Marie
Robbie came down into the kitchen while I stirred my tea, using a little more sugar than usual. I needed the sugar, needed the high, given how terrible I’d been feeling lately.
“You okay, Mom?” he asked off-handedly, opening the fridge and peering inside. Pulling out a carton of juice, he took a swig before putting it back. “Mm, this shit is good.”
I mock frowned at him.
“Robbie, you know you’re not supposed to drink from the carton,” I scolded lightly, my heart not in it. “The juice’ll spoil that much faster.”
He nodded, already moving to the front door, hand outstretched to the knob.
“Sure Ma, no worries, next time I won’t,” he said. But then he paused and spun around, looking at me suddenly, eyeing my make-up less face, the way my hair was caught in a sad ponytail, the curls deflated and worn unlike my usual bouncy brown. “You sure you’re okay Mom?”
The truth was that I wasn’t. I missed Trent desperately. I missed the alpha, I missed Trent’s looming presence, the way he made me feel small, I was positively petite in comparison. Even more, I craved that deep growl, the humor in those blue eyes, the way he held me close to his hardness at night, his long legs tangling with mine. I was in love with my son’s best friend, it’d happened during our sinful week together, and there was no way my son could ever know.
“Yeah I’m fine,” I said in a chirpy tone, pasting a smile on my face. “All good, no worries.”
But Robbie looked at me carefully again. Single moms often have a close relationship with their kids and Robbie was no exception. Even though he was an adolescent male, twenty years old and chasing skirt, still, my son was perceptive, he knew me in and out even when it was uncomfortable. So he cocked his head, eyeing me speculatively, before turning away.
“I know something’s up, Ma, we’ll talk about it when I’m back okay?” he said, fixing me with another look. “Clarisse is waiting at the mall already, so not now, but when I’m back.”
And I flashed him a real smile then. Even if my love life was a wreck, I was happy for my son. I was glad he was out there, getting to know pretty girls, doing what it is that kids do these days, seeing movies, hanging at the mall, hell, even having sex, he was old enough. So I blushed a little, involuntarily, at the thought of my son getting naked with a girl. God, Robbie was so young, and where would they do it? In his car? Her car? I really had no idea.
But that was the thing. Trent was the same age as Robbie, and Trent was old enough, absolutely. My lover was charismatic, magnetic, sure of himself, he had a dream to play ball and was pursuing it with a single-mindedness that I had to respect. So Trent was old enough to handle himself, and my son probably was too. After all, there was no reason to think otherwise either. Robbie was doing well in college, a double-major at that, with every sign that he was succeeding, forging a path for himself in this game called life.
So I smiled at the boy again. Robbie was my other amazing love, just in a different way, the baby I’d raised since birth.
“Go, have fun,” I said gently. “Meet up with your friend, what’s her name again? Clarisse? Sounds exciting,” I smiled.
My son grinned back at me.
“Clarisse is more than exciting, she’s incredible,” he grunted. “But more on that later. When I’m back, Mom. We’ll talk when I’m back,” he said firmly, stepping out.
And I sighed as his car rumbled and then took off down the street. Because I had a shift coming up, I’d taken an afternoon shift at the hospital and this was no way to walk in, gloomy, schleppy, lonely and sad. I worked in the maternity ward, a place filled with joy, moms and their new babies, and I needed to be peppy and happy, a ray of light, not all gloom and doom.
God, what was wrong with me? In the course of a week, I’d done crazy u-turns, one moment joyful, ecstatic, coupling with an insanely gorgeous man, welcoming him into myself over and over, sure I could handle the consequences. But now that it’d ended, I was a mess, it’d been a terrible miscalculation. Plain and simple, I was worse off than when I started, I’d veered between the highest highs and the lowest lows, and had hit rock bottom now. Before, I’d been wallflower Marie, a little shy, a little afraid sure, but still protected, my heart cocooned so that I’d never feel pain. And now that I’d put myself out there, it seared so badly, tearing me apart. I missed Trent so much, mourned his absence, the fact that I’d probably never see him again.
And that thought pitched me over the edge. I might never see my lover again. I might never see the man I adored, I’d never feel his hands on me again, much less look into those clear blue eyes. Crumpling at the kitchen counter, I absolutely lost it, chest heaving, head in my arms, wailing like a siren. God, what a mess! I cried for everything I’d never have, everything that would never come true, there was no fairytale ending to this story.
But at that moment, my cell rang, the buzz insistent. I let it chime for a minute, ignoring it, the table vibrating as a cheery song, ringing insistently. And with a resentful swipe, I picked it up and answered.
“He-hello,” I sobbed, trying to hide my tears. “Hello?”
