Grumpy Old Ladies

She was horny.

Her and Ollie's sex life had been active in the beginning; they had gone at it like bunnies, playful and insatiable. Having kids and being constantly tired and often interrupted had changed that, but they had maintained some semblage of that aspect of their marriage. Even after the twins had ruined their sleep for good and made finding a babysitter almost impossible, they had made it work, and over the years had settled into a schedule of once or twice a month. Donna's sex drive, which had been whirring in overdrive in her youth, had been well served by that schedule, and after being with each other for almost thirty years Ollie had known all of her buttons and remained willing to push them.

As she lay there naked in bed she realized it had been almost four months since the last time she'd had sex. She had been so occupied with Ollie's illness, and then the quickness of his passing, and then the aftermath of his passing, that she hadn't thought about sex even once. Now, suddenly, alone in her bed at four in the morning, it was all she could think about, and she was ill prepared to handle it alone.

Her hands roamed, tentatively, down her voluptuous body. She eyed her boobs in the low glow of the nightlight, gathered them up over her chest and let them flow into her armpits once more. Cradled in her arms, they towered over her. Ollie had loved them, but she was often exasperated with their impractical size and the attention they drew. She stroked her tummy, feeling the stretch marks with her fingertips. She was going to have to masturbate to get her brain to settle down. She tried to remember the last time she'd done that, but couldn't.

It was daunting to be faced with the prospect of satisfying herself after so many years where her sexual goal had been satisfying someone else.

Uninvited, her thoughts moved to her next door neighbor. She was unnerved that Magda hadn't yet made her move after the incident with the tree, and had been thinking about her a lot: anticipating her next strike, wondering what she would do. Magda had been a widow for... close to fifteen years now? After her kids had moved out, she had taken that sorry excuse for a dog to keep her company. What was its name again? Peanut? A chihuahua of some sort. Donna had always thought there was something fundamentally wrong with having a dog that was smaller than a cat.

Donna snorted at herself. Why was she thinking about the dog?

The point, she reminded herself, was that she didn't remember Magda having any affairs since her husband's passing. Or, at least, she hadn't brought anyone home, even after the kids had moved out. No strange cars in the driveway. No headlights lighting up their bedroom late at night. Fifteen years was a long time to be without. How had Magda done it, and here she was about to lose her mind after four months?

Those thoughts halted when she touched herself for the first time. She was already more aroused than she had realized. She'd thought it would be clumsy and uncomfortable —God, had she been a teenager the last time she'd fingered herself?— but it was just like riding a bike. It all came right back, fingers instinctively homing in on her most sensitive buttons, and for a long, happy while she lost herself in the physical feelings. Afterwards, she was pleasantly relaxed, limbs flush with a warm and heavy feeling, and managed to fall asleep before her thoughts caught up with her again.

***

"Guess what that bitch did," Donna ranted as she bustled through her kitchen.

"Gee," Peter, her second born, said. His head and shoulders, peering out from the screen of her upright iPad, looked unsurprised. "I wonder who we're talking about."

"Don't you take that tone with me," she said, pulling out her rolling pin and wielding it menacingly toward the screen, with just a hint of a smirk.

"Well, you butchered her tree, Mom. Lennox sent me pictures."

The smirk disappeared. "You've seen it?"

"All of us saw it."

"Oh," she grumbled, "so now you ungrateful bastards are all talking behind my back?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!"

Donna threw both of her hands up in the air, and held the pin like she was going to throw it. Just for a second. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. That was... As soon as the words left my mouth. Instant regret. I've just been having a hard time, with your father, and that bitch—"

"Mom, come on. Magda raised us too. You're putting me in a really tough spot here. We spent almost as much time over there as—"

"You did not!"

"Mom," he said, putting a lot of heavy emphasis on the word, "I know Laurie and Lennox came over, like, every day when she was working, but Dad worked late a lot, and when you had PTA meetings, or the HOA, or your book club, or when you volunteered at the church carnival, or—"

"Yeah, but that wasn't that often," she said, leaning on the counter.

"It was a couple nights a week," he said, giving her a meaningful look.

"Not every week!"

