5 comments/ 13291 views/ 0 favorites The Heart Shaped Neighbor By: Nigel Debonnaire This story takes place in 1978, twenty years before "The Heart Shaped Pendant." It was an early October night, a warm Indian summer indulgence. I reclined on a lawn chair in my back yard with a cold lemonade next to me, basking in the southern zephyrs wearing only my shorts. It was a night to celebrate: my latest book, an adventure novel, had just made the New York Times bestseller list. Success was an unfamiliar sensation, but I was trying to get used to it. A star peeked through the gathering darkness, and the song Impossible Dream sprang to my mind. Yes, that's who I am, Don Quixote of the literary world. The only thing I'm missing is Dulcinea. Marcia, Helen, Beverly, Amber. I've only slept with four women in my life, none of them Dulcinea. "Charlie Fredrickson, I guess you're a bachelor for life. You may not have somebody to sleep with, but at least you sleep. At least you have some peace, and when you're lonely, at least it's an honest loneliness." I sipped my lemonade and wondered for a moment if I shouldn't go in the house for a beer. No, this is all right, I said to myself. I'm secure in my life: I've got a wonderful little painted lady to live in, a challenging job teaching University English that doesn't include the 101 course, an excellent friend next door, and the book that's just reached the New York times best seller list for fiction. I've done all right for twenty eight; a couple of years I'll get the dissertation done and be Dr. Charles Fredrickson, icon. Well, maybe not that elevated status, but I'll be set for the long haul as a professor and ready to get tenure. Besides, the impossible dream is happening. I've gotten three books published and this one is going to make selling the next easy; just have to keep that critical edge so I don't start shoveling shit just because I can get anything published. Things are going to be fine; I've got a lot and a lot to keep me occupied indefinitely. It isn't bullshit for me to say that I am at peace with myself and at peace with the world; that's all that matters. A car door slammed and a light went on next door. Charlene was home, my best friend in the world. If she were only twenty years younger--well, I'd probably screw up a relationship with her, too. The back porch light went on momentarily and she stuck her head out the door. "Hi, Charlie, how's it going?" "Not bad, Charlene, not bad. Class go all right tonight?" "Piece of cake. You working tomorrow?" "Nope, don't have another class till Friday and no scheduled office hours tomorrow either." "Same for me. Let's drink some Tanqueray to celebrate your success." I got up from my chair and ducked into my house. ******** Twenty minutes later saw me sitting with Dr. Charlene Thompson in her living room, Tanqueray and tonic in hand. We both believed in older furniture, and scoured the obscure antique shops of five states together to furnish our houses. She was an icon in the College town: tenured professor of English Literature at a prestigious private college for girls, many academic articles and books in print, as well as several books of poetry and a couple of romance bestsellers. I'd met her at an open mike session at the Houston Street bookstore and fell in love with her verse right away. She was similarly smitten with my effort and our intellectual admiration blossomed immediately into a close friendship. We were both from small Midwestern towns, were raised on the family farms when they were still plentiful and had worked our way up from small schools to prestigious graduate study. Shortly after we became friends, she told me about the house next door for sale and I gladly became her neighbor as well as her friend. She wore a white silk blouse with a frilly collar, top two buttons undone revealing a nice glimpse of cleavage, a plain brown skirt, two bare legs freshly divested of black shoes and hose, and two red toenailed feet propped on an tasseled ottoman. Her outfit was in perfect harmony with her strawberry blond hair turning silver, her bright blue eyes, and porcelain skin, de-emphasizing her generous hips, thick midsection and lengthening bosom. She was fifty three, but didn't really look it tonight. I'd thrown on a school t-shirt and jeans; although she had seen me in my shorts and mountains of beached whale flab before, it didn't feel right to chat with her casually inside wearing that little. "Here's to you, Charlie, your first bestseller. May it be followed by many more." We drank the toast and she continued. "It will even help get you tenure, when the time comes. Now, before we get too lost in celebration, I know what your next writing project ought to be. You've been putting this off too long, but it's high time you got your dissertation done. Your topic was approved two years ago, your research is done, your bibliography is in great shape. All you have to do is write the damn thing." "I know, I know. There just hasn't been enough time." "Bullshit, you've been putting it off. You deserve the doctorate as soon as you can get it, just get it done." "Yes, mother." "Well, your mother did call me about this as well as your advisor from England. I'll help you, Charlie, you won't be alone here. I'll do anything it takes to get you through this." I put a hand on her knee. "Thanks. I'll get started on it this weekend." She got up and took my drink to refresh it. "Up for some gin rummy? I'll get the cards." "You bet." ************** Three hours later we were playing a very drunk game of gin rummy, full of distractions, bent rules and senseless giggling. Nothing new about that: gin rummy was one of our favorite pastimes. Another button on her