Trying to Get Back Into Life
Copyright© 2025 by THodge
Chapter 6
Romance Sex Story: Chapter 6 - Deniece is trying to get back into life after her husband's death. She has two children, lives in a spacious home, and has endured four years of mourning. Deniece is considering taking in a renter so that she can have an adult to talk to.
Caution: This Romance Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Consensual Romantic BiSexual Fiction
Deniece woke up earlier than usual and laid in bed, reflecting on what Jaclyn had said about Paul. Her friend’s teasing comments about the young math student kept replaying in her mind, making her both amused and uncomfortable. “The worst friend who just helped you find two perfect tenants and potentially your next husband,” Jaclyn had joked with that mischievous glint in her eye. Deniece pulled the covers up higher, as if to shield herself from the very thought.
It was ridiculous, of course. Paul was so much younger than her—a graduate student with his whole life ahead of him. She was a widow with two children, responsibilities, and a history that felt impossibly heavy sometimes. Yet she couldn’t deny there was something charming about his earnest enthusiasm for chess, the patient way he explained concepts to David, and how respectful he was of the household rhythms.
She glanced at the clock—5:30 AM, too early to start the day but too late to fall back asleep. The house was still quiet, the children wouldn’t be up for another hour, and she doubted her tenants were stirring yet. This in-between time felt like a small gift, moments that belonged just to her before the day’s demands began.
Deniece swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, catching her reflection in the mirror. She was wearing the sage green pajama set she’d decided to unearth from the back of her drawer yesterday. The soft material felt nice against her skin, a small luxury she’d denied herself for too long. Instead of immediately changing into workout clothes, she decided to enjoy her coffee first, savoring these quiet morning moments in her new pajamas.
Deniece padded softly down the stairs, her bare feet quiet against the cool hardwood. The house was wrapped in that special kind of early morning stillness, where even the walls seemed to be holding their breath. In the kitchen, she moved with practiced efficiency, measuring coffee grounds into the filter, filling the reservoir with water, and pressing the brew button. The familiar gurgling sound of the coffee maker provided a comforting soundtrack to her thoughts.
While waiting for the coffee to brew, she leaned against the counter, gazing out the kitchen window at the backyard still draped in pre-dawn shadows. The first hints of daylight were just beginning to soften the eastern sky, turning it from black to a deep indigo. She thought about how her morning routine had gradually evolved over the past days with Paul and Pam in the house. Small adjustments, different rhythms, new conversations over breakfast—changes that somehow felt natural rather than intrusive.
The coffee maker beeped softly, and Deniece poured herself a generous mug, adding just a splash of cream. She settled at the kitchen table, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic, letting the steam rise up to caress her face. Her mind drifted back to Jaclyn’s teasing words about Paul, and she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t experienced in years—a mixture of embarrassment and secret pleasure at the thought of being noticed in that way again.
“This is silly,” she murmured to herself, taking a sip of coffee. “He’s just being polite and respectful. That’s all.”
She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching the kitchen until Paul appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in running shorts and a faded university t-shirt, his hair slightly mussed from sleep. He stopped short when he saw her.
“Mrs. D,” he said, genuine surprise in his voice. “You’re up early.”
Deniece felt suddenly self-conscious in her pajamas, though they were perfectly modest. “Couldn’t sleep,” she replied, attempting a casual smile. “Thought I’d get a head start on the day.”
Paul ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up even more. “Same here. I was going to use the treadmill before everyone wakes up. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” she said, noticing how the early morning light from the window highlighted the angles of his face. “Would you like some coffee first? It’s fresh.”
“That would be amazing,” he admitted with a grateful smile. “I’m not fully functional without caffeine.”
As he moved to the cabinet for a mug, Deniece caught herself watching the easy athleticism in his movements, the way his shoulders shifted under his t-shirt, and she quickly looked down at her coffee, feeling a warmth in her cheeks that had nothing to do with the hot beverage.
