Old Men and Old Spice

The usual applies, anyone engaged in sex is 18 or older, in this case much older.

For those who care this is my first story since the surgery which went better than anticipated and recovery has been steady, however I'm sure my PT gal was top of her class at Physical Therapy Torture 101. I have a relatively high pain threshold but she has brought me to tears twice, each time my thought was *if you weren't a woman I'd drop you*.

The idea for this story came about as I was ready to be discharged from the hospital, I had just finished shaving and dressing when the nurse came in to wheel me out. When I sat she made a comment, "You smell like my grandpa." When I asked if that was good, she replied, "Yes, the smell of Old Spice makes me feel safe and loved." I let my imagination take it from there, the idea about the bib-overall's centers around my memories of an old farmer a mile down the road named Herman Gotham.

This is more a story than an erotic event, sex is involved but is not the center focus. Romance between the two people builds throughout, there is drama as well as heart break and joy, in the end all is well that ends well.

Old Men and Old Spice

What is it about old men and Old Spice, somehow they just seem to go together, I'd seen him at the self-serve check outs numerous times, as a cashier we rotated from day to day between the cash registers and monitoring or helping at the self-serve check-outs. Today he was in my line at the cash register, when he approached I gave him a quizzical look, he smiled at me as he unloaded the cart.

"Too many folks at the self-serve today, those in line have carts heaped full, figured this would be quicker."

And he was right, the manned cash registers were moving at almost twice the speed as the others. He was a pleasant man to look at, always had on a fresh shirt and what my grand dad would have called Sunday jeans or bibs, though his hair was greying it was cut and combed, face shaved, quick with a smile, always a kind word on his tongue and .... the faint smell of Old Spice. It was as though going to the grocery store was a major event in his life, considering I'd never seen him with a woman I assumed he was widowed, there was no wedding band but the indentation of wearing one for decades was still visible if you looked hard.

I was divorced after too many years of a tumultuous existence, as with most young couples it started out in a whiz bang atmosphere, twenty eight years later I found out it was mostly *bang* for his personal assistant, a 29 year old girl with daddy issues. As humans we want to believe the best for those we love,

sadly, it took me far too long to confirm the slime ball was cheating and almost another three years to complete the divorce, the son-of-a-bitch fought me every step of the way. The details aren't pertinent, suffice it to say it was ugly and unnecessary, most of what he did to contest the divorce was out of spite and in the end only cost him more in legal fees. The dip shit thought he could hurt me financially, his lawyer reminded him time and again that we lived in a no-fault state, half of what we accumulated would be mine no matter what he did. Some people never learn.

Moving several hours away I'd gotten a position at a new local grocery store/pharmacy, with my soon to be ex fighting any financial help whatsoever I needed to get away before I killed him, at least the kids were out of the house so it was just me to buy groceries for and cover utilities. Once the divorce was final and I had half of everything I no longer needed the job but kept it anyway, I liked the simplicity of what I did and I'd come to know several people in this small out of the way town. I'd been there just over two years when mister Old Spice began coming into the store weekly. Shortly after having him come through my line a position as a Pharmacy helper was posted in store, I applied and got the position. As he approached the pharmacy I found myself thinking, *finally I'll get to ask his name*, I saw him smile as he caught my eye.

"George, Robert, 2-9-'58, one to pick up."

I was confused, "Is it George or Robert sir?"

Chuckling he responded, "It's both, first name is Robert, last name is George, yes I've heard the saying all my life, never trust a man with two first names. You'll have to take me at my word."

When I saw the scrip was for six tablets of Oxycontin I signaled the pharmacist knowing she would have to speak with him, I took payment, set the bag to the left and attended to the next in line. When the pharmacist asked if he was aware of the risks he nodded, he'd had dental surgery and had been prescribed the pills but wasn't sure he would need them. Once again, clean shaven, hair combed, a fresh pocket tee and Sunday bibs, they appeared as if he hung them in between wearing them, always crisp, I wouldn't have been surprised if he ironed them.