blouse was undone and my jeans had wandered off on their own. We finished a hand and she brought up a topic we'd talked about before. "You know Charlie, if you were twenty years older. . ." "Or if you were twenty years younger. We'd set the world on fire, wouldn't we? That's all right; I'm fine with being an urban monk." She shook her head slowly. "What was the problem with you? You've dated a couple of really nice women since I've known you, and I thought Amber was going to work out." I scratched my beard. "I did, too, I wanted it to, probably too much. I guess I was too intense for her part of the time and too distant the rest. When we got past the initial hilarity and small talk, we didn't have enough in common other than being worried about being alone. Also, the sex got boring pretty quickly." "Oh, come on. You're a pretty inventive guy; I'd have thought you'd be a master improvisor between the sheets." "She wasn't. Just wanted missionary position after a some foreplay and after one orgasm she was done. It was all about her; I could lick her genitals all night, but she hardly touched mine." "Well, that's not me, baby. I was the champion cocksucker of Pleasant county and loved every minute of it. My husband didn't dump me because I was bad in bed; I just didn't fit the description of trophy wife he wanted." "He was an idiot. You're better off without him; the jerk got himself convicted of embezzling and spent fifteen years in prison as some Bubba's bitch. What country is he in now?" "Who cares? Not me. I raised a daughter all by myself and did a damn good job of it. Not my fault men don't want to hang out with chubby women. There may be snow on my roof now, but the fire's still going where it counts." "You tell'em; those fools don't know what they're missing. Any man should call himself honored to have you." I took a couple of long sips from my Tanqueray and tonic, and a strange thought crossed my mind. I debated saying anything about it, but Fate articulated it for me: "Hey, I don't believe you, what you said a minute ago. It's too easy to brag about something when there's no way to prove it. Champion–at, ah, oral, ah sex--of Pleasant County: now how am I going to believe that? I'm from Missouri, you know." "And so what does this mean? You want me to show you?" The look in her eyes were a mixture of equal parts pride, mock innocence, curiosity with a dollop of hunger and a hint of fear. A quick flare of bravado blew into my mind and out of my mouth. "Okay, yeah. Put your money where your mouth is." She wavered for a moment with an odd look in her eye, then left the room to dig around her purse. Coming back to the couch she plopped a twenty dollar bill on the table. "Get your money out there." I fumbled out my wallet from the jeans on the floor and matched it; we bet spontaneously on things before. She took a long, deep breath and collected herself with her eyes shut before reopening them. "Okay, okay, okay. I give you oral sex right now, and if it isn't the best you've ever had, you keep the money. If it is, I keep the money and you start the dissertation tomorrow." I snorted several times in disbelief; was she really going to do this? She'd never backed down from a dare since I knew her. We had a staring contest: her eyes were two spark generators, and her lips pursed in a smug smirk. The room started getting very warm and I wasn't sure that I wanted to go through with this. A tongue flicked out to tease her upper lip and her eyebrows waggled. My reservation melted, partly from the gin, partly from curiosity, and partly from an odd lust just flown in from the left field bleachers. At last I said, "Sure, let's go sweetheart. Do it." She sat down on her heels beside me and started stroking my crotch. My inebriation wasn't so deep that a response couldn't happen. Her touch was expert: the right balance between soft and insistent. Her face was remarkable as her eyes held mine with a smoldering leer, and they set off more sparks as my desire leapt through degrees of rigidity. My shorts reached maximum discomfort; she raised an eyebrow in question and I nodded a reply. She pulled them down and all the way off. In an unctious, Shakespearian voice she lilted: "Ah, my lord, naked as a forked radish are we? Let's see what revels you are bold enough to stand for this evening." A light column of air from her lips nurtured the flame rather than extinguished it; little wet teasing contact sent a shudder through me. My eyes jammed wide open, my hands trembled, my breathing accelerated and decelerated with the pace of her attentions. Who knew that such an intermittent flick of sparks could provoke such ardor? Then, the onslaught: my will was not my own. The voltage built slowly and relentlessly, higher and higher, faster and faster: her mouth and tongue had full control of my entire body. Where did she learn to do that, and why isn't she the most popular woman in town? The pitch of my tension went higher and higher until I thought it couldn't increase and three moments past that, my world exploded in a long, electric rainbow that I'd never seen before. It took an eternity for me to catch my breath: she didn't stop until I came to a soft landing from my orbital journey and her attentions lengthened my descent to reality. She sat back on her heels in front of me, a broad smile on her face. I couldn't speak; I just waved the money off the table. ************* Charlene was gone the next morning, and I struggled with my emotions. What good was going to come from this? I couldn't believe that such a respected, serene, accomplished woman could do that. She had worshiped my body; I did nothing to deserve it. Her daughter was two years older than I was; she could