As my twins packed to move into their college dormitory I found myself wondering… what the hell am I gonna do now?! At 44 years old I’d raised four great kids. I’d done more of the PTA, Class Mother, after school activity car pool, baseball- basketball- soccer coach, fundraiser bake sale, etc. etc. etc. than anyone I knew. I’d envisioned a life of semi-retirement beside my wonderful husband for this stage of my life. Fate threw me a curve ball and took him to heaven 5 years ago. He lost a valiant battle to pancreatic cancer. I’m not the ‘why me?’ type and I still had my twins at home so I put up a brave front to maintain my home’s serenity for their sake. On the upside my husband was a man who cared deeply about the security of his family. He left me a very wealthy woman. The children’s college was taken care of, our home was paid for and I could choose to do anything… but what? A sense of hysteria came over me each time I was confronted with this thought. So again I put up a brave front as they packed to leave my nest empty. I kissed them good bye and refused to shed a tear, knowing they would not want to leave if I did.
That night I began to explore my options. I studied literature and journalism in college. Maybe I could write something. If I remembered how! My life had been totally devoted to my family. It was as if I’d been through K-12 education four times! Beyond that I felt as if I knew nothing. So I thought first I’ll read a book! The thought of reading for pleasure was novel. My life had been textbooks and the local newspaper for too long. I got in my minivan and drove toward the mall like I had so many times before with a crew of teens. I decided to get on the highway though. I just drove until I saw some retail stores and ended up at a Barnes & Nobel I’d never been in before. It was just far enough away that I might not see someone I knew. So I browsed the aisles and I read until I became hungry for food and caffeine. As I sipped my cappuccino and nibbled a scone, I Googled for jobs or internships at local newspapers. What stories might I write? Maybe I could write about the PTA fundraiser… how mundane my life had become.
I glanced around in an effort to expand my horizons. I suddenly realized that this was the first time I’d been completely alone for 20 years and I began to cry silently. I tried to contain the tears and wiped them with my napkin. Then he was beside me.
“Are you alright? Do you need help?” He spoke with an accent. I looked up at him startled by his intrusion. I was struck by his beauty and speechless. His wavy uncombed hair and eyes were black. His skin was smooth and pale. He was probably less than six feet tall. His shoulders were broad with muscle. His face was sculpted smoothly. The only sharp features were at his jaw line and chin. Those black eyes just kept looking at me with concern until I finally managed to mumble a reply.
“You do not look fine, are you sure I can’t help you? May I sit with you?”
“Uh… yeah… okay, I guess.” He sat continuing to look at me with concern.
“I am Alonso, you are who?”
“Millicent, uh Milly.”
“Good to meet you Mil-li-cent.” He spoke my name carefully while extending his hand to me. I reached out. His hand was more rough and calloused than any hand I had ever touched. I realized he was young and thought he must work very hard to have those hands.
“Nice to meet you too, Alonso.”
“Tell me why do you cry? I want to cry when I see a beautiful woman cry.”
“I’m okay really. My life is just changing faster than I can adjust, that’s all and I’m alone.”
“Change is good. It keeps us alive. How to say… it teaches, we grow?”
“Yeah… We learn and grow with change, that’s probably true…”
“What can I do to make you happy beautiful Millicent?”
“That’s sweet but I don’t think you can do anything to help me.”
“I can. I can do everything for you. We can plant a new garden of flowers at your house to give
you happiness every day. I can cook for you, clean for you, take care of you.”
“What are you talking about Alonso? We just met.”
“I know this but I see you unhappy. I want to make you happy. You said you are alone. I am alone too. It’s so simple.”
“No it is not that simple. I have a home… and children… well, they’re grown now…” I found myself lost in the eyes of the stranger who sat looking at me. His black eyes were deep and warm. His full lips and masculine face made me want to let him do all the things he’d said. I found myself thinking girlish thoughts of princes.
“I will sit at your feet in loyalty.”
“You what, what do you mean?”
“I know what I say, I mean it. You are a queen.”
“No. I am no queen.” I laughed
“You are. I can show you. I will kiss your feet.”
When he said that my mind flooded with thoughts of my husband; we had been so good together. He was a great lover for me. I had not made love with a man for nearly seven years. I had not pleasured myself in nearly five years! I didn’t even know if my lady parts would still function! My life had been devoted to others. I had done nothing just for me in nearly two decades! I was struck by a sense of urgency. I just thought, life is short and I need to start living mine!
“Alonso, would you cook dinner for me tonight?”
“Yes of course my queen.”
If the eyes are the window to the soul, then I knew looking into Alonso’s eyes that he was as kind and sweet as any man I could ever dream up. I took a leap of faith. I told myself that it was fate that had brought us together. I gave him my telephone number and my address.
“Come to my house this afternoon 5 o’clock? We’ll have dinner.”
“I’ll cook you dinner and serve you. You should be served.”
“I’m the one who usually does all that.”
“Yes but your life is changing and you will not be alone after 5 o’clock today.” His warm smile made my earlier statements seem like good news. I could only smile in return.
