Midlife Glitch (May/December Romances Book 1) (2 page)

I came back into the house the following morning after mowing the lawn to find Ashley, newly woken, eating a bowl of cereal at the breakfast table. Joanne was out running errands. It was just the two of us. I hadn’t expected it. I stopped short and took a step backwards. But she'd seen me.

She gave me a quizzical look.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

I hesitated. Swallowed hard.

"No...."

She frowned.

I was trapped. I had to let it out. Curiosity at why she was watching us, guilt at having spied on her…. I’ve never had much of a poker face.

"I mean.... It's not a big deal.... But well, it's just, I saw you last night."

She covered her mouth and gasped.

"I mean, I saw you watching us. Outside our bedroom," I added quickly, then wondering if I'd said too much. What else might I have seen after all?

She looked down into her bowl. For a moment, it was silent. And then I heard her let out a muffled sob.

"No, no," I exclaimed. "It's okay. It's just, I'm a little disappointed."

She looked up, eyes red-rimmed. "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did it. You're not gonna tell..." she stopped mid-sentence.

"Your dad?"

She nodded.

"No," I replied. "Not Joanne either. This is just our little secret, okay? But it can't happen again."

She nodded and then quickly stood. She rushed me and gave me a quick, awkward hug. I felt guilty. She shouldn’t have had to apologize to me, at least not without a reciprocal apology from me. I shooed that thought away as she retreated to her room. After all, she was the one who had provoked it. Had she not spied on us, I wouldn’t have spied on her.

My other sensation was a weird elation. It gave me a little thrill to be sharing a secret… this particular secret… with such a pretty young woman.

***

I kept my end of the bargain. Ashley was unmistakably embarrassed, and kept to herself for the rest of the weekend, so much so that Joanne noticed.

"You think she's homesick?" she asked in bed Sunday evening.

"Maybe. Or just boyfriend troubles. You know how kids get."

Another twinge of guilt. Why was I lying to my wife about what I knew?

She laughed. "You couldn't pay me to be eighteen again. Or dating."

I forced a laugh. "Me either."

Yeah, being eighteen, dating girls who looked like Ashley… hell on earth.

"Should we take advantage of being middle-aged and married?" Joanne asked, snaking her hand into my PJs.

"Mmmm, sounds like a plan."

We kissed, our hands slowly exploring each other's body in a well-practiced dance. We stripped out of our PJs, and Joanne ducked under the covers and took my cock into her mouth. After a few minutes I returned the favor, going down on her.

She pulled me on top of her, and I entered her slowly. She loves it when I just pump the tip of my cock in and out, and sure enough after a few minutes of that she grabbed my ass and pulled me deep inside. She shuddered as she came, moaning loudly.

So, we have an exciting, albeit age-appropriate, sex life. I really have no complaints…. Okay, I have some complaints….

As Joanne has gotten older, her tolerance for extended lovemaking has waned. Even using some lube, it gets uncomfortable for her after a while. And unfortunately, as I've gotten older, I've sometimes had trouble finishing. Yeah, not only do you exchange unwanted boners for no boners sometimes, but you exchange premature ejaculation for, well delayed ejaculation. Seems like a boon. It isn’t always. After a couple of minutes I was starting to feel the clock was ticking.

I sometimes fantasize to help things along. Girlfriends from long ago; in my case,
long
,
long
ago
. Women from work. Images from porn. I ran through my regular go-tos, but it wasn't working. Joanne was leaning up, kissing my nipples, her hands pumping my ass faster and faster. I thrust harder, and her groans now letting me know I was running out of time. I sighed inwardly. Time to fake it and move on.

And then, like a lightning bolt, I imagined myself over Ashley, her lithe, naked body, folded beneath me. I imagined her moaning, her full breasts rising upward in time with my thrusts. I saw her face, as I’d seen it just a few nights ago, lit up, on the edge of a climax. My whole body seemed to clench up. I let out a feral growl, and then I came almost violently, my cock pulsing hard at least a half-dozen times.

I collapsed, panting, sprawled across Joanne.

She giggled. "Well, that worked."

I could only groan in response as I rolled off her. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

When the phone rang at 5:43am, I knew it couldn't be good news. It wasn’t. Joanne's little sister's husband had had a stroke. It was serious, but not life threatening, but they still had school-aged kids, and Joanne immediately put in for extended leave to go to Michigan to help them out.

I don’t think Joanne even thought twice of leaving me alone with Ashley. Why should she? I mean, what could possibly happen?

Ashley and I quickly settled into a routine. I'd drop her off at the subway in the morning; pick her up in the evening. We split the cooking duties. She could make pasta and roast a chicken. I handled the more complicated stuff. Watch a little TV in the evening, me checking baseball scores and stocks, she on her phone texting friends. Rinse and repeat.