I finally had a name to go along with the man, he wasn't overweight or scrawny looking in the least, his body appeared to be weathered and stout, his hands were heavily calloused, his biceps were hard but not oversized, I figured him to be five eleven, maybe five ten. Not only did I now know his name, I knew his age, sixty-two. I found myself thinking life might not be over after all, now what I needed to know was whether he was widowed or divorced.

At fifty four I could still hold my own with gals at or near my age, my five foot seven frame carried my age well, or so I thought, my 36D bra was full but not overflowing and there was still a firmness to my breasts, they weren't what are now categorized as *perky*, but they didn't look like a baseball in a sock either. Let's be real, three babies having nursed from heavy milk laden breasts will cause some sag and stretch marks, then there's that old devil called *gravity*. It is what it is.

My tummy was still flat but not ripped in any sense of the word, my hips were wider than a woman who hasn't bore children, even with a slight muffin-top I still maintained a thirty four inch waist, a shapely ass and strong legs that were generally clad in stockings of some sort. I love the feel of silk on my legs, the expanded lacy tops of thigh highs hugging my legs or the feel of straps on a garter belt holding my seamed stockings in place, the shimmer of them as light cascades across them, the soft almost silent sound they make when my legs rub against each other.

It was my grandma who gave me my first pair of stockings at the tender age of fifteen, an older pair with a seam up the back, I used her garter belt to hold them up. What a rush for a girl at that age, most of my friends favored pantyhose over stockings, after the kids were born I did the same, then nothing and eventually only wearing pantyhose for funerals or weddings. I know there are women who think seamed nylons are a pain and they are if they aren't fitted and worn properly, I also know they will turn a man's eye on a dime and give you nine cents change.

When I first discovered my asshole ex had been cheating I tried to rekindle what I thought were the original flames of passion with lingerie and sexy undies, it didn't rekindle the flames but it made me realize how much I liked silk stockings, silk undies and delicate lingerie, even if no one else saw them on me, I felt sexy as hell knowing I was dressed like a hooker under my outer wear. Watching Robert walk away I determined I was going to get the low down on him and proceed for there. It's amazing what you can find on the internet for next to nothing, Robert had been widowed fifteen months prior, had milked cows for thirty years and now ran a herd of beef, it was no wonder he looked to be in such good shape .... he was.

It was two weeks later his regular Wednesday shopping trip that I saw him next, they were short checker's that day so I was filling in overseeing the self-serve area, as he walked past me I chirped,

"Good morning Robert, nice to see you again."

He seemed surprised, then smiled, nodded and said "Good day. Not in the Pharmacy any longer?"

I answered, "Still in the Pharmacy, one of the checkers called in sick, I'm filling in."

As I watched him scan and bag his groceries I wrestled with whether I should say something more or leave things as they were, I had nothing to lose so as he tucked the receipt in a bag I stood in front of him.

"I get off at three, would you be free for a coffee and pie, Francine's seems to have the best pie around."

He stared at me long enough to think I'd made a huge mistake before he answered.

"Do you text, ummm, I don't even know your name. Oh, there it is on your smock, Doreen, guess I never paid attention before. Do you text?"

I nodded. "Okay then I'll text you, I need to make sure my sister is alright before I commit, she lives a few miles from me and at times she needs my help."

We parted with a smile and a wave of the hands. Just after three the text came through.

Robert: Hi, Francine's sounds fine, but, you need to let me buy you supper, Wednesdays is all you can eat pancakes all day, I like the blueberry ones. So, what do you think? Supper?"

Me: You don't need to buy me supper, I invited you."

Robert: Then I guess we can't go cuz that's the only way it works in my world, ladies don't pay for meals, men do.

Me: Your world it is then, see you at five thirty."

I arrived early to ensure we had a table, Francine's fills fast for the supper hours. I figured he would pull up in some old beater pickup with cow crap on the tires and in the fender wells, imagine how pleased I was when he pulled up in a newer Honda Accord, no cow shit on that sweet little ride. I waved as he walked through the door, he greeted a number of folks along the way to where I sat, it appeared he knew half or more of the those in the diner.

