Erotic Older Women - Giselle Renarde - ebook

Erotic Older Women prove it’s never too late for new experiences! In this superbundle of three erotica anthologies, explore older women’s wild, lesbian and kinky desires. From group sex to spanking to sex at the office, we catch older women enjoying forbidden fantasies over the course of more than twenty sexy stories. Whether they’re getting amorous with long-term partners or younger lovers, the women in these stories delight in carnal encounters. Enter a world of enjoying aging bodies in Erotic Older Women: The Complete Collection!

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Erotic Older Women © 2017 by Giselle Renarde

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

This book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

Cover design © 2017 Giselle Renarde

First Edition 2017

Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

Table of Contents


Erotic Older Women

Older Women, Wild Desires

Dip It


Ghost of a Chance

Tantric Energy Exchange

Naked in a Moving Vehicle

Cocktails at Bedtime

Lillian’s New Toy

What Goes Up

Off Days

Older Women, Lesbian Desires

The Luxury of Waiting

Happy Endings

Driving Mrs. Rose

The Things She Says

Debbie Does Dalhousie

Too Old For This

Older Women, Kinky Desires

Paloma’s Boys

The Night of the Blackout

Forgotten Bodies

Whipping the Stable Boy

You Can’t Spank Grandma

Wife Sandwich

The Invisible Husband

Rainbow Night


You might also enjoy:

Erotic Older Women

The Complete Collection

By Giselle Renarde

Included in this collection:

Older Women, Wild Desires

Older Women, Lesbian Desires

Older Women, Kinky Desires

Older Women, Wild Desires

Erotic Fiction by Giselle Renarde

Included in this collection:

Dip It


Ghost of a Chance

Tantric Energy Exchange

Naked in a Moving Vehicle

Cocktails at Bedtime

Lillian’s New Toy

What Goes Up

Off Days

Return to Main Menu

Dip It

I can’t believe I went along with it.  He was my best friend’s son, for Christ’s sake!

Some women embrace the “cougar” label, but that’s not me.  I date men, not boys.  I go out with executives, with guys who can afford to wine me and dine me.  That’s not to say I’m elitist when it comes to relationships.  I’ll date any man I find interesting.  Doesn’t matter if he earns less money than I do.

The encounter I’m about to describe had nothing to do with money, or dating, or relationships.  It had nothing to do with anything.  I still can’t believe it happened.  If I could forget all about it, tell myself it was just a strange dream, I would.  Now every time I meet Melinda for coffee, I wonder if she knows. 

Would Brendan tell his mother about our lusty dalliance?

I wasn’t looking for love when I drove to Melinda’s cottage that Friday afternoon.  I wasn’t even looking for sex.  Just a nice weekend away, an escape from the city.  She hadn’t told me Brendan would be there too.  It shouldn’t have mattered.  Back when we were both young moms, her kids would have kept my kids company while the grown-ups relaxed with a beer.

Now that Melinda and I are both carefree divorcees, our kids grown and out of the house, life is vastly different.  Brendan’s presence at the cottage was... I hesitate to say alarming, but that’s the word that keeps popping into my head.  I hadn’t seen him in a while, and he was just so handsome.  He was an adult.  I couldn’t get over that.

When Melinda came down with one of her dead-to-the-world migraines Saturday night, Brendan and I had to fend for ourselves.  It wasn’t so bad.  He barbequed and we had leftover potato salad from lunch.  And wine.  Too much wine.

I know it’s a cliché to say he made me feel young, but he did.  I wasn’t thinking that at the time, but in retrospect I see how silly I was acting, laughing like a teenager as he told me stories about the stupid things he and his college buddies got up to. 

Like skinny dipping.

Brendan asked me if I’d ever tried it, and to be honest I couldn’t really remember.  It sounded like the sort of thing I might have done when I was Brendan’s age and drunk, but I knew in my gut where this would go if I played the innocent.

After dinner, when night had fallen hard and the air was a thick blanket on my lungs, he double-dared me to swim naked in the lake behind Melinda’s cottage.  I laughed it off at first, but he kept teasing me, poking me, prodding me.  I couldn’t say no.

He stripped first, right there on Melinda’s back deck.  I couldn’t believe how fit Brendan was.  With jeans and a T-shirt on, you’d never have known.  He tore that top over his head slowly, like he knew I was watching and he wanted me to savor the view.  He unbuckled his belt nice and slow, sliding his jeans down his legs, then stepping out of them. 