She couldn’t help but feel a jolt of awareness at the sight of his obvious bulge, the soft fabric of his running shorts doing little to conceal the prominent swell of bulge. Deniece’s face grew even hotter as she hastily looked away all while struggling to shake off the unseemly thought that had suddenly popped into her head - what would it be like to see him fully naked, to witness the unbridled masculinity that seemed to emanate from him even in his semi-awake state.
Paul poured his coffee and sat across from Deniece at the kitchen table, the chair legs scraping softly against the tile floor. Steam rose between them in delicate curls, creating a thin veil in the quiet kitchen. He took a careful sip, then looked up, his eyes meeting hers for a moment before she glanced away.
“You’re wearing different pajamas,” he observed casually, then immediately looked embarrassed. “Sorry, that sounded weird. I just noticed they’re not the flannel ones you usually wear at breakfast.”
Deniece felt the warmth in her cheeks intensify, aware that he had noticed the small change in her appearance. The ruddy flush spreading across her face felt foreign after so long; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d blushed like this.
“They were a gift from my mother,” she explained, running her finger around the rim of her mug. “I decided it was time to actually use them instead of letting them sit in a drawer.”
Paul nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled. “They’re nice. The color suits you.”
The comment hung in the air between them, simple yet somehow significant. Deniece took another sip of coffee to hide her deepening blush, surprised at how a straightforward compliment could affect her so strongly.
“How’s the chess club going?” she asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“It’s going well,” Paul replied, seeming to pick up on her need to shift the conversation. “We’ve got a tournament coming up next month. David would love it—we have some kids just a little older than him who are really getting good.” He paused, then added, “I could take him sometime if you’d like. Or we could all go together.”
Deniece noticed how he included her in the invitation, not just offering to take David but suggesting she might come along too. The thoughtfulness of it—recognizing her potential interest rather than assuming she’d want time alone—caught her off guard.
“I’d like that,” she said softly. “Maybe next weekend?”
Paul’s face brightened. “Perfect. Saturday afternoon works best. The serious players come then, so David can see some really impressive matches.”
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, drinking their coffee as the kitchen gradually lightened with the approaching dawn. Deniece was acutely aware of Paul’s presence across the table—not in an uncomfortable way, but in the way you suddenly notice a familiar room from a different angle, seeing details you’d overlooked before.
He glanced at his watch. “I should probably get that run in before the house wakes up,” he said, though he made no immediate move to leave. Instead, he looked at her with a slight tilt of his head. “Would you ... want to join me? On the treadmill, I mean. Or we could run outside if you prefer. The neighborhood is really peaceful this morning.”
The invitation surprised her. Workout sessions with Pam were one thing, but running side by side with Paul felt different somehow. More personal. Yet the idea was strangely appealing.
“I haven’t run outside in years,” she admitted, realizing as she said it how true it was. Her exercise had become as contained as the rest of her life—limited to the basement, safe within the walls of her home.
“All more reason to try,” he suggested with an encouraging smile. “Just a short one. We’ll be back before the kids are up.”
Deniece looked down at her sage green pajamas and hesitated, suddenly aware of how unprepared she was for an impromptu morning run. “Maybe next time,” she said with a small, self-conscious laugh. “I don’t think the neighbors want to see an old lady jogging in her pajamas at the crack of dawn.”
As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. The self-deprecating comment had slipped out automatically, part of the armor she’d built around herself over the years. Old lady? At thirty-two? She wasn’t even middle-aged, yet she sometimes spoke of herself as if her life was already mostly behind her.
Paul frowned slightly, setting his coffee mug down with a deliberate gentleness. “You’re not old, Mrs. D,” he said, his voice carrying a note of genuine confusion. “Not even close.”
Deniece felt her cheeks grow warm again. “Force of habit, I guess,” she admitted. “When you have kids, you start feeling ancient pretty quickly. Especially when they keep pointing out that you were born ‘in the olden days before the internet.’”
