Companion

I looked at her now with fascination knowing something almost miraculous was happening to me but not really understanding what.

There was a gleam in her eyes, eyes so unlike my own: Asian eyes, young eyes, eager eyes, playful eyes, knowing eyes. I've had fingers on my shirt before of course. Dan had done this many times when we were married and before, done the same kind of thing but with impatient fingers, groping fingers and a disquieting, leering look. It was different then, I had steeled myself to his touch then, not now, now I felt safe and even eager for the invasion of my vulnerable loneliness. And just for $100 a day.

It was her fingers wisping along my cleavage that first awoke me to the sexuality of her act. The touch was adventurous and explorative but intimate too, I felt the touch between my breasts but I felt it elsewhere too, places long dormant to that spark, that ember, that intoxicating heat that radiates throughout my body.

There is no dread now, no sense of resignation, no sense of shame. But what is there? I was trying to understand the intimacy when her fingers crept onto my belly and I stopped thinking.

"Do you know what we're doing today?"

"No, I haven't thought about it yet."

"I have. We're going to yoga."

One of us isn't. "You might be but I'm not."

"Yes you are. Do you know where a yoga studio is?"

"Haven't a clue."

She fled the bed but was back in moments with my iPad.

After coffee I insisted for the hundredth time that I wasn't going.

We were in the car by 9:40.

I expected to be embarrassed and I was, not by her at my side, although I was fully conscious of that; and not by my woeful lack of flexibility, something all could see. No, I was embarrassed by my attire and her's for that matter. She was wearing the shorts and T she wore in Florida; I was in an old pair of sweat pants that had some paint on them. Everyone else, I mean everyone, was dressed in high-tech yoga gear which I guess I knew was a thing but seeing the stuff on all the different bodies was startling.

As was how much I enjoyed the class, even as bad as I was at it.

"You weren't bad at it, you just need to work at becoming a bit more flexible, that's what yoga does for you — then you'll be better in bed." She laughed. "Anyway, do you know where we're going now?" I was about to say, 'home,' when she answered: "To get you some yoga stuff, no way I'm having you looking like that anymore."

I made a stab at arguing but I knew I was going to do yoga some more ... at least try, I never do, so I should at least look like I was trying.

I've covered up ever since I became aware of my dad looking at me when I was about eleven so this wasn't easy for me. In fact I had asked myself while watching the women stretch if I would ever have the courage to wear those type of clothes, skin tight and stretchy. No, definitely not, I'd look top-heavy, ridiculous. So it was hard in the store, harder still with Maria holding things up almost begging me to buy them, and harder still again with the expert saleswoman pushing all the buttons. I relented on a couple of the more drab things but I knew I was going to have some serious, serious problems when it came to putting those things on ... to actually venture out in them.

Maria? Not so much. She didn't need three outfits but she wanted them and I wanted her to have them ... and the saleswoman knew why, she must have seen the look often enough before. I blushed when she caught me looking even though I wasn't absolutely sure what I was feeling — but her sly knowing grin told me. Maria has a very pretty behind which shouldn't have made me feel the way it did.

She was excited on the way home, I was troubled.

"She grinned at me, you know ... the sales woman grinned at me."

Yes, I know. "I bet she did, you have a very pretty behind."

"No, it wasn't that ... but thanks ... it's when you came out in your outfit ..."

"No ..."

"Oh ya, she looked at me and grinned; she knew what I'm getting ..."

"The drooping tits?"

"And slim hips, and really nice ass, and great legs. You're hot. You totally rock yoga gear."

"Right," I said dismissively, with an actual flinch of satisfaction. But I had no right to the feeling. It was my damn sister; she has always been a maniacal fitness nut and body builder. She's been on my case my whole life because she knows she has to be. I've never cared much about the way I look, especially after my marriage started falling apart. But I was glad now for my sister's cajoling. I hardly rocked the look but I was acceptable.

What was troubling me was the sales girl's knowing look and the stab of horniness I got at the sight of Maria in yoga pants. I looked over at her when we stopped at a red light. Can you just decide to be a lesbian?

She felt me looking at her and glanced over. "What?"

"Can you just decide to become a lesbian?"