"Two or three nights a week, every week, for years."

"All six of you?"

"Yeah." Her oldest son bit his lip, like he always did when he was trying to figure out how much to lie. "I mean, yeah. Mostly."

"Peter Anthony."

"Okay," he said, snickering, "you didn't hear it from me, but for about a year? Two? God, I can't even remember now. Anyway, Janet and Lennox were sneaking around. They'd use any excuse to not be with the rest of us. On nights where you'd be out and we'd all be at Magda's having dinner, Janet and Lennox would be upstairs in her bedroom having sex."

For a brief moment, Donna was struck temporarily blind. "H-H...How old were they?"

"I forget now," he said, shaking his head and actually laughing. "I can't believe I'm the one finally breaking the seal on that. Janet is gonna kick my ass."

"Not if I kick her ass first," Donna ranted. "Janet and Lennox?!"

"Yeah," he said, still laughing. "Oh, gosh, she was, what, fifteen? Maybe sixteen?"

"You all spent so much time together, though!"

"Some more than others," he said, and started laughing even louder.

"Ahhh," she said, recoiling, her face twisting like she'd caught a whiff of something rotten. "They're like brother and sister! I don't want to think about that."

"Alright, alright. Tell me what Magda did that was so bad."

Donna narrowed her eyes, and then gave herself a good shake. "She cut a little hole in our hose! The good orange one that we've had for years! I went to put the sprinkler out like your dad always used to, and as soon as I turned on the water I got drenched! Soaked my shirt through completely! I screamed, and, and... and then, from over in her backyard, she started laughing. She couldn't have seen what happened to me over the fence. She knew, and she knew because she did it."

"Mom, that hose is, like, twenty years old."

"I found the hole," she said, "and it was cut. A little slit, like a knife."

"Okay," he replied, "even if that was true, you're going to let it go, right?"

"Like hell I'm gonna let it go," Donna roared. "I'm gonna get her back!"

"Mom, you are way too old to be getting into a prank war with your neighbor."

She scowled, said, "You're out of the will," with a little smirk, and ended the call. He wasn't, but it felt good to say. Especially his shocked reaction. She was going to be getting a call from Chrissy later, because Chrissy was the one they all thought could reason with her, and that made her groan.

"She started it," Donna mumbled to herself, as she started rolling out the dough with extreme prejudice.

***

Donna's smile turned devilish. Twenty minutes into her bath, she'd started to feel the stress leeching from her tired muscles. Pulling all the weeds from the two little flower beds at the edge of her driveway always took a toll on her lower back, but her smile wasn't because she felt like she could bend and twist again; it was because the vanilla scented oil she'd added was kicking in as well, and she was horny. She pulled the drain plug, and reached over the side of the tub for her supplies.

She couldn't believe how often she was masturbating. It felt scandalous, touching herself once or twice a week after so long of having sex once or twice a month. That made her cheeks burn, but it didn't make her stop. It made her feel good. She liked feeling good.

Her favorite thing to do had been a complete accident the first time it happened. She had been trying to shift how she was laying in the tub, and lost her grip. She slid across the partially filled tub on her back, until her bum was flush with the front of the tub, and moaned when her pussy moved right in line with the path of the faucet. The heat of it, and the gentle-but-insistent downpour of pressure, hit a sweet spot for her nerve endings. That first time, she'd only just needed to add a little bit of touching herself, feathering her clit, to orgasm.

Each of the following times, she'd been more purposeful. She took her two inflatable bath pillows and used them to prop her head up out of the water. Then, while the faucet was running, she'd position herself just so, with her feet way up on the cool tile, and play with her nipples. It felt good to play with both of them while the flowing water did its thing. It felt good to be able to throw her head back and moan, loudly. Full throated, and filling the house with her echoes. It felt good to let loose and enjoy herself, and it also felt like she hadn't had a whole lot of that in her life for a while. A long while.

After a minute or so, she'd get impatient. She'd lift one of her breasts, the left one, which was slightly smaller and slightly more sensitive, to her lips. She couldn't moan quite the same, while she suckled, but that freed up her left hand to give that extra little bit of touch that she needed.

