Zoey's Place

by E M Bannock

  Tears of delight tinged with loss welled up in her eyes and she reached for the tissue box she knew to be by the light switch. As she pulled on the box it moved and revealed two 8” x 10” photos of Mickey in her favorite sex fantasy outfit—the cowboy.

  She took the pictures herself, experimenting with lighting. The first one was a profile body shot using back-lighting. He was looking straight ahead and his cowboy hat was pushed back to expose the beautiful line of his face, a vision of strength and masculinity. You could just barely make out the fuzz of stubble on his face. A few black curls of hair escaped from the hat and hung down on his forehead. A red bandana was tied around his neck. He was bare-chested and the hair on it looked electric. The only thing he was wearing below the waist was a pair of chaps and cowboy boots. In the crotch opening of the chaps, his penis was hard and at attention in all its glory. His hand was cupping his balls. The outline of his tight ass was sharp and solid. His back foot was propped up on a small stump of wood. You could see the outline of the boot on it.

  In the other picture he was standing straight on forward. His hat was tipped over his eyes but you could still see his full sensuous lips. She had used side-lighting for this one so that half of his body was in shadow and half was in full brightness. His hands were on his hips and his penis stood at center focus. She clutched the pictures to her breast and, overcome with emotion, fell to the floor and cried. A surge of tears flowed for the memories, for the pleasures, for the loss. Finally gaining her composure, she decided that it was not yet time to say goodbye to this. She put the entire contents of the room in a plastic tub and closed the lid. Too soon, she thought to herself. I just can’t. There will be time later.

  Zoey had spent many sleepless nights making the decision to leave Michigan. Leaving her home and all her friends would be bittersweet. She would be leaving life-long friends who treated her like family, familiar places and the comfort of home, but trying to create a new life here wouldn’t be possible. She could no longer take the looks of pity she got every time she ran into someone she knew. Her friends walked on eggshells around her, treating her as if she was a fragile doll. Life had changed. She couldn’t press the reset button like it was some video game. It was time for a complete transformation of lifestyle.

  Her house had been sold; time to start fresh. She decided to make the permanent move to Incline Village. They never had company in that house. They had no friends there. It had always been their place. Zoey’s Place. The home inherited the name after the sale of the lake house. In fact, it was the proceeds from that sale that helped buy the Incline Village house. She wondered if she would be able to live there with so many memories of Mickey or if she would have to sell that place, too. Although they spent time there, it was always more of a getaway. They never really set up house or lived there. She thought about it long and hard. It felt right. For the time being she had no choice. She decided to just go with the flow. What did she have to lose? So, it was goodbye Michigan and the life she had known before. Hello Nevada and whatever it brought.

  Chapter 17

  The Incline Village home in Nevada had always been a safe haven. Zoey wasn’t ready to part with that part of Mickey just yet; maybe never. She couldn’t pretend that he’d never existed. He had, and he always would in her heart and her memories. Even though the heavy sadness within pulled her down constantly, there was abundant loving and treasured memories she couldn’t erase because they were a part of her. They were the fabric of her life. They were what made her what she was, Zoey DeLucca, a woman who once loved and was loved. Now alone in the world, she was a woman who faced an uncertain future without her beloved. She was thankful in her heart that she’d had a love like Mickey’s. That love had been a precious gift to be cherished, and Zoey didn’t want to erase it from her life.

  Although this house held memories of Mickey, they were different than the Michigan house. It was where they went to get away from it all. And now that was exactly what she wanted to do. It would be quiet and peaceful, and just the right place to put her life back on track. She looked forward to having no responsibilities and no one to answer to.