She turned away from me obviously thinking. "I don't know, maybe ... maybe if you saw a girl come out of a change room in new yoga stuff."

"I'm serious."

"I want to be your partner in life, that's a lot different than just wanting a sexual relationship — I wouldn't go for one of those ... I don't want to join a lesbian club or the life or anything. I've explain this to you: I want into your life. For me it's as simple as that." She reached into the back seat. "And as simple as this." She held up one of the bags. "I want to live in a nice place with nice things, big surprise, everybody does. You can give me that and, in return, I want to make you happy, that's my job. Sex is part of that — I think you over-think things. When was the last time you had an orgasm ... other than last night?"

"Years ago ... a lot of years ago."

"Angie said it was hard at first with her girl ..."

"How old is her girl?"

"52 I think she said ... I've seen her picture. She isn't anywhere near as pretty as you are and she's a bit fat, not awful but ...," I could feel her looking at me, "I shouldn't say this but she is very wealthy, she gives Angie everything she wants, in return Angie gives her everything she can."

"So it's a straight forward business deal."

I could feel her stiffen. "We've already talked about this. You're either not trying to understand me or trying not to understand me."

"You're hitching your wagon to a star."

"Angie and I are different. Angie is fun and she just wants to have fun. I want to have fun too but I want to work hard and accomplish things."

"What things?"

"I'll tell you but you're going to have to show me you want me first and that means sexually too — we can't have much fun if we aren't having fun in bed. Once that happens, once I know you want me then I'm going to give you my plan."

She is smart, this one, she just left it at that so I had to do the asking. "What kind of plan?"

"A plan for my future, for my place in our future together. A plan where I make something of myself and you're proud of me."

"Is that what Angie did? Give her partner a plan?"

"No, Angie doesn't need a plan, her partner is loaded. They can afford anything."

"So can I, doesn't mean ..."

"Well, no, like they live in a mansion ..."

"We can live in a mansion ...," I felt silly, it was true but she didn't have to know it. "So, basically, if I agree to look after you, you agree to be ... what? Be loyal to me, is that it?"

"A loyal partner ... yes, you look after me but you help me, too, help me to get where I want to go."

"And for this I get a loyal partner." It came out a little cynically but I didn't mean it that way, it was dawning on me that it was starting to sound like a totally reasonable arrangement.

"And a partner with a plan."

"Ah, yes, the plan. I wait awhile for that."

"That's up to you."

Sex, it all comes down to sex.

She made a light lunch when we got home. "Did you notice that woman with the orange top, she was just over to your left."

Vaguely, I shrugged.

"She's the type of woman I was looking for when I found you. She has that look: a little lost, a little disappointed, a little needy."

I looked to see if she was kidding. "That's the way I looked?"

"You still do only now you can add awkward and confused. You aren't sure about me."

"How could I be? I've barely met you and you've moved in. How is that not awkward and confusing?"

"You don't trust me," she grinned, "which means you might be a little scared when I get the scissors."

I thought she had forgotten about that. "No, we're not going to be doing that."

She waved her sandwich. "Yes we are, right after we finish. You have to start caring what you look like."

Caring about my pubic hair? When I snickered it sounded foreign, like I hadn't snickered in years.

This got her back up. "Do you care what I look like? I haven't got any clothes, nothing that looks good on me. You're supposed to care about that."

"You want me to buy you some clothes?"

"No, I want you to want to see that I'm dressed well, there's a difference."

"You're getting pretty pushy for a ..."

"For a what?"

I was going to say visitor, but I was realizing I wanted a lot more from her than that. I loved buying her the yoga stuff, I love these conversations, the hints at permanence, at intimacy, at sex. Even so ... "Look, isn't this moving a little fast?"

"So I'm supposed to wait around here in someone else's house, in someone else's city, waiting for you to make up your mind if you want me to stay, is that it?"

"And for you to make up your mind if you want to stay."

"I have, I made up my mind when I got on the plane; when you should have made up your mind. Why drag me up here if you aren't sure?"

"How can I be sure?"

"Like I am, by committing, by trying your best to make it work. We're either partners or we're not." She stood up. "Where do you keep your scissors?"