Angie’s voice rang out, loud and clear.
“Hey girlie,” she sang. “Long time no talk. How’s it hangin’?”
I let out a snort then, half laugh, half sob. It’d been a week since I’d gone to the party, and so much had changed, yet my friend knew nothing. All she knew was that I’d disappeared, probably thinking I’d gone home and gone to bed, the old boring Marie.
So my breath hitched a little.
“Hey, I’m okay,” I lied. “How are you?”
And Angie took off at a million miles an hour.
“Honey, that party was so awesome, did you have fun?” she chirped. “Oh my god, I met so many men, it was incredible, I gave my number out to like ten guys.”
And I giggled blearily despite myself. That was amazing, we were forty year-olds and I felt like giving your number to one guy was pretty good. Hey, age bias runs deep, old ways of thinking are hard to shake even though I was being biased against myself in this case.
“That’s great,” I said, blowing my nose. “Did any of them call?”
Angie squealed then.
“You know it! Three of them did, and honey, I’ve been going on dates every night of the week. In fact, sometimes I go out twice per night. Isn’t that incredible? I’ve been forcing myself to eat two dinners, it’s so hard with all that food, but it’s worth it, it’s sooo worth it,” she cooed. “These guys are amazing.”
I giggled again, wiping my nose and letting out another huge honk.
“That’s awesome Ang, I’m so happy for you,” I said into the phone, trying to sound peppy and supportive. “It’s so great that you found people, don’t worry about the two dinners, just don’t eat dessert.”
And Angie chortled happily on the other side.
“I know, I really got lucky at the party, I’m so glad we went,” she giggled. “But what about you Marie? I didn’t see you after twenty minutes, what happened? Did you go home? Or did you,” and here, her voice lowered, “did you go home with someone? Meet someone for a hot night of no-no?” she asked wickedly.
I laughed then. Because yeah, Trent and I had done anal our first time, did that count as a “hot night of no-no”? But even worse, I’d fallen in love with the alpha male, completely lost my heart to the big man, and was only worse for the wear now. So I laughed, a little brokenly, and sighed into the phone.
“Well, I’m not sure if I did any ‘no-no,’ but I met someone,” I admitted.
Angie squealed then.
“Oh my god, you did? Don’t say it was that fat blonde guy I saw you talking to. Honey, you can do better than that, that dude’s the type who goes to nude beaches even though he has a tiny pecker. That kind of guy, you don’t need,” she proclaimed authoritatively.
And I laughed for real then. Because where did Angie come up with this stuff? A nude beach? A tiny pecker on a nude beach? I giggled again before saying, “No, not that guy. I met someone else, someone amazing in fact …”
And Angie cut me off.
“Oh my god, that’s so great! What’s his name? What does he look like? Where does he work? Tell me everything,” she rushed.
Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. I wasn’t sure I could do it, the pain was so fresh, the wound still tearing me apart inside. But I’m not a fan of bottling things up, and it was time to let go. There was no hope for me, the show was over, so I may as well let it out now, this was a good time as any. Taking a deep breath, I recounted my tale to Angie, describing how I’d met Trent, fallen in love, and how our time together had been so meaningful, so life-changing, transforming me from plain old Marie into a woman of the world, a woman who appreciated life and everything it had to offer.
“So that’s great!” chirped Ang at the end of my story. “But I’m confused. Are you seeing him or what?”
I shook my head with frustration, tears welling in my eyes.
“No, we’re done. He’s done, he’s gone,” I said, the words so painful to speak, each one lancing through my heart.
But Angie wasn’t so sure.
“But how do you know? Don’t you have his number? Why do you say it’s over?”
And I sighed again.
“Because, Ang, we agreed on one week together, nothing more. And that week’s done, he’s gone. Left without saying goodbye in fact, no note, no nothing,” I added softly. Of course, I blushed remembering Trent’s semen, the warm cup of jism waiting for me, but that hardly seemed appropriate to add.
But my friend was on a different level. She snorted, a weird sound of exasperation and hilarity.
“A one-week pact?” she asked drolly into the phone. “What, are we in seventh grade where we do pinky promises? Did you cross your heart and hope to die? Stick a needle in your eye? Is that it?”
I grew red then, even though she couldn’t see.
“No of course not,” I said, a little stung. “It’s just, well you know, we said one week, and the one week ended.”
But Angie wasn’t taking that as an answer.
“Girl, this isn’t the Dark Ages, you can call, you know,” she said. “You sound so sad, why don’t you make yourself feel better? Just call to say hello.”
I was taken aback.
“And say what?” I huffed, my heart beginning to speed, my breath coming fast. “What could I possibly say?”
