Reaching an Understanding

Mark Kelly moved as quietly as he could down the first floor hallway, hoping to make it to the stairs without running into any of the other tenants or, more importantly, Mrs. McGill, the owner of the three story rooming house. The odds of running into the former were slim, seeing that four of his fellow students had scored tickets to the third game of the newly instituted National League Divisional Playoffs down in New York City. The upstart New York Mets, who had finished the '68 season in next to last place, were leading the Atlanta Braves two games to none in the best of five series and could earn a World Series slot if they won this afternoon. No, there was little chance of running into that group, seeing as they had caught the early train into the city.

Passing Mrs. McGill's apartment, the crew cut nineteen year old literally held his breath, not daring to exhale until he was well clear of it. He was already two weeks behind in his rent, and even though the sixty-two year old widow was said to be pretty understanding about the occasional financial problems of 'her boys', as she liked to call them, he wasn't anxious to put that assumption to the test. It had only been three months since he'd moved in and it wasn't that he was just going to be late with the payment, he couldn't even see it being on the horizon.

Looking back now, Mark had to admit that it had been a mistake to bet the rent money on the full house he'd drawn at Delta Gamma Phi's end of the month poker game. What were the odds, he had told himself at the time, that someone would have a better hand? As it turned out, they hadn't been as long as he'd believed, since one of the fraternity brothers had been holding four of a kind and won the pot.

Reaching the base of the stairs, Mark had just placed a foot on the bottom step when the sound of his name from behind caused him to jump, almost losing his balance in the process. After regaining his footing, the sophomore turned and found Jimmy Banks, a senior, coming out of his room at the back of the hall. Jimmy had been invited to go to the game with the others, but declined, saying it wasn't worth cutting class for. He was a lifelong Yankees fan and didn't buy into all the 'Miracle Mets' hoopla.

"Hey Mark," he said in a voice much too loud, from the younger man's perspective, "how's it going?"

"Keep it down, will you!" Mark said in an urgent but hushed tone.

"What's with you?" Jimmy asked, a perplexed expression on his face.

In the same low tone, Mark explained that he was late with the rent money and he was trying to avoid Mrs. McGill. The older student listened intently, nodding his head as he did.

"Mrs. McG is usually pretty cool about things like that," Jimmy, who had lived there for three years, said. "Just talk to her - I'm sure she'll give you time to get it together. She's really quite understanding."

The story that had been around for longer than any of the tenants had lived there was that Marion McGill's late husband, who had passed away nearly twenty years before, had left her well off financially, and that she only rented out rooms because she liked to surround herself with good looking young men. No one really knew if that was true, but what was undeniable was that McGill's Rooming House was the best off-campus housing around.

Only a block away from the campus bus stop, or a half hour walk in nice weather from the campus itself, the three story walk up housed a half dozen students at a cost that wasn't to be believed. While most landlords in the area charged whatever the market could bear, Mrs. McGill was content with whatever the University charged for a room in the dorm. Hence the assertion that she really didn't need the money. So it was hardly surprising that every term there was a waiting list of hopefuls in case one of the rooms became available.

"I'm not just a little late," Mark clarified, "I don't have it at all. I lost it playing poker at Delta Gamma the other night."

"That's not good," Jimmy said, his tone reflecting Mark's earlier concern that there were limits to their landlady's generosity, "but you realize that you're going to have to talk to her sooner or later."

"Better later than sooner," Mark replied, ever hopeful that something unexpected would turn up to solve his problem.

Jimmy slowly shook his head, but wished Mark good luck nevertheless. Then he headed for the front door and his ten o'clock class as Mark resumed his journey up the stairs.

-=-=-=-

Reaching the top floor, Mark let out an audible sigh of relief as his room, situated at the far end of the landing, came into view. That feeling of relief, however, quickly faded, first to frustration, then visible panic as his key failed to open the lock. It was only on his third try that he noticed that the lock cylinder had been changed, the one now in place shiny and new.

It was clear that there were indeed limits to Mrs. McGill's patience and he had indeed exceeded them.

