Gigi Adds to Her Palette

Gigi wore the hell out of a sundress. But like many people past sixty, she preferred one of the earlier versions of her body. The current Gigi was fleshy. Very little remained firm below the neck. The curves in her hourglass figure had become indentations. Afternoon sunlight showed her age on her face.

Still, solid shoulders held up her substantial bosom. Good posture and strong legs had defied age-related shrinking and allowed her to maintain a claim to being a six-footer. Even her reluctant decision to go gray had paid off. Sure, concessions to age and all, but she had dumped a semi-regular lunchtime liaison for daring to be indifferent to this body, and she drove home feeling proud of it.

Her grandson complimented that day's dress in his subdued way. Gigi asked grandmother questions while Tziyur put away bags of produce. Gigi didn't know him well enough to go beyond perfunctory talk. When Tziyur accepted the invitation to use her spare bedroom, she had not seen him in twelve years.

A few minutes later, Tziyur returned from upstairs in his running kit. Tight cycling shorts covered his lean hips. Desire flared in Gigi. She first felt it stir when he returned from the previous day's run with his tank in his hand, or maybe when he cooked supper in the ragged shirt and paint-spattered jeans he wore while working on his art in the basement.

As Tziyur filled his water bottle, Gigi asked the only question that came to mind. "How are your paintings?"

"Dark and murky," he said. "Everything looks like the bottom of Lake Huron."

And off he went. Dark and murky, Gigi thought. A reflection of the artist.

Tziyur insisted he cook as often as his teaching schedule allowed as payment for the room. He knew his way around a stovetop, but eating a meal at home with someone, even a beaten-down someone, nurtured Gigi more than fish and fresh vegetables.

"Did you know I'm on an album cover?" she said to break the silence.

"Uncle Jacque mentioned you modeled."

"Jacque's exaggerating, as usual. Here's what happened. A designer I knew wanted to help his musician friends create their album cover. He also wanted to get into my pants. That's how my photo made the cover of the only album released by an obscure rock band. The designer's other mission failed, by the way."

After a polite acknowledgement Tziyur went back to his salad.

Gigi wanted to keep him engaged. She said, "Another music story. A guy I knew set me up with this guitarist-songwriter who eventually became famous in a major way. No, I'm sworn to secrecy. At your age you've never heard of him, anyway. The future star sat in a booth at a bar with a female friend and her companion. I knew what I wanted immediately. I skipped out of the restaurant with the woman's date, moved to D.C., and lived with him for three years."

Tziyur looked amused for the first time since he arrived.

Gigi, like the entire family, wondered why his marriage ended. But with three divorces in her rear-view mirror, she understood that on some days you needed to talk about it and other days you needed to talk about anything else.

Most evenings, Tziyur either taught or held impromptu labs at the college. Tired of her own company, Gigi asked a friend to meet at a restaurant. Rimona offered her one of life's precious rarities: a person with whom she could share anything. The two had survived the wars together. Disappointment and divorce, marriage and mortality, college and career, money problems and miscarriage, addiction and heartbreak, and a thousand problems in the vast landscape of parenting.

Their bond transcended small talk. The server had yet to arrive with the drinks by the time Gigi confessed her thoughts about her grandson. Rimona held the expression of concern she always called upon when receiving confidential information.

"I don't feel guilty," Gigi said as she wrapped up. "Just weird. I realize this isn't close to the most shocking thing I've told you."

"Far from it," Rimona said. "He's Rachel's son. So, the estrangement with her means he didn't grow up with you around, correct?"

"I've seen him maybe four times."

"Babe, listen. You're daydreaming about younger men because one's under your roof. When was the last time you had non-work everyday contact with an attractive man in his twenties?"

"In my twenties," Gigi said.

"And you last slept with one when?"

"In my forties."

"Do you get a hint Tziyur's aware of your feelings?"

"Not in the least. He's in a depressed space. For all I know, he doesn't think women would notice him."

Rimona stopped her water glass mid-tip. She pointed across the room with her chin. "I hate to contradict you, doctor, but your diagnosis may be incorrect."

Gigi almost bit the tines off her salad fork. Her grandson was sitting down with Hapata Zinn. Gigi and Hapata had worked together on fundraisers and similar projects. Though polite enough, Hapata never dropped her go-getter businesswoman's demeanor. She acted like a capable adult sentenced to community service with a gang of well-meaning but incompetent retirees and hippy idealists.

