Gwendolyn: A Tale of Motherly Lust

The young man nods. "Yep, have fun."

With a grin, enhanced by lipstick, I walk to the door, open it and step out into the warm evening.

****

Within a twenty-minute drive, I pull into the parking lot of the restaurant where I am to rendezvous with my date. I'm excited, happy and feel beautiful. Allowing myself the vanity, I raise my cell phone in hand and smiling, take a picture of myself, making certain not only is my pretty smile within view, but my bountiful cleavage as well. I laugh as I view the selfie...I don't appear slutty, just sexy—at least it is my hope.

With the swipe of a thumb, I bring up my contacts list on the cellular phone, I want those important to me to understand I'm getting out there again, moving on, dating, and living a good life even after the tragedy nearly shattered it. Satisfied with my photo, with the press of a button I send it off, sharing it with the few friends and relatives I have, Jacob amongst them.

Small purse in hand, I exit the vehicle and walk inside the restaurant lounge where I am to rendezvous with my date. The restaurant appears busy and the lounge, equally so. I am able to find a seat at the bar and since I am early, I start a tab by ordering a drink.

As I sip on my Long Island Ice Tea, I swivel in my seat to observe...couples abound, paired off into every dim corner of the lounge. Soft music plays, candle light flickers and the waft of alcoholic drinks, fine foods, perfume and cologne give scent to the air. Romance, seemingly, abounds.

Several sips into my strong drink, my cell phone produces a soft chime; I finger-swipe the screen, the message, in reference to my sent selfie, reads: Message: Hubba-hubba, Aunt Gwen—look'n good!

I smile and return the text. Thanks, Freddie—am feeling good. How are you these days?

A nephew through marriage, Freddie is yet another tragic figure within the same family, having lost his parents to an accident many years ago. That, however, is another story entirely.

Message: Am fine, Aunt Gwen. I start at the community college this fall. Still here with Grams—living the dream ya know? Now that I think about it, I guess I have some pretty weird dreams. Oh, and speaking of dreams, we have a new tenant here, I kinda like her, she's um...well, sort of nice-ish??

Straw-sipping and texting at the same time, I'm the last to notice a mysterious woman enter the lounge, her long-legged steps carrying her in what I can only describe as a graceful and feminine swagger. The thin straw of my drink sticks to my lower lip as I, like others, cannot help but to stare.

There's an undeniable confidence about this woman—nearly palpable; as if knowing full-well, wherever she goes, her shapely beauty will outstrip every other woman, including myself.

Taller than me, her hair is ebony-dark and her curvaceous form disgustingly perfect. As the gaping eyes of men and the baleful stares of women fall upon this goddess-of-the-lounge, she smiles, slyly-seductive, gorgeous within the prime of youth, her slinky attire clinging to her fleshy perfection, sexy, revealing—sultry. Seemingly indifferent to the stares, this angel-in-the-dark gracefully saunters by, and I glean a sense from her; she is just as confident without her clothing as she is within it.

The woman takes a seat with a trio of older gentlemen at the back of the lounge and with her mesmerizing spell seemingly broken, I continue to finger-type a text to my nephew.

Nice-ish?? Heh, all right, well, I hope it works out for you. Say hello to your Grams for me, Freddie. Goodnight.

Setting the phone atop the bar, I continue to sip from the drink straw and glance about. There are many handsome men in the lounge, all if not most, accompanied by an equally attractive woman. The noise of chit-chatter with the occasional outburst of laughter adds to the ambience, and as I sit, I look again to the phone, acquiring the time.

"Well, he's now, officially, late—I hate that."

More time passes as I sit at the bar...the first drink leads to a second. Finally, I'm in the process of sending my date a text when he sends one to me.

Message: Sorry, lost track of time. Can't make it; still at the office. We'll reschedule. Have a great weekend!

Having read the text, I'm all at once mad, sad, hurt and humiliated. Fuming, I slurp the remainder of my drink even as I order yet another. My next drink, a slow screw, goes down rather quickly, and as I adjust myself in my seat, I feel the tip of my nose become somewhat numb. As always, this minor numbness is my first indicator I'm becoming rather inebriated. Still, at the moment, I don't really care. I'll just take a cab home—pick up the car later.

My bladder calling to me, I look to the bartender—he's cute and when I return from the restroom, I suspect he'll appear even cuter.

