Julia Ch. 01

byCervanServidor©

I.

"Yes, he's still asleep," Julia told her guest, her new neighbor, Ellen, "But should be up soon. He doesn't wake usually much before now."

The two ladies sat in the living room of Ms North's two storey house, enjoying a cappuccino. The room was sunlit, it being a bright and warm morning in July. "Just like my Benji," Mrs. Cartwright said, with obvious pride, "A herd of elephants couldn't wake him much before now."

The two ladies laughed. "He doesn't mind you being away?" Julia asked.

"Oh no, I left him a note. Of course, he'd mind if he woke and didn't know where I was. I imagine he'd give me a talk over that!"

Julia understood, she nodded, "Joey keeps me on a short leash."

At this point, Joey came shambling into the kitchen. He belched loudly and the ladies beamed at one another, their meeting instantly more interesting. Ellen watched the young man as he opened the refrigerator and sought out a container of orange juice. Ellen appreciated the opulent curves of his backside as he leaned over. He stood and drank from the carton, a sliver of juice dribbling down his two day growth of red beard, and down his neck.

Julia waited until he put the carton back, and called to him, "Joey, hon?"

"Yes," He answered.

"Come and meet our new neighbor," Julia said, more as a suggestion than as an order or command. She would never dream of using such a tone with Joey. In a moment the youth shambled into the livingroom. He wore only an ill-fitting cotton tank top, the front of which was pushed outward by a premature paunch, and wrinkled checkered boxers. His carrot-red hair was long and unkempt, curly bangs hanging over his brow. His eyes were a dull, pale, soupy brown, and seemed vacant of emotion, unless listlessness and languor could be described as such. He stood near the two women, causing a striking contrast without knowing it, nor caring in any way whatsoever.

"Hello," he said to Mrs Cartwright, and his eyes passed over the swell of the woman's breasts. She was dressed casually, in warm-weather wear: a white cotton tube top, powder blue capris, and sandals. Her face was made up, her blonde hair tied in a modest ponytail. The jewelry was spare: a silver bracelet, small gold hoop earrings, and a small chain necklace with pendant: the letter "E".

"Hi, Joey, it's very nice to meet you." Ellen said cheerfully, and was privately pleased as the young man's eyes lingered at her breasts, which he thought sagged far too much, and went to the curve of her waist and hip, where he imagined she could use a few pounds.

"Nice to meet you too. Mom, what's there to eat?"

"Oh, I've fixed you something, hon. I just need to warm it up." She stood, and begged Mrs Cartwright's pardon, "I'll only be a minute."

Ellen nodded and waved, "Oh no, it's okay, go go..." She understood perfectly well. Ellen watched as Julia swept by her son and the young man gave a sound, open-handed swat to her behind. Julia was tall, and at forty-four her figure was as stunning as ever. She was three inches taller than Joey naturally, but with high-heeled sandals, she towered over him. She wore black yoga-pants and a white sports bra. Her bosom bounced only slightly as she walked, and there was no sag to her breasts, that were full and heavy: only a natural, tear-shaped curve. Julia giggled as she took two plates from the refrigerator and placed the first in the microwave, because all the while Joey was close to her, whispering things that Ellen could not hear. While she pressed the buttons on the microwave, his hand rubbed and caressed her full round bottom apologetically. Ellen smiled. He was so much like Eddy, except of course she thought her Eddy was much better looking. Julia warmed the second plate, poured out a tall glass of whole milk, and a cup of strong coffee rich with cream and three heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

When Joey was seated and enjoying his breakfast, Julia returned to her guest and apologized before she sat down, "So sorry to just up and abandon you, Ellen," she said, and she passed her hand over her backside and winced, "I'll be feeling that for a while." She sat down tenderly, and pursed her lips, as if her bottom had been sunburned.

Ellen chuckled, "He's like my Eddy, sometimes they don't know their own strength."

Julia heartily agreed, "Well, they're men, and we're girls," she said, and that seemed to settle it, though she said to Ellen, confidentially, "One of these days I'm going to buy some padding to put back there...though no, he'd see right through that. His eyes are always on my hind-end." She laughed, then added, "Or my boobs."

Ellen cast her gray eyes furtively, and a bit covetously, over her neighbor's prominent breast, accentuated by the stretched cotton. The outsized areolae were faintly evident, not by their dark russet hue, but by their embossed edges; the nipples pushed, like buttons. Ellen could not miss noticing the smoothness of Julia's skin, nor its natural bay color. It wasn't tanned; it was its inherent complexion. She wondered if Julia had any Latin or Italian heritage. In fact, Julia was half Portuguese, half Belgian; the duskier traits had won out, but not in a too-obvious fashion.

Ellen nodded, "Yes, Eddy keeps a close eye on me too. If I so much as gain a pound, boom, I'm on another diet!"