"I'm fucked!" he exclaimed under his breath as he realized that later was suddenly now.

Mark stood silently before the door to his now inaccessible room for a very long minute, recalling the various efforts he'd made to secure the rent. Hoping that in his review he'd find an option he'd overlooked.

The first solution that came to mind was also the simplest, calling home and asking for an advance on next month's funds. That had been quickly rejected once he realized that would mean explaining to his father what he'd done with this month's check. It had only arrived the morning of the game and he had cashed it that afternoon - which was why he had so much cash in his wallet at the time. Before rejecting the idea, he'd briefly considered simply saying he'd lost his wallet, but knew full well that lying to his father would be worse than having lost it in the game.

Over the last week, he'd also made the rounds of his friends in the hope that one or two could afford to loan him the money. Unfortunately, few had any cash to spare and the rare ones that did had learned from previous experience that when it came to paying people back, Mark had a well earned reputation for not always being prompt.

Finally, in desperation, he'd approached his boss at Mario's Pizza, where he worked part time on weekends, asking him for a salary advance. He might as well have asked a brick wall, because Mario's response was to ask aloud why he paid Mark at all, considering how little work he believed the teenager actually did. So no solution there.

His mental review hadn't offered anything new, it simply confirmed that he had nowhere else to turn. With that realization came the prospect that he might very well find himself back in the dorms by next week. After living there during his freshman year, Mark couldn't think of anything more depressing.

-=-=-=-

Feeling like he imagined General Lee felt when he set off to see General Grant, the American history major resigned himself to his fate and headed back down the stairs to face the music. Standing once more in front of the door to Mrs. McGill's apartment, he allowed himself one last shrug of resignation and reached for the brass knocker on the wooden door.

Long seconds passed, stretching to nearly a minute, and no response came. He tried the knocker a second time, then finally heard the sound of footsteps from within. Then they abruptly stopped, long enough for him to take another deep breath, before the door swung open to reveal the silver and grey haired landlady.

A few inches shorter than his own five seven, the slightly plump woman in the pink and white flowered housedress always reminded Mark of an actress in a popular sitcom he'd grown up watching, the one about the residents of a small North Carolina town. In both look and mannerisms, Marion McGill highly resembled the aunt of the town's sheriff.

"Ah, Mr. Kelly," she said with a friendly smile, "I thought I'd be seeing you today."

'As if I had a choice,' Mark thought but didn't say, replying instead with a silent smile.

.

"Won't you come in," she continued, "we have a bit of business to discuss, do we not?"

Mark did so, stepping into the old fashioned living room as the older woman closed the door behind him. This was only the second time he'd ever actually been in her apartment, as tenants usually just slid the rent envelopes through a small mail slot in the door.

"Would you like a little snack, or something to drink?" Marion asked in a thoughtful tone.

"No thank you," Mark replied.

"Well then, now that we've observed the amenities, shall we sit down and discuss the matter at hand?" she said, gesturing to the empty couch in the center of the room.

Sitting down on the left side, Mark was followed by Mrs. McGill a moment later. She took a few additional moments to make herself comfortable, then began to speak.

"It pained me to take such drastic measures," Marion said, referring to the new lock on Mark's door, "but you seemed quite reluctant to sit down and discuss why I didn't find a rent envelope with your name on it these past two weeks."

Mark took his own pause as he considered his words carefully. On his way down the stairs, the college student had considered several stories to explain why he didn't have the rent money, hoping to come up with one that might elicit sympathy, but had come up with nothing. So he took a radical chance - he told the truth.

"I lost the money playing cards," he said, then elaborating on the details of how.

The period between that statement and Mrs. McGill's reply seemed like at least a minute to Mark, even if in reality it was barely a third of that.

"A full house, huh?" Marion finally said, a small bit of a smile appearing at the corner of her mouth.

Mark nodded that was correct, unsure what she thought of his admission.

"That sounds like the sort of thing my late mister would've done," she added, the smile becoming full blown as she visualized her husband and recalled how much he liked to play cards.

It was a smile that Mark found encouraging.

