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Claire and Roger
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Claire and Roger
Claire was sixty-one years old. She was still a very beautiful woman,
although she was already beginning to detest the word "still." She had
been married to Thomas for thirty-eight years and was not looking
forward to their fortieth wedding anniversary because she knew that
because it was one of those terrible round decade numbers there would be
a big party at which she would have to pretend in front of everyone she
knew, including many who knew better, that she was still, there was that
word again, happily married.
Thomas was a wealthy man. He was not born that way, he had made it
himself. He had never hesitated to provide a generous and comfortable
life for his family. What he had not provided, of course, was time and
attention. Self-made men rarely do. And since their two daughters had
gotten married and their son had gone out on his own it had only gotten
worse. His best moments were with the grandchildren, three of them now,
but even those moments were on holidays when neither business or his
current girlfriend would offer much of a distraction.
Claire knew about the girlfriends. They had started long ago, the first
was after about ten or so years of marriage when Thomas was approaching
forty, somewhat distantly approaching forty, too much so for it to be
that kind of excuse. Claire had put up with a long string of them,
pretending not to know, pretending not to see the signs at all the
business dinners she attended with him where so many others knew and
were so obviously hiding something. There was the house, and the
children, and for the first ten years of it the feeling that she still
loved him. That word "still," again.
This time he was in Florida on business. That's what he said. Part of
the trip probably was actually business. But part of it was to be there
with Roni. At least Claire thought it was Roni this time. She couldn't
keep up all that well, but it didn't really matter exactly who she was.
It was one of them. One thing could be said for Thomas. He has his
girlfriends just one at a time. He never cheated on them.
This time Claire was not going to sit home. She had passed another one
of those terrible round decade numbers two birthdays ago. It had only
taken her an extra year and a half to actually go out and do something.
She wasn't sure for a long time exactly how to go about doing it.
Certainly not at their club. Certainly not with anyone they knew.
Joining some new hobby or interest club was not the way, there was
nothing she could fake that much interest in just to meet a man. So at
the age of sixty-one Claire put on a very nice and very close fitting
strapless black cocktail dress with a matching short jacket and set out
to go to a pick-up bar, the Lansdowne, to see what would come her way.
She looked very good. Claire was all her life a very attractive woman.
Sadly, in spite of all of her other good qualities, it was probably the
only reason Thomas married her. She was his trophy wife. No one would
be very mistaken about her age. She was not one of those people who
happen to look very much younger than they really are. You would not
guess her to be under fifty-five. She did exercise a lot, and she
always watched her diet, not only the extra pounds, which were just not
there, but the health that did positive things for your skin tone and
your look of vitality that made you look good. But there was no magic
that made he look anything but beautiful at sixty.
Claire didn't know much about the Lansdowne Club. She wasn't completely
ignorant. She knew it had been around a while, it wasn't too young or
trendy, it was straight, and her daughters had gone there before they
were married. So at sixty-one Claire, looking actually rather sexy, set
out intent upon finding a strange man to take to bed.
Roger was twenty-four years old. He was just a little better than
average looking, but was very bright and was actually an all-around nice
guy. He was very attentive of the women he dated, they all actually
liked him. He had had a string of relationships and had never gone out
with more than one woman at a time. All of his relationships had ended
the same way, they left him for someone more exciting and more
promising.
Roger was an under-achiever. He had graduated from a very good college.
In those lists of top colleges that get published from time to time his
was in the second twenty-five. Most of the people who went to any of
the thousand or so colleges in this country that never made that kind of
list would have been envious, but in truth, if Roger had worked a little
harder he could have gone to any college in the top bracket on the list.
He had graduated in the middle of his class, with very little effort.
If he had worked a little harder he could have graduated with top
honors. He had a nice job as a computer programmer with an insurance
company that gave no stress and from which he could go home at five
every day. Insurance companies rarely do much that is at the leading
edge of anything. Most people his age in most "McJobs" these days would
be envious of his position and his pay, but if he was willing to work a
little harder . . . .
Roger was looking to meet another woman. He had just broken up, again.
The women who he had gone out with had all more or less fit the same
mold. First in college and since at work he had found himself with
women of very high talent and intelligence who were at first attracted
by his own well spoken, intelligent but not overbearingly intellectual
style, who had mostly found him, and who, when they had not found in him
what they were looking for, left him. He was looking for something
different this time, he just did not know what.
So with nothing else better to do on one Saturday evening he set out for
the Lansdowne Club to see if something would happen to him.
Claire did not belong at the Lansdowne Club. First of all, the black
cocktail dress was grossly out of place. The dress there was either
straight from the office business attire or much more casual. More
importantly, the median age there was twenty-six. The bell curve around
the median was not very wide. The only person there near her age was
the owner. It didn't matter that Claire was better looking than many of
the women there. It would have been bad enough if she had merely been
ignored, but there were the ones that were cruel.
