Tild

"What, pray, in the name of all that I am, was I doing here? Who, pray, in the name of all that I find even remotely interesting, are you? And where, pray, in the name of sanity, was my head when I leaped so eagerly out of reality into your bed?"

Matilda was staring up at the stars praying for release. The iron torches burned aimlessly, devoid of any ambiance at all; and the four small glass citronella candles sputtered and hissed, as they tried to stay lit a little longer lest they be stabbed again in an attempt to revive them.

She was seated at the end of the glass-top table with one dog balanced on her lap, and the other sitting in the chair next to her. Protection. Against what? The man who was trying to keep her interested. The Lyme-stained glass in front of her was still half full of the cheap red wine that had been poured upon her arrival. Unusually, the current scenario had jolted her into almost instant sobriety to the extent that she had begun planning her exit strategy approximately two minutes after the greeting.

At this point, it may be worth a quick flashback. It had been eight months ago that she had decided to do something about her dismal state of "aloneness". Matilda (or Tild) as she was known, was a classic single in her fifties with two children in their early twenties. Tild did not need to be needed in the strict sense as her animals had taken the place of younger children, and her kids still lived at home. What this meant was that she still had to care for all which satisfied her motherly instincts, however, the woman within had been sadly neglected for some time.

Tild had gone through the angst of creating an online profile designed to snare a suitably aged and appropriately designed and skilled companion. Approximately three days after she went "live", she had a bite. Enter "Imtheone" .. or at least that is what he referred to himself as. Two meetings, a passionate date, and many glasses of wine later, apparently they were a couple.

At first, things had gone swimmingly. At last, someone to eat breakfast with at the diner thereby avoiding the piteous glances of the insecure and unsatisfied married women. At last, someone took her out to dinner in couple style. At last, she had someone to mount when that certain "you are at your sexual peak" thought pushed down through her waning period moments into the fresh air of her mature womanhood who knew precisely what position and intensity was required. What more did she need?

Tild had just returned back early from a trip abroad. There was a wedding that had to be attended and having given her commitment she had reluctantly returned. Curiously, it was the wedding of a couple she had met through her ex-mistake; she had instantly connected with the woman. What that meant was she wanted to be there for her friend, even though her past was bound to be there. What that meant was that in the back of her mind, she felt the need to produce a really good-looking companion as well as the most persuasive "I am so much better now that I've moved on from you" attitude she could muster. And so it was that she had battled her conscience with her new beau, trying to figure out if he was the one, while at the same time trying to decipher if her need to impress others was the motivator. If it was the latter indeed as an ex-Catholic, she had already resigned herself to descending onto the prongs of the spear held by the dark one the moment after her release from life.

And so the wedding had been and gone three days ago. Tild had concocted a delightfully odd ensemble for the event and one that truly summed her up. A tight velvet and taffeta crimson Christmas frock, calf length with a long white petticoat. A white scarf carefully positioned over her bosoms that were suitably plumped up by an old Victoria Secret friend. Hair in a loose bun with all the finishing touches that included a companion (in a crisp suit and tie), a constant vivacious smile ("I am completely happy and in love and will be married soon"), and a genuinely kind demeanor towards those less lucky. And it worked. It worked to the extent that by the time Tild had returned from the event, she was only too happy to oblige the need to keep the facade up. Perhaps it was becoming a reality in that she had orchestrated a feeling that continued without the need for onlookers. But it was quick. And as fatigue overcame her, serenaded to the intrusive priggishness of alcoholic snoring, Tild resigned herself to the sinking feeling of visiting Mistakesville yet again.

They were due to meet the following evening at his place. No real reason other than to celebrate Tild's return. The problem was that she had assumed correctly that this would naturally include a naked entanglement. Now normally (as she was at her sexual peak) a couple of glasses of wine would lead her thighs to automatically part at the very thought of a flat-backed lover wanting no more than to lift her aboard where she could ride at her own pace. However.

Even as she showered, shaved, blow-dried, and dressed she noticed something. Rather than reach for her newest "dating" push-up bra she had gone with the full-figured, beige, comfortable Playtex. Rather than the Fredricks for Fifties lacy panties bought for her by a girlfriend (who was determined to update her underwear collection), she reached for the waist-high cotton whities. Why? Because she could. Why? Because she wanted to. And Tild was not in the mood to don makeup or hairspray. "Take me as I am," she thought to herself as she leashed up her dogs and headed out. Protection.

The front door had been left open and she purposefully let her girls in first (dogs not bosoms), so that they could provide the excited greeting that she could not. And she heard him greet them with an assurance that he knew they loved and missed him .. that he knew that they loved him more than their mom. Tild's left eyebrow twitched and then her hand automatically lifted itself up to pinch and quieten the outward sign of exasperation. She had bought the bottle of wine with her, but by his speech and demeanor, she knew he had over-prepared for her visit in the form of a couple of pure sugarcane and/or molasses shots.

A brief kiss on the cheek, and there they were on the porch. He had quickly discarded the evidence of prior libations and set about uncorking the wine and putting out his dinner. It was baked beans with cut-up hot dogs. Tild had sat opposite him, carefully positioning her canines, as he went about eating.

"What, in the name of all that I am, am I doing here," she thought.

None of the candles were lit and as he wanted to create ambiance, he began to stumble toward the task. As there had been a storm in the prior days, all of the little glass candles were choked with water and melted wax. He went inside for a knife which he then proceeded to plunge into the candle centers while threatening to murder them if they did not light. Two of the three thankfully obliged. Then he lurched over to the four iron torches to knock off their protective heads and after a couple of attempts to light them with a candle lighter, they reluctantly obeyed. Dinner over, he poured himself another glass of wine and then proceeded to explore any conversation she was willing to participate in. Four or five off-color jokes later he proceeded to discuss his expectations for the following weekend. Tild had planned a weekend away and as they were a couple he had assumed he was invited. This followed by plans for the next weekend where Tild would be collected on a Friday, would be whisked away, and returned on Sunday, presumably after he had had his way with her.

"Who pray, in the name of all that I find remotely interesting, are you?". She thought.

At some point, he got up from his chair and leaned precariously over her .. hands on either side balancing on the arms of her chair. Face to face he was wanting some sign of physical affection. But she couldn't. Her only move was to position her small canine companion more squarely on her lap and to keep petting her with an air of avoidance.

"And where pray, in the name of sanity, was my head when I leaped so eagerly out of reality into your bed"?

Tild leaned her head back and looked up at the stars. A few days ago she had been in a beautiful place and the memory of these same stars somehow bought her comfort. She didn't want to be here anymore. She wanted to go home to the comfort of her own bed. She wanted to put on her flannel pajamas, light her candles and reach for her book. Tild wanted to lift her dogs up and watch them turn circles and scratch perfect positions alongside her where they would lay contently bringing her warmth.

Ten years later, Tild would muse upon her last fling as well as on her decision to resign herself to the dignity of living out her life. Without the intrusion of a male companion. As she had a heart, her decision (in part) was due to a commitment not to break any more hearts .. for she had broken enough. Finally, she arrived as herself.