All I could see was the bulge in his black jockey-boxers.  I wanted to know what was under there.  I wanted to touch it.

Brendan pushed down his underwear quickly, and turned around before I got a good look.  His sweet ass writhed as he ran toward the dock.  I followed him, unzipping my khakis and tearing out of my flowing button-down top.  He was in the water before I’d even unhooked my bra.  When he popped up from a splash in the lake, wiping his eyes, then staring up at me, my stomach tied itself in knots.

He told me to go for it. He’d already undressed.  It was my turn now.

I wasn’t normally so bold, but what the hell?  You only live once.  I unclasped my bra and let my bare breasts tumble from the cups.  They were still fairly bouncy, even at my age.  I was proud of them, and Brendan seemed to enjoy the sight of me half-naked. 

Was he hard underwater?  I couldn’t see past the glassy black-mirror surface of the lake.

My panties weren’t exactly sexy, and I was glad to get them off and out of sight.  I’d trimmed my bush well enough that I wasn’t embarrassed by it, but I couldn’t tell by the glint in Brendan’s eye whether he viewed me as an old lady. 

“Would you call me a MILF?” I asked.

Brendan laughed, and that turned me on because I knew he’d gone stupid with arousal, the way young men do.  That settled it.  I dove in headfirst, not far from where Brendan was treading water.  The cold shocked to my system.  Everything looked black except the lights from the few cottages around the lake.  It was actually kind of scary.  There could be sea monsters underwater.  Or, rather, lake monsters.  Slimy things.

The more I moved around, the warmer I got, but the heat I craved came from sexy little Brendan.  He moved toward the dock, and I followed as he hung off the ladder.  I watched anxiously as he stepped up and then down, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to be in or out.

I asked him, “Where do you think you’re going?” and he kind of laughed, but nervously.  I don’t know what got into me, but when he plunked himself fully in the water, I swam up so close my pebble-hard nipples brushed his chest.  I held on to the ladder with one hand and used the other hand to find Brendan’s cock underwater.  That wasn’t difficult, let me tell you.  The boy was huge.

He groaned when I stroked the generous length of his shaft.  His free hand found my breasts.  He played with my nipples, pinching them and squeezing, making me shriek.

“Shhh!” he said.  “You’ll wake up my mom.”

The thought made me stiff.  If Melinda caught us like this, I’d be humiliated beyond belief.  She’d never speak to me again.  This boy was her son.  I was her friend. 

We shouldn’t be doing this.

But I couldn’t stop.

Brendan’s big cock felt so good in my hand, so hot against the cold lake water.  I couldn’t let go, not until he pushed away and then swung me around to face the ladder.  Suddenly he was behind me, his erection riding my ass crack, his warm breath on my ear: “God, I need to fuck you.”

I knew how stupid this was, but I didn’t care.  I wanted what he wanted, and I opened my legs to give it.

We both clung to the ladder as he found my pussy with his dick and forced his way into me.  The sensation defied belief, but at the same time it was real, gritty and raw.  His cock was lodged in my cunt, moving hard and fast inside me.

It was a challenge not to scream while Brendan rutted from behind.  His warm breath felt so good on my ear that I wanted to cry out dirty things, but I couldn’t risk waking Melinda.  She could never find out about this.

He grabbed my tits underwater, and I felt that pressure in my clit.  Oh God, what I wouldn’t give to feel his fingers scouring that hot little button.  I let go of the ladder with one hand and found it myself.  When I rubbed my engorged bud, sparks shot through me and Brendan fucked me hard.

“Your pussy’s so hot,” he whispered in my ear.  “It feels so good, Mrs. G.”

I gulped, but my throat was dry as cotton.  Brendan had called me Mrs. G. since he was a kid, but it felt oddly out of place now that he was taking me from behind.  I didn’t say anything.  All I could do was move past it.

Gathering my dizzied senses, I whispered, “Fuck me, Brendan.  Harder.  Make me come, baby.”

Coming would be a combined effort, of course.  My fingers on my clit and his pinching my tits both helped bring me to orgasm, but his cock was really the star of the show.  When I got to the brink, man oh man, it was crazy.  Everything inside of me clenched and I wanted to scream, but of course I wouldn’t let myself.  Brendan made noises in my ear that were familiar yet unique to him: a grunt, a growl, a yip, a sigh.