'But as much as I can empathize," she continued, the smile abruptly fading, "I would probably be more inclined to do so if you'd come to me about it two weeks ago instead of trying to avoid the problem."

Mark's face filled with concern, even more so with her next statement.

"That was quite discourteous, Mr. Kelly," she continued, "quite discourteous indeed. And aside from being unfair to myself, it's also unfair to the fine young men in search of lodging that I'm forced to turn away each semester - most of whom likely have a higher sense of financial responsibility than you've exhibited."

Then she dropped the bomb that Mark had feared.

"So, even if I must say this with reluctance, I do have to say it. If you can't produce at least a partial payment by the end of the week, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave, so I can give the room to someone who can."

'Oh God, back to the dorm I go,' Mark thought, his face exhibiting his dejection - an action that did seem to finally elicit some sympathy from the older woman.

"Do you think that you might be able to come up with any part of the rent by then, Mr. Kelly?" she asked, her willingness to accept even a token sum offering him a new ray of hope.

Unfortunately, even that seemed unlikely, an admission that he knew would not help his case, so instead he tried another approach. One that, if he was lucky, might at least gain him a stay of execution.

"I was thinking that maybe I could do some work around here to cover some of what I owe," he said as sincerely as he could, ignoring the question that had been put to him. "I'm pretty good with my hands."

That the building could use some repairs was no secret, but few tenants would complain about it given the great deal they were getting.

Marion's reaction to the idea was an expression that Mark couldn't quite read. He took solace, however, in the fact that she didn't reject it out of hand. Instead she got up off the couch and walked over towards the fireplace mantle where a row of photos sat on the top. She seemed to look at one in particular and became lost in thought. Mark decided not to interrupt her, content to simply wait until she finished whatever she was thinking about.

"What kind of work can you do?" she asked after turning back around.

"Just about anything," Mark quickly replied, elated that she seemed to be interested in the idea. "My uncle is a general contractor and I used to spend my summers working for him."

Mark was hoping she didn't ask too many questions about his job skills. It was true that he worked for his uncle every summer, but his responsibilities fell more in the line of running errands and delivering supplies. All he was really hoping for at the moment was time to think of something else.

"Well, now that I think about it, there is a job around here that needs sorely needs attending to," she finally said, "but I have to wonder if you'd be able to handle it."

"I can handle anything," Mark replied without hesitation.

"Anything covers a great many things, Mr. Kelly," she said, her tone again unreadable.

"I mean it," Mark replied, seeing his salvation at hand. "Whatever you need done, I'm your man."

"Well, you do seem quite eager," Marion said, "and I would guess that has to count for something. And I would really hate to have to see you move back into the dorms..."

'This is great, she's going to go for it,' Mark thought excitedly.

"...so tell me, Mr. Kelly," she continued, her tone now changing in a way Mark really couldn't describe, "just how far are you really willing to go in order to stay here?"

"I don't understand," Mark said, his sense of assurance abruptly fading.

"No, I suppose you don't," she replied, a strange smile filling her face. "Ambiguity has its place, but sometimes it's better to be direct."

Mark suddenly felt a chill in his back, even if he didn't know why.

"It's a simple exchange really," Marion stated matter of factly. "You take care of my physical needs and I give you a pass on this month's rent."

"Physical needs?" Mark repeated, certain that couldn't mean what he thought it did.

"Even an old lady needs to get laid once in a while, Mr. Kelly," she said with a broad grin, dispelling any doubt as to what the quid pro quo entailed, "and, as I decided many years ago, why settle for a worn out stag when I find myself surrounded by so many young bucks? A surprising number of whom have proven receptive to the idea, given the right circumstances."

'Fuck me,' Mark thought in disbelief, 'she's serious.'

Or more accurately, fuck her, he corrected himself.

Up until a few moments ago, it never occurred to Mark that a woman Marion's age might still have an interest in sex. He'd always assumed, erroneously as it might have been, that people simply lost interest in such things as they grew older. He'd never had anything to back up the assumption, it had just been a convenient belief. After all, it was hard enough for him to imagine that his parents still did it, much less that his grandparents might still be rocking the sheets.

