I was waiting for the man to arrive. At least he would make a bit of a change in my otherwise monotonous existence. Having someone in the house apart from my dreary husband gave me a reason to smarten myself up a bit. I got out a dress I had bought a few years ago at a time when I still cared how I looked, and tried it on. “Good God!” I thought, “It still fits.”
I took the dress off again and gazed into the mirror at my reflection. I had on only pants and a bra, but not satisfied, I took them off as well. “Hmm,” I meditated, “Fifty five and still not too bad. Five feet five inches (tall that is), thirty-eight round the bust. I reached for the measuring tape, “Well, forty anyway. And forty-two round the hips. Could be worse. Breasts still reasonable and the nipples not battered around. Stomach a bit rounded with a few birthmarks, but nothing very noticeable. Legs, well, they had never been my best feature, but acceptable. Acceptable to whom?”
That was a good question. Fred, my husband of thirty five years was in his sixties and had recently had his prostate removed. This left him permanently limp. Not that this was much of a change. He hadn’t been able to perform properly for fifteen years, and I had been left to satisfy myself with one or two ships that passed in the night and a vibrator. Not that I fancied Fred anyway with his breath stinking of beer and cigarettes.
Of course, many people think that when a woman gets past her mid forties she is a neuter. I don’t know about other women, but I’d give anything for a good hard fucking, but there was no one on the current scene that seemed interested.
I looked more closely at my face and hair. “Yes, could do with a bit of maintenance there. Hair not bad as it had only been dyed the previous week, but those lines round the eyes and the signs of a little double chin! Not hairy like a lot of older women. Lucky that. Hey, didn’t I buy some cream a few years back that was supposed to remove lines? I only used it once or twice, where the hell did I put it? Of course, in the cupboard under the basin in the bathroom.”
I went to the bathroom and got out the cream. I didn’t really believe it would work, but I gave it a try. “Heavens, it does seem to do something. I swear those lines are not as noticeable as before. Better have a go with some makeup.”
I took a bit of trouble with the makeup. Instead of the usual dash around the lips with the old beetle blood, I applied the lipstick to what I thought was best advantage. I used some eye makeup that must have been about ten years old, and I tugged on the dress I had selected and thought of a bold move. I wouldn’t wear bras today. I’d let ‘em float free. Oh God, that felt good. I hated those constricting torture garments. “Aha,” I thought, “No pants either. Let the fresh air circulate. So, what if the dress only came down to mid thigh? Give my visitor a thrill if he saw anything he shouldn’t. Some hope! He’d probably run screaming from the house.”
The doorbell rang, and after one final check around the equipment, I went to answer it. I had expected a middle-aged tradesman, but what I got was a bright youth of about twenty or so. He’d come to repair the television set, and the sight of this youthful tradesman raised doubts in my mind as to his competence, but, he was here, so better let him get on with it.
“Mrs.Yarnold?” he asked, with a smile that would have had me with my knickers down in a flash thirty years ago. “That’s right,” I assented. “I’m from ‘Teletronics’,” he went on, still giving me the leg trembling smile. I invited him in and showed him where the offending piece of equipment was. He set about his task with apparent efficiency.
Now I know you readers aren’t stupid, so it’s obvious that I had hoped that I might get some middle aged rooster of a repair man, who might, just might, take a bit of a personal interest. Hope faded in the presence of this youth. Never the less, as I was paying for the repairs I might as well get full value for my money, so I sat to watch him as he worked.