She was just getting out of the tub, ten minutes and one amazing orgasm later, and drying her hair, when there was a knock at the door.

She called, loudly, "Can you get tha—" and cut off when her brain kicked in and she remembered that there was no one else in the house.

She couldn't just pretend she wasn't there. She'd yelled, loudly, intending to be heard. Whoever was at the door would have heard her, and would be waiting. In fact, they knocked once more before Donna had gotten her shorts pulled up. Her headspace got darker and darker as she hurried down the steps, and she had to pause, with her hand on the door knob, to compose herself.

"Hello girls," she said, affecting a bright, wide smile, as she opened the door wide.

A flock of snickering Girl Scouts smiled back at her. They said, "Hello Mrs. Lampanella," in discordant unison. "Would you like to buy some cookies?" Some of them couldn't manage to finish even that before breaking out into full-fledged giggles.

Donna's expression never wavered. "Well of course, ladies. You know me. I remember quite a few of you coming here last year!" She made eye contact with two of the older girls, and they beamed. "How about you put me down for three boxes of Thin Mints and, oh boy, what are the lemon ones called again? I can never—"

"Savannah Smiles!" they cried.

"That's the one," Donna replied, laughing with them. "Two boxes of those."

The oldest one, the one with the clipboard, started making a series of notations on her worksheet while the other five all counted out her boxes by committee.

While they worked, Donna smiled and waved at the pair of moms waiting together out on the sidewalk. Fifteen years ago that had been her out there, following Janet, and then Laurie, and Chrissy, as they pulled an old Radio Flyer wagon around from door to door. The moms smiled and nodded, but were too invested in the conversation they were having to spare very much in the way of attention for one of their forebears.

Donna quickly stepped back into her house a few steps, and fished her checkbook and a pen from her purse. When the oldest girl gave her the total, Donna gave her a twinkling smile and asked her to check it again. Then, when the girl came back with an amount that was six dollars more, she smiled and wrote the check.

She waved and thanked them all, for coming to her door again, and broke down just about the second the door was closed. She couldn't say why, really. Maybe it was the mistake right before they'd arrived, calling out for Ollie. Maybe it was that she didn't even like Thin Mints. Her kids had liked Thin Mints, and she couldn't keep a lid on the instinct to keep some squirreled away for them. Maybe it was just that she hadn't felt like smiling just then, not for other people, but she'd put on the mask anyway.

It was a mask she'd worn often, as a mom and a housewife. It was familiar. It deflected attention from her, and told the world at large that she was fine even when she wasn't.

She was tired of pretending to be fine.

***

Donna was still upset a few days later. She pushed her cart in the Walmart, grumpily reminding herself to buy groceries for only her own needs. Leaving Ollie's favorite snacks on the shelves made her more melancholy than she had anticipated. Some things were so ingrained, like keeping a couple jars of unshelled pistachios, that it caused physical pain to put them back.

She was loading her purchases on the cashier's belt, when a familiar voice carried over from the adjacent counter.

"Leave the tools," it said. "You don't need them."

Donna snapped her head up and glared: Magda.

"What do you mean?" she said, leapfrogging over annoyed and going straight to pissed off.

"You already have a set just like that," Magda said, emptying her own cart. "Ollie left it at my place when he put up some shelves for me. I'll bring it over later."

Donna felt her temper rise. She loathed to be reminded Ollie was on more neutral, even friendly, terms with their neighbor than she was. It didn't even register that Magda was confirming she'd bought the right kind of socket wrench set.

"You just take and take and take, don't you? All of you."

Magda looked up, and her raised eyebrows aggravated Donna further.

"Don't give me that look," she continued, improvising wildly to keep Magda on the edge. "Have you been covering for Lennox? Hmm?"

"Lennox? What about Lennox?!" Magda's voice had genuine alarm in it, and against her better judgement Donna pressed on.

Her skin started to burn. "He's been sleeping around with my daughter, that's what I'm talking about! Now she's pregnant, and her fiance is leaving her!"

What am I doing? she thought, but there was no backing down. One bad decision piling on top of another. They stared at each other, thunderbolts flashing from each their eyes, and she didn't think she could have stopped herself if she tried.

