Adjusting to Age Difference

Chapter 1

Brad McGibbon was not coping well following his wife's decision to leave him to live in a warmer climate because her joints were playing up. Brad's were too, a bit. He thought Heather should have hips, knees and anywhere else that was painful replaced instead of sloping off to a warm climate where one sweated all day and perhaps half-froze at night.

She chose Hawaii while he stayed put in Twin Forks on the John Dee River.

They exchanged letters weekly for almost two months and then stopped, probably because they'd run out of fresh things to say of mutual interest. Brad wouldn't acknowledge to himself who stopped writing first because he's not a vindictive person; his habit on receiving a letter from family or friends was to reply that same day. When he realized the letters had stopped he stopped thinking he'd been abandoned; he knew this because a smile was back on his weathered face and his sixty-four year old digestive system was ticking over quite well again. It's easier to smile when one doesn't have a sour belly.

Brad sold the house for a top price that made his eyes water; the property was in his name and partly financed from a before-marriage inheritance. He instructed his lawyer to send 40% of the net proceeds to Heather on the theory that she'd contributed 40% to their marriage, though he had no idea how that could be computed; it was just a figure that came to mind. As well he was a little miffed with her as in her last letter she'd stated she'd never divorce because her late mom would not have approved. So, the day he signed the authority for his solicitor to remit the money to Heather was a day of significance: Heather had been 'terminated'; he could get on with life.

How to celebrate? Brad decided to take two of his friends for a drink that evening -- he'd been pals with Nicholas and David since first grade and they needed time away from their complaining wives; he thought about that, called them back and advised them to come dressed for dinner at the New Grand Hotel -- well, new almost eighty years ago but it was where they'd always gone for the occasional meal as three married couples.

Brad went down to the Riverside Coffee Shop, operated by 40-something Martha Stokes; rumor was her womanizing husband Ben had bought the establishment with his redundancy money when W. K. Olsen Furniture and Woodturning Co. Ltd was purchased by an out-of-town company and semi-automated. Olsen's retained its name but changed from a producer of fine quantity furniture to a producer of cheap crap that people these days chose so they could afford a second car and the latest in gas-fired cookers than could roast a whole pig or a quarter side of beef at cook-outs.

From the cabinet Brad chose a chunk of fruit cake and Martha handed him his coffee but refused money. "Old Mrs York has indicated she will pay as she needs to consult with you." Brad looked as Martha's impressive chest that tended to send a shiver up his spine. Catching his focus she placed a hand protectively over her exposed cleavage.

"For goodness sake Martha I'm sixty-four; give an old guy a break."

Martha hesitated, withdrew her hand and actually pushed her chest forward slightly.

Brad retrieved his long disused wolfish smile - he had visions of Martha grabbing the counter to support her collapsing knees.

"Go to Mrs York you old flirt -- she appears to be worried."

"Thank you Mrs Stokes; never in my life have I held such as magnificent piece of fruit cake that I imagine is the produce of those beautifully maintained fingers."

Martha turned up her fingers and looked at them as if astonished that someone had noticed. "Your flattery is appreciated Brad," she said. "We must have a drink sometime."

Brad took a final look at her superstructure and her lovely smile and walked to Mrs York's table feeling very upbeat.

"Good morning Annie."

She was in her eighties and husband Fred had been a mate of Brad's late father. When Fred suffered a stroke Brad fell into the habit of calling once a fortnight to ask if there was any maintenance or heavy lifting he would do for them. Annie had been so grateful that Brad was invited to present the eulogy at Fred's funeral. Brad had quite a bit of Irish in him from his mother's side so his delivery had been both soft and comforting. Thanks to background from his own father who was then still alive, Brad with humor related things about Fred's life that even Annie and her family of six hadn't known about.

"Hello lovely boy -- give this old girl a kiss."

They chatted for more than thirty minutes. Brad waited patiently and at last out it came: "Brad, I want you to find me a wee own-your-own unit at one of the three retirement villages located near here and to sell my house."

"But you have family..."

"They are already squabbling -- the girls want me to stay put and get home help and the boys want me to sell up everything and rent a room in a home for the elderly."

"But Annie, you are still mobile and love walking through town to buy bread or flowers and talking to people you know; you're not cot-case."

