's left?"
"Well, all I can say is I'd give a whole lot to have your looks and I'm only 41!"
Donna McPherson had just turned 53 and while she didn't look 30 anymore, she still passed for being in her mid-30s most of the time. She not only still wore her dark hair almost to her shoulders, it still worked for her. All of her friends her age had long ago cut their hair short, and although they'd done so for convenience sake, they all knew long hair just looked silly on them. But not Donna. She could still pull it off and pull it off quite well. She'd also been blessed with incredibly good skin, and her face—like her body—was still tight and youthful-looking.
Her husband of 23 years, Frank, left her without warning just over a year ago. He'd been sneaking around seeing someone who actually was 30 and that, as much as the betrayal itself, had hurt her deeply.
Like her, Frank was still a very attractive, very youthful-looking man. Both of them bicycled or swam together six days a week. They watched what they ate and Donna took very good care of her skin in addition to her own good fortune of being genetically blessed.
Frank's affair had rocked her to her core. She'd been devastated and still hadn't stopped self-analyzing to see what she'd done wrong. All of her friends had assured her from day one she'd done nothing wrong, and yet she couldn't help but think if only she'd... And yet she could never fill in the blank with the whatever this 'grave mistake' was she'd made that had cost her her marriage. Even so, she kept right on blaming herself.
Deep down she knew there was no mistake. In spite of the care Donna took to look young and attractive, Frank had simply gotten bored, and a younger, willing, very attractive woman had caught his eye. He was an ass and there was nothing more to it. And yet she not only thought about it most of the time, she found herself looking in every mirror she passed wondering if it really was over, with 'it' being her looks.
Donna was grateful for her job which kept her very busy and often too busy to wallow around in this self-made pity party she'd invented to soothe her battered ego. With this much time and self-reflection she thought she should be feeling better. The problem was she wasn't feeling better. She was just feeling...old.
Adding insult to injury, the way this motorcycle cop treated her today had really hurt. It would have bothered her anytime, but she was feeling particularly vulnerable lately.
He was young and very handsome and Donna found herself oddly attracted to him from the moment she saw him get off the bike in her mirror. She had her driver's license and registration out along with a quickly-scribbled note she'd written on a yellow sticky with her phone number on it along with the words 'call me anytime'.
When he walked up to her car, she flashed him her best smile and said, "Good morning, officer. Please tell me I wasn't speeding."
He hadn't even smiled back. He just coldly said, "License and registration, please."
She handed him all three items, and after glancing at her note, he handed it back to her without comment saying, "Please stay in the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them."
She watched him call dispatch then pull out his ticket book. That had happened many times before, but had almost always ended in a warning citation.
When he came back to her side of the car, he returned her paperwork then said, "Ma'am, I stopped you because you were doing 52 in a 35 zone. Did you not see the speed limit sign less than a half mile back?"
"Oh, silly me!" she said playfully. "I guess I must have missed it. I was late and on my way to work—I'm an RN at County General—and perhaps I was going a tad over."
She poured on the charm, smiling and blinking and even said, "I really admire our men in blue. You have such a difficult job."
He thanked her very tersely then tore off the ticket.
"It you care to dispute the citation, you can make an appointment with traffic court by calling the number at the bottom of your copy."
"But...shouldn't this just be a warning, officer?" she said still playing the game.
"Not when you're more than ten miles an hour over the limit, ma'am. You were doing seventeen over the limit."
"So...this is an actual ticket then?" she said, her smile finally fading.
"Yes, ma'am. That is indeed a ticket. Oh, and please slow down. You never know when someone might pull out unexpectedly or God forbid, a child. In your line of work, you know full well how terrible that would be."
Donna didn't say anything else. She set the ticket on the passenger seat as the officer said, "Unless you have a question, you're free to leave. I'll stop traffic so you can get back into your lane."
She still didn't know why she said it, but she did.
