With an exasperated, “Okay,” he joined me. I leaned into him, touched his leg, rubbed his neck, got an occasional, “Honey, I’m trying to concentrate,” or, “I could use another beer.”
After the Undertaker was carried out of the ring in triumph we went upstairs to our bedroom, where he pulled the clothes off his uninspiring body and said, “Honey, I know you’re in the mood, but I’m pooped,” got into bed, fell asleep, snored.
Downstairs, vibrator in my pocket, I picked up the den, said good night to Todd when he came home, sat on the couch, and, replaying William and Milla in my head, brought myself off.
* * * * *
“Hey neighbors.”
I’d been watching Milla and William from the kitchen window, now I stepped onto the front porch.
William said, “Hey Ms. Porter, sorry, gotta run,” kissed his mother’s cheek, got into his car, backed out of the driveway.
Milla, happy smile on her face (who wouldn’t be happy after the way she’d been fucked), said, “Care to join me for a cup of coffee Natalie?”
* * * * *
Sitting in Milla’s back yard I looked over her shoulder. My bedroom had an unobstructed view. Had my son stood also there and spied on our neighbors?
“Same as ususal, a little bit of skim?”
I said, “Yes, please.”
At 39 Milla was two years older than me and taller, maybe five foot nine inches to my five foot three, with striking long legs. Otherwise we had similar builds: slender with slim shoulders and hips, flat stomachs, small breasts and butt cheeks. She’d also trimmed up, she was lean, nicely muscled.
After handing me my cup she sat down, her eyes a rare, and spectacular, green-blue in color, her brown hair cut short and stylish, her voice husky.
“Milla you look great, have you been working out?”
“It’s kind of you to notice. I’ve been making a point to get to the gym. I’ve lost a few pounds; I feel stronger.”
“It’s working. I’m afraid I’ve gotten a bit lackadaisical about that.”
“I’m always looking for a work-out buddy, care to join me? I’m going later today.”
I ran my schedule through my head, thought about how good she looked, how good she’d looked naked last night, wondered whether if I trimmed up my husband would be more attentive, said, “I’d love to.”
Now, as you can imagine, there was one topic I wanted to talk about, her and William, but had enough sense not to jump right in, instead waiting for the appropriate moment. It arrived when she asked about Todd. Leaving out the peeping-tom part, I recounted recent events and said all was okay, which was true. Unlike William, neither Todd nor his sister had ever given me much trouble.
Then I said, maybe a little too eagerly, “You and William were getting along swimmingly this morning. Just a few months ago you two were fighting constantly.”
Her face lit up. “Yeah, it got pretty bad. Then one day we were arguing and I was tired and frustrated and I just burst out crying, sobbing really. I was at the end of my rope, inconsolable, and he just held me, didn’t try to talk me out of it, just held me. It was exactly what I needed. It was like, in that moment he realized I was not the mannequin he’d caricatured as oppressor-mom, but a human being, one he cared about, one he loved, one whose needs were important to him. He stopped doing those stupid teenage things, casually lying, rolling his eyes when I spoke, avoiding my questions, treating household chores as if he were Sisyphus, withholding information, disregarding my needs and schedules; now he’s honest, he listens, is respectful. The mother-son conflict just melted away; he’s an adult and I treat him like an adult, but it’s also like he’s still eleven, when we were best friends. Now we are again, but as grown-ups.”