"I'll be right back."

The bartender, simply shrugs and as I leave, I feel silly for even implying he save my bar seat—but hey, I'm a little drunk.

As expensive drinks are only rented, I use the ladies room and after washing, I primp for a moment in the mirror. You're tipsy and dateless, but you still look good, Gwen.

Self-affirmation, given, I return to the bar and again, to my seat. Another drink comes my way; only this time, I didn't order it for myself. As he sets the beverage before me, the bartender nods across the way in indication of my benefactor.

A man, sitting alone at a small table, lifts his glass and nods. I smile in return, which apparently is indication enough of my interest that he points to the empty seat across from him, in offering.

He's not wrong, my interest piqued, I gather my beverage and accoutrements and make my way to man's table. He stands and pulls the chair to seat me...very gentlemanly, score one for the mysterious stranger. The guy is well dressed, cute, with a peak of thinning hair and around my age, give or take.

"Hello there, I'm Devin."

His voice is deep—masculine; I cannot help but blush as I am seated. "Gwen. Nice to meet you and thanks for the drink."

"My pleasure," he says, returning to his seat.

"So, I haven't seen you here before, Gwen, new to the area?"

"The area? Oh, no, just—just uh, reliving the dating scene—first time here though, nice place."

The man nods as if appreciating his surroundings. "Yeah, it's got some class, not too haughty though, I like it."

As I, again, smile to the guy, I see his eyes drift to my neckline, and then, lower still. It seems but a quick glance, but he's definitely eyeing my cleavage—good boy.

"So, what brings you here, meeting someone or just out and about?"

"Well, I was meeting someone, but uh, he had to cancel. I thought I'd have a few drinks and take a cab home."

From across the table, Devin grins to me, his dimples accentuating his already charming smile. He lifts his glass, "well, let's have a few drinks then."

I can't help but giggle like a school girl in reply.

Having forgotten all about eating anything, Devin and I share several more drinks, a few laughs, and generally get to know one another. He's fun with a wonderful sense of humor and I find myself swiftly attracted to him. Though, I'm relatively certain that my consumption of alcohol, in addition to not having been laid in two years, plays as a significant factor, as I sit, adoring the man's smile, I find myself becoming quite aroused.

"So, Gwen, this...well, this may be the liquid courage taking effect, but...oh, hell, I'm just going to ask. I'm staying at a hotel nearby; would you care to come over?"

To Devin's proposition, I cannot help but blush and smile; I'm nervous but feeling quite adventurous. Besides, this could be the beginning of a new romance, something I've recently been longing for. I slide my hand across the table and touch his. "I'd really love to," I reply.

Devin smiles and a warm feeling fills me as he lifts my hand to his lips and gently kisses the top of it. "I'll square our tab and call a taxi," He says.

Smiling, I nod, "I'm going to visit the ladies room for a moment. I'll be right back."

Smile on my face, sway in my hips, I walk to the ladies room and again use the facilities; the entire time thinking of how cute this new guy, Devin, is and how much I think this could be the beginning of something wonderful and fulfilling. Finishing up, I wash my hands and having left the majority of my lipstick on several beverage straws and drinking glasses, I open my purse seeking to reapply crimson color to my lips.

As I take the lipstick in hand, the goddess-like brunette from the bar saunters in, coming to stand next to me to share the wide mirror. Seemingly indifferent to my presence, she smiles to the mirror and tilts her head, slightly, to either side, as if carefully inspecting her smoky eye shadow. Ridiculously stunning as she is, I can't help but glance at her several times.

There is nothing said between us as I bring my lipstick to my mouth, but then...

"He's married you know?"

The woman's accent is foreign...British, by the sound of it and equally as alluring as her outward appearance—she probably sings like a lark too.

I move the lipstick from my face and glance to the raven-haired beauty. She looks sideways to me in the mirror. "Devin, he's married. I just thought you should know."

All at once, the pallor of my skin seems to go ashen, my heart and stomach feel as if they are sinking to my feet.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," she continues, "he's a very good lay, Devin, but he is, in fact, married. He sometimes neglects to divulge that information."

The woman shrugs, "it may or may not make a difference to you."

I turn and look directly to the woman, I can feel the incredulity openly displayed on my face.

She half-smiles, sympathetically, I guess.

