The Widow Henderson

This is a work of fiction created solely in my mind. Any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental. I hope you enjoy it and feel free to leave feedback and comments, both good and bad.

Life certainly has its ups and downs as everyone can attest to. It just feels like my life has had more downs than ups over the past few years. For instance, my parents had been killed in an auto accident three years ago when I was twenty-three. A semi-truck had veered into their lane when the overworked driver fell asleep at the wheel hitting my parent's car head-on. The doctors assured me that they had died instantly, which was a blessing I guess. There was an upside however, if I wanted to think of it that way. I inherited the house that I grew up in. It is a modest three bedroom located in a very quiet neighborhood.

One year ago I had gotten married to Cynthia Palmer, my high school sweetheart. That lasted a whole five months. Right up till the time I came home early from work and found her lying flat on her stomach with Adam Brooks' dick firmly pushed up her asshole. Something she never allowed me to do I might add. I found out later that they had been seeing each other long before her and I started dating. Why she had married me remains a mystery, but I suspect that she had planned to divorce me to get her hands on the house. Since I had caught her being bung holed though, she hadn't contested anything in the divorce settlement.

It was nearly 6pm by the time I arrived home from my construction job; I had stopped by the market to pick up some much needed supplies. Mainly the supplies consisted of beer and dinners that I could just put in the microwave. I can cook, but choose not to. After putting everything away I grabbed one of the beers and went to the deck my father and I had built onto the back of the house. As was my daily habit, I sat in the ratty armchair I had rescued from a yard sale, popped the top on the beer and lit the one cigarette a day I allowed myself. I leaned back in the chair and let the cool spring evening caress me gently.

"Those things will kill you, Bradley," my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, scolded me.

"Not before I make an honest woman out of you," I jokingly replied.

Mrs. Henderson has called me Bradley since I was sixteen and doing her yard work. I prefer Brad, but would never dream of correcting her. I started helping her with the yard after her husband Bill, a policeman, had been shot breaking up a domestic dispute ten years ago. Bill had been a great guy and I know his death had torn her up. When I first asked if I could help with the upkeep of the yard, a chore Bill always took care of, it must have touched her. Since then we have remained good friends and neighbors.

I stood and strolled over to the row of bushes that acted as a fence between our properties. Standing on the other side Mrs. Henderson smiled warmly at me as she gazed up and down my six-foot frame. Openly admiring my physique was something I have noticed her doing more of lately. Mostly when she didn't think I was aware of it, but I didn't mind, since I was doing the same to her.

Standing around five-nine she was a striking woman in her mid-fifties. Light brown wavy hair down to her shoulders framed a slim face with green eyes, a small upturned nose and full soft lips. Even with a baggy sweatshirt on I could tell her breast were rather large for her slender frame. Her shapely legs poking from the bottom of her cut-off denim shorts seemed to go on for miles.

"How are you doing Mrs. Henderson," I asked.

"Just fine thank you. Got another one of those beers, Bradley?"

"You know I always have one for you," I laughed.

I watched her struggle through the waist high bushes, and then she followed me to the deck and sat on the lounge chair next to my chair. I returned with two beers from the fridge, handed one to her, and got comfortable in my ratty armchair. We sipped our beers in silence listening to the sounds of the approaching night. The two of us sitting peacefully on my deck had become a ritual we shared two or three times a week since my parents had died. I actually found myself looking forward to these times. Mrs. Henderson, I never called her anything else, was good company and I enjoyed her visits even when we didn't talk much.

During these visits I learned that she used to be a schoolteacher but quit that after her husband was killed. She told me it was too much for her to handle at the time, but she had planned on going back to teaching, she just never did though. With Bill's pension she could afford to stay at home and do whatever she felt like doing. When I had asked why they didn't have any kids her face clouded over before telling me that she had in fact gotten pregnant. Something had gone wrong however and she miscarried, leaving them childless and her unable to conceive again. I never brought this subject up again after that.