When we’d both reached ecstasy, Brendan stuck close to me, breathing hard against my neck.  His cock pulsed inside my pussy.  I could feel every throb like a second heartbeat. 

He broke away and my body missed him instantly.  He floated on his back while I pulled myself onto the dock like a mermaid.  We didn’t have towels with us, but the night air was hot enough to dry my skin.  I splayed myself naked on the dock, legs wide open, completely carefree.  When Brendan crawled up the ladder and found me laid out for him, his dick shot up like a steel bar. 

Young guys were pretty amazing. 

On the dock, Brendan fucked me like an animal.  I let him do all the work, and it was intense.  Of course, he didn’t last long in missionary position, but it felt good to have a virile young man rutting between my legs.  Brendan was a firecracker, burning bright, coming explosively, and then fizzling out against the starlit sky.  After he’d come for the second time, he curled up beside me and sucked my tits. 

Thank goodness it was dark.  I’m sure nobody saw.

And now I can only wonder if that beautiful boy will tell his mother.  I’m sure he won’t, not any time soon, but it’ll always be looming over my head.  Maybe in ten years he’ll have forgotten that it was a secret.  He’ll be married to some lovely young woman, and joke about the MILF he took skinny dipping.  Word will get round to Melinda and...what can I say?  I just hope our friendship is strong enough to survive the betrayal.


Verna stood her dildos like tin soldiers on the dresser.

When Len walked in, he asked, “Playing with your toys?”

“Hardly.”  She grinned at their reflection in the mirror.  The vixen and the wolf had been replaced by silver foxes, and they were happier now than they’d ever been. 

Her husband wrapped his arms around her waist.  “What are you up to?”

“There’s a place called Maggie’s—it’s a resource organization for sex workers—and they accept donations of lingerie, sex toys, things the girls might need.”

“But used ones?”  Len made a face.  “That doesn’t seem very hygienic.”

“I don’t know how it works, exactly.  I imagine they disinfect the toys, or maybe they only use them with condoms.  I’m really not sure.”

“So you’re thinking of parting with some of your old pussy-pleasers, eh?”

Verna rolled her eyes, but chuckled.  “Well, it’s not like I get much use out of them anymore.  And look how many I’ve accumulated over the years.”

“You’ll have to keep the glass one,” Len said.

“No, I don’t like the nubs.”

His face fell.  “But I gave it to you, pumpkin.”

“You gave me three kids, too—don’t see them hanging around, taking up space.”

The grin returned.  “Fair enough.  But what about this wooden one?  It’s gorgeous.  We should put it on the mantle.”

“Ally gave it to me.”  Verna shuddered.  “She was such a user.”

Len’s expression seemed distant as she watched him in the mirror.  Just when she was about to ask what he was thinking, he said, “You haven’t been out with another woman since... when?”

“Oh, goodness.”  She tried to think back.  “Before Michael was out of the house.  When did he get married?  Four years ago?”

He hugged her tighter.  “Why don’t you date anymore?”

“I have no driving interest, I suppose.  I’d rather stay home with you.”  She smiled despite herself.  “Well, I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?  You haven’t seen Cynthia in months.”

“No real point if I can’t get it up—pun intended.”

“Can’t get it up?”  Verna hadn’t been so shocked since her husband first introduced the idea of open marriage.  “You never told me that.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

His expression washed with shame.  “Well, it is a touch humiliating.  And it’s not all the time.  Often I wake up stiff, but as the day wears on... I don’t know.  Maybe it’s the new prostate meds.  Maybe it’s just age.  Doesn’t much matter.”

Verna wanted to say, “Of course it matters!  Look at the sadness in your eyes.  Look at that hang-dog expression.  You’re upset about this.”  But there was a time to speak out and a time just to listen.  In forty-odd years of marriage, they’d learned how to support one another.

“You must keep this one.”  Len picked up a realistic dildo and held it like a trophy.  “I’d like to thank the Academy...”

“Silly man.”  She took the fake cock from him and stabbed it through the O-ring on her strap-on harness.  “These go together.  See?”

A devilish smirk crossed his lips.  “Try it on for me, will you?”

