Karen at 50 Ch. 01

It's a new year, and I turned 50 in January. Fifty-freaking-years-old. I never thought it would happen to me. But, barring bad health, I guess I should have known it would happen. It did.

I'm Karen. I have a ladies' retail clothing shop in our town, with a partner, Evie: "K & E Gals." We've been lucky: Making a reasonable income and staying good friends. She's a bit older than me, but we get along so well. She's like an older sister, really. Lucky me.

I've been lucky in love, too, really. I've been married to David for 27 years, and we've been together for 30. Two children, a boy and girl, grown and gone – to college and their own lives, both on the other side of the country. David is a bank manager, and has nice regular hours. Our love-life has been regular, too. Sure, it's slowed down a bit in recent years, as we got older. But it's picked up lately. David has been more eager since this past holiday season.

David and I live in the same town as my Mum, June. Mum down-sized a bit after my Dad, Brian, passed away a couple of years ago. She has a nice little cottage only a few minutes from us. David passes by it on his way home from work each day. "K & E Gals" is in the other direction, in downtown. So, David is closer, and handier, for Mum.

Since Christmas, David has stopped by Mum's often, on his way home from work. I've always offered him to her, for chores around the house as she's gotten older (she's 75 now). I'm pleased she's finally taking me up on the offer. David seems perfectly happy to stop by Mum's place once or twice a week. And she can't stop talking about how great it is to have him so available.

Well, I'm happy she's happy. And I'm happy we can help her out, and share a bit of life together, living so nearby. In fact, on this Sunday afternoon, after we closed the shop, I was on my way to share a glass of wine with Mum.

I arrived at her door at just about 5:30 PM. I knocked, and waited a few moments, then knocked again. I could hear her quick steps just before she opened the door.

"Oh, Karen! I hope you haven't been waiting. I was in the back, and didn't hear you right away."

Mum looked a bit disheveled. Housecoat and slippers. Not that she ever looked particularly well put-together. She's a bit short and stout, with fly-away red-gray hair I've always wanted to take in hand. But she refuses to let me outfit her wardrobe, or introduce her to my hair stylist. "I'm fine the way I am" she always tells me. I shared that with David, and he just laughed.

"Come in, come in," said Mum. "Take off your coat and have a seat. Can I get you a glass of Chardonnay?"

There were two glasses along with the remaining half a bottle on the coffee table. One of the glasses already had wine in it.

"I guess you already started," I said, with mock outrage.

"Oh, don't judge me. Just an old lady enjoying the finer things in life!"

"Mum, you're not that old. If you'd let me take care of you a bit, your hair ... and what are you wearing? You could look great, if you give me the chance."

"I'm fine the way I am," she said. And I rolled my eyes.

"Well, you should get out more, and meet new people ... it's been a few years since Dad died. You deserve to have a bit of fun."

She giggled a little as she poured us both wine. "I have fun, sweetie. Don't you worry about me." She sat down opposite me, so we were on either side of the coffee table.

As she sat, my mother's housecoat road up a bit, exposing her chubby thighs. This drew my eyes, and made me a little uncomfortable. But there was no telling her how to dress, obviously, certainly not in her own home.

"Cheers!" she said, leaning forward and raising her glass. "Here's to family!"

"Cheers," I replied, and clinked glasses with her across the coffee table, and we both took a sip of wine. As she settled back down, Mum's housecoat gaped open and rode a bit higher up her thighs. Her plump white thighs ... with something dark beyond. Was she not wearing panties? I was feeling a little warm, even with just one sip of wine.

"Karen, I want to thank you for sending David by so often to help me," smiled Mum. "He's been such a gift, I can't tell you."

"David seems really happy to stop by, Mum," I said, still unable to keep my eyes from glancing back to her thighs and what appeared to be on view beyond. Stop it, I told myself. It's ridiculous and wrong to be checking out your own mother!

Honestly, I was quite surprised by David's interest in Mum. In the past weeks he's talked about her more, in addition to stopping by her house so often. Even in our more frequent foreplay (the sex had improved, really) he referenced Mum. It ... she ... seemed to be a bit of a turn-on for him.

"It's been nice getting to know David better after so many years, sweetie. I appreciate your sharing him with me." Mum slouched down a bit as she sipped her wine. And now I really could see all the way up her housecoat to a very bushy looking thatch of red-gray hair.