"Ma'am," Donna's cashier added, timidly, to the stunned silence. "Excuse me ma'am, will you be taking the tools?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna need 'em! I don't want anything from that bitch!" Then she whipped around, back toward Magda, and continued, saying, "You can keep them, you hear me? I don't want 'em back!"

Donna threw down some cash, that was probably close to the right amount, and stormed outside, feeling the color rise on her neck and cheeks. She mentally kicked herself all the way to her car, threw her bags into the trunk, and shoved the shopping cart across the parking lot. She was so ashamed of herself. Why had she made up such a stupid lie? One that would be corrected by a simple phone call? Why?

Magda drove her crazy, that's why! She completely made Donna lose it. A series of incidents and slights between them that stretched back to ancient history. Ollie had always been there to talk her back down. To make sense of the situation. To keep Donna sane. No more.

She sat on the driver's seat, determined to drive off as quickly as possible, but couldn't. Instead, she rested her face onto the steering wheel and felt hot tears dripping on her hands as she sobbed.

The worst part was that she wasn't even sure why she was crying.

***

"Mom," Donna said. She hated the tone of voice her mother drew out of her, so irritatingly similar to what her own kids sometimes used with her. It was a tone no one else was capable of triggering in her. "I'm forty-six! You do not need to be checking up on me!" No one else could make her feel so small.

"Janet called me! She's worried about you, and with good reason! What were you thinking?" Her mother's voice was faint. Thin. Donna pictured her on her patio on the retiree paradise resort she frequented, sipping margaritas in the afternoon sun.

"It's none of your business."

"Don't you take that tone with me. I am your mother, remember?"

"Yes, mom," Donna said and rolled her eyes.

"And don't you roll your eyes at me either."

Donna was momentarily confused, and had to recheck their conversation was audio only and not facetime. By the time she was assured it was just a lucky guess, the window of opportunity for a snarky comeback had passed. She sighed. "Look, Mom, it's just been difficult. That's all."

"Why would you say that about Janet and Lennox? What is this between you and Magda, anyway? I thought you two were friends."

"Friends?! We were never friends! That bitch—"

"Now, now, I distinctly remember a time when she used to come for sleepovers all the time. You two would giggle half the night away, and I'd have to come and take your flashlights away so you'd go to sleep! You were plenty friendly back then."

"Yeah, but—"

"Don't you yeah-but me! Put on your big girl pants and apologize to Magda. Don't make me come over there."

Like you would, Donna thought, moodily, and drew a deep breath. "Alright, Mom."

"Now that's more like it," her mother said with a self satisfied tone. Donna rolled her eyes, making sure to keep it from her voice this time. Her mother saved her the trouble of casually changing the topic. "I gotta let you go. They're gonna start the canasta tournament."

"Good luck, Mom," she said, but her heart wasn't in it.

***

Donna was mowing her lawn. She still felt a fierce sense of achievement over managing it so well by herself, even though she'd been doing it for months. By that point, it finally felt like it had in her imagination: she had on her white shorts and her skimpiest top (so that her tan was as even as possible), and she could feel the sun caressing her skin while she worked. It was a hot day, and she had kicked off her shoes. She loved the scent of the freshly cut grass, the sound of the mower, the strain on her muscles as she maneuvered it around the dogwood, the feeling of soft grass under her—

squick

There was something under the sole of her right foot. She shivered in disgust as she lifted her foot to see. Wasn't it too dry for snails? The scent carried to her nostrils before she could see it. It was dog shit. A very small turd, from a very small dog.

Donna let out a wordless shout of disgust and rage as she kicked her heel into the grass. She immediately started hobbling in circles, mad and unfocused, and bellowed when her boobs tried to escape her top.

The third shout, already a little hoarse, was more of frustration.

Had she smeared any of it with the mower wheels? No, she thought, as she examined them, probably not. That was good news. The mere thought of trying to clean off the shit made her shiver in disgust.

Maybe she could wash her foot in the garage sink. If that didn't work, maybe Ollie had some rags there that she could wrap around her foot so that she could get inside to the bathroom without making a mess everywhere that she'd have to be the one to clean.