  What she didn’t foresee was the life full of lonely hours that she would have to endure without her husband. She had to live with the fact that she would always be coming home to an empty house. She would never feel Mickey’s strong, loving arms around her, his warm body next to hers, his hardness against her thigh, his mouth tasting her, his cock taking her, his familiar hands touching every part of her body. A touch that reached into her very soul. The endless wanting, this was the hardest to bear. Until recently the shock of Mickey’s death blotted out all thoughts of sexual pleasure. But now in her solitary life, those feelings had resurfaced. It took great effort to force the thoughts from her mind. She tried to move on; she thought it’s what Mickey would want her to do.

  She had felt his spirit the moment she entered the house. He was everywhere, but she learned to handle it. In fact, it became a sort of comfort. As the fog of his loss began to clear and she accepted her fate, a new life began to take form. She was able to take pleasure in simple things. Sorrow no longer gripped her when she went to restaurants and other social places she had frequented with Mickey. She was beginning to feel happy and safe in Zoey’s Place once again.

  But along with her feelings of safety and happiness, she was still missing the frequent sexual escapades she and Mickey had shared. It was such a huge part of their relationship and their love. Still, she couldn’t even think about having sex with another man. It just seemed wrong. But the cravings became so intense that it hurt.

  She had shipped out the few personal belongings she didn’t sell after the sale of the Michigan house, including the storage bin full of the sex paraphernalia. It took many tearful days to go through the bin and decide what should stay and what should go. She kept Mickey’s chaps and cowboy hat, a few feather ticklers, her favorite dildo and one or two other sex toys, but disposed of the rest of the collection. The thought of having sex with someone else was hard to fathom, let alone to be free enough to engage in the type of sexual fantasies she and Mickey had thrived on.

  Slowly her sexual urges coaxed her back and once again she found pleasure in masturbation. Jondalar was her lover now. He never got jealous when she looked at her naked Mickey pictures while he serviced her.

  About this same time, short little snippets of dreams began to occur almost nightly. In them she was being ravaged by Mickey. At least she thought it was him. She could never really see his face. It was more the familiarity of technique that she felt. In some dreams he spoke. He would whisper her name and she knew it was her cherished husband. But in some dreams her lover didn’t speak. Sometimes she was so absorbed in the passion of her own personal pleasure and the bodily sensations she was feeling that she gave no thought as to who it was that was obliging her, nor did it seem to matter. It did not diminish the orgasmic pleasure level.

  She had never been unfaithful to Mickey; the thought had never occurred to her. But now, as she reflected on the dreams, she had the feeling of enjoying sex for sex’s sake without the love factor. That wasn’t entirely true. There was love; it was for herself. She was enjoying the sex for herself. It was a one-sided, selfish love. Not the complete, whole love of marital bliss that she shared with Mickey. Their lovemaking bonded them, as they loved themselves and each other, taking pleasure in each other’s orgasms. But now, in some of her dreams, the gratification was hers alone, and it was okay for it to be that way. It was a strange, warm, comfortable feeling.

  As part of her self-healing she forced herself to get out of the house and explore the community, to keep her sanity more than anything. She even started taking Zumba classes at the local rec center. She found the women there very friendly and welcoming. They lovingly called their instructor Zumba Mama. Zoey thought that was cute.

  One day she discovered a small, quaint restaurant just off Lakeshore Drive that had recently opened just a few months before, called
Keith’s Kitchen, and began to frequent the establishment often. It catered to varied culinary tastes with an ever- changing menu. The seafood special was flown in daily and the chief always created a tasty and unique masterpiece that never left her unsatisfied.

  On this particular night the hostess seated Zoey at her usual table, a corner table in the back with a clear view of Lake Tahoe. It had been a beautiful cloudless day and the sun shone bright on the surface of the water. She was in a good mood, life was manageable.

  As she looked into the still, quiet blue of the lake she was interrupted by the waiter. “Good evening, ma’am. My name is James. Would you like to hear about our specials?”

  Eyes as deep and blue as the lake met hers and sent a spark of electricity down her spine. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise and she was sure she was blushing. She blinked and focused.

