The Widow Turbot

"Madame, that dog will not hunt. Eyewitnesses place your son at the scene of the crime."

The attractive dark-haired woman nervously brushed back an ebon lock.

"Monsieur Inspector, your son was also rumored to be in the area and your son, and my Anton have very similar builds and coloring."

"Are you insinuating, Mademoiselle, that my Phillipe is the criminal in question?"

Her eyes grew large.

"Not at all, Your Excellency, just that, in the confusion, your eyewitness might have been mistaken."

"I tell you, Madame that this conversation is only a courtesy. As soon as we conclude our discussion, I will be departing for your home with grandarmes in tow to arrest your murderous son!"

"Mon Deu!" exclaimed the attractive woman who was just a few years younger than the inspector. "My son is innocent!"

"I am sure you believe that. However, in this village, I am the law. No, I do not prosecute but provide the prosecutors with evidence, sworn testimonies, and eyewitness accounts. I certainly can provide all of these as they relate to your son's guilt."

He paused for effect before adding, "Or, innocence."

"Monsieur Inspector! I implore you, have mercy!"

The corpulent inspector took a long lustful look at the widow Turbot. A grand scheme unspooled in his mind.

"Perhaps, mademoiselle, the police do not have to be informed at all. I could use my influence to have the mayor reimburse the supposed "victim," conclude that the case is unsolvable, and terminate the investigation."

The attractive woman took a deep breath.

"And how would such an end be achieved, Monsieur Inspector?"

The corpulent inspector licked his lips. Certainly, he could have this woman, but she would detest him so much there would be no pleasure in the act. By contrast, even the cheapest whore at least tries to look interested and satisfied. No, the delicious charms of the widow Turbot, as appealing as they unquestionably were, would be wasted on him, but Phillipe? After this summer he would leave the village to journey to Paris to apprentice to bar at his uncle's law firm. He needed to be a man before he voyaged to Paris, or the capital would eat him alive. His guest cottage was currently untenanted. Perhaps a season of intimate instruction would be exactly what the lad needed. The fact that His Phillipe and her Anton despised each other with great vehemence made the proposal even better. He slicked his hair back,

"Mademoiselle, I ask of a beautiful, experienced woman a small thing, really..."

**

Anton must not know she told herself. He had a good, honorable job with the bakery. Working nights while the village slept. Perhaps, she could prevent him from finding out? What other choice did she have? Monsieur Inspecter was quite forthright, her virtue forfeited, or her son convicted of a crime he did not commit and sentenced to dozens of years in prison at hard labor. That scoundrel Phillipe! All through their school years he bullied her Anton, flaunting his wealth and connections and mocking her son's fatherless status and modest family background. Now, Phillipe was destined to be rich, while her son, even as a successful baker, would remain humble. Anton was such a better boy! He was caring and sensitive. He worked hard, always putting aside a bit of his pay to take care of his mother. It was so unfortunate that her Anton and the dissolute Phillipe had more than a passing resemblance. Phillipe had engaged in chicanery like this before and Anton had unjustly taken the punishment. This crime, however! It would ruin Anton. It would ruin her! For the rest of her days, she would be embarrassed to show her face anywhere in town. On her widow's pension, she could not afford to move.

Anton drowsed upstairs. By now he was used to seeing to his own meals and other needs. Some weeks, they barely saw each other at all. If Phillipe was in any way sensible, she could arrange things so that her son would be none the wiser. With an ardent prayer that her son remained oblivious, she gathered up her valise and made her way out the back door. The early morning sunlight fell across the valley. Marie had always savored the view, now?

The fence line hid her from view for most of her trek. Few walked behind the ancient fence that marked the old city wall. Marie had to hurry however, the trek to the Inspector's estate was long. She dare not hire a cab, lest she give the game away. Just ahead of noon, she passed the prominent sundial in the inspector's front yard she rushed through the tree line and, her breath coming heavily, she stopped before the inspector's neat little guest cottage. Half wishing, she would expire on the spot, she gently rapped on the door.

The door opened. The blond visage of Phillipe stared at her. Unlike Anton's crystal blue eyes, Phillipe's were black and hard, like obsidian pits in white seas. Those hard eyes toured her body from crown to great toe. She felt like a lamb in the presence of a wolf.