We were both wary around each other, the consequence of our confrontation, such as it was, a few days earlier. Or maybe we were feeling something else. I don’t know.

I had certainly thought of her, sexually, now several times. Hard not to. Once that barrier was broken, the reality of her mesmerizing beauty was impossible to deny, especially when she was prancing in yoga pants. I get that they are comfortable and she wasn’t wearing them to tempt me, but man, what kind of brilliant demon invented the damn things?

And yet, I thought I had it under control. 

***

Wednesday at dinner, Ashley seemed particularly pensive.

"Can I ask you a question?" She said suddenly.

"You mean besides that one?" I replied. I was in full
cool dad
mode.

She gave me a smirk and called me on it. “Really?”

I laughed. "Okay, got me. Sure, go ahead."

She hesitated and then took a deep breath.

"It's about that night. The night I was outside your bedroom."

I felt a weird surge of panic. I took a deep breath. "I told you, it's not a big deal. It's just between us."

Cool dad, feeling his cool slipping away.

"I know." She paused and blushed. "It's just, well, Joanne really seemed to enjoy herself."

I laughed, a little uneasily, but didn’t see an easy way to disengage from the conversation. I stumbled forward. "I should hope so. I mean, it's supposed to be fun, unless you're one of those 'just for procreation' people."

"Well, yeah, but I mean, does she... you know... enjoy it every time?"

I was taken aback. This was a very personal line of questioning. And unexpected. I decided to answer. She obviously needed to talk something out. "I don’t know for sure. I think so. I hope so. She's never complained, and she's not shy about saying what she wants. But I imagine she sometimes has an off day, or maybe I do."

We were both silent for a moment.

My curiosity was killing me. Why would this gorgeous eighteen-year-old care about my sex life?

"Why?" I asked.

She blushed again. "Well, it's just, I've never...."

As she answered, I immediately regretted my question. Where was I going with this?

"Oh. Well, look, you're still young. You don't need to rush it. There is nothing wrong with waiting until you find the right guy."

My words came out in a weird rush,
cool dad
pabulum, admixed with an unmistakable desire to extricate myself from an awkward conversation.

She looked at me quizzically, then a glimmer of understanding crossed her face. She shook her head. "No, no, I'm not a virgin. I mean, I'm not, like, a slut or anything, but I've had a couple of boyfriends."

I smiled despite myself.

“What?” she asked defensively.

I’m sorry. “It’s just, the way you phrased it, virgin or slut….”

She nodded. “Yeah, right. It’s sort of the boxes they put you in.”

And suddenly, we were having a real conversation.

I nodded. “I think it is especially hard for women. Young women in particular, you know.”

“I’m not really worried about that,” she replied. “You know, people say all sorts of stupid shit. But I guess, I dunno, I’m just hoping that, well, it’s ever for me like it is for Joanne.”

"Oh...." I hesitated. "Well, I don't really know. I mean, I hear some women having difficulty, you know, achieving climax. I guess it takes time, you know, learning about your own body."

"No, that's not what I mean either. I can get myself off," she replied with bracing frankness.

It was my turn to blush as the memory of her writhing in passion flashed in my head.

She continued, "No, I mean, I've never been able to with my boyfriends. I just never quite get there."

"Well, that takes time too. Joanne and I have been together a
long
time.” Why had I stressed that word so obviously? “We know each other pretty well. You'll find the right guy. If you have a strong emotional connection, it's easier, I guess."

She regarded me pensively, but I could tell I hadn't quite satisfied her curiosity.

"Have you talked to your mom about this? Your friends?"

She laughed. "God, I could never talk to Mom about this. She'd pack me off to a convent." It was my turn to laugh. Trent was an old friend, but he'd somehow managed to end up marrying a born-again Christian. "And my friends. Well, half of them are virgins, and the other half are always bragging about their boyfriend and their crazy sex lives. Virgins and sluts, right? I'm pretty sure it's bullshit, but it's just not something I wanna talk to them about, you know?"

I nodded. "I wish I had more answers. All I can say, I guess, is be patient. It'll happen."

She smiled. "I guess.... Well, thanks for listening."

We sat in silence for a few minutes. "So what do ya think?
American Idol
tonight?"

She shook her head. “I think actually I’ll just lay out by the pool tonight.”

“Okay then, baseball for me.”

***

I did try to watch the game. I really did. But when I caught glimpse of Ashley walking by in a skimpy, black bikini, a towel draped over her shoulder, my ability to concentrate plunged. I couldn’t see her from the sofa in the family room, but I knew if I just walked over to the big bay window, I would have a perfect view of her.