Sitting across from me at a table he smiled and asked if I'd been waiting long, I acknowledged I'd only been there five minutes at the most. With a face as smooth as a babies bottom it was evident he had shaved before meeting me, his attire was what I expected to some extent, instead of a pocket tee he wore a cotton western style shirt along with what some call dress jeans, basically they were never worn for chores and still looked new. As he sat down a soft wave of air whooshed my way, there it was, that Old Spice fragrance, it reminded me of my grandpa, every Christmas us kids would buy him an Old Spice gift box with cologne, after shave and two soap refills for his shaving mug. I wondered if Robert used a shaving mug and brush like grandpa had.

I ordered two pancakes, two slices of bacon and coffee, he ordered like I expected a farmer would. A stack of three blueberry pancakes to start, two sausage patties, a small order of hash browns, toast, and a large glass of milk. When the waitress walked away he half smiled, half grinned,

"Can't eat like I used to, hafta save some room for coffee and pie."

*Can't eat like I used to* I thought to myself, stars and garters how much did he used to pack away? I watched in amazement as he polished off the first stack, the gal was at the table with two more when he had finished those, she had apparently been his waitress before. Patting his stomach he smiled and leaned toward me.

"Thanks for the invite, haven't eaten with a pretty lady in a long time, I eat with my sister Shirley sometimes but that's not the same. So, Doreen, what's listed on the pie board for tonight? Hey, is there any of the crumb crust apple left?"

"You're in luck, one piece of the apple left, I'm having cherry. Coffee right away?"

He nodded, I summoned our waitress, told her what we wanted and sat back staring at this older version of a hunk, I hadn't let a man into my life in over three years much less into my bed, and yet I found myself having tingling feelings in my nether regions that hadn't been there for what seemed like ages. He told me a bit about his wife dying, I told him a bit about my cheating husband, we didn't go into detail, neither of us cared as far as I could tell, he was a widower, I was a divorcee, that's simply how it was. I did tell him I was fifty four at which time he laughed and said people would accuse him of robbing the cradle, it was sweet and embarrassing at the same time, no way was I a young thing. When I asked why I hadn't seen him in the store when I first started working he sat back and sighed.

"Well, truth be told my Agnes always went to that older store on the other side of town, probably because gals she'd known all her life worked there. The first few times I went there after her death it just plain hurt too much walking those aisles and then having to face those women she'd known since grade school. I started going where you work quite a while ago, you never saw me cuz I'd go at night just before they closed at ten, didn't really want to see or talk to anybody I might know. When I got past being so lonesome I started coming during the day."

Driving home I found myself thinking of our evening. He was polite, handsome in a rugged sort of way, caring, thoughtful, and easy to talk with. This couldn't be all there was to him, there had to be a dark side he was hiding .... like my slimy bastard of an ex. There were three messages from my daughter when I got home (yes I still have a land line and answering machine, deal with it) I took a pee, changed into night clothes, and gave her a ring.

"Mom, where have you been, I've been calling since five forty? Is everything okay?"

"Hi to you too honey. If you must know miss nosey britches I had a pseudo date with a guy named Robert, we went to Francine's for all you can eat pancakes and pie."

The line was dead silent for the longest time, I finally spoke, "Barbara, are you there honey?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm here mom. I thought I heard you say you had a date. Took me a minute to realize you were joking."

"I'm not joking, I had a bona-fide real date with a man named Robert, I met him at the store, sweet man but almost too sweet. Kind of scares me."

"Mother don't screw around, don't get my hopes up thinking you might have finally flushed my worthless father from your memories. Oh, I saw him last week with his very pregnant bimbo wife, at least I think he married her. I thought guys couldn't produce sperm like after fifty or sixty."

I laughed, "Oh baby girl, you have a lot to learn, most men can still produce semen long after a woman is no longer ovulating. I feel bad for the kid, your dad will be in his seventies when the kid is twenty, not cool. More power to the slime ball, I'm done with all that fertility crap, thank God, now if I find the right man I can be as rambunctious as I wanna be without worrying about a pregnancy."

"MOTHER, what has gotten into you? You never talk like this. Is it that guy you had supper with, is he some kind of a perv?"

"Who, Robert? Oh heavens no, he's the most polite, tender, and caring guy I've come across in decades, it does worry me a little though. I mean him being so nice."

