Chapter 4

Helen told herself that it was ridiculous that she rush to visit a young man ... boy, really ... in his twenties. She dressed warmly and headed to the Health Club to exercise to exhaustion. Having done that, she followed the road next to the Club which ran past the ‘recycle centre’ (read Dumpit site) and the Yacht Club to the prom. She walked briskly, just to keep her blood flowing, but headed in to the Barge Tearooms to visit Glad. There, after a skinny latte, she had a ham salad sandwich and a long chat.

Rested, warm and fed, she left her friend and, passing Cooks Yard and the Bailiff’s shed, reached the Hythe Quay a little after two in the afternoon. She noted the motorcycle, covered in grey vinyl, and the smoke from Reminder’s chimney. She didn’t make a conscious decision; her legs carried her inexorably across the gangway, across Thistle’s deck to Reminder. Negotiating the gap with great care, she paced round to the companionway hatch, which was closed.

Again, without a conscious decision, she rapped on the hatch with her knuckles. ‘Shave and a haircut’* ... then straightened up and looked around. A little flotilla of Canada geese sailed past, heading up river. On the other side of the water, small brown birds (at least, they looked brown to her) poked around in the mud, while a larger white bird waded in the water. She made a decision to borrow a bird guide from the library.

*Shave and a hair-cut ... That dates me. Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap ... tap tap. Watch ‘Who Framed Roger Rabbit’.

While she was looking around at the water and mud, she heard the hatch slide open.

“Helen?” Geoff’s voice, thankfully.

“Hey, Geoff! Up for a visit?”

“Sure! Come on down.”

It was warm in the saloon, and Helen first unbuttoned, then took off her heavy coat, thrusting her gloves in the pockets.

“You’re looking good,” Geoff smiled. “It’s great to see you.”

“I missed you over the weekend.” Helen couldn’t avoid a hint of accusation in her tone.

He nodded. “I went home. If I don’t see my parents every so often, Mum gets antsy and pesters me about whether I’m keeping warm and eating enough.”

“Oh. Sorry. I don’t mean ... I mean ... I don’t have any right to...”

“Hey! We’re friends, right? Actually, I don’t go home often, because Mum then pesters me about not having a girlfriend. I think she’s worried about not getting to be a grandmother. I don’t suppose you’d like to apply for the position?”

Helen gasped. “Girlfriend?”

“Oh, I know I’m too young, and you’re too gorgeous...”

“Geoff, I ... I’d be proud to be your girlfriend, but as you say, I’m too old. If your mother wants you to marry and give her grandchildren, you need someone near your own age.”

“I didn’t say you were too old; you don’t look a day over thirty anyway. I said I was too young.”

“It’s madness...” A tear trickled down her cheek.

Geoff stepped up to her and wiped the tear away with his thumb. She gasped at the contact. He gently cradled her head in both his hands and lowered his lips to hers.

Again, the shock as their lips met. Awareness of the texture of those lips, the warmth ... the flow of ... love?

Some time later, they were still kissing, but on the sofa by the stove, and their hands were roaming. Much later, their hands stilled, Helen was relaxed and leaning into Geoff’s embrace.

“Madness...” she whispered.

“I believe that’s what love is,” Geoff murmured quietly. “I’ve heard that, though this is the first time I’ve experienced it.”

“You love me?” Plaintively.

“I love you.”

“Oh, Geoff...” she sighed. “It’s madness. But I love you too.”

“So ... will you marry me? I can’t support you, but I can easily get a job that’ll pay better than what I’m doing.”

“No, Geoff. No, I won’t tie you down. You don’t need to be tied to a woman old enough to be your mother. But you can have me until you meet someone your own age.” She paused, “And I certainly don’t want you to leave your calling. You must live the life you’ve chosen. I don’t need to be supported – my divorce has left me well able to support myself. And you, for as long as we’re together.”

“It doesn’t sit well with me...”

“Please, Geoff...”

“This is what you want?”

“This is what I need. Please, Geoff...”

He sat, gazing into her eyes, which seemed enormous in her face, and began to glisten with tears. “Okay, Helen. Have it your way. For now anyway.”

The tension which had built as he asked her to marry him dissipated and she relaxed into his arms again. She realised that the cabin was getting very gloomy. “What’s the time?”

“Nearly four o’clock.”

“Oh. Kisses, please.”

That delayed matters for at least half an hour until Helen stirred. “I need to go home to shower and change. Will you come round in an hour or so? I have a fancy for Italian cooking and a bottle of good wine. With you. And no, you will not pay, except in companionship.”

He chuckled. “If I’m escorting you to dinner, I probably need to shower and change my clothes too. So ... I need to get used to being a Kept Man? I didn’t know it worked this way.”

Helen frowned. “Oh, this would be far from the first time an older woman has enticed a younger man into her life and her bed. It’s not something I ever thought I would do. But I hope it’s much more than you being a ‘Kept Man’.”

“So do I. I still want to marry you, you know.”

She struggled to her feet, followed by Geoff. “One more kiss, and I’ll see you later.”

It was a lot more than one more kiss, but eventually she was climbing the companionway ladder to the deck, followed by Geoff. As she cleared the hatch, he stood below her. “Later, Beloved.”