As I drove home I began to second guess myself. He could be a criminal, a rapist, an ax murderer. I’d taught my daughters not to behave like this. What had come over me? Was I losing my mind? I probably was. I’d never allowed myself to grieve the loss my husband. I was in menopause. My hormones could be causing temporary insanity. The boys leaving had pushed me over the edge. Then I heard his masculine voice play back in my head. You are a queen. I will kiss your feet. I felt calm. So I decided to get a manicure and pedicure on the way home. A luxury I should allow myself far more often. If I was going crazy at least I still looked good. I was blessed with good genetics and didn’t look my age. I was athletic so I had never stopped exercising. When the kids were in school I went to the gym almost every day. It had become my way of coping when my beloved Bill became sick. The sicker he got the more I worked out. My 44 year old body was more like most 30 year olds. I had small perky breasts, a flat stomach, long legs and a great ass. I decided to become a short and sassy red head after Bill died and I started spotting some grays in my long, straight, light brown hair. I think it works with my brown eyes and fair complexion. The kids and their grandmothers initially disapproved but they got used to it.
I got home just before 3 o’clock. I straightened the house and took a prime rib out of the freezer. I went to my room to shower. As the hot water washed over me I thought about making love again. I thought about how Bill loved to kiss me until I was wet. Then he’d kiss my pussy as if there was a tongue responded to his between my legs too. I loved cumming in his mouth, it made him happy. Then he’d fuck me good like the loving husband he was. I took the shower head down from its place and let the pulse mode prove to me that my lady parts were still functional.
Having chosen a lavender nail polish I decided to wear a purple dress. It was shear, flowing, knee length and patterned with large flowers. It had a halter top so I wore nothing but cheeky lavender lace panties under it. Strappy high heeled sandals finished my look. I felt beautiful as I sipped chardonnay and waited for my swainish lover to arrive. I needed the wine to give me the courage to open the door if he showed up! He did show up. His freshly shaven face smiled as he handed me a bouquet of wild flowers.
“Mi reina, my queen, you are beautiful.” He reached his arms around me and spoke into my ear. He wore a tight black v neck tee shirt, jeans with a black leather belt, black shoes and he carried a small black bag. My sons would have called it a man purse.
“Show me your kitchen and I will cook for you.”
“Okay.” I lead him in without hesitation. His warmth was intoxicating. The wine helped too.
“I took out a roast. I hope you like beef.”
“I like whatever you like my queen.”
“I’ll help you cook.”
“No you will not. I told you, I will cook, I will clean. I will do whatever is required for your happiness. You will relax while I prepare the food.”
“I’m not sure I can do that.”
“You must, I insist.”
“Okay then I’ll read a book on the patio.” I’d said I was going to read again so I rested on a chaise and read while Alonso worked in the kitchen. An hour went by before he emerged.
“Your dinner will be ready in 30 minutes. May I massage your feet while we wait my queen?”
“You’re serious about this queen thing aren’t you?” It finally dawned on me that he was. I was both puzzled and intrigued.
“Very serious my queen, I want to sit at your feet.” He actually sat down and began to remove the shoes from my feet! This can’t be real. I must be dreaming. A gorgeous man at least 10 years younger than I am is massaging my feet while the dinner he prepared is cooking. Who am I? Where am I? This can’t be real. I felt powerless and completely empowered simultaneously. I found myself moaning as he rubbed my soft feet with his rough hands and warming massage oil. My eyes closed involuntarily.
“Yes my queen, you relax.” He told me and continued to do his work on my feet until the timer sounded that our dinner was ready.
“I am sorry my queen Millicent. I must get your dinner. I will finish your massage after dinner if it pleases you.”
“Okay Alonso.” I whispered from my altered state.
The dinner he prepared and served was delicious. He refused to sit with me until he was certain I was content with the meal. Repeatedly he asked me if I needed more salt, if the wine he chose was acceptable, if the meat was the correct temperature, etc. I was beginning to feel like a queen by the time he sat and ate with me. After dinner he walked me to the living room and excused himself.
“I will take care of any needs you have after I’ve cleaned the kitchen.”
Again I was speechless as I watched him walk away. His stride was long and deliberate. I was
satiated by the food. Relaxed by the wine and excited by his subservience. I resolved to let him touch my feet and what happened after that I might blame on temporary insanity but I knew I’d enjoy it.
“I’m through cleaning. What do you need now? Would you like me to run your bath or continue to massage your feet?”
“My feet Alonso, please.”
“Yes my queen.” He began to rub my feet and I was swept into a state of euphoria by his touch.
“May I continue my queen? Your legs?”
“Yes Alonso.” His hands massaged the muscles of my calves, one leg then the other.
“Your thighs my queen?”
“Yes Alonso.” My euphoria had usurped any fear I might have had. He continued to my thighs.
My newly awakened lady parts were shocked but seemingly ready for the attention of a man.
