Old Bob Pt. 05

Old Bob

By Fiona69m

Misha becomes part of her elderly neighbour's life.

Part 5

Misha, having regained her composure as she sat on the sofa looking over at Bob as he sat watching the TV in his usual pose, imagined his late wife fussing over him. She imagined Bob's wife bringing him cups of tea (His favourite, white with one sugar) with a sandwich and a treat; the treat being a loving blowjob from her.

Two things struck her; first was a mixed sense of jealousy and fear. Jealousy that another woman belonged to him, and fear that she needed to live up to an already proven standard. The second was that in the years she had known him and his wife before her passing, she never seemed to be overly attentive towards him. She never sensed a loving relation between the two, but she did admit she never knew them that well, intending always to keep her distance from them.

It had always been a status thing with Misha. She had always wanted the handsome, rich husband, the successful career of her own, nice belongings. She used to measure happiness this way. That was then; and now, well now she didn't need anything other than Bob. If she was with Bob and he was happy, then so was she.

She could have sat there all day gazing at him, serving his every need.

"Remember, I need you to run errands today." He never looked away from the TV.

"What, right now? I thought we could spend some time together!"

"I have a horse I want to bet on that's off at 10:45. You need to get a move on." He looked at her, this time.

She glanced at her watch. "We have an hour and a half, and I don't know anything about betting."

"It's easy; I'll tell you what you need to know. It'll be good for you to learn, since I like to bet the horses and you have the privilege of taking that cute little ass down to that shop and placing it for me. I can't be arsed going out."

She remembered that Bob's wife Linda had once commented that he lost so much money on the betting years ago that she refused to place a bet for him, anymore. She recalled the conversation held one day, over the fence, many years ago.

"Morning, Misha!"

Misha had tried not to make conversation with the woman.

"Oh,... Hi, Linda. Didn't see you there."

"I know, you're a busy woman; always working. You off to the gym?" Linda nodded to the sports bag slung over Misha's shoulder.

The woman's voice irritated her. "Tennis. In a rush. Sorry."

"No problem, I'm not going to hold you back, then. I would probably only start moaning about him that's inside anyway, lazy slob." She nodded to her house.

Even the woman's actions displayed a real lack of class, Misha thought.

As Misha played it over in her mind, she became angry that Linda would talk about Bob that way; a man that looked after her for so long. And so well, if he treated her to orgasms like the one Misha had just received.

Bob does give that impression. "You need a medal, Linda."

Misha gasped as she remembered Linda's comments. How could she have said that about Bob?

"Tell me about it. You know he lost the Holiday money on those damn horses, again. I could kill him, you know that?" Linda complained.

She remembered muttering to herself in the car, "Why stay with an old guy like that? He's obviously lazy, chauvinistic, and honestly, quite revolting." She recoiled at the thought she had caught him looking over the fence one day, when she was sunbathing in the garden alone.

Misha grew confused as to why she had felt that way, back then. She sat still on the sofa, just looking at the most amazing man ever. Why ever had she said and done those things?

"He's a good-for-nothing, worthless turd! He sits pottering with that garden or in that hut with his gizmos,... he can never get anything to work right, anyway."

"Sorry, Linda. I'm late."

That had been a lie. Misha was always early; it was in her top five rules for success. She was happy to get away from Linda and remembered muttering under her breath through clenched teeth as she waved over to her. "Well have some pride, woman, and dump his perverted old ass."

Misha tried to reason about what had changed in order for her to be where she was now: on this tired old sofa, freshly recovered from a mind-melting orgasm, at the hands of this man she had been so repulsed by.

Masha's brain started to create, and soon the image was replayed in her mind. But it was as if a new edit of that day had been re-written, one that she now remembered differently, the original being saved deep in her consciousness.

"Morning, Linda," Misha called after Bob's wife; she was a fine woman.

"Oh, ...Hi, Misha. Didn't see you there," Linda said, as she turned her back to her.

Linda's elegance intimidated Misha, but she tried to continue on with the exchange.

"I know you're a busy woman; always running around after Bob and keeping that house in perfect order..." Misha nodded to the house.

"Yes, Bob's bets need placing. Anything for my Teddy Bear."

"No problem, I'm not going to hold you back, then. I would probably only start moaning about him in the house, anyway. All he wants to do is work and buy pretentious stuff." Misha nodded to the house she shared with her husband -- the unappealing Ken.

She conjured another memory; this one of Ken and her having a row. He had caught her perving on the old man next door, doing the garden with his shirt off, when they had first moved in. Ken had always been so insecure about Bob; and Misha had done little to change that, flirting with Bob every chance she had.

"Anyway, Misha, I gotta run. Bob's bets need placing, even though he hardly wins."

"Must be quite the chore, running after him all day."

The new memory of her wishing it was her running after Bob, instead of Linda, saved in her memory bank.

"Sometimes. -- You know how it is."

"Actually, I don't; Ken doesn't let me do anything like that for him."

She remembered now that she had never felt that way about Bob; it had been an act, to make Linda rebel and possibly break them up, then she had planned to swoop in and sweep the old man off his feet and out of his underpants.