"If you don't believe me, ask him. He might be truthful about it. If not, he possesses a cheater's band on his ring finger—look for it."

Without a word, I drop my lipstick into my purse and clasp it. Walking away from the woman in the mirror, I leave the bathroom, intent on returning to the bar. Yet, who should be awaiting me just outside the restroom—Devin.

The effects of alcohol and faltering emotions torment me as I look Devin in the eyes and hope against hope what the woman revealed to me is a lie.

Smiling, Devin's eyes narrow upon me as I look to him. "W-what is it, Gwen, what's wrong?" he asks.

"A-are you married?"

Immediately, Devin's handsome smile fails. "W-well, uh...I"

His fumbling words tell it all. But, I'm determined not to cry, nor to make a scene, not so much for Devin's sake, but my own.

My nostrils flare. "I don't know your situation, Devin, but I can tell you, that you should go home. You should go home and treasure everything you can of your wife—because you never know what might be taken from you...or when."

"Gwen, I—"

Shaking my head, I immediately turn from the man, I don't want him to see me tear up or to see how pathetic I feel right now. "Just go."

Fuming and barely holding back tears, I retreat to the bathroom—Devin does not follow.

The raving beauty is still of course there; her reflection expressing a notion of sympathy toward mine as I return to the mirror. Tossing my purse atop the sink counter, tears gradually begin to slip from my eyes. "Y-you, were right."

The woman nods and turns toward me, "I wish I were not."

I nod, feeling tears stream along my face, all but certain my mascara is running. The woman looks to me as if perplexed.

"He is only one fellow you know? There are literally, billions of them."

"I-I guess I just liked him."

"Well, Devin is a terribly likeable man; all-in-all, you can't be faulted for it. He just had you outgunned, so-to-speak."

I nod, accepting the blunt truth. "D-did he tell you he was married when you were with him?"

"Oh, hell no, but I knew right away. I'm not often, out-gunned."

The woman smiles slyly, for a moment her emerald eyes shifting toward the ceiling of the restroom as if she were playfully pondering. "My morality is likely a trifle more ambiguous than yours; I'm kind of a little devil."

"It must be liberating."

"Yes...yes, I suppose it is."

Smiling to me, the woman opens her small, hand purse and taking a tissue from it, she reaches to my face, gently touching my chin with her finger tips, she dabs my tearful eyes. "Look at you, all this, over a man you barely know."

"It's not just Devin."

"Well, what is it? If I'm not prying, that is."

One last dab and she offers me the tissue, I take it and look to my face in the mirror. "I had a date today...well, I was supposed to have a date. My first date in twenty years, in fact—he cancelled on me, for a second time."

"Ouch. The bastard."

In the mirror I can't help but scoff, "yeah, not real good for the ole ego, for sure."

For a three-count, the woman seems lost in thought, then reaching into her purse, she produces a thin, cellular phone. "Not to worry, I've plenty of ego for the both of us. What are his numbers?"

Briefly, I cease to fixate upon my makeup and look to her. "What?"

Pulling a fringe of ebon hair from her face, the woman mirthfully smiles. "His numbers, give me his numbers and fix your makeup. Go on, hurry up then."

****

The beautiful woman adds the numbers I give into her cell phone and awaits as I swiftly reapply some makeup, mascara and lipstick.

"All right, you're beautiful. Are you ready then?"

"Ready? I-I don't even know what we're doing."

The woman gives a short nod to the cell phone in her hand. "We're taking a few risqué photos of course, all for the benefit of the bastard who twice cancelled his date with you."

"Uh, really?"

The woman smiles. "Uh, yeah. Ready, then?"

The woman draws in close to me, slipping an arm around my shoulder, and though she stands several inches taller, she lowers to my height, while raising the cell phone, cheek to cheek we smile, my pretty face and ample cleavage in full view, next to her perfect...well, everything.

Together, we look to the picture; I can't help but to smile.

"Oh, it's a terrific photo of us, now for a few risqué shots."

Again, the woman and I pose, only this time, she embraces me with one arm, drawing me against her body. Chest to chest, our already half-exposed breasts, mash together as we smile pretty for the camera—the photo is taken.

"All right, one last."

