Bench Mates

by Robert Buckley © 2009

He tried not to stare, tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed her long creamy pale legs. Most times girls paid him scant attention. Why would they? He could be their grandfather. Every so often one would cast him a glance and frown. Dirty old man, huh? By now he ought to have been able to shrug it off, like raindrops off a duck’s neck. But it still made him feel ... wrong. Still, he wasn’t about to give up his pastime, one of the last things in life that gave him any pleasure. And as long as pretty young girls were willing to display so much firm, lovely skin these days, what was the harm in his looking at them?

No, it wasn’t as if he was any danger to them or anyone else; he would never try to touch one. He just appreciated beauty. The time had long ago come and passed when he could have been able to do anything with a woman of any age, much less these girls.

She wore the briefest denim shorts, so brief he could make out the rounds of her ass, and one of those shirts that tied in front and bared the belly. He loved girls’ bellies, especially if they had deep bellybuttons.

The girl swept her chestnut hair over her shoulder. The movement brought her eyes level with his. Her look was expressionless for a moment; he expected the frown to follow. Instead, she smiled, and he couldn’t help smiling back. Another girl, clad in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt joined her. They greeted each other and set off to mind their own business. He half expected her to wave goodbye, but she didn’t.

He inhaled the clean, late summer air and sighed. It was still mild enough for girls, especially girls who worked in offices, to wear short skirts and gossamer-light summer dresses. He saw one approaching from a distance, the flounce of her bright-printed dress dancing about her knees, another young lady about to take her lunch break by the riverwalk.

 “You like looking at the girls, do ya?”

His head snapped toward the voice, giving him a twinge of arthritic pain in his neck. She had to be his age, or close. Damn, just what he needed, some old busybody busting his balls, one of those pathological pains-in-the-ass with nothing better to do.

He didn’t say anything. He looked away from her.

“I’ve been watching you,” she continued. “You’re here almost every day, always around lunch time when the young girls come.”

She was making him feel like a pervert, but soon his embarrassment turned to anger.

“So what? What the hell business is it of yours; call a cop if you want.”  He turned his back to her. “Nosey old bitch!”

“Hey! Don’t go getting your boxers in a bunch. I was just sayin’ ...”

“Saying what?”

“Well ... that’s why I come here too.”

“Huh? To look at girls?”

“Pretty girls, sure. Who doesn’t like pretty girls?”

“But ... but you’re a ...”

“Lesbian ... does that bother you?”

“What? No ... of course not. To each his own. Why should I care?”

“Mister, in my lifetime, there was plenty of people who thought it was a big deal, and not in a nice way.”

“Hmmph! Well, I never had anything against ... well ... do they still call ya dykes?”

“Yeah ... still do. Not so much anymore, but yeah.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, however you float your boat; it’s no business of mine.”

“You’re always alone,” she said.

“Huh? Yeah, well ... I’m a widower.”

“Oh. I lost my Margie just a couple of years ago. We used to like to come here in the nice weather, right here on this bench, and watch the girls, and kinda share fantasies ... make up stories about them.”

A smile creased his face; he couldn’t help it. “I do that. I wonder if they got a boyfriend, or whether they ... um ...”

“Have had sex? And what kind?”

He didn’t answer.

“Not too old to blush, are ya, mister?”

“Well, some people would think an old bastard like me shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of things.”

“Aw, crap! The day I stop thinking like that, they better put me down like an old dog. Screw people who think that!”

“Ha!”

“My name’s Ellie. I live on the other side of the hill there.”

“Raleigh James. I take the streetcar.”

“Nice to meet ya, Raleigh.”

She offered her hand. He took it.

“Listen, Raleigh. Since we kinda share the same hobby, how ‘bout we hang out together?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, people will probably figure, what a nice old couple of farts; they’d never suspect we were just getting our jollies ogling the girls. Whadya say?”

“I’d say that was damned audacious of you, Ellie. I ... I think I’d like that.”

“That’s great. Since Margie died, it’s ... it’s been awful lonely, ya know?” Her voice nearly failed her.

He watched her eyes brim until a single tear spilled over.

“I know what you mean. You know, I guess I ain’t been easy to get along with since my wife died. The kids wanted me to go into one of those assisted-living places, but I wouldn’t let them. They don’t come by much now; I guess they don’t want to get into any more arguments.”

“I could see ya got a temper,” she said and grinned.

He grinned back.

“Shhh, look,” Ellie said, “here comes a real pretty one.”

Raleigh followed her line of sight and sighed at the tall girl with long, light blonde hair that glowed in the sunshine. She wore a light, pink-printed yellow summer dress, and as she stooped to sit on the grass a slight gust lifted the hem revealing her buttermilk thighs and a pair of pastel pink bikini panties.

Raleigh and Ellie gasped, and then sighed at the same time. Without thinking Raleigh reached out and took Ellie’s hand.

“God, wasn’t that just the most beautiful sight?” he said.

“Sure was ... her momma and daddy must be angels.”

They sighed again, before they realized they were holding hands. But they didn’t let go.

“Been real nice to meet you, Ellie.” Raleigh said.

“You too, Raleigh. I think we’re gonna be best friends maybe.”

He nodded. “But, what are we gonna do come winter?”

“Aw, I know a nice café on Newbury Street, across from one of the popular clubs. Lot’s of leather mini skirts and knee-high boots go in and out of there, a regular parade of pretty thighs.”

“Hmm, sounds like fun. For now, let’s enjoy the last of summer, and the fall.”

“Yeah, let’s,” Ellie nodded.

They sat holding hands, the perfect old couple as far as anyone could tell, enjoying the view, and reveling in a smorgasbord of beautiful young women.

It was a match made in a heaven where God was prone to wink, and nod.

_______
© 2009 Robert Buckley. All rights reserved. Content may not be copied or used in whole or part without written permission from the author.

Bio: Who is Robert Buckley? Read his bio on the Erotica Readers & Writers Association website.

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