I'd known Barbara for some time now. She was a mutual friend of a friend, Trina, and we often bumped into each other in the street, or at the store. I liked her and appreciated her company and humour. She was 57, somewhat older than me, being in my mid-30's. We spent many evenings chatting and laughing, drinking and debating.
This of course had lead to the obvious situation. One night, a balmy and stormy Saturday, I found that the atmosphere was closer than usual, and this was not strictly due to the conditions outside. There was a spark between us, and I had a delicious sense of the impending, making my heart beat a little heavier and my mouth dry.
Barbara was blonde, with a mature, curly hairstyle, and favoured the seasoned-lady-of-leisure appearance: lots of jewellery, plunging necklines, too-tight jeans or too-short skirts, tottering heels [her right ankle tattooed with a small baroque cherub surrounded by ivy]...and replete with a large quivering bosom, something she would humourously refer to with many self-depreciating quips, such as 'look at me, titty old bitch I am', and so on. She was an endless source of fun, and now it seemed, as I imagined transgressing the line between friend and potential lover, she was an endless source of wild imaginings. Now it was time to explore possibilities.
My first serious relationship had broken down six months previously, with a beautiful, honey blonde called Vikky. Although I'd loved her, we'd drifted apart, especially in the domain of the bedroom, and upon breakup, I'd been hurt to observe her begin a series of stormy romances, not seeming to take any respite from our time together. I'd drifted, mostly disillusioned, until Barbara had appeared, and gradually life was good again. Dare I push my luck?
'Are you listening to me, honey?'
Barbara was looking at me with a quizzical smile. I raised my eyebrows and shook my head...what did she say?
'Hmmm, you're miles away. I simply asked my favourite boy whether or not his glass would like a top up?'
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