"You alright, my dear?"

Misha was back in the room, brought back by Bob's masculine voice.

"Yes, just reminiscing." The old, real memory was now replaced by the constructed one.

"Well, you need to get a move on." He tapped the centre of a crudely written note on the arm of his chair with his index finger. "Name of the horse; meeting and time."

He moved his finger to a second note. "Medical prescription refill," sliding it on top of the first note.

"Shopping list." He stacked them together and held them up in the air, level with his head.

Misha stood from the chair, smoothing her dress before stepping over to him. As she reached to take hold of the sheets, he pulled them out of her reach and towards his chest.

"Come get them," he growled.

"Oh, I intend to." She sat on his lap, wrapping her arms around his head, and kissed him deeply.

"When can we do this all the time?" she asked, before kissing him again.

"As soon as that husband of yours is a little bitch who won't cause me any problems," he said.

She smoothed the top of his thinning grey hair.

"I hope he comes around to your thing, real soon." She kissed him again before taking the slips and standing up. He slapped her behind as she did. Misha loved the loveable rogue Bob was, and enjoyed presenting herself for him.

"Can I change? My clothes, I mean." She nodded to the bedroom.

"Honey, anything you find in there, you can have."

'Honey' gave her a feel-good vibe.

"I mean... is there anything sentimental, off limits?" She asked.

"Nope. Being honest, I just haven't been arsed clearing those things out."

"Great! I'll have a look and then get you what you need." she skipped to the bedroom and flung open the doors of the wardrobe.

Soon, dressed in a light pink, wool, skirted suit and floral blouse, she admired herself in the long mirror. Apart from her hair style she could have been out a 1970's fashion magazine. She noticed the clothes did smell slightly, and could do with a quick wash. She made a note she would do that and take stock of her new acquisition upon her return home. A giddy feeling swept over her as she thought of the word he had used: 'Home.' Possibly their home.

As she said her goodbyes to Bob and forced herself to leave him, he had called her over.

"Hold out your hand, my dear," he said.

Thinking he was offering her money, she declined, "No, it's okay. I'll treat you."

"Hold out your hand."

She decided against offending him and held out her open palm.

He dropped something into it; it was small, but she knew it was metal. She looked into her palm.

"Seriously?" She beamed at the front-door key now in her possession.

"Well, I can't be arsed letting you in all the time."

She kissed him and moved the key to her chest. "Is it also the key to our hearts?"

"Get a move on. I want that bet on."

She slipped on the pink short-heeled shoes she found and left his drive and entered hers. There she jumped in the car and headed to town.

Misha felt no embarrassment at what she wore. The old Misha would never have worn this attire (never mind were she in public!) And all while she was off absent from work, with a made-up affliction. Anyone might see her and rumble her work lie.

Although It made less sense from a traveling point of view, she headed to the bookies first, as she knew this was the most important thing on his list today.

Misha took a deep breath and entered the smoke-filled premises. She noticed three older, greasy-looking men watch her. She was the only woman in the place, other than the lady behind the glass at the counter. She summoned her confidence and walked past two young men dressed in construction wear. She knew their sexual thoughts like she could see into their minds.

She got to the glass barrier and noticed the woman look her up and down, clearly surprised by her custom.

"Can I help you, doll?" The voice was robotic, coming through a small speaker positioned on the side.

"Yes. I would like to make a bet, please," she stated.

"Well, you're in the right place, doll," the woman retorted in a rather unfriendly manner.

Misha heard a few of the men behind her chuckle; she knew their eyes were on her.

She read from the slip, "Prince Agbagwa; 10:45 at Glote."

The woman began to push keys on her computer.

"Stan's Reprisal; 11:20 at Marshal."

More keyboard entering.

"Gary's Babysitter; 11:40 at Hallandale. Subliminal Karl, 14:05 at Hallandale. And Last Train; 14:50 at Hallandale also, please."

Lorie folded the note and returned it to her purse that she now held in both hands in front of herself.

"Each way?"

"Sorry?"

"Each way. It means the horse can finish in a placed position and you can get reduced odds returned."

Misha considered herself a very intelligent woman, but right now she felt really stupid. She knew she needed to get this right.

"I assume this bet is for someone else, so I can assume it's an accumulator, right?"

Misha looked at the woman.

"One bet on all five horses coming first, then."

"How many options are there?" Misha was suddenly terrified of getting this wrong.

The woman scoffed.

"Look, hun. it's your bet."

"Okay, so let's say you give me a bet that covers a good number of possibilities. Okay?"

"Doll, that's gonna run you up!"

Misha stepped back from the counter and slowly turned around in her new outfit; she returned to the counter and leaned into the window.

"I think I can afford it, darling."

"It's your shilling, doll."

The woman entered the details.

"That comes to one-eighty, doll."

Misha hid her surprise. She knew she didn't have enough cash to cover it.

"Card payments okay, HUN?"

Misha nodded and placed her bank card in the machine.

To be continued.