"Uh, Mum? You're exposing rather a lot of yourself, down there, at the moment," I said, breaking off my staring.

"Does it bother you, Karen?"

"Does it bother me?"

"You've been staring. Do I disgust you?"

"Not at all, Mum," I said, feeling even warmer, and still unable to avert my eyes from what was under her housecoat. I took another sip of wine. "I'm just surprised that you're so casual and relaxed about it, I guess."

"I'm a bit fat and hairy. And old, I know. But I don't want to offend you."

"I'm not offended Mum. Just a little surprised."

"Some men, I think, really enjoy hairy women," said my Mum, June, calmly, sipping her wine.

"Mum! What are you talking about? This is crazy!" I could feel myself getting more and more nervous.

"It's just something I understand – men who like hairy women." Mum set her wine glass down on the coffee table, and deliberately pulled her housecoat higher.

She was hairy. My Mum was very hairy ... down there. I just couldn't stop looking. I took a big drink of Chardonnay, emptying my glass. I leaned to the table to pour myself more. And, in so doing, I got an even closer look at my Mum's hairiness.

"Are you this hairy, Karen? I haven't seen you naked since you were a child."

"No, Mum, I'm not as hairy as you. And I can't believe we're talking about this! I think we should stop, now."

"Does David like hairy women, do you think?"

I couldn't answer. I took another big drink of wine and shook my head.

"No? Or you don't know?"

David had been paying more attention to my pubic hair in the past month or so ... running his fingers through it, luxuriating in it when he licked me.

"Mum, we're not talking about this. I think you've had a bit too much wine, and it's made you a little loosey-goosey or something. I've got to go home now. You should take a nap. And we'll forget this silly conversation."

"Give David a hug and kiss for me, sweetie."

***

Late that evening, sitting in bed with our books, and with David's free left hand playing idly with my soft brown pubic hair, I said:

"My mother was really strange today."

"How so?" asked David, turning from his book to me.

"I think she'd had too much to drink. She seemed fixated on whether some men like hairy women."

David laughed. "How on earth did your conversation veer in that direction?"

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know. But with you taking more interest in my hair, and my mother talking about her hair ... it just made me a little ... uncomfortable."

"Uncomfortable how?" asked David.

"Uncomfortable as in anxious-nervous somehow."

"Put your book down," said David.

"Why?" I asked, a bit petulantly. David's fingers were still in my hair, down there.

"Put your book down and let's snuggle," said David, running his fingers from my pubic hair and between my legs, and finding me a bit wet there, of course.

"Mum sends you a hug and kiss," I said, as I turned out the light and turned towards him.

In the darkness, David said, "She's right, you know."

His finger was working in me now, and my voice came out a bit ragged and breathless, already. "Right about what?"

"Some men do like hairy women."

***

So, I had my suspicions. And I talked to Evie at the shop, when we were getting ready to open, a couple of days later. Because I talk to Evie about everything.

"I think my Mum and David are sort of interested in one another," I said, as we arranged sweaters in a display.

"Well, of course they are, silly," said Evie. "They're family, and you guys live in the same town."

"I mean INTERESTED interested," I said.

"You mean like 'let's have sex' interested?" said Evie, with a lift of the eyebrow.

"Maybe. David seems kind of fixated on pubic hair, and my Mum has a lot of it."

Evie laughed, a barky sort of laugh. "Well, that's enough evidence to book'em, I'd say! How on earth do you know that your Mum has a lot of pubic hair?"

I blushed. "She sort of showed me. She was drunk."

"Oh, my," said Evie. "It sounds like you're having some rather intimate, tipsy moments with your Mum. What did you do?"

"Nothing. I left and went home."

"And how did you feel?" asked Evie.

"A little strange. Especially since David and I had great sex later than evening. That seems weird."

Evie laughed again. "You're going through some sort of kinky mid-life crisis, is all. Have you talked to your mother since?"

"No," I said. "I wouldn't know how to begin talking about it."

"Tell her like you told me. She seemed weird or drunk to you, but you weren't offended, and you can confirm that some men like hairy women," said Evie, with finality. "See her after work today."

"How can I confirm that some men like hairy women?" I asked.

"You're married to one," said Evie, with a naughty smile.