“Would you like to be more comfortable? May I carry you to the bed my queen?” My eyes shot open in disbelief, no man had lifted me since the crossing of the threshold over 25 years ago. He was serious I could see it in his eyes.
“Yes Alonso, carry me to the bed.” I replied thinking that was what my submissive lover wanted to hear. He lifted me effortlessly and carried me as I directed him to my bed. Then he continued to rub my thighs as I looked up at him.
“Would you like to take off your dress so that I can finish your massage my queen?”
“Yes Alonso.” I replied smiling as I pulled it off. I quickly rolled onto my stomach. He rubbed my back, my shoulders, and my arms. I began to feel as pliable as a bowl of gelatin.
“If you’d allow me to take off your panties I could give you a complete massage my queen.”
“Yes Alonso.” He slipped my lavender lace panties off, straddled me, and massaged my buttocks, then each leg again. He spread my legs wide as he did. Again he rubbed my back, shoulders and each arm placing them above my head.
“If you would roll onto your back and allow me to please you I will my queen.”
“Yes Alonso.” I rolled over wanting his touch between my legs. He caressed my thighs and blew lightly over the now swollen lips of my pussy. I quivered with anticipation. He penetrated me gently with his calloused finger and fondled my clitoris with his thumb. I was wet and I wanted to cum for him. I wanted to cum in his mouth like I had for Bill.
“May I kiss your sweet juicy pussy my queen.” He’d read my mind!
“Yes Alonso, I want you to tongue and kiss my pussy until I cum for you.” He immediately
spread my legs at the knees with his hands holding them in place. He set to work. His lips kissed my smooth pussy lips, his tongue explored my depths, finding my g-spot and increasing the pace once there. I came in his mouth with an elated scream. He withdrew his tongue from my depths. He gently licked my clitoris until I’d relaxed again. Then repeated the process again and again and again…
“Alonso stop!” I screamed when I climaxed the 6th or 7th time. I’d lost count.
“Have I done something wrong me queen?” He asked with a saddened look in his beautiful black eyes. “If I am pleasing you I won’t stop until you tell me to stop. I thought I was pleasing you. If I have done something wrong you are free to discipline me my queen.”
“What? What are you talking about? Discipline you? How?” I was so naïve.
“With a strap, a paddle, a riding crop, whatever you desire my queen.” He fell to his knees at the bedside. “I am yours.” He bowed his head.
“You have not displeased me Alonso. I am very pleased. I just needed a break that’s all.”
“You just relax for a minute too, okay? Lie down with me, get comfortable.”
“I will lay at your feet my queen. I should lie at your feet.” He did so and I didn’t protest. It just seemed easier that way. I rested trying to recover from my multiples wondering what the hell I’d gotten myself into.
South Florida is returning to the paradise I know and love; sunshine, blue skies, soft breezes, bikini weather! Maybe my definition of success is to spend the majority of my time in lingerie or a bikini. Unless there’s a sexy man in the picture…
Musing: am I having my midlife crisis? By Giovanna Cafarelli
As the day of my birth approaches I find myself wondering where I am going, where I have been, and who I am to become. I will soon be 46 years old. That means I am close to being half a century old. Though I feel slightly wiser than the teenager I once was, I find myself feeling the same restless energy that coursed through me 30 years ago. Am I having my midlife crisis?
My children are grown and could soon leave me with an empty nest. I feel the urge to ask strangers if I can hold their infants. I toy with the idea of becoming a foster mother or taking a job that will allow me to travel the world. I commit to publishing my first novel and begin to pen the sequel. I suddenly look more like my mother than ever before. I can’t sleep. I eat too much or too little and though I do not gain weight my body seems to be changing proportions. I want to go to the gym but the monotony of it is unbearable. No music or television program can hold my attention as I treadmill or circuit train. My mind races; I need to be climbing mountains or hiking to a remote waterfall to fuel my need for adventure. I find myself unable to navigate the aisles of Wal-Mart. The mundane task of grocery shopping causes an anxiety that urges me out the door with nothing, or the few items I have managed to place in the cart before I become overwrought.
The most prominent issue at hand is that I am not myself. I have never been myself and now with my life more than half over and the volatile ebb and flow of hormones that is attacking my body; I once again feel the need to rebel against society and tear off the costumes that I have been forced to wear. The only one that has ever fit was that of mother. I was never a bookkeeper, banker, waitress, cashier, factory worker, customer service agent, nurse, instructor; I have always been an artist masquerading in these roles. I need to quit my day job and my night job in order to be who I am, before I die. I am an artist; soon I may be starving.
I wonder, if I finally reveal myself to other human beings, will I find the partner who will compliment me. Surely my veiled identity contributed to fact that I chose unsuitable husbands. Then I think, if not for the first unsuitable husband I would not have been blessed with my amazing artist son. As I have seen and encouraged his talent I have also been forced to see myself. As I have told him to follow his dreams and never wonder what might have been; I am forced to take my own advice. The irony is that while being a mother may have required me to subjugate the artist I am for nearly two decades it is now the role that demands I begin to live as that same artist. I will write…