Tziyur and Hapata sat at south and east on the compass rather than across from each other. Gigi kept looking at them while she ate.

"Hapata seems relaxed," she said in a quiet voice.

"And interested. She's leaned toward him the whole meal."

"Have you ever seen her with her hair down?"

"I'd have been less shocked if she showed up with a beard," Rimona said.

"She definitely busted out the push-up bra."

"With her chest the underwire must be titanium. At least we know he digs on older women."

"Hapata's exactly twice his age," Gigi said.

"A little more. Fifty-nine. She was a first year when I was a senior."

Gigi tried to read on her loveseat until ten o'clock. At eleven, she finished cleaning the refrigerator. She sat propped up on pillows staring across her dark bedroom when the church bells chimed at midnight.

Familiar with the rhythms of one-night stands, Gigi gave up. Her stomach burned. It was ridiculous to feel this way. But she had long ago accepted that emotions did what they wanted.

Gigi's imagination ran a maze of jealousy and lust. How did they proceed while making out on the couch? Did Hapata kiss softly or aggressively? A gentle probing with the tongue or smashing together between gulps of air? In Gigi's vision, Tziyur made her yelp with bites on the neck. Hapata unbuttoned him to stroke his chest while Tziyur's hand slipped into her dress and the bra inside it. What did he think of those beyond-generous tits? A dress strap fell onto Hapata's arm. The bra strap followed. Tziyur hungrily bent to her exposed breast.

"Yes, suck them," Hapata gasped. "Bite them."

Tziyur's hand dug under the band of her panties and cupped her wet sex. The second pair of straps fell. Hapata's breasts tumbled free and hung over her dress.

For a moment Gigi rested her hand on the pump fullness between her legs. The movements of her fingers intertwined with the image of Tziyur and Hapata undressing next to the bed.

Hapata dropped to her knees. "I wanted this all through dinner," she said.

She attacked his shaft as Tziyur had attacked her tits. That wide, sensuous mouth sucked his entire length, she licked around the head, she pulled his scrotum--over and over at random.

Gigi skipped ahead in the story. She saw Hapata bent over with her ample behind pointed straight at Gigi. The livid pink flesh splitting her pubic hair told Gigi her grandson had already been at her. Tziyur's penis again found Hapata's mouth. Her lips slid a little further with each bob of her head. Gigi heard his control slipping away. But Hapata stopped. With a giggle and a teasing not yet she moved over his body on all fours. Her breasts swayed inches above his face.

"You taste good," she purred.

"Are you ready to see if I feel good?"

"Baby, I am so ready after what you gave me a little while ago."

Hapata's passionate way of kissing fanned Gigi's arousal. Juices filled her slit and flowed from her entrance.

Hovering, Hapata took moved Tziyur's cock along her sex. "You already feel good," she said. "The curve in this tool will touch a very special place." She flexed her thick thighs, rose, and mounted him. Two inches inside her, three, more. "That what you wanted, baby?" she asked. "Feel me squeezing you?"

Tziyur's hands plucked at hard nipples as big as raspberries. "You have a great body," he panted.

"You're right, I do. When I walk into a room, conversation stops. Take one more suck from these titties before we get to down to business."

Tziyur surrounded the raspberries with his mouth. Each time, he pulled back until his lips stretched the nipples to absurd length. He let go. Snap.

Hapata braced her lower back with her hands and started to grind.

"Feel my special spot, baby? Get me ready. Oh, daddy, give your love to my hungry pussy. There now. That's what I'm needing." And after a time: "Hold up your hands for me."

"Go as hard as you can," Tziyur whispered as they locked fingers.

At that moment, Gigi replaced Hapata in the fantasy. She both watched herself from across the room and experienced his cock penetrating her. Tziyur's penis touched her G-spot with each thrust.

On her bed, Gigi pleasured her clit while calling out God's name and Tziyur's. Throaty cries came from deep within her chest. A thundering orgasm carried her away.

A loud bang awakened her. The goddamn pipes. She listened. Tziyur had started the shower. The first blue daylight glowed around the curtains. When she recalled her orgasm she said, "Geez holy shit Louise."

When the shower shut off, she cracked her door and peeked out. Tziyur had no reason to look back toward her bedroom. But if it happened, the hall remained dark enough to hide her.

Tziyur stepped into view. In the moment it took him to find the light switch, Gigi stared at back of his body from the shoulders to the toned glutes. She already studied his legs every afternoon.

