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Empty Nest: Part 3
🕑 Added 2024-05-29 18:03:38 +0000 UTCAs I showered I was surprised to find myself horny. Really horny! The unexpected sight of Heather doing…whatever she’d been doing seemed to light a fire inside of me that I hadn’t felt in months if not a year or more. When was the last time Blair wanted me, really wanted me, in that way? I couldn’t honestly remember. Blair was my dream girl. Small, delicate features, slim and trim, bright blue eyes, with perfect petite titties and natural golden blond hair both above and below, she checked all the boxes for being the type of girl I always wanted. When we first got together I couldn’t believe my luck in snagging such a hottie. The sex had been great! Yet, for whatever reason, somewhere along the way the flame dwindled then snuffed out completely. While my low libido was definitely a me problem her not looking at me in ‘that way’ certainly didn’t help things. That look had found new targets. Actors, models, men we’d see while we were out in the world. Lately she’d even gotten so bold to start commenting on them. It hurt my feelings but she would tell me not to be so jealous and that it was okay to look as long as she didn’t touch. She was right I suppose, it just would have been nice to be looked at like that once in a while. But…how could she ever see me in that way when she knew what a loser I really was. Whether I was misreading her intentions and her actions or not, Heather had just reminded me what it was like to feel sexy and attractive again.
At the point when I lather myself up with one of Heather’s fancy body washes I just go ahead and spend some extra time on my manhood. It does not take long to bring it to full mast and just a couple minutes after that I am busting and watching my creamy seed fall to the tub to get washed down the drain. God DAMN had that felt good! A much needed release after an awful day. After rinsing off I wash my hair to get out all the missed clippings and trimmings from my haircut then step out of the tub smelling like a bouquet of summer flowers. I dry off with a towel that she had left out for me then slip into the clean pajamas, sans underwear. No point in putting filthy cloth on clean skin. I’d wait until I had some clean ones to put on. Besides, it felt kinda nice to go commando under the soft fabric of the new jammies.
I clean the mirror of steam so I could brush my short black hair. Standing back I stare at the blue eyed man looking back at me. Fuck. Shaved and trimmed I almost looked like…Dad. There was one big difference however. In that deep sapphire gaze I do not see the hope and pride of my living father. I see nothing but the disappointment of his ghost at what had become of his legacy. I shake my head and look away. I throw the robe over my shoulder and gather my clothes. Slipping out of the washroom I toss the clothes and robe onto the guest bed. My natural instinct was to grab for my phone until I remember that there was no wifi here. A fact I was still grappling with. Until tomorrow I was cut off from the world. A loud clearing of a throat grabs my attention.
“Ahem!” Heather says, looking in from the other end of the hall. “Dirty clothes do not go on clean bedding. You can take those downstairs, please and thank you.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Sorry.”
Picking up my clothes again I trot down to the basement to add them to the second load that was waiting for its turn in the washer. While there I look about for the object Heather might have been handling when I peeped down earlier. Damned if I could see anything. There was a jug of bleach. Perhaps she was holding against herself as she struggled with the cap? But why would she have had the front of her dress hiked up while she did it? And why did it look like she was stroking it? Maybe I was remembering it wrong. That must be it. Yeah, it was probably just the bleach bottle She was probably smelling my shirt thinking she needed some extra powerful cleaner to get the smell out. God, I’d gotten it all twisted up. I’d deluded myself. As if a classy old gal like that would be attracted to a broke ass charity case like me.
When I reach the top of the stairs I find Heather waiting for me with a great big smile. “That’s better!” She says brightly. Taking the collar of my pajamas she straightens it then smooths out the fabric along my shoulders. It was VERY weird being touched like this. Even Blair wouldn’t have felt so bold as to fuss over me like this, even back in the good times. “I knew there was a handsome lad under there somewhere.”
“Urm, yeah.” I say awkwardly. “I feel…um…almost human again.”
“Treat yourself well and you’ll feel well.” Leaning in she takes a long breath in through her nose. “Mmm. Yummy.” She then pats my chest. “I’d say I got your size perfectly.”
Yummy? Her casual touching and sniffing still had me a bit weirded out. And the fact she was a bit taller and a lot heavier than me, something I was not used to in women, had me intimidated. But there was something about the easy way in which she spoke with me, as if we were longtime friends, that put my jangled nerves at ease. I barely knew this woman and yet she made me feel comfortable in her presence.
“Yeah.” I run a hand down my front. “Thank you again Mrs. Hutton.”
“Couldn’t have you running around here in your tighty whities, could I? Not that I haven’t seen it all before.” She laughs. “I don’t have any spare slippers I’m afraid.”
“I’m okay.” I say. “If you don’t mind me walking around barefoot.”
“I don’t mind.” She turns and invites me into the kitchen. On the stove sat two pots and a roasting pan with a scrumptious looking whole roasted chicken waiting for us. On the counter beside the stove was a loaf of French bread on a cutting board with a dish of butter nearby. “I hope you’re hungry.”
“Woah! Is this all for us?”
“Do you see anybody else?” She chuckles. “I’ll slice the bread. Would you mind carving the bird?”
Without waiting for my answer Heather busies herself slicing and buttering the bread. As I approach she pulls up another cutting board for me to use and points to the block of knives sitting on the counter. Clumsily I transfer the chicken on the board then pull a long chef’s knife from the block and stare down at the beautifully prepared poultry.