"Exactly and I knew you of all people would understand."

It was agreed. Brad would inspect the three facilities and compare the financial commitments expected of residents and report back to Annie by the end of the week.

"As for your house, I have sold my house and am still looking for a smaller replacement property. Your home would suit me perfectly -- being able to fish the river from the lower balcony has always appealed to me."

"Then name your offer and the house is yours."

Brad was tempted but he possessed some scruples; not over abundantly but sufficiently to justify Annie's trust in him. He insisted she ask her solicitor to commission two professional appraisals and he'd offer to split the difference between the two valuations they produced and pay that, subject to her family's approval. He didn't want Annie involved in a family dispute over the sale. He was aware that the property was overdue for expensive exterior maintenance and many people feared the possible arrival of a 100-year peak flood; on the other hand it was a two-bedroom compact home superbly located in the heart of town and looking across the constant river activity to the woodlands of Jonathan T. Maples Memorial Park.

"I'll walk you home Annie," he said.

She offered her arm on her good side and as they reached the counter she smiled and said to Martha, "A most successful business meeting."

"Oh, he's such a nice man Mrs York."

"If you think that then you two should get together."

"Tut-tut Mrs York," Martha said, still smiling. "I'm a married woman."

"Huh," Annie snorted, thumping her walking stick on the floorboards, an action that turned Martha's face crimson; Brad looked away to hide his grin.

As they walked away Annie said loud enough for Martha to hear, "That damn husband of hers -- his conduct is disgraceful; he should be neutered as he acts like a tom cat."

Brad changed the subject. "Martha is quite an old name, isn't it?"

"Yes, Biblical I think. Her mother thought it would be nice to bring it back into popularity but regrettably a comeback surge didn't eventuate. You know she would benefit by your kindness."

"Ah, your home looks very lovely from this angle. Are those primroses?" Brad said in an audacious attempt to bend the conversation away from Martha.

"They're roses you fool -- don't you know anything?"

On Sunday Brad walked over the B.J. McRae Bridge and entered Memorial Park, to use its shortened name. The sun warmed his back, his head was light, the birds were singing and he saw Martha Stokes on a seat reading.

"Good morning ma'am," he said, touching his forehead with a finger and walking on. He was halted by her call, "Come back here you fool."

She closed her book, not bothering to mark the page, and patted the seat for him to sit close beside her.

Brad sat and to hide his confusion managed, "Lovely morning."

"Yes, and it's gotten better."

Brad wondered if he'd heard that correctly.

"What's a beautiful young lady like you doing buried away in a park on a perfect Sunday like this?"

"It's not cricket to ask such a distressing question like that."

Distressing? Brad didn't like the sound of that so asked, "Cricket -- that's a game played in England isn't it?"

"Yes, and elsewhere particularly in former British colonies and dependencies. I saw a game in the West Indies a few years back when we were on a cruise -- the way the West Indian women jumped up and down rhythmically, their big breasts going up and down hopelessly mistiming was a sight I'll never forget; it looked so funny and not at all cricket."

"Big, you mean bigger than yours?"

Martha looked down and said, "In the main yes. You seem to have a preoccupation with women's breasts."

"Yours in particular -- sorry, I do try to hide it."

"Why the fetish?"

"I could say it's unavoidable; after all I was very attached to a pair when I was a baby."

Martha laughed and said he was so funny and interesting. "I've been wondering what it would be like being with you."

Brad almost fell off the seat and pondered what she'd meant by that comment.

"They say your wife walked out on you. I am so sorry. Oh you poor man."

"I better go," Brad said, rising but before walking off summarize the background to the matrimonial separation.

"Perhaps Heather never was suited for you as she is rather underdeveloped on the chest."

Brad sat down, laughing. She had said that so seriously but she had a point.

Still serious, she patted the seat closer to her and said it was lovely to have him back. He wondered if she was well but decided to let that thought go; he knew people often behaved a little eccentrically when emotionally distressed.

Ah yes, that word distressed. "You mentioned earlier you are a little distressed."

She looked at him, pulling her dropped brown fringe back over her forehead, her amber eyes momentarily looking startled. "Ah yes -- I did mention the word distressed. Are you interested in knowing why?"