“Why?  You want to see what I’d look like with a cock?”

His eyes darkened.  “Sure.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve gone bi, all of a sudden.”

“At this age, I’m sure I could be persuaded to test-drive a nice young lad.  You only live once.”

She winked at him, not sure whether he was serious.

“Take off the pants first.”  Len stopped her when she tried to put the harness on over her clothes.  “Take your top off, too.  Put on one of your corset thingies.”


He opened her underwear drawer.  “Just do it.”

His playfulness opened her heart, and she did as he wished: slipped off her pants, tugged on the harness, tightened the straps so the dildo wasn’t hanging down between her knees.  Len selected a corset and helped her into it.  She hadn’t worn this one in donkeys’ years.  Miracle that it still fit.

“You look good enough to eat, Mrs. Grey.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Shut up, old man.”

“No, you really do.  You look...” 

“Young and foolish?”

A dreamy smile crossed his lips.  He was staring at her dick.

“Would you really have sex with another man?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, like it was no big deal.  “I mean, I wouldn’t go trawling for cock, but if the opportunity arose I’d grab it.”

“Pun intended?”  Verna chuckled.  “What would you do with another man?  Fuck him?”

“I don’t think the old boy’s up for butt sex these days.”

“What, then?  You’d take it up the ass?”

He shrugged, sitting back on the bed while she leaned against the dresser.  “I would try it just for laughs, though I’m not sure I’d be laughing while some young prick pummelled my rear.  No, if I had my druthers, I think I’d prefer to suck a man’s cock.”

Verna’s heart pounded, and a second beat throbbed between her legs.  “Really?”

“Sure, why not?  It’s something I’ve never done, and I think I’d be rather good at it.”

“I think so, too.  That mouth of yours is a bit of a miracle worker, if I remember correctly.”

His gaze filled her with something more than lust.  She couldn’t quite name it.  Love and desire and something different...

He said, “You and I haven’t been together since... when?”

She tried to remember.  She couldn’t.  Her sex drive had dropped off the face of the earth at one point, and then Len had his girlfriend, and then it was summer and who wants to think about sex when it’s hot out?  And... well, they were older now.  That was an easy excuse.

But this idea of Len sucking another man’s cock did something special for her.  Dressed only in her corset and realistic cock, Verna swaggered to the kitchen and brought back the step-stool.  It was nice and low to the ground.  Perfect for her purposes.

“Sit on that.”  She pointed, making it obvious who was in charge.

Len didn’t ask questions.  He sat on the stool in the middle of their bedroom and awaited instructions.

Wrapping her fist around the dildo’s base, Verna strutted toward her husband.  All eyes on that fat, fake cock, she swung it to one side and slapped his cheek.  Before he could react, she smacked the other one. That’s when his jaw dropped.

Before he could ask what the hell she was doing, Verna forced her realistic cockhead between his parted lips.  “You know what to do.”

She held her shaft, stroking the underside gently.  It even felt real.  Len gazed up at her with an expression she’d never seen before.  Reverence, and lust, but for the cock.  Not for her.  She didn’t mind.  In fact, she felt giddy to have stumbled upon an object her husband could fetishize.

Len gurgled longingly as he traced his tongue in circles around Verna’s tip.  His hand found hers, but it was really the shaft he was after.  He tightened his fist around its girth, pumping slowly while he licked the fake dick.

“How do I taste?” Verna asked.

He didn’t open his eyes to say, “Salty.  Sweet.”



She urged her hips forward a touch, driving her dildo against Len’s tongue.  “Suck it.”

“Ooh.”  He leaned back and gazed at her.  “Somebody’s getting demanding.”

“That’s right.”  She cupped his cheeks with both hands and drove her dildo into the O of his lips.  “Suck my dick, old man.”

His mouth closed tightly around her shaft, and his cheeks hollowed.  She could see in his lost expression how intensely he was sucking her cock.  If only it were real.  If only she could feel it.

“Keep going.  That’s right.”  She cradled the back of his head with her hands as he lunged at her dildo, swallowing more shaft. 

When had his hair become so soft?  Probably when it changed color, from tawny brown to salt-and-pepper, to snow white.  It felt so nice against her fingers.

“Grab my dick,” she said.  “Right there at the base.  Wrap your hand around it.”