Glancing out the corner of my eye I saw she was stretched out on the lounger with her ankles crossed and her eyes shut. I took this time to openly admire those long legs and somehow I must have zoned out.

"Bradley..." I suddenly realized she was talking to me.

"Uh...what," I managed to stammer. I could feel my face turning red from embarrassment at having been caught.

"I was saying that I want to plant some flowers along my back patio, and was wondering if you might help me," she said.

"Sure, no problem. When do you plan on doing it?"

"This weekend if you can spare the time," she answered.

"All my weekends are free for the foreseeable future," I replied with a chuckle.

"Still not seeing anyone huh," she stated, a slight lift in her voice.

"Just waiting for my beautiful neighbor to come around to the dark side," I replied without thinking.

Laughing, she said, "Be careful what you wish for."

I went inside and got us another beer. We spent the next forty-five minutes making small talk about nothing of importance. It was just starting to get dark out when she let me know she was heading home. I stood up quickly and held out my hands to help her up. Taking them in hers, she allowed me to pull her off the lounger until she stood directly in front of me, one of her hands came up and cupped my cheek tenderly as she leaned forward and kissed the other side.

"Thank you. You've always been a gentleman, Bradley," she whispered in my ear.

I watched her walk toward her house, her tight round ass hypnotizing me as she disappeared out of sight. A small shudder ran through me as I stood there thinking evil thoughts. I reminded myself that today was Thursday and I wouldn't have long before I saw her again.

Friday came and went without even a sign of Mrs. Henderson. Saturday I rolled out of bed about nine in the morning, started the coffee pot and took a shower while it brewed. In just my robe, with a hot cup of coffee in my hands, I went out to the deck to enjoy the morning. Mother nature must be in a good mood I thought. The day was starting out with a deep blue sky and lots of bright sunshine, the birds singing in the surrounding trees. I managed to sip half of my coffee without burning my lips, before I became aware of Mrs. Henderson puttering around her yard. It looked like she had been gathering yard tools from her shed. I saw a shovel and rake, and what appeared to be smaller versions of the shovel.

Before she noticed me, I took the time to study her attire. She was wearing very baggy tan shorts; a loose fitting green tank top and she had a wide brimmed straw hat on her head. She also had pink running shoes with pink ankle high socks on.

Without realizing I had forgot to tie the belt on my robe, I stood up and shouted good morning to her. She peered in my direction and I watched, puzzled, as her eyes grew big and a hand shot up to cover her mouth.

"Oh my. Yes it is a good morning..." she said, her eyes still big.

Looking down, I understood what was causing her reaction. I quickly turned away from her and cinched the belt tightly.

"Oh god, I'm so, so sorry," I repeated over and over.

When I turned back to face her she had moved to the border of our yards and was quietly laughing into her hand. All I could see on her face was amusement and I'm sure all she could see on mine was the burning red of shame and embarrassment. How I could have been so careless was beyond me, especially since I've been coming out here for my morning coffee for a while now. Another one of them up and down things I figured.

"I'm so sorry for that Mrs. Henderson," I repeated.

"Don't be Bradley, I'm not," she said with a smile.

Gathering myself together, I mumbled something about being over to help in a little while then retreated back into my house. Oddly I found the fact that I had just flashed her my junk a little titillating. I drank another cup of coffee before changing into jeans, work boots and a white t-shirt.

Mrs. Henderson was sitting at the picnic table that has been a fixture on her patio since I was in my early teens. It was made of wood planks and two-by-fours, with attached benches on either side. She had to lift her leg up and over the bench to stand and I was rewarded with a brief glimpse of thin white cotton panties through the baggy leg hole of her shorts.

The patio was actually a concrete slab about eight feet by ten feet with the roof extended out to provide shade. I noticed several large bags of potting soil stacked next to a couple of small flats of multi-colored flowers in one corner of the patio. There were six small bundles of flowers in each of the flats, twelve bundles in all, so I was sure that this wouldn't be an all day job. Handing me a shovel, Mrs. Henderson explained that all she wanted to do was dig out enough of the sod on one side of the patio to make a small flowerbed along the length of it. Easy work compared to my normal job, so I jumped right in.