be a grandmother before long. My family would be aghast: my parents still dreamed of grandchildren from my loins, and my sisters were fitness freaks who disdained anyone who wasn't svelte. My chubby form had attracted their ire from the time I came home from the hospital, but I'd grow used to it and was able to tune them out, however Charlene was more delicate than she seemed. "You're going too fast, you're going too fast," I said to myself as I showered. "See what happens. Calm down" I fixed a late, slow breakfast and savored an spinach, garlic and mushroom omelet with freshly grated Parmesan. Doing the dishes by the kitchen window, I saw her weeding the flower bed on her knees directly across the way. She wore a pair of bright red shorts: her legs were next to one another and presented her derriere as huge heart. I'd seen her weeding the flowers in that pair of shorts, bare feet sticking straight out behind her, many times before, but that day it was spiking a new response for me. Shaking my head, I recoiled from my emotions a bit: was my perspective changing after last night's trip to Nirvana? She caught a glimpse of me looking out the window: her blue gloved hand came up for a wave and an almost imperceptible twitch of her hips and wiggle of her toes accompanied her usual buoyant smile. I felt extremely nervous for no good reason and finished my dishes quickly to start work on the dissertation. Days passed, and we cruised through the semester. She was over frequently to read the first drafts of my dissertation, keeping me on task with subtle persistence. During lulls in my office hours I found myself staring out the window: the weather was still warm and the girls were still lightly dressed, their backpacks pulling their breasts forward aggressively. The sights were nice but try as I could my imagination could not conjure any erotic visions that struck significant sparks. My graduate seminar included three attractive young women: Melissa Jones, a brunette, twenty two year old newly wed from Minnesota with shapely hips of perfect curvature, Nancy Quarters, a blond thirty year old with a dancer's body, and Sheila "Homewrecker" Decker, a redheaded young knockout my age who was working on a doctorate. Homewrecker had done her Bachelor's and Master's with George Harris and rumor had it that they were lovers despite his wife and three children and her husband in the NFL. I tried to imagine what it would be like to have any of them in my bed, but it never lasted more than a few seconds since it was beyond credibility. A stroll to the girls' college where Charlene taught still regularly had the quad full of bikini clad young rich girls trying to perfect their tans before the weather broke; it used to jangle my nerves to walk over there, but it didn't jangle as much. Any warm thoughts I could conjure were memories of that night Charlene called my bluff. A month after the gin rummy game, Charlene had a quaint suggestion for a Friday night. The drive in movie was on its last weekend of the year: the weather was still unseasonably warm, but the local high schools were having their climatic game against one another. We had gone to the drive-in several times together and the invitation was nothing unusual. "It'll be fun, Charlie, it's been since June when we last went out there. Your big old Chevy is perfect for this, and we'll pop a mountain of pop corn. There won't be many folks there. We can even sneak some beer in to drink." "Okay. What's on?" "Double feature: Animal House and Mother, Juggs, and Speed." "Ah, an intellectual evening." She punched me on the shoulder. "C'mon. Everybody needs a no brainer once in a while and you're overdue. Besides, I want to see what the girls find so funny about John Belushi." "Well, they almost shot that movie near here, so I guess I'm interested." "Great. You get the drinks ready; I'll get everything else." We laid in provisions and fought the traffic across town. There were only two other cars at the drive in, and Charlene insisted we park in the back row as usual. Dress was very casual: we ditched propriety completely for sweats. Animal House was funnier than I imagined it could be, bringing back fresh memories of my college days. Charlene laughed hysterically, gripping my arm at times to hold on to her senses, and asking from time to time if frat rats were really like that. We munched our popcorn, sipped our beer and enjoyed ourselves immensely. After the first show the other two cars pulled out, but Charlene beckoned that we should stay as I reached to turn the ignition key. The projectionist came back and asked if we really wanted to watch the second show; I snarled indignantly: "Sure, we're big Bill Cosby fans." He shrugged and returned. Charlene gave me a funny look and I laughed. "Hey, he's being paid. No harm in asking him do what he's paid to do." She laughed. The second show came on in fifteen minutes and Charlene laid her head on my shoulder. This was easy in my old '65 Chevy Malibu: there was one big seat for however many and plenty of room for us despite our size. I draped my arm around her and she sat up with a start. "Time to get rid of that beer; I'll be right back." My jaw dropped. I had no idea what was going on: did she bring me out here to make out and is she having cold feet now? I watched the movie as she left and she returned before long, settling under my arm with her head on my shoulder. I felt an electricity I hadn't felt since I was in high school. My hand rested on her arm near the elbow, and I felt something different very close to the inside of it. A questing finger found another part of her an inch away. It drew me like a magnet: a little hard bump intrigued me and I found myself