Tom's wife had died as one of the first victims of Covid. Yes Covid wasn't supposed to kill the young and healthy like Elaine, but it had. Her death had made a mess of Tom. After twenty years of marriage he didn't know where to start without Elaine. He sat around their home sinking ever deeper into depression. It was all he could do to get out of bed some days. He hadn't shaved in two weeks since the funeral. The lawn, which he had taken such pride in before, was looking badly in need of a visit from a herd of goats. Eventually his boss contacted him and insisted he return to work. Covid or no Covid Tom's boss wanted Tom out of that house and back at work. He was a key part of the company's management team and he was needed. Not a particularly sympathetic approach, but depression rarely responds well to sympathy. Returning to work was at least a start.
Now a bit over two years had passed. Tom had stayed with his job and after some counseling provided by his employer's health plan he had sold the house, cleaned up and disposed of Elaine's things except a few he wanted to keep, and moved himself into a singles apartment complex. The counseling had helped a great deal but there was one issue he had not yet been able to deal with--finding a replacement for Elaine in his life. The counselor had told him he should take time to grieve his wife's death but then he should find a replacement for the woman that represented half of his life. Somehow after two years Tom simply could not bring himself to show any interest in women whatsoever. It was as though all interest in the opposite sex had simply evaporated from his psyche on Elaine's death. He had managed to recover other aspects of his life but his sex drive was simply not one of them.
He had developed a friendship with Carolyn, a woman who occupied another apartment in his complex, but it was far from romantic. They got together for coffee at the neighborhood Starbucks regularly and discussed a variety of topics of mutual interest but shared little of their romantic history with each other; sports, politics, even work within the limits of the confidentiality restraints their respective jobs imposed. Almost any issue might be on the table between them, but not their romantic history.
Carolyn was also widowed. She had been married for 18 years when her husband was killed in a car crash. That much she had shared with Tom, but she volunteered nothing more and he made no inquiries beyond that as to what her life with her late husband Matthew had been like or what if anything she was doing romantically in the two years since his death. Those topics were off the table for each of them. That aspect of their relationship changed dramatically one evening following a bit too much wine and a joint someone had given Carolyn.
It was a Friday evening and normally Tom and Carolyn would have been standing side by side leaning against a wall at a singles mixer sponsored by the apartment complex as they sipped free wine and watched a crowd of the more desperate complex tenants trying to hook up for an evening's unattached sex. They enjoyed speculating about which of the tenants in the sprawling apartment complex were going to score for the night and which were going to go home disappointed, but if either of them was approached by someone they quickly waived them off. They were in attendance for the entertainment value and the free wine, not as a participant.
After only a few minutes Carolyn turned to Tom and said, "You know this circus can get boring. I've got a better idea."
"Okay, what do you have in mind?"
"A friend of mine gave me a joint yesterday." Her friend had said it would help her sex drive, but Carolyn left that detail out when explaining what she had in mind. "I hate to smoke it alone. It seems so pathetic to sit home alone and get stoned on a Friday night. So can you join me? I haven't had any marijuana in years. It might be fun."
"Neither have I. Sure why not," Tom responded. "This place looks just like it does every Friday night. We are going to be down to betting on who hooks up with who soon."
Carolyn laughed. "That's weird. Let's go to my apartment and smoke my joint."
By 8:00 o'clock they were sitting side by side on a couch in Carolyn's apartment getting totally ripped on the joint Carolyn had received from her friend.
"Wow, this shit is strong."
"No shit," Carolyn responded. "I don't remember it being this potent."
"Me neither. When was the last time?"
"Last time? she asked in dope fueled confusion.
"Last time you smoked dope," Tom asked with a chuckle.
"Oh. I thought you meant something else," she responded with a giggle.
"Nope. Just when was the last time you smoked grass?"
"Oh. Yes. Let's see. It was at my Sister's wedding a year after Matt and I got married."
"Oh. Me too."
"You were at my Sister's wedding; I didn't know that?" she asked in confusion.
"No. No. I lived in Louisiana then. I meant that was about the same time as the last time I did it. I did it with Elaine but she didn't like it and I haven't done it since."
"Wow. I hope you are talking about dope."
Tom shook his head in confusion. "Of course. What else?"
"Never mind," she said with a silly looking grin on her face. "Let's have another hit." They each took another long hit on the rapidly dwindling joint.
After a long moment of silence while they sat staring at each other with shit eating grins, Tom said, "Wow. I'm so fucking ripped."
"Me too," she responded. "And I am so relaxed. No wonder my therapist recommended this stuff." She dropped her head into his lap stretching her legs out on the couch.
"Your therapist?"
"Yeah, my therapist. I was so fucking depressed after Matt died I could barely get out of bed in the morning. My therapist helped me a lot."
"Oh, I remember."
"Remember? I never told you about my therapist."
"No I meant I remember about being depressed after Elaine died and how my therapist helped me with it."
"Oh. Yeah. Me too." Squirming a bit to try to move away from a distasteful subject she threw one foot up on the back of the couch and let the other one drop to the floor ignoring the fact that in the process her skirt climbed steadily up her thighs.
Tom noticed, however. He also noticed her large breasts pushing out the blouse she wore.
Carolyn moved her head back and forth in Tom's lap as she adjusted her feet. That was when she noticed the lump between his legs that was pressing into the back of her head. She chose not to say anything; just lay there enjoying it. The one thing the therapist had not resolved for her was her depression caused loss of libido. But tonight, for the first time since her husband's death, Carolyn felt that little itch starting in her core that told her she wanted sex. Wow, she wondered, was it the dope or was it the occasional flex of Tom's prick she could feel in the back of her head? Whatever the cause, it felt good and for the first time in years Carolyn felt a need to pursue it. But how? She hadn't seriously flirted with a man in a couple of years much less seduced one. But sometimes it's good to be so stoned you don't really worry about what you are saying.
"So your therapy," she asked. "Did it cure you of it too?"