Paul laughed at that. “By that standard, I’m practically a senior citizen too.” His expression grew more thoughtful as he looked at her. “But seriously, you shouldn’t talk about yourself that way. You’re...” he seemed to search for the right words, “you’re vibrant. Present. Not old at all.”
The earnestness in his voice caught her off guard. She wasn’t used to being seen so clearly to having someone push back against the diminishing ways she sometimes described herself. The warm flush in her cheeks deepened, spreading down her neck to her chest.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away. “I appreciate that. And maybe I will take you up on that run another time. When I’m actually dressed for it.”
“The offer stands,” Paul replied, rising from his chair with his empty coffee mug. “Any morning. Just let me know.” He rinsed his cup in the sink, placed it carefully in the dishwasher, and headed toward the basement door. At the threshold, he paused and looked back at her with a smile. “Have a good morning, Mrs. D. Thanks for the coffee.”
As the steady hum of the treadmill and Paul’s rhythmic footsteps filled the air, Deniece’s mind began to wander, her thoughts fixating on the unexpected sight of his morning arousal. She felt a flutter in her chest, a sensation that was both unsettling and exhilarating. It was as if her body had suddenly awakened to a newfound awareness, one that she couldn’t quite ignore. The memory of his bulge, straining against the fabric of his shorts, replayed in her mind, sending a shiver down her spine.
Deniece’s eyes drifted downward, her gaze falling upon her own hands, which were now clenched into fists on the tabletop. She felt a surge of heat coursing through her veins, a primal energy that seemed to be stirring deep within her. It was a sensation she hadn’t experienced in a long time, not since her husband had passed away. The realization that she was still capable of feeling such desires, such raw attraction, was both surprising and terrifying.
As she sat there, the sound of Paul’s workout growing louder, Deniece’s thoughts began to spiral out of control. She imagined him downstairs, his body moving in a steady rhythm, his sweat-drenched skin glistening in the morning light. The image was so vivid, so potent, that she could almost smell the musky scent of his sweat, feel the warmth of his skin radiating toward her. It was as if her body was betraying her, responding to the presence of this young, virile man in ways she couldn’t understand or explain.
The treadmill’s steady hum seemed to be growing louder, more insistent, echoing the pounding of her own heart. Deniece’s breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling with an anticipation she couldn’t quite contain. She felt like she was teetering on the edge of something, something that could potentially upend her entire world. And yet, she couldn’t look away, couldn’t tear her mind away from the tantalizing image of Paul, his body moving, his eyes closed, his face set in a determined expression. The sight, the sound, the very thought of him was awakening a part of her that she thought had long been dormant, a part that was now stirring, stretching, and preparing to emerge.
After he disappeared downstairs, Deniece remained at the table, listening to the distant sound of the treadmill starting up. The rhythmic thudding created a steady backdrop to her thoughts as she traced her finger around the rim of her coffee mug. Paul’s words echoed in her mind: “You’re vibrant. Present. Not old at all.” When was the last time someone had seen her that way? When had she last seen herself that way?
She sipped the last of her coffee, now cooled to lukewarm, and set the empty mug down with a soft clink against the wooden table. The house would be waking soon, she needed to start breakfast, pack lunches, and prepare for the day ahead.
After a few minutes of quiet reflection, Deniece pushed back her chair and headed upstairs to her bedroom to dress. The soft carpet runner muffled her footsteps as she climbed, her hand trailing lightly along the banister. Inside her bedroom, morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle golden glow across her bed and dresser.
After removing her pajamas and standing naked for a minute, she made the decision to put on her new underwear. As she stood in front of her dresser, Deniece’s fingers trailed over the soft fabric of the black Bikini Thongs, her mind still reeling from the unexpected encounter with Paul. She felt a thrill of excitement as she pulled the thongs up her legs, the delicate bottoms settling into place with a gentle caress. The underwear seemed to hug her curves in all the right places, making her feel more alive, more sensual, than she had in years.