  He was new. She’d never seen him before. He was tall, handsome, and well- built. His physique was not unlike that of Mickey’s. But he was also everything that Mickey wasn’t. Mickey was dark-haired and brown-eyed. His skin was olive-toned, with soft dark hairs covering most of his body. His face was strong and angular with a beard so thick, even after he shaved he looked like he had a five o’clock shadow. He had a molten sexuality.

  The man before her was dirty-blond and blue-eyed. This guy looked like a tanned California surfer. His shiny long hair was wavy and thick, and touched his shoulders. With the sun at his back the golden hairs on his arms were aura-like around him as he held up the order pad, waiting for her answer. The face before her was soft and smooth, and he was young. So young. But still, there was something about him.

  For a moment she felt a pang of sexual arousal. Her mouth went dry and she couldn’t catch her breath. Her nipples rose and hardened and her legs closed involuntarily. The sensation frightened and thrilled her, but in an instant it was gone. Thoughts of Mickey flashed in her mind and she was beset with sadness, the sudden emotional change showing on her face. She reached for her glass of water and drank.

  “I’m sorry,” the young man said, perceiving her grief. “Did I offend you in some way?” He looked distressed, but somehow sympathetic.

  She looked down and regained control of her emotions. Once again, she looked up into eyes the color of a wild Wyoming sky. “No. No, you didn’t. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s just that…” How do you explain to a stranger that you’re in mourning for your husband? That you hadn’t had real, hard physical sex in almost a year, and that for just a moment the stranger made you feel like a sensuous woman again? “Well, it’s a long story.” She paused. “It doesn’t matter. Yes, please tell me about the specials, James.”

  After he took her order, Zoey’s sudden infatuation with young James returned. She found it quite unsettling, but she couldn’t stop herself. During her meal she searched him out and found comfort as she watched him go about his work. Once, he looked up from where he was as if he could hear her siren call to him. Their eyes met. She looked away shyly, but he didn’t. She could feel him looking directly at her, piercing her very soul.

  At the end of the meal James brought her check and lay it down on the table. “Hold on,” she said as she reached into her purse for her credit card. She lay it down on the black leather folder. He reached down and put his hand on top of hers. She looked up into a blue abyss.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said compassionately. He glanced over at the hostess, then back at Zoey. “She told me you lost your husband last year. My deepest sympathies.”

  She nodded in thanks, but couldn’t speak.

  “I was wondering,” he said, then hesitated. “That is, if you ever need a sympathetic shoulder to cry on.” He stopped. “I mean, it’s just that you look so lonely, and I’ve been told that I’m a good listener.”

  His kindness kindled a flame in her heart. She smiled back. “Thank you. I might take you up on that.” And she meant it. It would be comforting to speak to someone about her feelings, someone who didn’t know her before the loss of Mickey and wasn’t as wrapped up in the sorrow as she was.

  He smiled back. “Please, any time.” He took her credit card and left. When he brought the receipt for her signature, he slid another small piece of paper toward her. “Here’s my number. Call when you need me.”

  She looked down at the paper, but couldn’t look up as tears began to fill her eyes. When she did, he was gone. She signed the credit card slip, folded the smaller paper, put it into her pocket, and left.

  That night she slept restlessly. In the brief moments that she managed to drift off flashes of Mickey came before her eyes, but as she reached out to touch him, the face before her turned into young James. She awoke in the morning drenched in a cold sweat, feeling troubled and confused.

  She couldn’t explain the strange feelings she had about the young man. Was it sexual? No. Wait, maybe yes, but not the hot passion that she felt for Mickey. But yes, sex with James would be somehow satisfying, different, yet exciting, and perhaps calming. She wondered if he felt the same way. Did that make sense? She shook her head. “I’m delusional,” she thought out loud. He had offered his shoulder to cry on and a sympathetic ear, not a cock to fuck her with. Christ, she was old enough to be his mother. Not really, but she was older. Much older; she figured almost 20 years. Holy fuck, she was old enough to be his mother, she thought again. She was giving herself too much credit.

