Charlie and Mindy Bk. 04 Ch. 02

Some things, though, Mindy recognized by the labels as expensive. We set that stuff aside, hoping we could think of some appropriate use for it.

And, although the panties were Mindy's size, she couldn't bring herself to wear another woman's—even her own mother's—panties. Nor did she think another woman would feel any differently. So we tossed those.

The bras were another story. They fit Mindy nicely and, unlike the panties, the thought of wearing them didn't give her the whim-whams. Even though she rarely wore a bra, she said that some of Mom's would make useful additions to her wardrobe. So she adopted several of the best of them and set the others aside to give to charity.

It took us about three-quarters of an hour to separate things into four categories: the things we agreed no one would want, the things Mindy wanted, the things that were too valuable to simply give away, and the things that would go to charity.

Then we went on to Dad's dresser, replacing the category of things Mindy would wear with that of the things I'd wear. Much of his clothing was expensive, too. That was especially true, we found when we then moved on to his closet, of his shirts and his suits. But he had been shorter and stouter than I, and little that had fit him would fit me. So that stuff went. I might have kept his ties, but they were conservative-lawyer ties, and there only a few I could see myself ever wearing. So most of those went, along with the other things.

We went through the desk that Mom had kept in a corner of the room. The contents were unexceptional: informal stationery, and more formal, personal stationery. Envelopes, pens, a stapler, empty manila folders, etc.—the things you'd expect to find in such a desk. We thought that many of those things would be useful, and we kept them. The desk itself was a nice, useful piece of furniture—very attractive, though rather feminine in my estimation. But it suited Mindy well and she adopted it in favor of the strictly utilitarian desk that stood in her own room—with an observation that the other desk could go to a second-hand store.

Around mid-afternoon, we started on Mom's big, walk-in closet. We worked our way through her clothing, confronting more of the problems we'd encountered earlier. She had a lot of fine clothing—some of it quite expensive. Mostly, it fit Mindy well. But, like the things in her dresser had been, it was mostly "old-lady" stuff, and Mindy wouldn't wear it, even for Hallowe'en.

But we did find a beautiful little black dress that Mindy loved. She tried it on, and it fit her well. I could see that she liked it—but not as much as I did. She looked at me, smiling. And she saw that the LBD had made me want to rape her there and then. That settled it; she kept the dress.

"Any clothes that make my man want to tear them off of me are worth hanging on to," she said—from behind one of her more evil grins. "And, no! Not now! We're busy."

There were a few other pieces of clothing she liked and kept.

As we cleared out the clothes that hung in that closet, we gradually became aware of a steamer trunk Mom had placed behind everything. When we had everything else out of that closet, we hauled that beautiful old trunk out. It was surprisingly heavy; Mindy could barely lift her end of it.

We set it down in the center of the room, thinking to open it and go through its contents. But it was locked. There'd been no keys in what we'd gone through, and neither of us wanted to break the lock on what seemed a beautiful, antique piece of luggage. We would need a locksmith if we couldn't find the key, we agreed. But, we were also agreed, that could wait until we'd been through everything without finding the key. So we were stymied for the moment, and neither of us could imagine what Mom had locked up so carefully. We moved the trunk to the foot of the bed, where we'd see it every day and so wouldn't forget it. Then we agreed that we were done for the day. It was nearly five.

I got us each a beer from the refrigerator in the basement, and we sat again on the living room couch, quietly, snuggling while we drank them.

We were about halfway through the beers when I felt Mindy lift her head from where it rested against me. I turned toward her, and found her looking up at me and smiling.

"That was a sad chore," she said. "But I really enjoyed spending the afternoon with you."

She reached up for a kiss, and she got what she was reaching for.

"We needed to do it," I said. "And there's nothing I'd rather do than be with you."

I bent down for another kiss, and I got what I was reaching for.

When we'd finished, she laid her head and an arm on my chest. I put my arm around her and held her close. Her little body rose and fell in a complicated dance in response to our unsynchronized breathing.

"Supper?" I asked, after a few minutes.

"Can we go out for something easy?" she asked in return, not moving.

"Mac-D's?" I asked.

Her little hand whacked me on the chest. "Not that easy!" she said.

I raised: "Chili's?"

She called: "That's better."

And so that is what we did.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was still early when we got back home. We puttered about for a couple of hours, doing a little bit of house cleaning, watching some television, etc. And then Mindy slunk up against me, smiled invitingly, and said "Now?" as she rubbed herself against me.

"'Now' works for me," I said—after I'd kissed her thoroughly.

She looked back up at me, grinned, and said, "As if 'Then' wouldn't do—ever!"

I grinned back. "Well, now that you mention it…"

And we headed, side by side, each in one of the other's arms, for our first love-making session in the master bedroom and our first night together there. We had, we thought, laid Mom and Dad's ghosts to rest with their bodies.

Many years later, we would see that, as sad as their passing had made us, we were then too young, too full of life, and too healthy to shoulder grief's yoke for long. When we came to that understanding, we also understood that our reactions at the time had been just what they should have been. We would never forget them, never forget the love and the honor we owed them. We would again, from time to time, mourn their passing, but those times would grow further and further apart. It was then time for us to grow into our own independent adult lives—lives that we had already embarked upon and that, in any case, they could have shared only marginally.

(To be continued)

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—CarlusMagnus