WASTED BY LOVE, AGAIN
Mabel knew that he would soon have to go to work. It would take him twenty or so minutes to get there, but Darryl was only too fit and would make it on time; he walked there, after all, every day, there and back and in all weathers. Last night he'd been caught in a rainstorm and she had made him strip off all of his wet clothes before he took any further steps into the house.
"Any excuse to see me naked," he'd laughed and she had said nothing to disagree.
Since the evening when he had come home, and found her the worse for booze, their lives together had taken a different turn. He slept with her and dismay to have succumbed to his seducing ways had changed to appreciation for the change in her. It went with the uncontrollable pleasure she now felt whenever she was in his arms, in her bed, and all restraint cast to the four winds.
It had become an all-consuming affair between them.
It sure was wrong, her mind told her that, but her body had a different story to tell and she used her time with him to rebuild her life after abandonment by Darryl's father. Drinking wasn't the answer to her problems. Darryl was and just to see him again, as she had done last night, naked and his muscular body dusty from his work, had reignited the flame.
"We're going to have to stop this sooner or later," he had said as she embraced him and provoked him to undress her so that they could shower together, after a 'sesh'.
Supper had again been delayed and their couplings only a taster for what had then been pursued through the night.
"You've shown me no sign of wanting to do that, my darling lad,...but I hear what you're saying. I'm on the mend, thanks to you." She, a woman of fifty, was possessed by her thoughts of him, her twenty-five-year-old 'boy', when she was at work.
Now, in the early morning light, she saw Darryl gather up his clothes, washed and ironed for him, and as he made ready for another day. His lean body was toned, his arms tanned and strongly muscled, and he kept his brown hair slicked back from a somewhat hollow-cheeked, stern, and slender face. But when he smiled she soon saw what younger women liked about him, along with that devilish and appraising look of his eyes that he deployed, even upon her.
"I'll get up and have breakfast with you, shall I?"
She shivered as she said it. He was seen to slip on blue and white checkered lounge pants, shoving his length down with a forceful thrust of one hand, the front tented even by his flaccid length. How could she refuse him so easily when Darryl took her mind off all that had happened?
"You don't have to," he said bluntly. "I see to it for myself most days."
"But most days don't follow what we did last night, do they?"
She too would have to get up, but her shift started at ten so she had time to shower and get into the clothes that passed for a uniform that the store group insisted every staff member had to wear. She washed Darryl's 'gear', as he called it, two times a week; construction work left his hard-wearing cargo pants and shirts, T-shirts among them, in a filthy state.
"I'll go and get prepped," he smiled and gazed at her as she got up from the bed. The girls he went down on had nothing compared to what Mabele brought to his sight and touch, mother or not, nor did they know how to use it as she did. His dick ached for some time afterwards and he liked to be reminded of what had gone down between them.
He'd make it good while it lasted. He wasn't so stupid that he believed it could continue, not at the intensity that they both pursued from each other.
"I won't be long! Put two slices of brown bread in the toaster for me too!"
β₯
She covered her naked body with the same thin dressing gown that she had opened to his gaze and caresses the first time they had shared the heat. The synthetic fibre, patterned with oriental flowers, felt like cool silk on her skin, its brush over her nipples always sensuous and enjoyed long before she had noticed the effect that how she was shaped had upon him.
The three-quarter length sleeves revealed her fleshy arms, the shortish hem her thighs. There was no disguising the fact that she was a voluptuous woman with a few age creases on her throat, her tummy rounded but not fat. Darryl had said often enough in recent weeks that he loved everything about her and what she did for him with what she brought to his sight and touch.
His words made up for the harsh insults thrown her way when her husband had ditched her and walked out of the house, for good. Tough she might be, but what had been said had wounded her. No wonder, she told herself, that some loving comfort with Darryl had been sought and continued.
But for how much longer?
β₯
"The kettle's just boiled and the toast's ready," he said as he turned to see her come into the kitchen.
"Good, I'll grab some cups and plates..."
"The knives are already on the table." He said this as Mabel was seen to reach up and take them from a wall cupboard, her dressing gown riding up over her thighs as she stood on tiptoes.