Wednesday, March 13, 2013


I was in the supermarket one day when I spied what appeared to be the last remaining can of French Onion soup, which I had been craving and was the main reason I had come to the supermarket in the first place. My hand grabbed hold of the can an instant before another hand grasped mine. I turned towards the woman who shared my appetite.

She was in her early fifties, just beginning to turn gray, not bothering to hide it. It wasn't necessary, for the signs of age that showed were no match for her beauty. Her ample breasts still stood high, thanks to exercise and a good bra. Child bearing had added voluptuous rather than matronly inches to her hips. The faint crows’ feet that framed her pavement colored eyes did not diminish their sparkle. But what entranced me most was her neck, slender and unblemished, reminiscent of a porcelain swan I used to admire in my childhood home.

"How about I keep it but take you to lunch as a trade off? What are you in the mood for?"

She gestured to the can I held. I thought she meant that she still wanted it until she suggested a French restaurant a few blocks away.

Jamie was her name, and my asking her to lunch had been just what she needed to shake off the funk she was in. Two months prior she had become a grandmother.

"I know it's selfish to be anything but ecstatic. My granddaughter is a perfect little jewel. But I can't get used to the fact that I'm Grandma now. It doesn't seem like I was given enough time to just be Jamie. When did I grow old?"

"You haven't."

"You're being kind."

"That I am. But I happen only to be kind to young, vibrant, sexy women. And don't expect me to tell you that again."

"Why not?"

"Because I'd rather show you."

Jamie's husband had died eighteen months earlier of a heart attack in the arms of his mistress. This event relieved her of the role of neglected wife she had played for many years. Her most crucial duties as a mother were also behind her. Now she was a grandmother. But she was also a woman, one grown tired of titles. To me Jamie was who she longed to be, at least for one more afternoon.

I had often seen lust and love in the eyes of conquests, but gratitude of this nature was something new. It made me feel proud, as if having performed a humanitarian deed. The pride acted as aphrodisiac and I do believe Jamie was the beneficiary of one of my finer love making exhibitions. It was a perfectly wonderful encounter, and when it was over, no expectations were held on either side. Jamie was reassured that becoming a mother squared had not turned off her libido or attractiveness. I ended up with another sweet memory, and a can of soup.


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