Even more unsettling to Mark than the shattering of his long accepted preconception was the fact that what would've seemed preposterous only yesterday didn't seem half as much so today. He actually found himself considering Mrs. McGill's offer. In doing so, he found himself viewing her in a much different light. Not as an old woman, but simply a woman - one that still had needs and was willing to take advantage of the situation to see them met.

Short and stocky, Marion McGill had a build that was barely discernible in the shapeless smock she usually wore. Not that he ever considered them before, but Mark noted that her features, while ordinary, were pleasant in a grandmotherly sort of way. Remembering that some people change a great deal as they got older, Mark wondered what Marion might have looked like at his age.

"I'm waiting for an answer, Mr. Kelly." Marion said, a touch of impatience in her tone.

It was an answer that Mark was waiting for as well.

Since losing his virginity the summer before his senior year in high school, Mark had only been intimate with three other women. Two had been girls he was dating, while the other fell into what, for lack of any other classification, could be called a one night stand.

It had been the night of his older brother's bachelor party, held in the back room of a local bar, and, as the best man, he had been the recipient of a rather gratifying encounter with a thirty-something year old stripper that had been hired for the occasion. At first, Mark had been somewhat hesitant about going into the bathroom with a woman twice his age, despite the urging of his brother and his friends. It hadn't taken the admittedly skilled woman long to dispel any reluctance.

"I guess I don't have many options," Mark finally replied.

"Of course you do," Marion said. "You could simply say no thank you. No one is forcing you into my bed."

That was true, Mark admitted to himself, but saying no would also mean going back to the dorms for sure. Not a prospect he cared to entertain.

"I guess my answer is yes," Mark finally said, deciding it was indeed the lesser of two evils - a ten minute quickie with the landlady and his financial problem would be gone. How could he lose?

If might have served him well to remember the last time he had expressed that sentiment.

"Excellent," Marion smiled, quite pleased with his decision.

"So when would we ..." Mark started to ask, only to be interrupted.

"Well, there's no time like the present," Marion said, leading Mark to wonder if perhaps she didn't want to give him the chance to change his mind.

Then again, Mark thought further, with everyone else out for the day, what better time could there be?

-=-=-=-

Mrs. McGill's bedroom, into which she now led him, was decorated in the same manner as the living room, with furniture that dated from before Mark had been born. The centerpiece of the room was a large, king sized bed with thick oak posts and an overhead canopy. At the moment, it was fully made up, with a heavy bedspread that complemented the wallpaper.

"Turn down the bed, would you?" Marion said. "And then make yourself comfortable."

There was little doubt as to what she meant by comfortable as Marion had already begun undoing the buttons of her loose fitting dress. As he pulled down the bedspread and the blanket beneath it, Mark caught himself staring at Mrs. McGill as she disrobed. She hardly had the sort of body one found in Penthouse or Playboy, but there was an unexpected fascination in seeing a woman her age do so.

Once she was out of her dress, Mark saw a set of undergarments bearing little resemblance to anything he had ever seen before. The thick heavy brassiere that Marion wore over her large breasts appeared designed more for support than enticement, with little afterthought for comfort. The same could be said for the old fashioned girdle, the first he had seen outside of a photograph. Completing the image was a set of bloomers, something he hadn't ever imagined anyone still wore.

The girdle came off first, with, he saw, a bit of difficulty. The old style bra didn't seem to be much better as far as simplicity in its undoing. But once it did, Mark found himself looking at a set of breasts bigger than any he'd ever seen in the flesh, with large nipples and a pink halo the size of a soda can bottom. Marion took each in hand and rubbed them vigorously, restoring the feeling that had been cut off by the tight restraint.

Wrapped up in watching Marion, Mark hadn't so much as even taken off his shirt yet. A look of impatience on her face caused him to correct the oversight, pulling off his polo shirt to reveal a lightly haired chest and an average build. His shoes and socks came next, then it was on to his belt and the jeans they held up. They went just as quickly and he was soon down to his simple white briefs.