"I don't get it mom, he's polite, caring, tender, but that worries you?"

"Honey, I once thought the same about your dad and look how that turned out, there has to be a dark side I haven't seen yet. He's too good to be true and you know how that goes, if it's too good to be true it probably is. I'm just not sure Barb."

"Well mom, your nobody's fool anymore, I say give him a chance, he might be the one you never met but should have before you met dad. You don't have to sleep with him just to get to know him."

I couldn't resist, "Yeah, but what if I did want to sleep with him? You know, take him for a test drive. Find out if he makes my liver quiver."

"MOTHER, you are becoming a dirty minded old lady." Then in almost a whisper she asked. "Would you really sleep with him mom, I mean, is he worth it?"

"First off kiddo, I'm not old, second you have the cart before the horse, but yes, if I felt safe and confident enough .... he could park his shoes under my bed."

She was laughing as we finished, "I'm gonna hang up mom, all this talk is making me horny, I'm gonna go find hubby and screw his butt through the mattress, the poor guy will never know what hit him."

The rest of the week went by as usual although I did find myself occasionally wondering what Robert might be up to, was he on a tractor, was he mending fences, was he working in the fields? I wanted to call or text but didn't want to seem as though I was imposing, I decided I would wait for him to contact me. I had just gotten off shift at three and was walking to my car when the phone pinged, starting the car I opened the windows to get a cross breeze, then opened my phone, I had a text from Robert.

Robert: Hi Doreen, got time for a fish fry with me at the Catholic Church? I'm not a member but they've got the best fish fry in town.

Me: Sure, I'm available. What time?

Robert: Pick you up at five?

Me: Yup, sounds good, see you then.

At 4:55 there was a knock at my door, I was pleasantly surprised when I saw Robert, he wore a light blue shirt, a dark blue tie, dress jeans with a buckle the size of Montana and cowboy boots. I wasn't dressed up, but I wouldn't be underdressed either, a cotton dress with sheer black stockings and what he wouldn't see holding them up, a black garter belt.

"Why so dressed up Robert?"

"Ma taught me a man should always dress up when he's gonna meet a person he respects."

Holding his elbow out he asked, "Ready Doreen, them fish are waiting for us."

I hadn't been on a man's arm for ages, my slime ball ex didn't even like to hold hands, this seemingly crude farmer was worming his way into my life in ways he wasn't even aware of. He was right, I'd been to a few restaurants as well as the VFW Hall for fish fry but none of them compared with what we were eating at present. I'm not sure why I had it in my head that you had to go to that church to eat their fish fry, I just did. We talked for a few minutes and then left, people were waiting for a table, it didn't seem right that we were preventing someone else from having a meal while we chatted.

With my hand through his arm I proudly walked to the car, no one had put on a tie for me in years, he nodded and greeted folks as we walked, nobody asked who I might be but the looks were aplenty, as if to say, *who is that with Robert*? He wanted a soft serve cone for dessert, we cruised on over to the Tastee Freeze, ordered our cones and sat at the picnic table for almost an hour talking about nothing and everything.

I learned that he had been born in the very house where he lived, the farm had been in the family for over one hundred years and was listed on the National Registry. He'd known his late wife all their lives becoming boyfriend/girlfriend in seventh grade and had never dated another person, they married the summer after they graduated from high school and went to work on his folk's farm immediately. They'd had three kids, their youngest daughter lived several hours away.

He looked so sad when he mentioned, "You know how it is, life takes over and the kid's sort of take you for granted. Got four grands but I hardly know any of them, they live over in Ashford, she and her husband milk cow's so they can't get away very often."

I told him my life was relatively dull compared to his, met stupid in college and married our senior year, had three kids, one of which drown at nine in a boating accident, a son in the Army stationed in Germany and a daughter who lived an hour away. My parents had long since passed, I had no aunts or uncles, it was just me and my two. As he walked me to the door I felt his hand graze mine, then his little finger slide over my thumb, it was one of the sweetest gestures I could remember, I turned to smile, he merely smiled back. At the door I faced and thanked him, telling him it would be nice to do this again.