Once I had the section dug out to her satisfaction she had me spread the potting soil evenly along the whole length of it. After I finished that chore she told me to take a break and relax. I went over and sat at the picnic table while she got on her hands and knees and began to plant the bundles in a single line. Sitting there watching her work I noticed that her breasts, the size of large grapefruits, swung freely side to side each time she used the garden trowel to dig another hole for one of the bundles. The position she was in placed her head and shoulders facing my direction, the wide brim of her hat blocked her face from my view. It did not block my view down the top of her loose tank top however. With my elbows on the table and my chin resting in my hands the swaying of her unfettered breast mesmerized me. How did I not notice she was braless I wondered. The top was loose enough for me to see completely past her hanging tits, but not enough to see her nipples. What a pity I thought to myself.

"All done," I heard her say, breaking into my subconscious mind.

Focusing, I notice that she was staring at me with a knowing look on her face.

"Maybe you would be a gentleman and help an old lady up," she said.

Getting quickly to my feet I rushed to her and helped pull her up. The first thing I noticed, was the points of her nipples poking through her tank top as she stood in front of me; my penis starting to grow in my jeans was the second thing. Together we cleaned up the area and put the tools away, giving me time to get my dick under control. It was close to noon by the time we finished so I asked if she wanted to come and have a cold beer to celebrate a job well done.

"I think a cold beer right now would be just what the doctor ordered," she replied.

She led the way back to my house and took her customary place on the lounger while I fetched the beers. After she took hers, I moved the ratty armchair so that it was facing her instead of the yard and sank into it. She lay back on the lounger with a satisfied look on her face and slowly drank her beer. One beer turned into three before we knew it as we relaxed on the deck. I thought she was getting ready to leave when she uncrossed her long legs and planted her feet on each side of the lounger, but she just sighed and stayed in that position. I didn't know if she was aware of it or not, but the way she was sitting caused her knees to be higher than her hips and her legs to be spread wide enough to give me an unrestricted view up the inside of her baggy shorts. Her cotton panties were thin enough for me to see the patch of brown pubic hair through the fabric, and there was a discernable line where her panties had ridden up into the cleft of her pussy. My cock grew until I could feel it crawling down the leg of my jeans.

"Bradley...are you having naughty thoughts?"

Hearing her question, I raised my eyes to her face and saw her staring at me through half-closed eyes with a smile playing on her lips.

Acting as innocently as I could manage I said, "Who, me?"

She laughed, swung her legs to one side then stood up and stepped off the deck. She took a few steps toward her house before slowly turning back to face me.

"For all your help today I have decided to cook dinner for you. Come over tomorrow at around six-thirty," she said.

"That's not necessary," I told her. "I was happy to do it."

"I won't take no for an answer," she replied before leaving.

That night dreams of those long legs and white panties invaded my sleep to the point I had to go into the bathroom and relieve the pressure in my aching balls. Once I had accomplished that I had no trouble falling back into a satisfying, deep sleep.

The next morning I had my coffee on the deck in my robe but only after I'd made sure it was belted properly. There was no sign of Mrs. Henderson. I spent most of the day tidying up my house and watching sports on television. Before it got too late I drove to the market and picked up a couple bottles of wine, one red and one white since I didn't know what she would be cooking. Wanting to show my appreciation for the dinner and for her company, I decided to treat this like a date. Freshly showered and shaved I donned black slacks, a button down shirt and loafers. I didn't want to show up dressed in my everyday clothes. At six twenty-five I went to her front door, knocked and waited for her to answer it.

When she opened the door I was stunned by the vision of mature eloquence that stood before me. Her soft brown hair was swept back in a French braid leaving her long slender neck exposed. Light blue eye shadow had been applied on her eyelids and she was wearing a subtle shade of red lipstick that gave her lips a fullness. Thin spaghetti straps that tied at the shoulders held up the teal dress that contoured nicely to her slender frame and ended just above her knees. A plunging neckline revealed the tops of her breasts without being vulgar. Her tan sandals allowed me to see her toenails had been painted the same shade of red as her lips.