tracing it and playing with it. Charlene purred into my armpit and a flash burned my brain: that was her nipple! She removed her bra when she went to the ladies room; a glance down told me that parts of her were lower than usual. I looked back at the movie and continued my play. She started fondly stroking my belly. The hem of her sweatshirt was close, and my hand wandered beneath it to contact the little brown bud in the flesh. A contented snuggling into my chest was the response. Rachel Welch was gracing the screen with her two talents, and between those two and the one in my hand, a normal reaction took place beneath my waist. Magically, Charlene's hand descended under my sweat pants in encouragement. The screen blurred a little and I started losing track of the dialogue, but I didn't care: counterpoint for two soft hands and erogenous zones became the soundtrack. Our moans progressed at different rates; mine began taking off as a moment I'd experienced before approached. I was afraid of the results, of making a mess of her and my front seat, but her hot, wet magic mouth devoured me just as my world turned upside down. When I recovered my senses, the movie was nowhere close to ending: I started nuzzling her neck and stroking her thigh as she sat back up. A flick of her ear with my tongue brought a deep shudder: after a couple of repetitions, it became a staple move for me. My hand strayed to outline her petals through her suit; when they soaked through I moved under the waist band. One hand below, one hand on her right nipple and my tongue around her left ear and neck completed her ecstasy before the final credits. On the way back, I managed a surreptitious sample of my questing digit and found an unexpected incredible sweetness. The next day, Charlene and I worked hard on the dissertation through the daylight hours, wrestling with the prose until our minds turned to mush. I fixed pasta for supper and she went straight home after planting a peck on my cheek. I had no idea where our relationship was. *********** Charlene was at a conference the next week, and I plodded on through my schedule of lectures, assignments and faculty meetings. I kept coming back to her: the images I saw didn't add up. She wasn't a stuffy academic; we were both off the beaten track as far as professors go with our extracurricular interests, but the sexual side of Charlene, the woman whose body I hungered to thrill, was something I was having trouble reconciling with the great buddy who lived next door and the elegant intellectual I admired and respected. That bothered me as well because I knew better: of course she was a real person with desires like everyone else; of course she wouldn't be happy with a high school peck-on-the-cheek relationship that nice girls supposed to have. Her writing was a sea of passions swept by both gale force winds and flickering breezes. The whipsaw shock of those two worlds, intellectual and carnal, was wearing me out. The other thing that bothered me was that I was undressing this woman with my eyes every time I thought about her and fantasizing of the different ways I could take her on a trip to the moon on gossamer wings. The Heart Shaped Neighbor She came back after the conference and we picked up our friendship where we left off; there was an occasional touch or brush that went beyond friendship and a quizzical look that I couldn't read, but we worked and played together as we had the five years before. When I was near her, her perfume called forth an animal response and distracted me from her academic commentary on my dissertation. We went to our favorite haunts and I felt a new pride being with her. It was another Wednesday about three weeks after the drive in; she came home shortly after dark from her late class as usual and phoned me. "Hey Charlie, I need your help." "Name it. What's broken now?" "Nothing's broken, thank you. You've been an angel to help me keep this house together, Mr. Fix-it. No, the girls have been talking about another movie and I want to check it out." "I'm free. Where are we going?" "To the Magic Box theater." I spat the coffee I was sipping. "Why on God's green earth do you want to go there? That's an adult theater." "There's a movie called Debbie Does Dallas. Some of the girls have been whispering about it when they thought I wasn't listening; I think they've been sneaking down there to see it when the frat rats weren't out to play." "I see. And being the sophisticated, 'cool' prof you are, you have to see what they're talking about so you can relate with them better. Don't blame you for wanting company: it's a rough neighborhood and you shouldn't be going down there alone." "You all right going to see a dirty movie with an old woman?" "No, but I'll go just about anywhere with you. Be there in five, and wear your grubbiest sneakers and sweats. Those places are indescribably grimy." The place was an old grand theater from the glory days; the current owners had transformed part of it into an adult bookstore. The floor was sticky, uneven, cracked grey linoleum, and when Charlene's eyes met mine, I gave her my "I told you so" look. We paid for the tickets to a huge, bearded, redheaded man with coke bottle glasses, pimples, a pocket protector and a vague permanent leer. I am gratified when I see someone big enough to make me feel physically tiny. We settled in about three quarters of the way to the back toward the end of the aisle; I wanted to exit easily whenever her curiosity was satisfied. I sat on the aisle so anyone coming in would be discouraged from locating near us. Three other scruffy figures occupied the theater wearing trenchcoats that looked slept in, sitting about as far apart from us and