He encircled the dildo with his fist, so hard she could have sworn she felt his fingers around her flesh, closing tight, like he was holding her ankle or her wrist.

“That’s right,” she said.  “Very good.  Just like that.”

He swirled his tongue around her cockhead, and just the sight of that velvety pink flesh made her heart beat faster.  Her pussy was getting wet—wet enough to drip juice down the insides of her thighs—and she wanted to ask if he might be experiencing a similar miracle.  But she didn’t ask, in case the answer was no.

“Keep going.”  Verna pinched Len’s earlobes, then traced her fingernails down the back of his neck.  “Suck my dick, old man.  Make me come.  Make me fill your throat.”

When his unoccupied hand spread her thighs, she should have expected it.  But she didn’t.  She gasped when his fingers found her clit.  It had been so long since he’d touched her there that her first though was that perhaps it was an accidental collision.  Maybe he hadn’t intended trace slick liquid up her pussy lips and slather it across her throbbing bud.

His hand disappeared beneath the velveteen padding at the front of her harness.  At first, she wasn’t sure how to react.  Her body didn’t remember.  It had frozen up some time ago, but her defences melted as Len rubbed her clit.

“Feels good,” she said, in a barely-audible gasp.  “Very good.”

As he planted kisses the length of her shaft, she couldn’t help thinking how attractive he looked.  When was the last time she’d actually looked at him?  Her husband was an exceedingly handsome man.  Everybody always said men were like a fine wine—they got better with age—and in Len’s case, that was very much the truth.

“Looks good.”  She traced her hands across his shoulders, pressing down, massaging him.  “Your lips... God, you look good sucking that cock.”

“Your cock,” he said, before swallowing the bulbous head.

His fingers found her slit while he savoured her tip.  As she watched him sucking and felt him entering her, Verna’s grasp on reality grew shaky.  When she closed her eyes, visions flashed at her, of her husband devouring her cock.  His fingers pressed open the warm flesh between her legs.  What was real?  What was fake?

He spread her wider while she remembered doing all this with Ally, back when they were happy together.  Verna had played Len’s role: sucking, stroking, giving.  She had so loved to give.  The expression of bliss on Ally’s lips made everything worthwhile.  In fact, Ally’s joy had given the dildo a realistic taste and texture, like it was an actual cock.  Not fake.  Real.

When she opened her eyes, Len’s expression weakened her knees.  With his mouth full of cock, he looked up at her in worship.  Did the dildo cock taste real to him?  He certainly behaved as though it did, eating her jubilantly, like he was sucking every last bit of barbeque sauce off a rib bone.

“You look so good doing that.”  She pressed harder on his shoulders.

“Mmm!”  His thumb found her clit while his other fingers explored her cunt.

“I’m very close, Len.”  She could hardly believe it, except that her belly buzzed on the inside, like a big feeling was waiting to come out.  “Keep going.  It’s wonderful.”

Leaning against him, she drove the dildo farther down his throat, making him gag.  That hadn’t been her intention, and she apologized, but he got right back in the saddle, devouring her dick as he pummelled her pussy.

“Oh Len...  I’m so close... so close...”

When Verna’s orgasm erupted, her knees gave out.  She didn’t want to pull her dildo from her husband’s mouth or let his fingers slip from between her legs, but she collapsed on the floor, panting into his chest.

He held her against his warm body as she struggled to catch her breath.  Her synapses snapped—little bolts of lightning between her thighs.  Her belly fluttered as she wrapped her arms around her husband, the cocksucker.  Picturing him giving head to her dildo brought another round of lightning bolts to her clit. 

She laughed, and he asked, “What?”

“I don’t know.”  Her smile widened until her jaw hurt.  “I enjoyed that.”

He held her hand, and she squeezed his.

“Maybe we could go to a party or a club, like we used to.”  Verna’s heart beat a little faster.  “Find you a flesh-and-blood cock to suck.  I’d love to watch you go down on another man.”

When she looked up at Len, he grinned, and she knew precisely what that meant.

Ghost of a Chance

Small world, isn’t it?

I mean, what are the chances?  My niece is getting married—fourth niece to tie the knot in two years—and I’m at the point where I don’t look good in anything I own. I don’t look good in anything they carry in stores either, and damned if I’m going to pull out the old sewing machine. (Does it even work anymore? And do I really have the patience to thread a needle?) 