I tried to focus on the TV, but my eyes just kept drifting over the window. Back to the TV. Wait, when had they scored a run? And back at the window.

I probably should check on her, right? I mean, they say not to let people swim alone. Just a peak to make sure she was okay. I chuckled at my own pathetic rationalizations.

Yeah, I was a happily married man, and yeah, she was young enough to my daughter, but I’m still a man, and it was still just a peek. So I rose and approached the window slowly, like I was sneaking up on it.

And there she was, a teenage girl, texting on her phone. So prosaic, and yet so enticing. Her slender legs, creamy thighs, the perfect flatness of her stomach, her impossibly generous cleavage when she turned to her side.

I thought about her fumbling about with her ham-fisted boyfriends who were unable to get her off. God, it really was pearls before swine.

I shook it off. I needed to stop being an asshole. She was just a kid. A pretty kid, but just a kid, and I needed to get my mind out of the gutter.

I went back to my sofa and the game. I really have no idea who won. 

***

Friday morning when I dropped her off at the subway, she mentioned that she might be a little late. Her office was having an afternoon cocktail reception.

She called at 6:30pm and said she'd been invited out with some of the other interns. She sounded as if she'd had a few. I groaned. I was responsible for her, but I also didn't want to be overbearing. I said okay, but told her not to be too late.

She called again at 9:15pm. This time she was definitely drunk, slurring and giggly.

"Can you come get me?" she asked. "I'm at this, um, party thing, and I'm not sure how to get back."

I agreed and she texted me the address. The place was a little off the beaten path, in a residential neighborhood. It took me almost thirty minutes to get there. She was waiting out front by herself when I arrived.

"How'd you get all the way out here?"

She rolled her eyes. "Some guy. Said it would be a fun house party, but turns out it, it was just his roommates drinking." Her voice was throaty, slurred. She obviously had more than a few.

"Oh."

"He's getting drunk inside, and didn't seem eager to stay sober enough to drive me home after I told him I wasn't interested in seeing his room." She seemed disappointed it had come to that.

"Sorry about that," I replied without thinking.

"What?"

I chuckled. "I guess I'm just apologizing for all men, or something."

She laughed and put her hand on my shoulder. "Thank you for picking me up."

Our eyes met. One second, two seconds, three. For a moment, I was tempted to lean over and kiss her. Instead I cleared my throat and looked away.

"I guess I better get you home," I said, putting the car in gear.

I could feel her looking at me. The sexual tension was almost palpable. I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. The truth is, I wanted her. Wanted her badly.  I'd been thinking about her from the moment she'd arrived in our house, walking around in her short shorts, clingy tees. She wasn't even trying to be provocative. She was just dressing like a normal teen. Even in her work clothes, she just exuded sexuality. And then I'd seen her masturbating… we’d talked about sex… and I just couldn't stop thinking about her. And now, we were alone together. She was drunk and eyeing me frankly, provocatively.

But it couldn't be. It had to stay just a fantasy.

I swallowed hard. "Ashley, we just can't do this," I began. I turned to glance over at her and.... She was asleep.

I drove home the rest of the way in silence, unsure whether I should be relieved or disappointed or maybe both.

I pulled into the driveway and she woke up groggily. "We're home," I announced.

She grunted. I think she'd have been just as happy to sleep out in the car at that moment.

I walked over to her side and opened the door, helping her to her feet.

"You going to be okay?"

"Yeah, just tired," she groaned.

She took a step and immediately stumbled. I reached out to catch her before she fell, and swept her into my arms. I lifted her off the ground. She was as light as a feather, just a dainty little thing.  She wrapped her arms around my neck, her head resting on my shoulder.

"Thank you, Uncle Danny," she said softly, sleepily.

I chuckled. She hadn't called me that in years. Not since she was a little kid.

I carried her up to her room, and laid her on her side on the bed. I slipped off her shoes, and draped a thin blanket over her. Then turning out the lights, I snuck away downstairs.

I started to replay the evening in my head, but it was just too painfully awkward. Thank God, I hadn't tried to kiss her. And, thank God, she'd been asleep when I'd started to explain why we couldn't be together. I could almost imagine her reaction, appalled, disgusted when she realized what I'd been thinking.

I poured myself a scotch, a double... well, maybe a triple, and downed it quickly while watching Sports Center. Then still in the grip of self-loathing, I went to bed.

I lay there for a while, the booze seeping into my bloodstream, clouding my head. Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, Ashley.... She was all I could think of. I slowly stroked myself, eyes-closed, thinking of her, until finally the Scotch carried me off to sleep.