each other as possible. The movie wasn't the great crashing bore I expected: the plot was silly enough to keep me interested. I'd seen a lot of stag films on the cheap projector at the frat house in college, so the sex wasn't a huge turn on, but Charlene seemed entranced by it. After a half hour I leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Well, is this what you expected?" She whispered back, "I didn't know what to expect. I've never seen a movie like this before." "Really?" "Really. I grew up in a sheltered environment, and movies like this used to be illegal." Her eyes stayed glued to the screen and she snuggled back into my chest, putting her hand on my thigh. Now my attention was fully engaged. A glance around the theater told me the other guys were focused on the movie as well and slight, low rustling and muttering assured me that they were off in their own little worlds. I began softly groping Charlene with gentle circles on her torso and legs. She purred and responded with more hearty attention to my body. The movie wasn't turning me on but she was. A scene arrived where Debbie prepared to fellatiate yet another man; Charlene pulled my waistband down to get better access to the same part, but I stopped her. She looked up incredulously and I leaned over to whisper in her ear: "Let's take this home where we can give this the respect and comfort it deserves. We're not in college." She slowed down and leaned back; we watched the rest of the movie. When we got home, I led her to my bedroom by the hand. She followed me tentatively and silently, as if we were sneaking into a dorm room or to a back bedroom away from parents. Pulling back the sheets of the bed, I turned, cupped her face and looked deeply into her frightened eyes. "Don't be afraid," I whispered, "I've been dreaming of this." A long, slow kiss grew warmer, deeper, more intense, and we unwrapped each other as we kissed fervently. I bore her down onto the bed and began exploring her with my tongue from top to bottom. Observing which notes had most resonance, I worked my way around her floppy breasts, across her huge nipples, up her round belly to the navel, down the outside of her thighs all the way to her feet, where I took a red nailed big toe into my mouth for a few moments. Coming back up the inside of her leg, I reached the honeycomb I'd sampled a couple of weeks earlier; she massaged my ears and cooed, "Oh, dear, I'll give you a year or two to stop that." Her moaning accelerated and deepened as the moment the Chinese call "Clouds and Rain" approached: I sped up to help her reach it. Her love song was a high vocalize that soared and dipped from wall to wall as it swam around the room in tight circles. I kissed and licked her thighs as she descended from the mountaintop; when I looked up at last our eyes locked. She pulled me to lie on the bed next to her and prepared to return the favor, keeping her eyes locked on mine the entire time. I was anxious for her, yet after a few magic moments of oral bliss I beckoned her to lay back again. "I haven't deflowered you properly yet. Let us make The Beast with Two Backs, as our friend Will S. would put it." Her embrace was strong and the velvet vise that gripped me insistently as we did the horizontal mattress dance. Twenty minutes later I was ready to change positions: being out of shape has its drawbacks. I lay back down and urged her, "Hop up in the saddle; it's your turn on top." A quizzical look arched her eyebrows, but at my insistence she pulled herself up and impaled herself. It took a few moments for her to settle in, her eyes timid at first, but she relaxed and savored the contact. I returned my attention to the nipples that floated close to my hands and eventually our moments of Clouds and Rain were separated as thunder from lightning ten miles distant. She lay beside me and I held her closely, ignoring the drenched sheets. "Aaaahhhhh, I'm no good for you, Charlie," she said at last. "You can do better than a dumpy old bat like me. I'm old enough to be your mother." "I disagree. I can't fathom what a wise, serene, regal woman like you can find in a young bum like myself. I'm not in your league; you deserve an English Lord or a international celebrity like Cary Grant or Maurice Chevalier." She chuckled. "Okay, we don't deserve each other. What's going on here?" "I thought that was obvious. We care for each other and we're exploring how far that goes. It's been wonderful so far, and I'd like to spend some more time with you." She had the doe in the headlights look again. "You deserve someone younger, someone you can start a family with. You're just getting started with your life; I'm over the hill." "Well, if you're over the hill now, you would have killed me in your prime. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, and right now I'm looking a the most beautiful woman I've ever known" There was little light in the room, but I felt the warmth of the blush in her cheeks. She whispered shyly: "I've always loved you; always dreamed about you. Always wondered what it would be like to be in your arms, to make love with you. It's not right, but I've wanted you all for myself ever since I met you." "And you finally starting setting me up this fall." "Well, that first night I didn't expect go as far as it did, and I didn't expect tonight to go this far, but I've been looking for chances to get my hands on you for a while." I chuckled. "I finally figured that out just now. But why the subterfuge? We've seen each other pretty regularly since I moved in here; we've been together in all kinds of situations." Her eyes became frightened again. "I was afraid that you would reject me. I was so embarrassed: here I am old