She stood in front of her closet, door open wide, considering her options with more care than usual. Instead of reaching for her standard uniform of loose-fitting pants and an oversized top, her hand hovered over the jeans she’d rediscovered yesterday. Next to them hung a soft burgundy sweater she’d forgotten about, one that Michael had always said brought out the amber flecks in her hazel eyes.
Deniece pulled both items from the closet and laid them carefully on the bed. She’d made a promise to herself yesterday to stop hiding in shapeless clothes, to acknowledge the woman she still was beneath the layers of grief and motherhood. Today seemed like a good day to keep that promise.
In the adjoining bathroom, she quickly washed her face and brushed her teeth, studying her reflection with new interest. The woman looking back at her had laugh lines around her eyes, yes, and a few strands of silver threading through her chestnut hair—evidence of years lived, not of an “old lady.” There was youth in her clear skin and bright eyes, strength in the defined line of her shoulders from all those morning workouts.
She applied a touch of tinted moisturizer and a swipe of mascara—nothing dramatic, just enough to enhance her natural features. A dab of tinted lip balm added a subtle hint of color to her lips. These small acts of self-care, once routine but long neglected, felt like quiet rebellion against the years she’d spent fading into the background of her own life.
Back in the bedroom, Deniece slipped into the jeans and sweater, adjusting the soft knit fabric across her shoulders. The woman in the mirror looked polished yet casual, put-together without trying too hard. She looked like someone who might go running in the neighborhood without worrying what the neighbors would think. She looked vibrant. Present. Not old at all.
After the breakfast flurry and a chorus of goodbyes, the house fell quiet again. David and Wendy had rushed off to catch their school bus, backpacks bouncing against their shoulders as they ran down the driveway. Paul had left shortly after, his chess club tote bag slung over one shoulder and a travel mug of coffee in hand, heading to his morning statistics lecture.
Deniece was clearing the last of the breakfast dishes when Pam appeared in the kitchen doorway, already dressed in workout clothes—a more conservative outfit than her previous one, though still stylish and functional.
“Mind if I join you for a workout again?” Pam asked, leaning against the doorframe. “My first class isn’t until eleven, and I really enjoyed our session the other day.”
“Of course,” Deniece replied, feeling unexpectedly pleased at having company. “Give me five minutes to change, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”
Upstairs in her bedroom, Deniece hesitated only briefly before reaching for the workout suit Pam had given her. The navy fabric felt sleek and substantial in her hands, a world away from her old cotton sweats. She changed quickly, adding a light zip-up jacket that she could remove once she warmed up.
When she entered the basement gym, Pam was already on the stationary bike, pedaling at a moderate pace while strolling through something on her phone. She looked up with a warm smile.
“You’re wearing it!” she exclaimed, noticing Deniece’s outfit. “How does it feel?”
“Surprisingly comfortable,” Deniece admitted, moving toward the treadmill. “I wore it yesterday after you left. The moisture-wicking really does make a difference.”
Pam beamed with professional pride. “I knew it would work for you. The cut is specifically designed for women who want functional support without feeling overexposed.”
As Deniece started the treadmill at a walking pace to warm up, Pam continued pedaling, their conversation flowing naturally between topics—Pam’s design projects, Wendy’s excitement about her new dress sketches, and a funny incident in one of Pam’s classes the day before.
“I noticed you looked different at breakfast today,” Pam commented after a while, increasing her resistance level. “The burgundy sweater really suits your coloring.”
Deniece felt a small flush of pleasure at having her effort noticed. “Thank you. I’m trying to...” she searched for the right words, “I guess, reconnect with parts of myself I’ve been neglecting.”
Pam nodded thoughtfully as she pedaled. “That makes sense. My mom went through something similar after my parents divorced. She said she’d spent so long being someone’s wife and someone’s mother that she’d forgotten how to just be herself.”
There was no judgment in Pam’s observation, just understanding that seemed remarkably mature for someone her age. As they continued their separate exercises side by side, Deniece found herself opening up more, sharing small details about her life before Michael’s death, her career aspirations that had been put on hold, even her recent realization about how she’d been hiding in baggy clothes.