“I dunno,” replied Angie airily, “but it sounds like you guys really got along, that you were never short on words. Just give him a call and feel it out, go with the flow.”
I choked then.
“But Ang, did you hear what I said? Trent’s my son’s age. In fact, he’s my son’s best friend, it’s so wrong.”
The blonde laughed again.
“Honey, that was the best part. That was the most awesome part of the whole thing, that you hooked a man half your age, that you turned his head, made him want you, and by the sounds of it, made him love you too. Who cares if he’s your son’s age? What, he’s got a career, he’s got his own life, it’s not like you’re picking up a kid.”
And I was stunned silent. She didn’t think I was some gross cradle robber? But Angie wasn’t done yet.
“Besides, if you’re some old witch, then what am I?” she asked. “One of the men I’m dating is eighteen,” she confessed wickedly, her voice lowered. “Grant’s eighteen, he’s so hot, so amazing in bed, I forgot how good a younger man tastes,” she purred into the phone. “So if you’re a cradle robber, then I’m robbing in utero, my new guy’s barely a baby.”
I choked then.
“Eighteen, really?” I croaked. “That’s barely legal.”
“I know,” said Angie smugly. “But it’s legal. Barely legal, but legal still.”
And my head whirled. Oh my god, we were both cradle robbers. My friend and I both, we were cougars preying on young men, robbing them before they reached maturity. But something about that description was wrong, flat out wrong and even silly. Because although I couldn’t speak for Angie’s boy, I knew Trent was nothing of the type. My man was self-assured, charismatic, he knew what he wanted, a man with a purpose and meaning to life, a confident spring in his step. I was no cougar “preying” on some helpless victim. Trent would never be a victim, he was too alpha, too sure of himself.
So my voice wavered as I spoke again.
“But Ang, don’t you feel guilty?” I asked tremulously. “And don’t forget, Trent’s my son’s friend, it complicates everything.”
But Angie just pshawed.
“Honey, you don’t give these guys enough credit,” she admonished. “Seriously, your son is a grown man. Robbie. Is. A. Grown. Man. He can handle it, he’s not some middle school boy who’s upset that his parents are divorcing. And if I remember, Robbie’s been telling you to get out, he wants you to be happy, find someone new. And if it’s with his best friend, then all the better. He knows both of you already, it simplifies everything.”
But I shook my head.
“No, I don’t think this is what my son had in mind,” I said slowly. “Robbie wants me to date, yes, but not so close to home.”
“Home, schmome,” scoffed Angie. “Your man is traveling all the time, your son is at college sixty miles away, nothing is close to home, honey. Trust me Marie, you’re being too hard on yourself. The smallest challenge pops up and immediately you’re a damsel in distress thinking, “This’ll never work.” What never was going to work was your marriage to your ex, honey, marriage to that loser was going to work, I could have told you that before you married Rob. But this? This is different, there are no rings yet, there are no promises. So just give it a try, darlin’, give Trent a call and see what happens.”
I laughed then, a small half-laugh, half-sob into the phone. Because Angie and I have been friends forever, she’d seen me through my marriage and divorce, through the highs and lows, the rollercoaster of life, and knew me better than almost anybody. And her solid support, her reassurance, the bulwark of strength, gave me so much confidence, pulling me through a tough time, a ray of hope in the darkness.
“Maybe,” I murmured into the phone. “Maybe.” I wasn’t making any promises, this was too much to take. But Angie was all over it.
“Good,” she encouraged. “I’m hanging up now so you can call him.”
I squealed.
“Ang, no, not yet! Right this moment? No, I’m not ready.”
My friend chuckled, rolling her eyes, I could hear it even through the phone.
“Okay, not this very second then,” she agreed lightly. “But tomorrow okay? Call him tomorrow. Imagine that voice, his voice speaking into your ear, saying “Marie.””
And although it sounds lame, I swooned a little. I imagined Trent’s voice in my mind, the deep, soft velvet, how he’d whispered my name to me while we were in bed, how he’d muttered my name into my folds while licking my pussy, how he roared my name as he came, his dick hard in my butt. Oh god, everything about him made my heart beat fast, my pussy moisten.
So I had to do it. Even if all it did was cause me more heartache, I had to talk to Trent again. I had to see where this would go, where it could lead, and maybe, just maybe, we might have a future. After all, what was there to lose? I’d stepped out of my cocoon once, and it had brought me true love. If I stepped out again, what might happen? I wasn’t sure, but as I bit my lip, my heart pounded even faster thinking to the conversation ahead. Because I had to talk to Trent again … my love, my life, my everything.