enough to be your mother and all I wanted to do is throw my body at you. Didn't want to ruin our friendship. Those nights I went over the line, I would feel so guilty afterward I swore to myself that I would never do that again, and then after a few weeks all I could think of was how to get you where I could do it to you again. I tried to put everything into our friendship and tell myself that it was enough, but it hasn't worked." "Don't feel guilty, don't ever feel guilty. I never could believe you could ever be interested in a slob like me. I'm not John Travolta or even John Belushi. My career is just taking off, but it was pretty shaky till now. I'm still a nobody." She kissed me fiercely for several long moments, swirling her tongue in duet with mine, before breaking, "You are definitely somebody; any girl would be lucky to end up with someone like you." "I've become a bit of a hermit; I cherish my time alone. Don't like cruising the bars and the women my age and younger are so shallow. Always been afraid of someone taking over my life; I put up with enough of that from my mother. The passion with girlfriends was fine, I just couldn't manage the everyday stuff." "You do fine with everyday stuff. Don't you want children?" "I thought I did, but know I don't think so. I'm not ready to give what it takes; I may never be. The most important thing about a relationship is the woman: that's the one who matters." "I wish you were twenty years older. Or I was twenty years younger." I stroked her cheek and traced the line of her chin. "I don't wish you were any younger. You are a fine wine and I'm intoxicated with all the fine aging and subtle aroma. And I'm as old as I could be right now." I kissed her. "I don't want to monopolize your life and I don't think you want to monopolize mine. Let's just ride this while we can and take one day at a time. No matter what happens, we're still best friends." She beamed at me. "All right." ***************** The next week, the week of Thanksgiving, was suitably bizarre. Classes were a joke since the kids were already halfway home in spirit, and my brief journey to the ancestral seat on Thanksgiving day was a festival of soggy dogs, clamorous little niecelings, snitty sisters, smothering mother and distant father. I made an excuse to leave early and got home just as Charlene was pulling into her drive. I called over, "Fancy a nightcap?" "Sure, come on down, your price is right." I went straight over in my jacket, white shirt and dark slacks and found her bustling Tanqueray, tonic, lime wedges, ice and glasses onto the kitchen table. She had on a pink floral blouse, a lovely heart shaped pendant on a golden chain, blue slacks and flats; my heart skipped a beat as she drew near and her perfume wakened the monster below. Giving me a long, slow kiss, she said as she started mixing drinks, "How was your family gathering?" "Same shit, different year. I just noticed that I'm getting to be more and more like Father; he hid from the clatter as much as he could and I bugged out the first opportunity. Not that he and I have had much to talk about since I was eleven; I don't think he's ever gotten over the fact that I'll never be a farmer who gets excited about All Star Wrestling like him. The women in my family have never learned to cook and dinner was almost inedible. There were a couple of mezzo piano congratulations on the best selling book; I doubt any of them have read it even though I had copies sent to them. There were a lot of loud questions about my dating prospects." "Did you say anything? About us?" "Not yet. I have almost nothing in common with them and I could care less what they think. Wouldn't mind an excuse to skip the entire circus next year." "Mine wasn't much better. I'm a lot older than my sisters; it's like we grew up in different families and we live in different worlds. We met at the best restaurant close to the old hometown that's open, and it was a zoo. My niece Morgan is an over aggressive, hyperactive seven year old tomboy that drives my sister Andrea crazy and Andrea's still having a time coping with widowhood after four years. Lucille is still a judgmental bitch and Jessica will do anything to keep the peace and not to rock the boat. I wouldn't mind seeing more of Jessie, but she doesn't live anywhere near here. Lucille and Jessica's husbands just sat there silently and endured. Driving past the old homestead doesn't mean much anymore; things just crumble and fall apart a little more each year. My daughter Dora hit me with a bombshell: she's pregnant." "Really? Congratulations, Grandma!" She tousled my hair. "Thanks, goofball. I'm worried: Dora's as absorbed in business as much as her father was and her husband Harry Morris makes Machiavelli look like an angel. God, Harry looked as if he were cock of the walk when Dora made the annoucement. If their child isn't the anti-Christ, the kid's likely to grow up all alone." I gave her a big hug. "Hey, genes skip generations. The kid could turn out like you. I've heard that children and grandparents are natural allies: you'll have your chance to influence the little one and you know what you did wrong last time. It's the least you could do to get back at Dora." She laughed and trembled in my arms for several long moments. "What am I going to do with you? You're not going to enjoy sleeping with a grandmother very much." "I'll let you know." I started to unbutton her blouse and push it aside, kissing her chest as it was revealed. "What are you doing?" "Making you feel less like a grandmother. The drinks can wait; after this week's whirlwind, I can't. I've always wondered what was so romantic about making love on the kitchen floor." A twinkle in her eyes