So, in my frustration, I wear black. To a wedding.  Not even a dress!  Black pants, and a top with enough ruffles to hide my belly.

When my daughter arrives to pick me up, she says I look fine.  She says a lot of people wear black to weddings now.  But look at her!  Summery floral fabric, little white shoes.  She looks like a million bucks and she isn’t even wearing makeup.

At the ceremony, I feel conspicuous beyond belief.  As my niece and the dumbo she’s marrying recite their vows, I gaze across the space searching for someone else, anyone else, in black.  Men are wearing black, sure, but men can get away with anything. Lucky bastards.

And then I spot one!  A woman my age, and she’s dressed just like me.  She’s watching the ceremony with a serene smile, and suddenly I’m staring, fixating, because I recognize her from somewhere.  From where?

She walks up to me at the reception with her arms wide open.  “Marcie Sedgewood! I thought it was you.  It’s been... how long?  Almost fifty years!”

I ask, “Fifty?” and finally realize who I’d spent most of the ceremony staring at.  “Zelda, you always were prone to exaggeration.”

“Who, me?”  She wraps me in an enthusiastic hug and squeezes me tight. “I never exaggerate.”

It’s strange, meeting up with someone I knew as a child.  I can’t help wondering if everybody stays the same, as Zelda has.  Am I the same Marcie I was in grade school?

“I looked for you on Facebook, thought you must have changed your name.”

“I did, when I got married.  Probably should have changed it back after the divorce, but never got around to that.  Anyway, you won’t find me on Facebook. I don’t have an account.”

As we join the line for the open bar, Zelda says, “You were never so behind the times back when we were kids.”

I can’t help laughing.  “We were all such straight-laced children—you, me, William, Laurel. Strange to think we were pegged as the naughty bunch.”

“Two black kids and two white kids who had the audacity to intermingle!”  Zelda tosses her head back and laughs.  “At that age, I couldn’t figure out why the teachers always frowned on us.”

“I know what you mean.”  As we approach the front of the line, I ask Zelda what brings her to the wedding—she’s Dumbo’s boss, apparently—and then we find two empty seats together and I say, “Tell me all about Facebook.”

She’s been in touch with the kids we knew before we went to different high schools and lost contact.  Laurel now lives clear across the country—with another woman, no less!—and owns some kind of design business.  Zelda goes on and on about the other kids, kids we didn’t hang out with very much, but she never mentions William.  William, the one boy in our foursome.  The boy we all would have fought over if we’d lived in a day where twelve-year-olds had boyfriends.  Well, perhaps Laurel wouldn’t have fought for him, but Zelda and I would have put our dukes up for sure.

Finally, I ask, “How about William?  Is he married?  What’s he up to?”

Zelda’s face becomes a mask and she says, “Oh, you didn’t hear... honey, William died.”

A million questions spill out of my mouth. I can’t keep up with myself.  I want to know everything: when did this happen, how did it happen, why him, so young?  And when Zelda tells me William’s wife died at an early age, even before I split with Jack, my head starts ringing like a bell.

And the only question left is why didn’t we find each other?  In all those years, when I thought about William—and I did think about him, often—why didn’t I open the phone book?  When I was single and he was a widower we could have softened the edges of each other’s lives.  And now that would never happen, because he’s departed this Earth.

I drown my grief in red wine, and not merely for William’s sake.  It’s my own despair, as well.  Everything that might have been, gone.  Suddenly I see a perfect life together.  I see the life I want for myself right now, and I know I can’t have it.  Because he’s gone. He’s dead. He’s never coming back.

Throughout my niece’s wedding reception, I hold back tears.  Look how young they are!  She loves Dumbo, God only knows why.  Maybe they’ll be happy together for the rest of their days.  But not me.  I’m old and shrivelled, and the one man who might have made me happy is gone. 

I drink and drink and drink, but every glass of merlot makes matters worse.

My daughter’s still dancing with the young people when I’m ready to stumble home, so Zelda drops me off at my dark and gloomy house. Alone, I sit on the stairs and try to get my shoes off, but my drunken fingers refuse.  My dizzy brain swerves to the left, and teardrops land on my hands as I crawl up the stairs. My legs are done for the day. I’m not sure how I manage to haul myself into bed, but I’m still fully dressed when my head hits the pillow.

I’m out like a light.