His face lit up, "On time. That is in your favor. Enter, wench."

She swallowed hard, took several long looks around to confirm that she was unobserved, and entered the tidy little cabin. The lad took her valise and led her to a chair.

"Mademoiselle Turbot, we could dance around things all day, or I could come right to the point."

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. She held off the tears she so desired.

"For the next three months, we shall play house. You shall cook for me and clean for me and I shall have all the rights of a husband. You will be obedient, trustworthy, and sincere in your affection for me. Even if you do not feel it yourself, you need to convince me that I am the most man you have ever had and show deep passion for me."

She looked at his face hoping her heart would simply stop beating at this moment. She remained stubbornly alive.

"Do this for me and I will treat you with gentleness and tenderness. I will hold my anger and be in fine humor. Is that clear?"

She nodded.

"Excellent! Now, to see what we are dealing with."

He took her hand and led her to a side room. The tub, sink, and commode were a surprise, she had heard of indoor plumbing but thought it was only in Paris or other large cities. Phillipe turned a spigot and lit the coal tar fire. Steaming water began to fill the tub. She looked at him quizzically.

"I am going to undress you, Mademoiselle Turbot and provide you with a bath."

Her mouth dropped open. After a long moment, her fingers strayed to the buttons of her dress.

"No, my dear. I shall do everything."

"But, but..." she sputtered. He leaned in and stole a kiss. The kiss stunned her, it had been a very long time since she had been kissed. Only once since the passing of Anton's father, and that bit of foolishness was years and years dead. Phillipe stole another kiss. The still young-appearing widow had forgotten the joy of a simple osculation. She felt his fingers on the bodice of her dress.

Slowly, he parted the buttons, revealing her full ivory-hued slip. Every button opened under his fingers. The mauve dress slid to the floor. With a gentle push of the widow's pert bum, Phillipe encouraged her to step out of it. He picked the dress up gently and carefully folded it before placing it on a nearby chair. The widow could not meet his intense gaze, she focused her eyes on the floor and fought to control her breathing. The lad bent and untied each of her ankle-high boots before tugging them off. He stood. Minus her shoes, he was a

bit taller and even more intimidating. He paused and took her in. Her shyness was both puzzling and endearing. Surely, he thought, this woman has been undressed by her husband, why should she be shy now? Her expression of shame mixed with some other emotion he could not read made her more interesting. He was grateful there were no tears or hysterics. She must at some level already performed the mental calculus between obedience and rebellion and realized that the numbers only summed up on one side of the equation.

Gently, he tugged the slip over and down her shoulders before pulling it the length of her body before it pooled on the floor, an ivory nimbus about her feet. Phillip considered the widow, clad now in her bandeau, step-ins, garter, and stockings. It was quite an arousing sight.

"Widow Turbot," do you possess a Christian name?"

"Antionette," she replied softly.

"Lovely, like you."

She flushed visibly.

He embraced and kissed her quite deeply. He fell to his knees slowly, planting little kisses on her anatomy as he bent. His formerly intimidating black eyes began to glimmer attractively. On his knees, he planted a kiss on the front of Antionette's step-ins before kissing the top of each thigh as he unfastened her suspenders. A visible tremor swept through her lithe compact body. He rolled each stocking down her trim, shapely legs kissing each millimeter of skin they revealed. For Antionette, the behavior of the lad was most disconcerting. His attentions felt very good indeed. She expected passionate, frenzied hands and a storming of her Bastille. This approach she was utterly unprepared for. Antionette knew exactly how this day would end. The fear of a simple ravishment left her to be replaced with -- anticipation. What was coming over her? It had been many long years since she had been intimate with a man. Phillipe was just about the same age as her late husband was on the night of their nuptials when they had both ceded their virginity to each other. Though Phillipe did not resemble her late husband physically, he was the same general height, weight, and coloring. At times, Phillipe's grins became those of her lost love. Not helping at all was the fact that on their wedding night, the new husband had broken the tension and nervousness by spontaneously filling the tub and giving his new bride a bath. He likened it to a baptism, the start of her new life. Antionette shook her head, if her first married night had been a baptism, what would this immersion portend?