Gigi slipped on a nightshirt. The worn, stretched fabric revealed a great deal. Too much too soon, she thought. She added new white underthings and put on a sheer robe.

Gigi heard a knife hitting the cutting board. Tziyur greeted her and went back to preparing his lunch.

"I'll leave you a bowl of this fresh fruit," he said.

"Ugh, don't you dare."

He gave an easy laugh. "Have no fear. Coffee's done."

Gigi accepted the cup. She watched to see if his eyes strayed to her cleavage. Inconclusive.

"Explore new frontiers last night?" she said.

Tziyur looked distressed. "Oh, Jeeg, I'm sorry. I didn't make you worry, did I?"

"No, no. I happened to be at the restaurant."

"You had an idea, then. I feel better."

"How do you know her?" Gigi said.

"She chairs the committee that organized the visiting artists' program."

Yes, that sounded like her.

"Any observations about older women?"

"They know what they want," he said. "Or one does. I haven't studied the species in depth." Tziyur leaned on the counter. "I needed a night like that. Not so much sexually, but to believe I'll eventually move on. Being with Hapata broke this dam of piled-up crap that's inside me."

"I hope you enjoyed yourself?"

"Well, you know." Tziyur covered his embarrassment by toweling off his hands. "One thing surprised me. I anticipated Hapata would feel insecure about the age difference. Pfft. She liked it. I mean, she didn't need to be insecure. None of you do. Guys lucky enough to see you in that nightshirt must raise their eyes to heaven and give thanks."

Gigi hoped she looked cooler than she felt. "Two or three did exactly that."

"Only two or three?" he asked with comic disbelief.

That day, her online dating app sent Gigi a promising specimen. Maybe he'll become admirer number four, she joked to Rimona. Dinner passed in a pleasant way. But over dessert they agreeably concluded they shared no rapport. Gigi felt so relaxed after the wine with the meal that she poured another glass--far less expensive--when she got home. She fought back the sour idea that Tziyur had visited Hapata for round two.

When she left the kitchen Gigi noticed an orange glow in the upstairs hall. She found Tziyur relaxed in the guest room's armchair with his eyes closed. He wore jeans and nothing else. Whatever drugs he had taken turned his voice into a mellow baritone, but the words came out clear, if a bit slow.

"At times I take a blend of substances prescribed by a friend," Tziyur explained. "Tonight, I topped off with half a gummy to achieve a perfect balance of sensations. For a little while. Perfection is elusive. But I'm all right, Gigi."

"I've seen stoned people before."

"The blend is medicinal, not recreational. I use it two ways. May I expound? You're not upset I took substances in your house, right?"

"Darling, I take substances in my house. Tell me the two ways."

"The first mixture clears away the clutter. Loosens mental and emotional pathways that lead me to the honest stuff. No blocking. No fear. No neuroses. I can journey deep inside to do the work I need to do. Tonight, though, I took the number two formula. It unleashes the color wheel of happy emotions and keeps me there. Therapists have suggested I need to learn to feel happy because it isn't natural for me. What do you think of that idea, Jeeg?"

Gigi sat on the edge of the bed. "It sounds reasonable."

"Is the orange light bulb in your lamp a problem?"

"Everything's fine. Stay in your good place."

"It was unrealistic to expect I'd leave the mountain of bad energy at home. But credit to you, Jeeg. Proximity to a person who wants the best for me creates a safe scene that pushes back the neg. Otherwise, I'd be isolated in an overpriced short-term rental out by the highway. The gummy bottle is on the dresser if you want to inhabit my headspace."

Gigi accepted. She told another of her tawdry tales while waiting for the effect to kick in. Tziyur's smiles encouraged her storytelling, and she enjoyed connecting with him.

It took Tziyur an effort to stand, and to remain standing. Gigi guided him to the bedside. He hugged her. One of his hands settled on the place where her lower back curved into her buttocks.

But he was asleep on his feet. Gigi dropped him onto the bed. Tziyur wanted to wriggle out of his jeans, but the button stopped him. "Formula number two takes away fine motor skills," he murmured.

Gigi freed him. Tziyur wore no underwear. His semi-erect penis hung between his legs. He certainly inherited one part of his grandfather, Gigi thought.

"No covers," Tziyur mumbled as she brought the sheets over him. Gigi sat down at his hip to study his penis at leisure--the shape, the pattern of the veins, the size. Only his vulnerability stopped a strong urge to touch him. She memorized his body in detail for fantasy fuel. A half hour later, she was humping one pillow while moaning into another.