The conversation flowed with surprising ease as they moved from the cardio machines to the free weights, Pam demonstrating proper form for some exercises Deniece hadn’t tried before. Despite the difference in their ages, there was a comfortable camaraderie developing between them—not quite friendship yet, but something warmly approaching it.
“I’m thinking about getting some new clothes,” Deniece admitted as they were cooling down, stretching side by side on the exercise mats. “Nothing dramatic, just some pieces that actually fit properly.”
“I could help!” Pam offered enthusiastically, her eyes lighting up. “Not to be presumptuous, but I have an incredible eye for what flatters different body types. It’s part of my design training.”
“That would be...” Deniece paused, considering the offer. A year ago—even a month ago—she might have reflexively declined, protecting the carefully constructed walls around her life. But something had shifted. “That would be really nice, actually.”
As they finished their stretches and gathered their water bottles to head upstairs, Deniece realized that these small changes—the workout clothes, the morning conversations, the tentative plans for shopping—were adding up to something significant. Not a dramatic transformation, but a gentle awakening, like a plant that had been dormant through a long winter finally turning its leaves toward the sun.
Deniece finished with her bubble bath, the warm water having soothed her muscles after the morning workout. Wrapping herself in a plush towel, she thought about Jaclyn. Her friend would undoubtedly notice the small changes she’d been making, and Deniece could already imagine the commentary that would follow. Jaclyn had never been one to let subtle shifts go unremarked upon.
After drying off, Deniece selected a pair of dark jeans and a fitted teal blouse from her closet—another outfit she’d unearthed during yesterday’s wardrobe rediscovery. The clothes fit well, emphasizing her figure without being too tight or revealing. She added a simple silver pendant and a touch of mascara before heading downstairs to grab her purse.
The drive to their favorite café took just ten minutes, and as expected, Jaclyn was already there, waving enthusiastically from their usual corner table. Her friend’s expression shifted from welcoming to surprised scrutiny as Deniece approached.
“Well, well, well,” Jaclyn drawled, eyebrows raised as Deniece slid into the seat across from her. “Who are you and what have you done with my frumpy widow friend?”
“Very funny,” Deniece replied, though she couldn’t suppress a small smile.
“I’m serious!” Jaclyn insisted, leaning forward to examine Deniece more closely. “You’re wearing actual clothes. With shape. And is that makeup? Did you fall and hit your head on something? Should I be concerned?”
Deniece rolled her eyes, picking up the menu though she already knew what she would order. “It’s just a little mascara, not a full face of stage makeup.”
“And your hair is different,” Jaclyn continued, undeterred. “You actually styled it instead of just pulling it back in that mom-bun you’ve been sporting for the last four years.”
“Are you finished cataloging my appearance yet?” Deniece asked dryly.
“Not even close,” Jaclyn grinned, settling back in her chair. “But I’ll pause for refreshments.” She signaled the waitress, ordered their usual lunch, then fixed Deniece with her most penetrating stare. “Okay, spill it. What’s going on? Did you meet someone? Is there a hot single dad at the school you haven’t told me about?”
Deniece shook her head. “Nothing like that. I’ve just been ... I don’t know, waking up a bit. Realizing I’ve been hiding.”
“Hallelujah,” Jaclyn said dramatically, raising her hands toward the ceiling. “She finally gets it. I’ve only been telling you this for, oh, about three years now.”
“Yes, well, sometimes people need to realize things in their own time,” Deniece replied with dignity.
Jaclyn narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “This sudden awakening wouldn’t have anything to do with the chess master taking up residence in your house, would it?”
Deniece felt her cheeks warm. “Paul has nothing to do with it.”
“Uh-huh,” Jaclyn nodded skeptically. “And the blush spreading across your face right now is just ... what? A spontaneous skin condition?”
“It’s warm in here,” Deniece protested weakly.