Julia shrugged, "Joey likes a fuller figure. He doesn't want me to get too thin. He appreciates the classic look, you know, Marilyn Monroe, Sophia Loren."

Ellen nodded along, "Then of course there's Audrey Hepburn, she was very slender; and Jane Fonda; even Goldie Hawn later, you know, when that pudgy look went out of style."

Julia caught the negative term and smiled, "Yes, that whole Twiggy, flat-chested, tomboyish era," she countered, causing a noticeable flush in Ellen's cheek.

Joey gobbled up his onion and tomato omelet, stack of sourdough toast with butter, eight strips of bacon, six maple-syrup sausage links, and short stack of chocolate chip pancakes with blueberry syrup and whipped cream. He belched and picked up the glass of milk, drained it in one large adams-apple-bobbing quaff, and belched again. He ignored the coffee, and dragged a magazine in front of him from a scallopped fan of various issues to his far left on the large glass table. It was a glossy new edition of Mayfair. He flipped through the pages, ignoring the text, looking for the photo-sets.

Ellen put her cup down, the cappucino hardly sipped. "I suppose I'd better scoot back home to my Eddy," she said, "Goodness knows how he might be fussing." Julia walked Ellen to the door and cordially waved bye-bye, and for a moment watched the woman walk across the quiet road, her narrow hips swaying side to side.



II.

Robert drove, or we should say, was driven, up the driveway, at 5:30 prompt. He exited the passenger side door and waved his wife, Gail, goodbye, and the small champagne Chrysler backed back down the driveway and hummed almost silently off. It was time to meet the family, which at this point was only the son, Joey. Aged twenty-five, he had worked all of seven or eight days in his life, had collected the odd nametag and paper hat. He was not one for work. No father present: That one had scuttled off to the West Coast years before, but not without responsibility. His wife and son, the latter questionable, were well cared for by a thick montly check.

Robert in many ways resembled the son, the hanger on, as he had been a hanger-on himself, a doughy, auburn-locked demi-orphan raised by a doting mum and dotinger aunts, aged fourty-seven. His English accent had been dulled by years of American television and the awfully entangled Web, but it could still be detected by an attentive ear.

They had a quiet dinner.

Julia was decked out. Her hair was loose, her face subtly made up: just a touch of mascarra, eye-liner, a bit of redberry lipgloss, Piloma Picasso Modern Heart diamond earrings from Tiffany & co, silver cross necklace, gold bracelet. She wore a burgundy peplum cap sleeve dress from Ann Taylor with black stockings and high heels. The scoop-neck gave a liberal view of her opulent bosom. In three-and-a-quarter inch heels, Julia stood a full head taller than her new beaux, who, at five foot five, was two inches shorter than Joey.

The latter watched with a selfish sneer when his mother welcomed Robert and lowered her head to put her mouth to his. What a sensation that must be, Joey possessed no real conception, but his imagination was prolific and complex. He appeared to be a dullard but there were machinations and mentations behind the milk-white brow and bland, sparkless eyes.

After dinner, Robert begged leave to take Julia to a film. Joey consented. Julia, car-keys in hand, stooped from her regal height to plant a sticky kiss on his forehead and promised to return before midnight, at which time she jokingly said she would turn into a Faery Godmother.



III.

She returned at eleven-thirty-five, her clickjangle of heels and car-keys announced on the kitchen table. Joey left his deskchair and flopped as quietly as he could on the bed, which was scarcely three feet behind. He regretted not shrinking the window. Up he clambered, clicked, and the room was darker, the desktop being some astronomical photo giving off a faint light. He heard her coming up the stairs, heels now in her hand or disposed of in the livingroom. She went to her bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom. Joey heard the weight of her body make its usual clack on the toilet seat. He had wined and dined her, but what else? Joey's imagination was fulminant with images which did not make him happy.

The air conditioning churned on, leaving him deaf to her whereabouts and her doings. Soon, after she had changed into silvery silk pyjamas from Julianna Rae, she went to his room. She sat gently on the bed and swept a lock of hair from his forehead, then bent to place a kiss there, no longer sticky. He could smell the other man, his possession of her. It was not a good smell.

"So how did it go?" he asked.

She sat up straight, "It was nice. The movie was good. We drove down to walk by the water afterwards. We held hands. In the car we...were like teenagers, you know..."

It was too dark for Joey to see the red mark Robert had left on her neck. He lifted his left hand and upon the knuckles he appreciated the weight of her right breast, the fullness of it. He lifted it, knew its denseness and firmness through the slippery silk, the tissue of the areola. His thumb rolled over the nipple, while she spoke.

"He wants to spend the weekend here with me. Gail is okay with it. I'd like that. He's very sweet. Knows so much...poetry, books, things like that."

Joey dropped his hand.

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