I might object to her tenacity, but I like it. "There's a pair in the left hand drawer in the bathroom," I said with just a slight feeling of emasculation.

I sat back as I watched her leave. 'Let go,' I said to myself, 'just let go.' If it works, fine, if it doesn't what have I lost — I've always been cautious, way too cautious, I know that, I've always known that, so just let go. Trust her, trust the barely adult Filipino.

When she came back to the table she was holding up the scissors, snipping them like a weapon.

"We can go shopping for clothes if you want." She was right, she was in need of clothes, actually, in desperate need.

"No, it's not what I want. It's what you want."

"I want to take you shopping."

She grinned and snipped the air again. "I used to cut my brothers' hair; I'm good at this." She reached over and got a dishtowel from the handle on the stove and handed it to me.

I hesitated, confused. "Here?"

"Why not?"

I took the towel, put it on the repositioned chair and slowly took off my pants, glad that I had showered when I got home. My underwear were another story: I almost tripped while standing on one foot pulling them off, which made her giggle. I sat down looking up at her. She snipped the air one more time and nodded for me to move down on the chair. I did and obediently opened my legs.

She got down on her knees and looked at me. "Have you ever trimmed?"

"No." The last time I felt like this was in a doctor's office.

"You're doing this for me."

Am I? Am I really? Yes, I guess I am. "Yes."

She brought the scissor forward and snipped, then snipped again then the hair started flying and while I wasn't watching I could actually feel myself gradually getting cooler.

She had been in deep concentration, mercifully, but she finally looked up. "You're lucky, your hair is really thick but it's in a pretty small area, it doesn't look like you need to shave ..."

"What? For when I go out in a bikini?" I snickered — the second time! Was I actually having fun?

She tapped me with the scissors on the belly. "You might: properly fed, yoga-ized, trimmed, I'm going to want to show you off."

"Are we done here?"

I made to sit up but she held my leg. "You'll stay trimmed." She dragged the tip of her finger down my vagina. "You're pretty, much prettier than me." She pinched my labia and pulled at it stretching it. "I barely have these."

"Oh," I said feeling foolish and vulnerable.

She bent down and kissed my freshly trimmed centre, not a peck but a full-on smooch.

I pushed her back and stood up, raking my fingers through my crotch to get rid of all the strays. She got the broom and dust pan. There was quite a lot of it on the floor, an embarrassing amount of it and as I pulled on my underwear I realized I felt quite a lot smoother as well as cooler, quite a lot more comfortable. Who knew? I think I gave out another snicker.

There is a Sea Wall around a good part of the Vancouver harbour, we walked that in the afternoon in brilliant sunshine while I asked myself ruefully, what would I be doing today in my old life?

We where having coffee, relaxing after the hour and a half walk. "This has been the best day of my life. Thank you." This was no throw-away, she was looking at me with utter sincerity.

I smiled, "I've enjoyed it too."

"It's not going to be easy for me if you send me away." She waited for reassurance, I couldn't give her any. "When will you know ... if you want me to stay? I feel I'm on probation."

"You are on probation." Why wouldn't she be? Why wouldn't I be on probation for her, even a prolong probation? "I have to understand how I feel about this ... I haven't had time to process it yet, not to fully think it through. And I have to think about what's best for you, too? I don't know how I'm going to do that but I'm so much older than you I have to take responsibility."

"Ya, well process this: I was cleaning rooms last week and without you I'd be cleaning rooms next week."

"And you were doing that while looking for an easy way out of it ... finding a benefactor. I don't see that as a reasonable life choice."

"I was totally honest about that, right from the start."

"I know you were, it's the only reason you're here; I can understand a business deal ... although I've never even heard of anything like this."

"Sure you have it's called marriage; when two people commit to each other, you know, like I'm doing and you're not doing."

"I'm not doing that because I barely know you. The only reason you're committing to me is for my money."

She has a temper. "And the only reason I'm here is because of my youth. It's called a trade-off, not a stand-off — they're both perfectly good reasons to make a choice."

"It's wrong for a woman my age to be with a girl your age."

"And it's wrong for a girl my age to have no real options. I'll never get anywhere without help from someone like you. Anyway, I decided in Florida that I want you, you're perfect for me and I'm perfect for you."