Roger was sitting alone waiting for something to happen when he saw
Claire heading for the door, looking unhappy. The last unkind,
insinuating, suggestive remark about why she was there was one more than
she could take. He decided in an instant, before he actually really
read the emotion on Claire's face, to step in her way.
"Hi. You're not really going to leave without giving me a chance to
meet you, are you?"
Claire was upset and couldn't think of what to say. This stranger
seemed at first like a nice guy, he didn't seem like he was going to
make fun of her. She stammered a little "I was . . . um . . . "
"Going to go out for some fresh air. I know, the smoke in here is
terrible."
"Yes, I'll be back."
"But I can't let you go. Do you mind if I go out with you?"
Claire hadn't had in mind finding a lover who looked younger than her
children, but he seemed rather nice.
"Not at all. Let's go."
Outside the club Claire and Roger found a spot on the sidewalk about
fifteen feet away from anybody else where they could talk relatively
alone. Claire noticed that people were noticing them and was sure why.
She was certain that if she were a white woman with a black man she
would not, these days, be looked at like she was being looked at now.
"I'm not sure I did the right thing by coming here tonight."
"I'm sure I did. At least if I get to know you better."
"You're trying very hard. You have a thing for older women?"
"You're worth the try. I have a thing for beautiful women."
"What would I have to do for you to get to know me better?"
"Why did you come here?"
"Am I that transparent?"
"Everyone here is. You didn't do the wrong thing by coming here
tonight."
"I've never come here or anywhere else before. I'm married."
"Your husband let you come here?"
"In a manner of speaking. He's the reason even if he didn't exactly . .
. . Let's change the subject. Let's talk about where we go from here.
Are you really serious or are you just setting me up for a bad joke
like those men inside?"
"I am very serious. From here we go to my place."
"I'm sixty-one years old."
"You look younger. A little. You're very beautiful. I'm twenty-four."
Claire's youngest, her son, was twenty-eight.
"Only a little?"
"Do you want me to lie? I mean just to get you in bed?"
"No."
"This is the truth. I would guess your age a few years younger. But so
what. You are a very attractive woman. Very attractive. Age does not
matter. Not with you. You are much too beautiful for age to matter.
Lauren Bacall. Liz Taylor. Anne Bancroft. You."
"Where's your car?"
"Three blocks that way."
"We'll walk to yours. Drive to mine. Then you follow me to my place."
They walked in silence for three blocks. Roger walked close to Claire.
Claire was aware of the stares. In Roger's car, a five year old Honda
that was kept impeccably clean, Claire spoke first.
"They were staring at us."
"They were staring at a beautiful woman."
"Baloney. Tell me honestly you don't think it's because of our ages."
"Okay. But I like the idea. Of breaking the rules. What difference
should it make to us? None. You're beautiful. Don't you believe me?
Where's your car?"
"Yes. I believe you. Past the light, just past the corner. And
speaking of staring, you're very subtle."
"About?"
"Staring down my dress. But it's all right. I like it."
Roger pulled over past the light. Claire got out of his car.
"Follow me."
Claire got into and started up the Mercedes Benz 560 SE and pulled out.
All the way to the suburban town where she lived Claire drove fast, not
so fast that a Honda couldn't keep up. She wasn't going to get them
stopped by the police, but she was not driving like she had someone with
her. She was driving so that if he changed his mind she could convince
herself it was his getting lost and not his changing his mind. Roger
had to work to stay with her.
"Why am I doing this?" Claire asked herself. "Is it right?" She
decided the answers. "Because I haven't had good sex in too long.
Because I want to live. Because I want some fun. Because I need to be
validated as a person and as a woman. Because I am beautiful. 'Right'
means very little to me at this point. 'Right' would be 'wrong' if I
had a real marriage. If Thomas were honest. It's for me. Before it's
too late. It's shallow. It's superficial. It doesn't matter."
"Why am I doing this?" Roger asked himself. "Because she's beautiful.
Because she's different. Because she is not one of those life planning
partners I keep finding. Will she be any good? How hot can she be at
sixty-one? I'll find out."
Claire pulled into the long driveway. Not so long that the house was
not immediately visible, but longer that Roger had ever been in. It
looked like four acres. The house was very, very nice. Twelve rooms.
Four bedrooms Four baths. Pool. Tennis court. Sauna. Real jacuzzi.
Three-quarters of a mil, easy. Roger parked on the street near the
property line of the next house. There were other cars on the street,
it looked legal.
"That wasn't necessary. Thoughtful, but not necessary," Claire said as
Roger walked up the driveway. "My husband is in Florida, no one's
around. Come in."
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