Don't Judge a Book

A very short tale!

Dorothy was sixty-two, her curly grey hair and time etched face told of many late nights at her word-processer. She was still attractive even though the years had seen her put on a few extra pounds. She had a sweet, kind face, with blue eyes and shapely lips, whose smile melted hearts when she was younger. It made her the ideal grandmother. Her granddaughter, who was twelve, spent hours with her having makeovers and looking at fashion on the internet. Dorothy loved being a grandma and her own daughter was happy that she had been able to rely on her for child care over the past decade.

Dorothy’s husband was confined to bed in the downstairs room next to her study. He had full time carers due to his dependent state following two strokes. She had cared for him after the first, but after the second, his needs became too much for her. Fortunately her decades of writing successful children’s novels left her the means to pay for it all and prevent him going into a home.

They lived in a chocolate box cottage in an East Leicestershire village where a cleaner and gardener, together with Dorothy’s personal assistant, Sam, made sure she could concentrate on her writing, horse riding, walking and thrice weekly gym sessions

Her novels began as simple stories for her pre school daughter, but as the years passed she began to expand them, and after encouragement from her husband and friends, she wrote her first book

She could hear the nurse putting her husband to bed using the hoist. Through the leaded light window glass she could see night was drawing in so she turned off the laptop, drew the heavy curtains, pushed back her chair and went through to kiss her husband and say goodnight to Mrs Palmer, the qualified nurse who would sleep in tonight.

She went to the kitchen where Sam had dinner ready. They ate together, exploring, over a glass of fine Chablis, Dorothy’s ideas to expand her plot and make her main characters more rounded. Sam was a godsend and was discrete, reliable. loyal and intelligent as well as being a hard working Oxford graduate.

After dinner she left Sam to clear up and withdrew upstairs to her large, beautifully furnished bedroom with it’s separate dressing room, ensuite with roll top bath and king-size bed. She showered, went to the wardrobe and considered her night wear before choosing her Agent Provocateur ‘Zuri’ embroidered tulle and silk basque.  She loved to dress sexily as she still felt the urgency in her frequently rise. She knelt at the bottom of the bed and looked at herself in the large gilt mirror. She was overweight but she was still wonderfully feminine.

The adjoining door swung open, Sam walked in smiling, with a glass of champagne in each hand. Laying them carefully on the D’Arcy nightstand he knelt on the bed in front of Dorothy, took her face in his hands and kissed her passionately.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Very appropriate title and the posted image reflects it perfectly. Who knows what people are really like under their masks. A good read John. Tastefully expressed.

Chris

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Thank you Chris. The myth that feelings fly away after your 50th has always struck me as odd.

[Chris Shaw]

Comes mainly from the younger generation who can't contemplate anyone having sex at their parents age :))

[Fairy Khan]

Short and hot. I like your writing style a lot. Keep it up.

P.S. It should be “prevent him ‘from’ going into a home” in your last line of the second paragraph.

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Thank you FKK. Will look at that line.