With seemingly no thought given to modesty, the woman fully exposes her left breast—indeed, it's perfect, as in; a super-model would kill for boobs like hers. She takes my hand and puts it to her flawlessly-firm, exemplary-buoyant, tit.

"I—I have to tell you, you're incredibly nice to me, but I—I'm not at all bisexual."

The woman looks to me, her eyes expressing her mirth, as a smile expands even further upon her thick lips. "Pfft! Neither am I. Now, hold my boob, lift your chin and smile."

I obey, gripping the woman's breast, I expose my neck and gaze to the cell-camera as she holds it out. The woman lowers, opening her mouth, she extends her tongue, pressing the pink length of it to the soft skin of my throat. It's warm, tickles and feels really good. The both of us offer the lens a sultry gaze and with a flash, the pose is immortalized.

Within a few moments, flesh is properly covered by clothing and the photos are sent, the last one having with it, a taunting caption, "You shouldn't have cancelled—goodbye."

Within a moment of sending the photos, the woman's cell phone buzzes with my cancelled date's reply...she looks to me, playfully, not even bothering to read the text, she instead, deletes the number completely.

Together, we giggle like misbehaving school girls, as a mere moment later, my cell phone receives two text messages, one from the man who cancelled on me, the other, from my son. With an audible chime, their stamp-photo's, pop upon my phone screen, presenting themselves as the taller woman stands at my side.

Peering, she points to the little screen. "I know that you haven't, but if you were to ask my opinion, the arse, doesn't deserve the time of day from you. The other one, however—if I were you, I'd be fucking the daylights out of him—such a handsome, young buck."

I look to the woman, my lips twisting into an askew smirk. "That's Jacob, my son."

To my surprise, the woman actually blushes, yet her face is awash with warped smiles and expressions of devious mischief. "Well, my morality is rather ambiguous, remember?"

I smile and nod, realizing in an odd way, I'm coming to admire this strange woman who has for some reason, befriended me. "Yeah, I remember," I laugh.

Ignoring the bastard-date-canceller's text, as advised, I finger-swipe Jacob's message.

Message: I hope you're having a good time, Mom. I Love you—G'night.

Quickly, I message back: I am. I Love you too, sweetheart. Goodnight.

Having witnessed our brief correspondence, the woman playfully nudges her shoulder against mine and nods to the small picture of my son. "Taboo or not, your Jacob seems considerate, he thinks of you and loves you. Believe me, when I say there are far worse men to share your flesh with."

****

Outside the restaurant, the woman waits with me until my cab arrives. "Are you certain you don't wish to join me and my friends, you'd be most welcome?" She asks.

"No, I—I really just want to go home, I'm pretty tired."

The woman smiles, her voice, devilishly playful. "Oh, I know what you're so hurried to go home to."

This time, it's me who blushes. "You're terrible," I laugh.

"Heh, Oh, don't I know it."

Even as we share the laugh, my cab arrives, pulling up to the restaurant.

"Right then, I'd best be getting back to my friends." The woman presses a firm hug to my frame as well as a slip of paper into my hand.

Turning, she walks to the restaurant door and opens it.

"Wait, I—my god, I just realized, I don't even know your name."

The woman simply grins and nods to my hand, and with that, she disappears into the depths of the establishment.

I get into the cab and the driver takes me towards home. Looking into my hand, I unfold the small slip of paper. There is a phone number written on it as well as an email address and just a singular, strange name: Ribbon.

****

I pay my fare and tip the driver, and as the cab speeds away, I remove my heels and walk to the door of my home. With the turn of a house key, I gain entry and lock the portal behind. As typical, I drop my shoes and purse by the door, my eyes are drawn to the foyer table and though I sigh, I cannot also help but smile. Atop the table is the cereal bowl I had specifically instructed my son to put into the sink.

"He never listens to me," I mumble. I take the bowl in hand and walk toward the kitchen. The house is dark but for the living room where the screen-flicker of late night television can be seen. I peek in and see Jacob is fast asleep on the couch. No small wonder, with all the travel, I realize it's been quite a long day for him. He's all tuckered out.

In the kitchen, I place the bowl into the sink and return along the hallway, but as I pass through it, I notice the door to my late husband's study is now fully closed, where before I'd left it slightly ajar.

I look to the door knob with curiosity and though I realize Jacob may have simply closed the door without entering the study, my strong desire to know of his activities, once more, gets the better of me.