was all the encouragement I needed. The ice in the drinks were completely melted by the time we got to them. ******************** December was its usual chaos of cluttered schedules, but I found a new wellspring of energy. Charlene took on a glow that I'd never seen before and made me a little more smug than I should have been. We spent a few moments together each day and one night together each week, but respected each other's space. There was the roller coaster of approaching finals and the growing lines of students needing last minute assistance; work on the dissertation flagged but I knew that I'd get back to it after Christmas. An event I long dreaded was approaching: the formal University English Department Christmas party at the clubhouse of the University Golf course. I'd gone stag the first four years of my employment at the University, but a wild idea took me two days before it happened. I dropped by Charlene's office and waited the students out to see her. She shut the door behind me and welcomed me passionately. "What can I do for you, big boy?" she asked in her best Mae West voice. "I had a wicked idea. Are you busy Saturday night?" "No, I don't have any plans." "How about doing me a favor?" She started groping me and snuggling close. "Mmmmm. Like what?" "Keep me company at the department Christmas party." She disengaged and frowned. "I don't think that's such a good idea." "Why not?" "What if people think we're a couple?" she asked with anxious eyes. I rolled my eyes and grinned mischievously. "They'd be right, but they probably won't go that far. They'll probably think I'm out of the closet at last and I'm bringing you as a cover." She hit me on the arm. "Thanks a lot; being seen with me could make people think you're gay. I could tell them otherwise." "Go ahead. So you'll come?" "Is this the golf club party? The one that always bores you to tears every year?" "Yes. But it's a chance to play dress up, there's tons free food and free booze and with you there I may actually want to stick around enough to see the department head do some of the crazy things I've heard about." "Well, they know me, too. Those folks have nasty to me for decades. It could be awkward." "Not if you don't care what those trolls think; I could care less. There's only one person that's going to have my full attention and the rest of them can go hang themselves. If we behave somewhat, they can be embarrassed about their behavior." "All right. It might be fun in some weird way. I'll get dolled up for you, dear." Two nights later I rented a limo to take us there and back. It was a crisp night with low clouds promising snow. The cars half filled the parking lot: the gathering was held in one of the smaller gathering rooms of the club. I put on my best blue suit with white shirt and diagonally striped tie, Charlene wore a red silk dress with a moderate cleavage and pumps: I thought she looked stunning and had to talk myself out of raping her in the back seat of the limo en route. The heart shaped pendant was around her neck again; I had seen it more and more lately. The coat check took her wrap and we sauntered into the room. It was the usual crowd: between professors, associate professors, assistant professors, instructors and teaching assistants we had a department of 35, and the escorts/significant others doubled that number. Dr. Royce Friedman, the department head was greeting people at the door with his assistant, Tom Wherling, next to him. Royce bubbled at us from a state of extreme inebriation: "Charles, so good to see you. Congratulations on your bestseller, I'm green with envy. It's wonderful to have another rising star in our department. And Dr. Thompson, what an unexpected pleasure. You look radiant this evening. Welcome to our little gathering." "Thank you, Royce. It's nice to be here." Tom gave me a slight little sneer and turned to Charlene. "So good to see you this evening, Charlene. I take it you had nothing better to do this evening?" Charlene batted her eyes prettily: "I just couldn't resist the opportunity to spend the evening with a handsome young man, n'cest pas? Surely you would understand that, Thomas." Tom managed to turn a gulp into a harrump. "Yes, of course. Well, Charles, I see the book has slipped a little on the New York Times list." I shrugged my shoulders, "I'm just happy it's been there at all. It's been up there for twelve weeks and so many authors never make it." Tom turned hastily to greet the next guest and we scuttled off to fetch drinks. We made the initial circuit of the room; my colleagues gave me strange glances as I presented Charlene to them and I thought at least three pairs of eyes were going to wear themselves out darting between us. Charlene was as composed as the Queen of England: gracious, witty and charming in the face of the bewilderment she encountered. We came to two empty chairs toward the edge of room next to a small table, perching our drinks and snack plates there. "This is really great," Charlene whispered in my ear. "They don't know what to make of me being here. For decades they've looked down their noses at my three member department at the college even though I've published more than all of them put together. Schadenfreude isn't very virtuous, but it's sure a lot of fun." I kissed her warmly on the cheek and rested my hand on her knee for a moment. She kept looking around and whispered, "You bad boy, now you've really scrambled their signals." "You know, I love you." Our little part of the room stopped. She turned to look at me. Her lip quivered into a slight frown for a moment while her eyes questioned, but I remained firm in my adoration. Then the clouds parted from her brow to reveal a huge