Phillipe loved her legs. For an older woman, she was marvelously put together. He collected the stockings and tugged away the suspenders. He rose and look into her huge brown eyes and said, "Do not be afraid."

He reached behind her back and fiddled with the knot of her bandeau, then tugged the cloth away. Her still firm and perky breasts came into view. Phillipe had seen naked women before, but not many. Once, unobserved, he had spied on the Romait sisters on a hot August day while they frolicked naked in the creek behind their house. He had been hunting in the woodlands abutting their farm. He was positive that neither lovely spied him. Patsy was Twenty, and June was eighteen, both were fit, attractive, and blonde. Antionette despite being two decades older compared very favorably to them. It helped that Phillipe found brunette and midnight-tressed women in almost every case far more arousing than blondes. Antionette folded her hands across her breasts. He would deal with that shyness later. He kissed her once more and lowered her step-ins. Her abundantly furred sacred grounds came into view. Phillipe had never been this close to the center of the universe before. He fell to his knees for a better view, and noted the trace of moistness on the ebony curls and leaned in to fill his nostrils with the essence of female.

One hand stroked the feminine fur. The fingers of his other hand entered her, causing Antionette to emit a soft sigh. He planted a kiss on her sex and probed with his tongue.

"Merci!" cried the widow. This only encouraged the lad more. His teeth found the protrusion behind the hood. Antionette gasped. Without realizing it, she parted her legs wider so that the boy could probe more intensely. Phillipe was amazed at the aural delight of the woman's gasps and moans. Antionette was a supremely sensual woman. So much of her had been interred with her husband in his casket. Those passions had never waned and had never really been suppressed. The widow wrapped all it in respect from the town and charitable words from the church and above all in the role of a heroic widowed mother. That entire façade was collapsing now as Phillipe, amazed and encouraged, took the beautiful woman to the edge of orgasm and then past it.

"Mine Dieu!" she cried as her thighs compressed Phillipe's cheeks and ears. A pleasure she had not known for decades took her far from this cabin, beyond the village, beyond France itself! Finally, she relaxed. The boy was on his feet immediately, his arms around her bare waist. He kissed her deeply. Unquestionably, she had kissed him back. He decided that the bath could wait. Leaving the spigot running, he gathered up the unprotesting widow in his arms and carried her toward the large featherbed. He set her down atop the duvet and impatiently tugged off his jacket and shirt. She looked at his finely muscled torso approvingly. For the first time, the lad had, no doubt that he read desire in a woman's eyes. He hurriedly tugged off his boots and jumped out of his trousers and undershorts. His equipment was nice. She only tangentially contemplated that this was only the second male adult penis she had ever seen. It was like her late husband's in some ways yet had charms of its own. She rose on her elbows. He pulled the duvet down under her. He fell into the bed. They kissed long and passionately. She maneuvered herself to the top and dusted his fine torso with kisses before circling his navel and heading for his manhood.

She looked up at him and then took his manhood into her mouth. The startled lad had never even imagined that this sort of love existed! She kissed from his balls to the tip of his shaft then set to serious work. Phillipe marveled as he watched her midnight tressed head bob up and down. He was savoring the sensation when he lost all control and exploded deep inside her mouth. Antionette winked and visibly swallowed! Young Phillipe was immediately, unquestionably, head over heels in love. He was so happy he found himself laughing. Antionette crawled into his arms, and they embraced until he was ready to go again.

This time, he was on top. Finding his way in was no problem with her hand to guide him. With her encouragement, he found a steady rhythm, his attractive buttocks flexing and relaxing as he strove for release. He felt himself cum and soften deep inside her. He cried, "I love you!" then as though a switch had been turned in his brain, he was in the arms of Morpheus.

**

He awoke to the aroma of something delicious cooking on the stove and the sight of her in a very thick and dowdy robe. She turned. They smiled at each other. Only now did he look at the clock.

"Have I really been asleep that long?"

"That is not unusual for men after they have their passions," she stated with no condemnation.

"I'm sorry."

"It is nothing."

"What are you making?"

"Soup, potatoes, beef, all from your larder."

"I failed to give you that bath I promised."

"I already took it. Why waste hot water and fresh soap?"