"Only if you really would like to share."

"Share? Don't you mean if I want you to know?"

"It's the same difference to me -- sharing is the better choice of word if the topic concerns personal disclosure of an emotional kind."

"How eloquently expressed."

"I probably read it somewhere," he replied. For a moment he'd thought Martha was moving to take his hand.

"My husband Ben came home after midnight smelling of liquor and sex. He'd promised to be home early to take me to a movie but said time just got away on him. He said I would have his company all day today but at 7:00 his mate Arnold called and invited him to go out fishing. Ben accepted without consulting me and when Arnold arrived to pick him up I noticed through the kitchen window Arnold's wife and her younger divorced sister were in the back of the SUV, both scantily dressed."

"I don't know what to say except damn."

"That is some comfort. Please stay talking to me for a while. Do you mind if I hold your hand?"

"Under the circumstances I think you should: you must feel lonely and hurt."

"Oh, you're such a lovely man Brad."

An hour later Brad began walking home thinking of Martha inviting him to bare her tits. Yeah in your dreams old man, he grinned. Ben would arrive home with a big fish and would shower so she couldn't smell any remnants of sex; he'd apologize and all would be forgiven and Martha would bare those tits for him after his post-dinner nap.

When Brad was some distance away she'd called, "Same place, same time, same day?"

"What?"

"I'll be here next Sunday."

"Oh right."

What the hell did she want from him? Couldn't her action-dick husband maintain a conversation?"

That afternoon Annie called to advise her family was unanimous she should accept his offer for her property (there had been only $700 between the two appraisals). Annie said she'd call back tomorrow with a time to meet him at her lawyer's office later that day. "The girl's all agreed the unit at Chalmers Village you found for me is lovely, but the men thought the buy-in price was too high and the company's buy-back price was too low; the women told them to get lost. You have been a real darling to me Brad."

Brad swaggered off to the fish market to buy something for his dinner thinking it was lovely to have been of service to Annie. For some time he'd been thinking of her as his adopted mother as when started doing jobs for her and her ailing husband she'd more or less adopted the motherly role. It was lovely to feel wanted which made him think that was Martha's need. That husband of hers deserved a boot up the ass.

* * *

It was raining persistently on Sunday and Brad found himself in an ambivalent mood -- a liaison with a married woman even on a park bench was a bit below the belt but he also felt disappointment thinking she'd not turn out in the rain.

As he approached the park entrance the lights of a parked car flickered. Was it her? He didn't know anything about her and it was crazy of her to think he of all people could satisfy her emotional cravings. As he approached the car he saw the face and then the wave -- it was her. His heart flipped. The trunk opened so he took off his nylon coat with hood, shook it and tossed it in and closed the lid.

"Hi," she said, a picture of health and beauty as he slid into his seat in her sporty car. "I was hoping you would come."

"I didn't want to risk disappointing you -- you seemed so determined that we should sit together again." He went to kiss her on the cheek but she was too fast for him, turning to take his lips on hers. He pulled away abruptly but she appeared not to mind. A smile curled her lips and she whispered conspiratorially -- "Our first kiss." Her lips opened slightly and the tip of her tongue appeared.

A whoosh sounded between Brad's ears, propelling him into reality at last: she was not merely requiring warm comfort in return for flashing her tits. Oh no, she was leading him along to eventually have him deliver the full works.

He cupped his hands in his lap so she couldn't see his dick hardening; good gracious man he thought, this kind of thing was beyond his wildest dreams. Brad worked desperately to prevent his misbehaving dick from driving carnal thoughts through his brain.

Miraculously, Martha appeared to have no idea of the turmoil she'd unleashed. As she started the car and began driving off she said, "I'm taking you to a quiet country inn for lunch where we should be unlucky to be seen be anyone we know."

He croaked, "Why wouldn't we want to be seen?"

She just smiled and rammed down the gas pedal, well exceeding the speed limit.

"There's fixed radar at the crossroads immediately over this bridge."

"I know," she said, already braking and enquiring, "Would you like to drive?"