The next morning, Tziyur found two photographs she had left on the kitchen table. The first, taken during one of Gigi's blond periods, showed her in a casual pose next to a kitchen counter. Sunlight lit her naked body. The breasts stood front and center--two bang zoom showstoppers with the nipples pointed oh-so-slightly upward. She had taken racy photos as part of her freakout over becoming a grandmother. An ex-boyfriend posted the full length kitchen shot online. Gigi supposed the image still circulated in the MILF-centric areas of social media.

In the second picture, the album cover designer had shot Gigi from the side and forty-five degrees behind. Her torso and hips rested on a canopy bed. A hand mirror reflected her cynical expression. The designer cropped the photo to show her ass almost nudging the right of the frame. Gigi owned the original, however. In that one, her legs stretched straight back to where her feet rested on her toes. The band had seen the pic and jumped around screaming. They renamed the album Valkyrie in her honor.

Tziyur left her a shocked cartoon face drawn on scrap paper. The note below the picture said he would be out late.

It so happened that Gigi had received a barbeque invite. Rather than repeat her vigil at home, she RSVP'd the host and went into party prep mode. She wanted to command attention, but skimpy basic black seemed like overkill for a patio. A new sundress offered bare shoulders and a tasteful show of cleavage.

Gigi returned home close to one a.m. She had not expected to stay out so late. Nor had she expected a toot of cocaine with the host. She danced around the kitchen waiting for the tea kettle to sing.

Footsteps on the basement stairs surprised her, but not enough to stop dancing.

"Good party?" Tziyur said.

"B-plus," Gigi said. She tapped her nose. "Coke."

"Will you sleep?"

"My goal was to stay awake with a guy." His look asked the question and Gigi said, "I hoped to get laid."

"You struck out in that dress? Was the party at a monastery?"

"The best options showed up with companions and I couldn't lower my standards to go home with anything that was left."

"You're talking faster than an auctioneer," Tziyur laughed.

"Can you drink tea with me? Or wine?"

"Either one."

Gigi turned off the kettle and brought out an opened Pinot Blanc.

"Thanks for the photos," Tziyur said.

"It struck me as a fair trade for my eyeful of you in the altogether. You could be the model instead of the painter."

Tziyur accepted the wine glass. "I believed being a painter would make me interesting, a better catch. Guess I was wrong."

Gigi hugged him without ulterior motives. But the motives returned when she put her face against Tziyur's shirt. He smelled of sweat and oil paint and coffee. Tziyur held her the way you hug your grandmother.

Before sitting down, Gigi bent to remove her shoes. Instinct told her Tziyur watched her chest dip into clearer view. She took her time. These straps are always a hassle and so on. She turned her rear to him to chuck the shoes into the corner.

"Give me a sec to change uniforms," Gigi said.

There was no doubt but that she'd return in the nightshirt. Cocaine spawned some of Gigi's most startling ideas and tonight it convinced her that nothing underneath sounded reasonable. You only have him here a few more weeks, she said to herself. Gauge his interest or don't think about him naked.

Tziyur had moved to the sofa. He eyed Gigi as she sat down.

"It's been nice coming home to you," she said. Gigi pretended to adjust the nightshirt to cover the globes of her breasts. From above she saw her hard pink nipples. Tziyur fidgeted. Gigi smiled at the idea of his need to adjust matters inside his pants. She told him a rambling story about the kitchen photo and others taken at the time. While they talked, she subtly hiked up the skirt. He caught a flash of her bottom when she rose to get the bottle. She sat closer to him when she returned and draped Tziyur's arm across her shoulders.

"It's rough being alone," Gigi said. "A guy at the party, I dated him for a while. We fucked and fought. He didn't do the first well enough to put up with the second. But when I ended it, I had a really hard time facing the loneliness again. Do you mind if I ask about Hapata? Had you slept with anyone after your breakup?"

"I had no interest." Tziyur's fiddled with the nightshirt's shoulder strap. "When I arrived here, though, these dead parts of myself started to sprout. Out of nowhere Hapata asked me home. It seemed like a sign. Get busy living. That sort of thing."

Gigi leaned back and closed her eyes--the post-coke crash had set in. She moved closer to Tziyur. Neither spoke until the wine glasses had almost emptied.

Tziyur said, "From up here, Jeeg, your body goes on forever."

"Would you like to see me?" she murmured.

"See you?"