“So.” She says. “You said you lost your job today?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah I did.”
“I’m sorry to hear it. Do you know why?”
“Well…yeah. Yeah I do.” I sigh. “I was slacking off. Showing up late. That kinda thing.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I was a lousy employee. I deserved to get fired.”
“I’d say so.” She says point blank. “But at least you know what you have to improve on. It’s worse when you don’t know. Those are easy to fix.”
“You’d think so.” I mutter.
She bumps her hip into mine. “Is that pity I hear? What did I say when I invited you?”
“To leave it at the door.”
“That’s right.” She nods. “None of that now. You’ll spoil my appetite.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Are you going to cut that bird or just admire it?”
“Um…it’s been awhile.” I say as I try to gauge where to cut the chicken first. “Um.”
“Let me guess. You’ve been living off microwave dinners?” She pokes my little pudge. “That’s processed food right there, isn’t it?”
“Blair and I weren’t really ones for…cooking.”
“Pff! As if it’s optional!” She scoffs. “How are you going to feel good again eating garbage, hm? A man needs some real food in his belly.” Placing a hand on my back she lays her other hand over mine. Directing my knife hand she guides me through the first slice. “Pull the leg away from the body. Like that. Yes. Now find the joint. It’s easier at the joints. There you go! Now just slice it away from the rest. Perfect.” Letting go of my hand she says. “Now do the other side just the same. Perfect!” Grabbing my hand again she then directs me through slicing the breasts apart then removing the wings into their own pieces. “Very good, Elliot. You are a quick learner.”
Was she being sarcastic? It was just carving a chicken. And she did most of the work. Why was she being nice to me?
Without a pause she brings down a couple of plates. “I didn’t make any gravy but there’s some Peri-Peri in the fridge if you want something for the chicken.” She starts to dish out the food. Opening the two pots she reveals buttery mashed potatoes and steamed green beans. “Ah, damn. I let the beans cool off. Hope you don’t mind tepid beans.”
Wanting to be helpful I say. “I’ll just nuke them. If you’ve got a bowl…”
“Ah.” She sighs. “Microwave’s on the fritz.” She glances at me from the corner of her eye. “I’ve been meaning to pick up a new one but…just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Oh. What’s wrong with it?”
“I don't know. It seems to work. Turns on, light comes on, turn table goes, counts down, everything. It just doesn’t heat. The element is burnt out or something.”
“Element?” I grin. “No, Ma’am. Sounds like it’s the door switch.”
“Door switch?”
“Yeah. It happens a lot. The oven won’t heat if the door’s buggered.” I say. “It’s an easy fix.”
“Oh yeah?” After a pause she asks. “Out of curiosity, how much would something like that cost?”
“For the part? Like…five or ten bucks.”
“That’s it!?”
“If you know what you’re doing.” I say. “It’s not worth hiring a repairman. If you get the part I can swing back tomorrow and do it for you. I’ve got the tools. If that’s what it is I can get it up and running in a few minutes.” I look back to her. “The least I could do for the meal and the bed.”
“You’re a handiman?”
“No, Ma’am.” I say. “I just fool around with it. Or used to.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short, Elliot.”
“Nah. It’s just a thing I used to do when I was bored. I was forever taking apart things. All sorts of things. Unfortunately putting them back together again was the tricky part.” We share a laugh. “Drove my Mom crazy with it.”
“Sons ALWAYS drive their mothers crazy.” She chortles and pats my back. “Each one in their own special way.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Meals are dished out and set out on the small round dining table for two that sat at the border between kitchen and living room. Pulling down a pair of wine goblets she asks me. “Would you mind fetching the wine. It’s in the fridge.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
I go to the fridge and start looking around.
“It’s on the bottom shelf, Elliot.” She says softly from behind me. “Wayyy at the back.” I bend over and move a bag of brocolli to discover a box of cheap white wine.
“The chardonnay?”
“Mm hm. Mmm, yes, that’s it Elliot. You got it.” I pop up with the box and spin around to find her staring intensely down at the wine glasses. “Oh! Um…just half a glass for me, please.” She turns away and hurries to take her seat at the table. Laying a napkin across her lap she says. “Mmm, I’m hungry.”
“Me too. Just be a second.” With the little spout I pour us each a half portion of wine then bring the glasses to the table after putting the box back in the fridge. “Madame.” I say in a cheesy French accent as if I were some suave waiter at a fancy restaurant as I set her glass in front of her.
“Merci, monsieur.” She smiles.
I take my seat and soon we are sitting on opposite sides of the table for two looking over the homemade feats. My mouth is watering and my unworthy soul feeling overwhelmed and oh so very grateful.
“Mrs. Hutton…this is…just wonderful.” I say. “This is too much. You really shouldn’t have… I don’t…deserve…”
“You shush now.” She says firmly. “It was really nice to cook for someone again. Besides, a meal with good company always tastes better.” Taking her wine goblet she raises it toward me. “To old acquaintances turned new friends.”
“To new friends.” I raise my glass across the table to clink it to hers.
Heather’s warm brown eyes twinkle while we sip the honey sweet wine.
Comments
Rados
Haha.. bottom shelf at the back huh? 😉