I jumped in the bath the moment I got home; I was tired and sore and frustrated and I wanted to be alone — you can justify pretty much anything to yourself but this arrangement seemed indefensible.

The door opened in about ten minutes. She came in. Completely naked. She held her arms out and seemed to almost curtsy. "This is me. I'm a fully developed woman and I'm extremely horny. Are you going to come into the bedroom with me or do I have to look after myself?"

I glanced and quickly looked away.

"Look at me!" she demanded, angrily.

I did and saw youth, healthy, vibrant, wholesome youth so different from the body soaking in the water. My skin was never like her's. Her's seemed to be made of a different material, and it wasn't just the slightly brown-red colour; her skin didn't glow like mine, it appeared to have a matted earthy texture that seemed as different to my shiny, aging skin as her pert breasts are to my fallen udders; so different as her remarkable stiff and shiny nipples are to my disinterested bumps; so different as her taunt and narrow waist is to my now pooching belly; so different as her sublimely slim hips are to my pink and stretch-scarred parenthesis; so different as the cute black rooster tail of pubic hair between her wonderfully shapely legs is to the now shorn white flecked black triangle peeking between my slightly rubbery thighs. She looked like she could be an athlete, she had that kind of vibrancy ... or she could be a manikin, she looked that otherworldly to me. "I don't want you to get hurt," I said and meant it — the age difference: so wonderfully nourishing for me; such a potential problem for her.

"I know you don't but that's not anything I'm worrying about. I want the future you can give me and I want to bring you happiness I know I can ... and the pleasure."

"I need to be convinced that can be a real possibility."

"So did I ... and I was, I got on the plane with you." She reached for a towel. "Get out."

I could have objected, I thought about it but ...

When I was obediently on the mat she wrapped a towel around me from behind and held me tight. "You didn't say what you thought of me," she whispered, her lips just inches from my ear.

"You're beautiful."

She turned me around and was towelling me, vigorously. "You're nervous."

"Yes," I admitted. "Very."

She dropped to her knees and worked both my legs then pulled at one; when I opened she towelled between them, then she threw the towel on the edge of the bathtub, got up, took my hand and pulled me into my bedroom ... our bedroom?

I don't know where I was finding the courage. I hadn't been entirely naked in front of anyone since the first year of my marriage. The thought surprised me, depressed me but I remembered sitting in the chair with my legs open just hours ago and it no longer seemed to matter. Deal with it. She did, by pushing me onto the bed then falling down beside me, half lying on me and kissing me playfully all over my face.

What was I really feeling? I tried to figure that out. I was feeling her weight on me for one, her crotch on my thigh, her knee pressed hard into my crotch. And her hot breath against my face and the softness of her lips and her fingers in my hair ... but I was feeling her youth, too and her insistence: she is in complete control; the manikin has come alive, this manikin felt vestigial stirrings like that first time in my dorm so long ago.

When her lips pressed against mine and her teeth lightly bit my lip my hand went out and stroked her strong narrow back. It was her innocence I was feeling, that's what assaulted my body. And her youth. And her wanton willingness. "You have to be sure, Maria."

She found my hand and pulled it between us, forcing my fingers down between her legs.

She shuddered when I touched her, a long moan escaped into my mouth as she immediately started grinding at my fingers. This is need, pure and simple, and she couldn't hid it. She is impossibly wet, impossibly demanding, impossibly out of control. I braced my hand against my thigh as she humped at my fingers and sucked on my mouth. She made no attempt to control her noises, they were in the air and in my mouth, with her tongue, with her spit, with her passion. I drank this in as I frigged her harder and deeper as my free hand felt the wonderful contours I had so admired in her yoga pants. She came in minutes ... then was on her back laughing, both hands rubbing her face, her bent knees flopping back and forth like some spastic yoga move. And then she was looking at me, her eyes wide in wonder. But just for a moment. Then she was on her side, her fingers were between my legs, my breast was in her mouth and I let her take me to where she had been, a longer journey, a more complex coaxing journey but with my arms out and my legs open I let it happen, I relaxed and forced open my sense and let all her youth and innocence capture and control me so all I had to do was succumb.