Quietly she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake the stranger laying beside her. Hmmm, she thought to herself nice face, good strong jaw line. She covered her breast as she looked for her clothes, even though the room was dark except for the flashing of a neon sign, and no one was awake but her. She tried to get her bearings in the room during the intermittent flashes of the sign. The buzz of the sign’s transformer reminded her of the pounding feeling in her temples. “Last night must have been a doozey”, she thought to herself. There by the door to the bedroom was a trail of clothes that led to what she assumed was the front door. The clothes were so intermingled that it took some concentration to separate which were hers, and which were his. As she slipped her panties on she noticed her consorts slacks. She looked around the room, making sure that he was still sound asleep and slipped the wallet out of the back pocket. Pulling the money out she waited till the light flashed to count it. It held one hundred and twenty dollars. She started to put back a twenty, but after seeing the shabby condition of the furniture, put back sixty dollars. Shoes in hand, blouse mostly buttoned, and jeans on but not buttoned she waited until the buzz of the transformer to open the door. Seeing a half full beer on the counter, she grabbed it on her way out. As she was shutting the door a dark shape darted by her feet, brushing against her leg. She gasped and almost let out a startled scream. “Damn” she muttered under her breath. The cat, now standing at the edge of the stairs on the landing looked back to see if she was going to make a grab for him. Deciding that his escape was to be unimpeded, he darted down the stairs. She rearranged the buttons on her blouse to the proper alignment, and started to put on her shoes, but decided it would be better to wait until she was out of the building. She tiptoed down the stairs, glancing at the split door open on top, at the balding middle aged man asleep in front of a TV with nothing but static on the screen. “At least I didn’t sleep with him” she thought to herself.
As she stepped onto the sidewalk, the cold November wind cut through her thin blouse sending a chill through her body. She was not sure if the chill was from the wind, or from the emptiness within her soul. She slipped on her tennis shoes, but did not bother to tie them. She glanced up at the blinking sign and made a mental not of the name, Kingston Arms, but she didn’t know why. She felt the pockets of her jeans for the bills she stashed in them. It wasn’t that she needed the money. She had tens of thousands of dollars available on her husband’s credit cards. It was just that it raised the “nasty” level of her actions, and even the thought of that started to make her heart race. She took a swig of the beer that she had carried out with her, but one swallow was enough to convince her that it was too warm and flat for her, even though she wanted the bitter taste washed out of her mouth. She carefully set the bottle right side up in a nearby trash can. She looked at her wrist to see what time it was, but the rising of the sun told her before her watch did, that she had gone too far this evening. She had stayed out playing too late for her usual excuses to work.
She knew that she had no business sleeping with a young man at her age, and knew that if she was caught her husband could divorce her, and give her nothing or he could have her jailed for six months to a year, for this first offense of adultery. How long, was totally up to him. “Spouse, hah!”, she thought, “I wish he would go ahead and die.” How could the old coot keep on living, he was nothing but brittle bones, and wrinkled flesh. She had done her time. She had married at the required age of sixteen to a man at least forty-five years old, but now it was twenty years later, and she was almost thirty six. How could the stupid idiots that run this world make a law that the young could only marry the old. Probably just a bunch of dirty old men that wanted young women. No, that couldn’t be true, because the Committee of Law was composed of an equal number of women, she remembered. Well, they must have just been dirty old hags, horny for young flesh
Oh sure, she had heard the logic all of her life, but it still made no sense to her. Women reach their prime at thirty-five to forty, and men at eighteen to twenty, so it was perfectly good logic that older women would marry younger men. To keep it fair, the old men would get the young women, which is what they always wanted anyway. She knew that the divorce rate was so high that it had destabilized the entire family unit, therefore America as well. She knew that the older people had more of the wealth, and it would raise the entire standard of living, to mix the age groups. She knew that when the old fart died, she would get the money, and be able to choose a young man of her choice, but her body told her she could not wait until then. She giggled quietly and thought, “I wonder if the young man I choose will feel the same about my wrinkled old body, as I feel about Marty’s?” She knew that it made perfect sense to live with one older man till he died, then force some young buck to live with her till she died, then he would be old, and get to choose some young nubile virgin, and the cycle would start all over again. Okay, it made sense for the older generation to introduce the young to the ways of “physical love” in a gentle mature fashion. Okay the unchecked passion of the young, had spread the aids virus to a full 18% of the population before the laws were enacted. But what about LOVE, what about PASSION? The warm glow of her body flooded her brain with hormones that utterly denied the logic she had been taught. She felt more like Marty’s nurse than his wife. She knew that the health care cost of the nineties had risen so high that only the very rich could afford doctors, and that it “made sense” for the young to care for the old. “To hell with sense!”, she muttered under her breath. A warm glow washed over her body again, even though her breath formed a small wispy cloud of condensation in front of her face. The chill of the night reminded her that it was approaching dawn, and she was out on the prowl, breaking the morals law, and had better get to Aggie’s house. Good old Aggie, she would cover for her, as she always did. At least that was one old bitty that remembered what it felt like to listen to your body instead of your mind.