“Later, Love.” The endearment came easily to her lips, bringing back memories of her childhood in the north, where ‘love’ is a fairly common greeting.

She moved out of sight, and Geoff slid the hatch closed before going to fetch what he needed to have a shower. The barge shower had hot water, but the space was cold. Of course, the quay showers would have been no warmer.

Helen made her way briskly up the hill, past the church, her thoughts churning, her body’s demands, her emotional needs, at war with her principles, which were fighting a losing rearguard action.

A leisurely shower. A critical inspection of her body. Some attention to her hair. Careful selection of clothes, during which she changed her mind several times. In the end, practicality triumphed over art, and she dressed to combat the weather as much as to attract with a long skirt over warm tights and black panties, thermal vest over a matching black lacy bra, and a pretty blouse over that, but a cashmere cardigan for warmth over the blouse. Her winter coat, fur-lined hat (a Russian Ushanka) and sensible shoes waited by the door. She had nothing to do except pace after calling Prezzo for a reservation. What was she thinking of?

It seemed an age, but really she only waited ten minutes before the intercom buzzed, and she pressed the button to release the front door.

She let him in to her flat, having put on her shoes while he made his way up, and reached for her coat. However, he took it from her and held it open ready for her. Her nervousness vanished, and she bestowed a brilliant smile on him before reaching for, and donning, her hat.

“My lady...” he smiled, extending his arm.

“Sir.” She smiled back, and they stepped through the door, which she locked behind them.

Outside, he pulled a stocking hat out of his pocket, put it on, then gloves, before offering his arm again. They walked together the couple of hundred yards up the to the Italian restaurant – Geoff, once more, on the outside of the pavement. There, they were welcomed, had their coats taken, and were escorted to their table, where Geoff pulled out a chair for Helen. She seated herself with a smile as Geoff pushed the chair in and took his place opposite her.

It was an extensive meal, in the Italian style, rather than Italian food served in the English way. Thus, there were several courses, starting with an antipasto, and ending with coffee. Geoff was the first to proffer a mouthful on his fork to Helen, but by the end, they were both doing it. Helen had suggested that they’d enjoy the chef’s recommendations for both the food and the wine ... and they did. The portions were small, and the meal spread over a couple of hours, so neither was ‘stuffed’ by the time they were ready to leave, but both were feeling the effects of a very nice Chianti. Walking down the street, Helen wasn’t hanging on Geoff’s arm, but leaning in, each with an arm around the other. It was not a configuration to facilitate speed. On the other hand, it was excellent in facilitating non-verbal communication. It was saying, both ways, ‘I love you’. ‘Being close to you, like this, is wonderful’.

Into the flat ... coats off and hung up, shoes off ... and, “After you in the bathroom,” Helen told Geoff, “You can use my toothbrush.”

He snickered. “Wow! Real intimacy.”

She kissed him, a garlicky kiss, and hummed. “Yes, it is.” Then, “You are not going back to that barge tonight.”

He returned the kiss, “Good. I’d hoped not,” and betook himself into the bathroom, where he remained long enough for basic pre-bed preparations, and emerged in the boxers and t-shirt which were his usual underwear, carrying his outer clothing. Having only been in the flat briefly before, while Helen was running through her bedtime routine, he wandered around. She hadn’t accumulated much during the few weeks she’d been there; a couple of water-colours of the area by local artists, several paper-back novels, a few cds, dvds. Not much from, what, twenty-five years ... no, twenty-seven years ... of married life.

Helen emerged. Like Geoff, she was in her underwear and carrying her outer wear, but her underwear was black, lacy, and emphasised her assets.

“Wow!” Geoff’s exclamation was almost a gasp, but it was so clearly appreciative that Helen straightened and ... the best description is ‘sashayed’ ... into the bedroom. Geoff followed as if towed by an invisible rope.

He found her hanging her clothes in her wardrobe, after which, she turned and, eyes fixed on his, removed first her bra, then her panties, and stood, shoulders back, watching him.

“You are... magnificent,” he breathed, and stepped forward, but she raised a hand.

“Clothes are not optional here, they are prohibited.”

You wouldn’t think anyone could get into a tangle getting out of a t-shirt or boxers, would you? Geoff almost tripped. But didn’t, and ended up, naked too, right in front of Helen, prick forty-five degrees from vertical.

Helen, five feet eight of toned perfection, flicked the auburn hair, which had been draped over her right breast, over her shoulder. Her nipples spiked, she was breathing a little raggedly.

Geoff, six feet one inch, athletic, male, erect, tentatively reached out one hand to touch her cheek, producing a gasp, then, both thumbs brushed her spiked nipples.

Suddenly, they were pressed together. Helen’s right hand grasped that rigid prick, while her left was behind his neck. Geoff’s right hand was pressed against her left breast by his own chest, while his left was grasping her bum, and caressing and squeezing. They kissed, and it was somehow as though neither had kissed before.

It was Helen who manoeuvred them, shuffling, kissing, toward the bed until she fell backwards with Geoff on top, rolled them fully onto the bed, at which point she was on top, straddled him, sat upright, positioned that rigid cock, and dropped.