smile that couldn't be pried off her face with a crowbar. I stumbled on: "I love you, and I don't care who knows it, how it looks or what others may think. All that matters is you." The Heart Shaped Neighbor She sipped her drink and kissed me back briefly. "You know, I just now realized I feel the same about you." After a while the music started, and we were ballroom wizards incarnate while the orchestra played. Most of the wives left for the evening before the music started, and three couples that were kept apart by this now recoupled to spend a few rare moments together outside of faculty offices and cheap motels. I updated Charlene's scorecard as we danced cheek to cheek: "Yes, that's Homewrecker Decker and George Harris. She's getting her third degree under him, literally. Her husband is a typical dumb jock who would kill George if he found out, and his wife would toss him out tomorrow if she knew. George is such an arrogant prick; he thinks the sun pops out of his asshole every morning." "Yes, I know. I was on a panel with him at a convention six months ago, and hardly got a word past his pontificating. Is that Troy and Fred having a spin?" "Goodness, yes. They must be pretty loaded: I've heard that the only other time they get on the dance floor is the Holloween dance when Fred becomes Fredericka. Missy Hartman looks so desperate out there with Tony Prentice." "I've never seen someone look so shocked to have a woman's tongue down his throat while they're dancing." "Well, they've been an item for three months, according to the grapevine. In addition to being her TA, he does all her 'yardwork' on the weekends." We did a complicated spin move ending with a dip and went back to cheek to cheek. "Look at Royce over there. He's hitting on Gavin now; I think he's trying every TA in the department." "And if looks could kill Tom Wherling's would have fried him to dust particles by now. Are they a couple?" "Yes, and Tom puts up with a lot. I've heard that Royce does this kind of thing at every party; he almost never succeeds except maybe Tom all those years ago. Anyway, Tom owes his job to Royce and would be gone five minutes if Royce wasn't there, so I think all Tom will do is fume." "Does Royce always make such a dumbass speech?" "Yes, I think so. I've only heard it once before, the first year I was here and felt I needed to stay long into the evening." "What about those two older ladies over there? Janine and Brenda?" "They've taught and lived together forty years; and they're taking retirement in May. Best teachers in the department, revered by all, and nobody cares about anything else." We chatted a little more about the folks around us, but before long all my world held was two magnetic blue eyes framed by beautifully curled strawberry blond hair turning silver swirling around the dance floor. ************ The limo dropped us home and I invited Charlene over for a night cap. We sat in my living room snuggled on the love seat, free from binding garments and shoes. A long, slow kiss was broken by her irresistible giggling. I caught my breath first and asked: "What's with you?" "It's us. I have to pinch myself every morning; I can't believe how lucky and blessed I am. What's next?" "Christmas, I think." "No, silly, with us?" "I think that we're pretty comfortable with where we're at. We know each other pretty well and we know how to give each other space." "Sure. We keep our separate houses. The cold won't be so bad if you're there to warm me up at the end." She gave me a long, slurpy kiss. "I don't think we need to consolidate finances unless a really good reason comes along. We just enjoy each other's company as much as we can stand it: no harm, no foul. Best friends, authors, soul mates and lovers." "Honey, I need to say something," she said. Looking down for several moments, she looked back up again: "I still think that I'm robbing you of something better. You're young, you're vibrant, sure, you're not every girls idea of a knight in shining armor, but there could be young Dulcinea out there for you. I tried marriage once and I don't think I can go through it again, but that doesn't make marriage a bad thing and it doesn't mean that you couldn't have a good one. I'm going to enjoy every moment I have with you, savor it like the last fresh peach of summer, but I know you'll have to move on sometime. Don't let me ever get in your way: promise me that." She kissed me softly. I walked back to my home office and returned with a small wrapped package. I put it in front of her and said, "I don't know what your Christmas plans are, so I thought I'd go ahead and give you something now. Merry Christmas." She gasped. "May I open it?" I nodded. A gold bracelet emerged, its gleam matching the necklace around her neck and the pendant at her breast. It was simple yet elegant. She put it on, leaped into my lap and gave me a kiss that left me gasping. I held her close. "There's no one else that I'd rather be with. I don't think I could handle a normal relationship; I'd like to try handling a relationship with you. Life isn't a given day to day. You are the mistress of my heart; I wish no other." "I'm such a dumpy old bag." "Well, I'm such a dumpy young bag I just want to make love with you and I don't give a damn about anything else." With that I swept her into my arms and carried her into the bedroom. She was a bit heavier than I could handle and she had to hang on to me for dear life in order to end up on the bed instead of the floor, but it was the thought that counted, and our days afterward were Merry and Bright. This is the first of three great life crises for Charlie Fredrickson: the others are "The Heart Shaped Pendant" and "The Heart Shaped Storm".