"Sorry," he said and she replied she was just teasing. She turned right and headed out of the city and eventually turned on to a secondary highway that Brad couldn't remember ever traveling on. He and Heather had sold their vehicle just before she left to boost her private savings to assisted her to establish in Hawaii. His share of the proceeds was a short-term no interest loan to her," she'd said. Perhaps. He'd decided he didn't require a vehicle in the meantime.

They drove for almost 20 miles, chatting amicably, almost like a long married couple. The inn was on the edge of a small village and Brad felt the remoteness. Had she been here before and that was soon answered. As they began walking in she said, "Ben used to bring me here when we were courting -- he appears to be an expert on sly maneuvers and finding discreet hideaways."

Well, that's enough of that low-life guy for today thank you, Brad decided and almost said that to her.

The receptionist bounced out behind the counter to welcome them and her smile broadened as she looked at them both more closely after Martha announced, "Mr and Mrs Stokes for lunch -- we've booked but would like a couple of drinks first."

"Certainly ma'am, please follow me to the bar."

Martha chose sparkling wine and Brad ordered a larger beer. They had the bar to themselves -- very discreet. Brad knew what was coming next: 'I'd like to take a room...that's if you are in full working order?'

To his relief Martha said, "Please excuse me for giving you a temporary surname -- when I booked on the phone they asked me for a name and I gave Mr and Mrs Stokes out of habit."

"No, I don't mind just this once but Martha, please remember you have a husband."

"Half a husband -- he rarely touches me these days."

"Martha, really, I'm surely not the person you should be talking to so intimately."

"Who else is there I can trust?"

"Everyone, surely."

"You have to be joking. Most of our friends are Ben's friends. He's scared most of my women friends away by propositioning them and those who have stayed I assume have been fucked by him."

"Oh Martha -- you can't mean that."

"Please yourself. Tell me this, are you still sexually active -- fully active?"

There it was, laid out on the bar though Brad -- the preamble to an invitation to fuck her and probably to do so regularly.

He scratched his thinning graying hair and locked his watery light blue eyes on to her amber sexy eyes that were still young and strong and thought how could she do to this to him? If he turned away from her she'd find some useless jerk who'd exploit her and possibly leave her diseased. That sounded grim but hey, he almost smiled, he was attempting to justify staying on her case.

She cupped her breasts and lifting them towards him and said, "Wouldn't you like to get to know these more intimately?"

Brad nodded and went to rub a finger inside his shirt collar but there was no tie and choking collar -- he was without a tie and wearing an expensive soft collar polo he'd picked up in last winter's sales. He knew he was out of his depth and appealed to her with his eyes.

"Am I pushing too fast for you?"

Brad nodded gratefully.

She purred, "Kiss me" and they leaned forward. Their lips touched only this time he didn't pull away. It was a longish, sweet kiss and something clicked between them -- the sound of a lock clicking shut. It was Brad's guess they now accepted they were tracking relentlessly towards adultery.

"Brad, I love having sex."

This woman was unstoppable, unless...Brad looked at her and attempted to soften the verbal backhander: "Martha, listen to me; I'm an old guy stickered with a 'use by' date. My body tone is falling away, my joints are tightening and it's been some time since I've seen pronounced muscle on my frame. My skin has become dry like fine sandpaper and wrinkles are appearing, I pass wind more regularly and can no longer eat chilies. I sit longer on the toilet than I used to and some days I go twenty-four hours without an erection whereas I once had several full or partly-erect ones a day and it acted as if it were a heat-seeking missile. These days when I manage to throw one up I look at it in surprise and say, "You are no longer relevant in my life."

"Wow," Martha said. "What a litany of woes. "I can fix most of that by boosting your flow of testosterone but in all probability once you are active again you'll be sprouting erections like spring bulbs."

"I working to put you off me."

"Well it's a flaccid attempt, isn't it?" she grinned. "Is you penis wrinkled when you have one of these rare erections?"

"This is the most fascinating conversation I've ever heard in my bar," said the female bar tender.

"Oh God," Brad choked.

The bar tender said he shouldn't mind her.

Brad manfully stuck to the conversation. "As a matter of fact it doesn't -- as smooth as a baby's bottom."

"I thought as much," Martha said, "which fulfils my needs because my anticipated continuing liaison with you concerns a package: your intellect, ability to converse, depth of sympathy and a robust plunging penis."