This is the sixth part of a fiction serial, in 748 words.
As it had been over twenty years since he had last been on a date, Roger had no idea what to wear. The cinema, then drinks in a pub. No need for a tie, but not too casual. His old blue blazer still fitted him, and that had what he at least regarded as timeless style. An open necked white shirt underneath, grey trousers, black shoes. Before leaving the house, he splashed a little after shave lotion onto his hands, and patted his face. It smelled strong. Too much?
Too late now.
By contrast, Delia was desperately overdressed for the same occasion. A low-cut velvet dress with a hemline far too short for a woman of her age, black nylons, and a short bolero jacket. She was wearing enough make-up to jusitfy a stage performance in a West End theatre, and he had been able to smell her perfume through the door before she opened it. By local standards, they were going to look more than a little out of place in a surburban cinema.
He had remembered to open the car door for her, and to gallantly turn his head so as not to look down her cleavage or up her dress as she got in. On the way, she rambled on about how it had been a long time coming, and they should have started seeing each other a long time ago. It was apparent that she already saw them in some form of long-term relationship, and he hadn’t even parked the car behind the cinema.
“After all, you are divorced, I am a widow. Neither of us is getting any younger, and we have both been married before. Okay, so I am a little older than you, Roger, but at our age does that really matter?”
Roger paid for the tickets of course, and chose the Circle for a better view. When Delia hovered at the counter that sold sweets and drinks, he offered to buy her something. She chose a box of Maltesers, the largest one they had. Upstairs, they sat in the front row, so Delia could put her jacket over the ledge and get the best view of the screen. By the time the advertisements appeared on screen, she had opened the Maltesers and was holding his hand.
Fortunately, she was not one of those people who talked a lot while watching a film, but the crunching sound she made as she ate the sweets was just as annoying. He had to admit the film was very good. It was well-staged, and the songs were mostly memorable. Walking back to the car, Delia held his arm in a possessive way. Before he could suggest a pub for drinks, she got in first.
“There really is no need for us to go and sit in some noisy pub on a busy Saturday night. I have all we need at my house, so let’s just go back there”. On balance, he preferred that to one of the local pubs, he had to admit.
In her cosy living room, Delia produced a decent white wine, and slipped off her shoes as she curled up on the large sofa. “Why don’t you take your jacket off, get comfortable?” By the second glass of wine, he was thinking it had been a long time since lunch, and it was making him feel a bit woozy. He had no idea what to say by way of normal conversation, but guessed a debate about Saxon settlements in sixth century England was not the way to go.
Then Delia made her move.
Despite his age, and his short marriage, Roger knew very little about sex and love-making. But he was left in no doubt that Delia was considerably more experienced. By the time she was finished with him, his shirt was open, his trousers around his ankles, and her dress and underwear flung across the room. Lying underneath her after, feeling her weight on his body, he really wasn’t ready for what she said next.
“Right then. Let’s go upstairs and do it properly”.
It could be said that Delia opened his eyes to new possibilities that night. In fact, he was sure that on at least two occasions, his eyes had actually bulged in their sockets.
When she said it was time to sleep, he was relieved on two counts.
One that he badly needed the rest.
And two that he could ask her about Emily the next morning.