  As time went on Zoey fell into a routine. A quick simple breakfast followed by a meditative walk at the lakeshore. She spent her afternoons reading or visiting the few acquaintances she had in town. They were ladies she met at the Zumba class which she tried to go to once a week. She couldn’t really call them friends, not like Carol or Joanne. They didn’t know her inner self, but they were nice and generally seemed to like her and care about her.

  She found herself going to Keith’s Kitchen more and more frequently, and was surprised at the disappointment she felt if James wasn’t working and the joy when he was. One night as James came by to take her order, she decided to take their casual but friendly relationship to the next level.

  “Good evening, Zoey.” They were already on a first-name basis. “Do you know what you want tonight?”

  She looked up into his smiling young face. “Yes,” she said casually. “I’ll have the halibut, and a sympathetic ear.”

  He looked up from his pad, confusion on his face. “Excuse me?”

  “If you’re still willing, I’d like to take you up on the offer you made the day we met. Maybe we could meet for coffee tomorrow? That is, if you’re still willing.”

  His face beamed with a welcoming smile. “Of course; I’d like that very much.”

  It wasn’t long before the two had a standing ‘date’ every Tuesday morning, rain or shine, to walk the beach. It was the only day during the week James didn’t have classes at the local Sierra Nevada College, where he was pursuing a four-year degree in business administration. He worked five nights a week at Keith’s Kitchen and Zoey didn’t think it was fair to steal him away on his nights off. He was young and handsome and, although he never spoke of it, surely he had a social life.

  Soon after the walks began their friendship grew closer, and before long they became the highlight of her week. It was refreshing to get James’ take on her life and what she had done with it up to this point. She also found it easy to speak to him about the healthy sexuality she had shared with Mickey without feeling as though she was being judged a pervert or weird. James seemed genuinely interested and seemed to enjoy their talks as much as she did. He was considerate and she valued his opinion. And, yes, he was a good listener.

  She found him very mature for his age. He had a realistic look on life and didn’t sugarcoat his thoughts. He was always honest with her, and she respected that.

  It was therapeutic to talk about her life with Mickey. Talking to James was almost like talking to Mickey. She could talk about anything. It had been a long time since she’d
spoken her mind to a man, heck, to anyone. The intimate thoughts she had for him had subsided. He never showed any interest in taking their relationship to a sexual level, so she forced herself to suppress the amorous feelings she’d felt for him. She felt very comfortable with him now, as a friend.

  “You know,” she said one day during their walk, “I could never figure out the thing about getting hookers for his clients. How could those men enjoy sex knowing that the women were having sex with them only because they were being paid?”

  James was silent for a moment. She could see that he was trying to find the words. Finally, he answered, “It’s different for them. The kind of sex they have with their wives is a different kind of sex. They have to be respectful. After all, these are the mothers of their children. They share a house, a family, a religion. Sex with a stranger is like a forbidden pleasure, an escape from the ordinary. It’s just the act of sexual gratification, not love.”

  She laughed. “That’s what Mickey used to say. I guess that’s why he and I never strayed. I wasn’t the mother of his children. Our sex was open, it was crazy and, in some people’s minds, maybe depraved. But it had plenty of love.”

  “Did you enjoy it on a physical level?” he asked with sincerity. “Was it fulfilling?

  “Of course we did. And yes, it was,” she replied proudly.

  “Did you or Mickey ever hesitate to ask each other to do anything sexual, no matter what?”

  “No, of course not,” she replied.

  “Did you or Mickey ever refuse a request?”

  “No, never.”

  “Well, then you didn’t need to go outside the marriage for sexual satisfaction. You just happened to be lucky enough to have love in the mix. It’s a different culture in the Mideast. It would be disrespectful for a man to ask his wife to cater to his sexual desires if they’re outside the respectful norm, at least what they consider normal.”