They both laughed.

"Next time."

"That is for you to decide."

"You are very beautiful, Antionette."

"And you are a quite fit and handsome young man."

"Can we do that again?"

"Dinner is almost ready. After dinner I must put things in order and return to my own home, lest the villagers gossip."

Phillipe gestured at the matronly robe, "Let me see you."

Antionette shrugged off the robe, she spread her arms wide, "Everything is as you saw it last."

"We both know that is not true, Antionette."

She flushed and hastened back into the robe.

"I am not here by choice."

"Another lie, Antionette? Tell a third and you shall be across my knee."

She stuck her tongue out at him before turning to stir the soup.

"Dinner is ready!"

He had heard that the Widow Turbot was an excellent cook. He assumed it was true but had never had the opportunity to partake of her wares until now. Every bit of the second-hand praise was true!

As he wiped his mouth with a napkin he asked, "Beautiful, passionate, and an excellent cook; why are you unmarried, Antionette?"

She looked at him meaningfully. "There is no simple answer to that question, Phillipe. All the complex points are deeply personal. Please don't ask me that again."

"Surely Anton is not the issue."

At the mention of her son's name, Antionette recalled anew, how she had been compromised and blackmailed to this cabin. It was unlikely at the instigation of the young man, still the wrongness of it all, despite the undeniable passions that had sprung up. She felt an outsized chill. Phillipe noted that suddenly she was cold and distant.

"Have I said something wrong?"

"No, Phillipe, you are not the problem."

Her words did not match her mood. Phillipe noted that from that point, Antionette was polite but distant, almost cool. He wondered why. After the marvelous dinner, he watched her straighten the cabin. "No time to change or launder these sheets," she said. Spellbound, Phillipe watched her redress in the clothes in which she had arrived. She kissed him with less passion, gathered up her valise, and hurried back to the poor side of town.

"Tomorrow, same time!" he shouted to her receding figure. She acknowledged this order with a wave.

The entire long walk back, she recriminated herself. Behaving like a wanton! Letting a boy of just Eighteen summers get under her skin! How could she have been so foolish? Worse he would expect more of the same tomorrow. Was she looking forward to it? No! She could not be! She reminded herself of how brutal that boy had been so often to Anton. The crime the boy's father intended to frame her son for was ghastly. There could be no place in her heart for compassion or tenderness towards Phillipe. Why had her body and soul betrayed her so? Once she got home, she needed to spend hours on her knees in prayer and supplication. None of this was for HER. It was all for Anton!

She returned to her cottage as unobtrusively as she had departed it. The house was quiet, and Anton was still abed, thank heavens. She sat down and made herself a cup of tea before preparing a dinner that Anton could warm up when he came home in the early AM and a hot meal to feed him before he went to work.

As she sat and savored her tea she considered her appalling behavior with her son's bitterest enemy. Tomorrow she would be stronger. Tomorrow she would display an iron will!

She gathered the drying laundry from the line behind the cottage and carefully folded it. One advantage of Anton's all white work wardrobe was the fact that is could always be bleached back to almost pristine condition and the sun did the rest. She carted Anton's laundry up to his room and quietly filled his drawers. She smiled at his slumbering form. The blond big boy was her entire reason for being. They had been so close. Now that he was older there was some distance which made her sad. On his nights off he liked to go out with his friends. There was a girl who worked as a salesgirl in the bakery, Esther, so sweet and kind. If Anton could get a promotion, he would make enough to rent an apartment room in one of the larger rooming houses in town and ask her to marry him. Anton was adamant that he would not bring a wife to share his home with his mother.

"No offence, Mom, "he said, "but a mother and a wife under one roof isn't fair to either."

What would she do with herself when that day came? That question was always on the forefront of her mind, yet, after months of thinking about it, she was no closer to an answer. For so long she was her husband's widow and her son's mother. Who would she be with only herself to cook and clean for? Would she really want to? Part of her detested Esther, even though Antionette knew that the girl had done her no wrong. Certainly, there was no crime in another woman loving her son. Would this resentment come to the fore if Anton were to bring Esther under this roof? Antionette had to conclude that there might be some wisdom in her son's words as difficult as they were to hear.