Reaching one hand forward, her fingernails red also, she closed my jaw.

"Wow," was all that I could say.

"Thank you Bradley," she breathed, a slight blush coloring her high cheekbones.

"You look absolutely fantastic Mrs. Henderson," I blurted out.

Still in awe I stepped inside and waited while she shut the door. I have only been inside her home on about four occasions, but it appeared as if nothing had changed. There was a dark brown sofa with an oval coffee table in front of it, and two leather wing backed chairs separated by an end table sat across facing the sofa. Against one wall was a flat screen TV while soft music played on the console stereo next to it. Oddly there were no personal pictures hanging on the walls, just landscapes and flowers. There was a hall that led off in one direction that I assumed would lead to the bedrooms and bathroom. The kitchen and dining room combination was located at the back near the patio doors. That's where she headed so I followed. The table was set up with two place settings, and two large wine glasses had been placed next to each plate. One was empty but the other had lipstick on the rim and was half empty of what looked like white wine. I sat the wine bottles on the counter near the sink and watched her busy herself in the kitchen. When I offered to help she declined, and told me that dinner would be ready in a minute so I should take a seat.

The meal turned out to be Chicken Alfredo with penne pasta and a tossed green salad. It was cooked to perfection. We chatted effortlessly through the entire meal but it seemed as if she was a little subdued compared to her normal self. I also noticed that she drank the wine faster than I would have expected her to. When we finished I helped her clear the table and rinse the dishes before loading them into the dishwasher. The kitchen area was narrow and we bumped into each other frequently. One time she bent over to put something in the dishwasher and I was behind her a little too close. Her ass made contact with my groin and we both let out a soft yelp, before we cracked up laughing at each other. Once we had everything put away I refilled our glasses and she suggested we go in the front room and relax. I sat on the sofa and she took one of the chairs after turning the stereo up just a little. After sitting down she crossed one leg over the other causing her dress to ride higher on her thighs and giving me a nice view of those wonderful legs.

"So why do you always call me Mrs. Henderson, Bradley," she asked, while peering over the rim of her glass.

The question caught me off-guard. I apologetically told her that I really didn't know her first name. In all the time we have lived next to each other I had never heard anyone call her other than what I did. When my parents had referred to her they always called her Mrs. Henderson. I further explained that even Bill had only called her the wife, or, my wife when I was around. Growing up I had never really thought about it, but in retrospect, I can see how unlikely it was to have lived next door to someone without ever knowing their given name. She appeared to ponder my explanation for a short time.

"My name is Abigail. But you can call me Abby if you like," she finally stated.

"I would like that very much, Abby," I replied.

Watching, I could tell that something was bothering her, but had no idea what it was. I only hoped that it was not something I may have said or did. Bravely I went to her, got down on one knee and took her free hand into mine, asking what was wrong. Her eyes misted and I could see her lips tremble slightly.

"I'm sorry, Bradley," she began. "It's just that today would have been mine and Bill's thirtieth anniversary."

My heart broke for her. Up until now I hadn't realized exactly how much I cared for her. She had been there, comforting me with her visits, while all this time I had not thought that she might be suffering also. I reached up and gently stroked her face, trying to think of something to say. A slow romantic ballad began pouring from the radio as we gazed into each other's eyes.

Standing, I held out my hand and asked, "Would you dance with me, Abby?"

She placed her wine glass on the end table, took my hand and glided effortlessly into my waiting arms. With my arms around her waist and hers encircling my neck we melted into each other. I could smell a hint of jasmine coming off her as I held her with one hand and caressed her back tenderly with the other. It was apparent both of us were out of practice when it came to dancing as we just slowly rotated in a circle. We were not even aware when the first song was followed by another. Her head came down and softly rested on my shoulder as her arms pulled us closer together. Gently I began to place small kisses on her exposed neck, feeling her body tremble with each one.