Page 19 of This Is Who I Am

CASS

The morning after my sublime date with Estelle, I wake before Gussie can pounce on me. Instantly, my mind drifts to that goodbye kiss. It really was something else. I play it over and over in my mind.

Estelle’s lips already have an addictive quality—and I’ve only kissed her twice.

But it’s not only the yearning to kiss her again—and to see her again as quickly as possible—that I feel.

I vividly remember my clit roaring back to life when my tongue slipped into her mouth.

She’s so damn sexy. And I can’t believe I told her that, for me, sex being off the table is preferable.

But she hadn’t kissed me again when I said that.

My clit was still as dead as a doornail when I exclaimed those words with utter conviction.

I’m not so sure now, just as I’m not sure about my body’s reaction.

It might just be a hormone fluctuation that spiked because of Estelle’s glorious kiss.

Maybe there’s only one way to find out whether my attraction is genuinely physical—whether my body can keep up with meeting such a spectacular woman.

I run my hand over my belly and, instantly, I’m put off by its bulky curve.

There’s too much of me— okay, stop it. If ever there was a more unsexy thought than ‘I’m too fat to masturbate’, I’ve yet to encounter it.

But I haven’t done this in so long. Not only because of lack of desire but also because the last few times I did try—on Suzy’s recommendation—it simply didn’t work. My body totally refused to cooperate.

Once, I did manage a sufficient degree of excitement to get into it but the orgasm, if you could even call it that, was a total dud—like a reluctant wave retreating back into the ocean instead of crashing to shore.

But mostly, I just couldn’t get there. As though my body was trying to tell me that the good times were well and truly over.

And I didn’t even care. It didn’t bother me because I was single and unattractive—especially to myself—and, frankly, I had far better things to do with my time.

But that was before Estelle, and before last night when I definitely experienced a few upticks in lust. Perhaps I owe it to myself to try—Suzy would be so proud of me.

It’s not hard to imagine Estelle in bed with me—a place she might never find herself—because she’s all I see as soon as I close my eyes.

That intense, commanding gaze. Her lips slightly parted.

How warm and close she was when she leaned in.

But also the connection we shared, the things we talked about, the ways in which we seem to click so effortlessly.

I circle my nipple and it instantly becomes hard at the thought of Estelle’s lips wrapping around it. Those divine lips that left such an impression, I can still feel them.

I’ve learned to take my time with myself, to not expect miracles from my fifty-three-year-old body. My fingers don’t go near my clit until my brain is completely suffused with all things Estelle Raymond.

I only give. I don’t receive. Those words seem to be etched in my brain just as much as the exquisite slope of her cheekbones and the curve of her jawline.

What would she have to give exactly? How would she give it?

None of that might be rocket science, but it has an extra tinge of mystery because of all the other things she has confided in me.

And she sure had a way of licking sauce off her fingers.

Oh, fuck. Her fingers. They might not be entirely off-limits, after all.

Okay. I’m ready. I let my fingers drift lower, circling gently.

But it’s as though I’m out of practice and I don’t really know how to touch myself any longer.

I take a breath and start again because this is hardly rocket science either.

Of course, I haven’t forgotten how to do this—a body isn’t a manual you can misplace.

I suck my finger into my mouth, much like Estelle did with hers last night, and my clit reacts instantly, as though it, too, wants a whole lot more of her.

When I bring my hand back between my legs, it’s as though my body might actually still be capable of this.

For a few moments, I forget where I am and what I’m doing while I relive our kiss again, its maddeningly slow approach followed by that sensual joining of our lips.

I amp up the speed of my finger but it has the opposite effect, as though the desire I obviously have for Estelle won’t translate to my body.

As though that arrow of lust that runs up my spine when I think of her has no path to my clit, like some critical connection has been severed.

Frustrated, I give up. Perhaps too easily, but I don’t care enough and I need the full strength of my hands for cooking later.

As if he knows what I’ve been up to and was patiently waiting by the door— as if —August rushes in and hops onto the bed with a dramatic meow.

“I know exactly how you feel, little fella,” I say.

I wisely decide not to linger in bed, to focus on last night rather than on this morning. Despite my failed attempt at reviving my aging body, there’s a new lightness in my step as I go to feed my cat.

* * *

“Once again, only one word for you, Mama Cass,” Bobby says. “D.I.V.I.N.E!”

I cooked with extra flair tonight, or maybe everything just tasted better because I have a crush on Estelle and infatuation is more delicious than the best-made jus.

“Thank you, darling.” It’s the end of service and I pull up a chair to Bobby and Hunter’s table.

“No hot flashes in the kitchen tonight, I take it.” Hunter grins at me. “That broth was so good, I considered proposing to it.”

“What’s going on here?” Bobby waves his hand at my body. “Is your menopause over? There’s something distinctly different about you, Cassie.”

I give a one-shouldered shrug that’s meant to be mysterious.

“What is it?” Hunter studies my face.

A grin tugs at my lips. “Nothing,” I say, despite that grin, because it’s so much fun toying with them.

“Okay. I guess we’re off then.” Hunter pretends to rise, then falls back into his chair. Two can play that game.

“Believe it or not, but I’ve met someone,” I say.

“You’re right,” Hunter says. “That is hard to believe. Was it at Suzy’s support group?”

“Babe, this is serious,” Bobby admonishes his husband.

“If Cass has met someone who makes her look as though she won the lottery of life, we have to leave the snark aside.” He looks me right in the eye.

“Who is it and where did you meet? Do we know her?” He brings his hand to his mouth. “Presuming it is a she.”

I chuckle because they crack me up, but also because of the sheer elation of telling my friends about Estelle. Beautiful, brilliant Estelle, who kissed me until I saw the stars on the backs of my eyelids last night.

“I met her here, at the restaurant.” I can hear how my voice goes up in pitch, as though it has a mind of its own when talking about Estelle. “Her name’s Estelle. She’s back in town after her father died.”

“Black, big hair, drop dead gorgeous?” Bobby asks.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“I’ve seen her around.” He shrugs. “I tend to notice beautiful women who are not from around here,” he says matter-of-factly, but then swiftly takes it up a notch. “How did you swing that?”

“Bobby.” Hunter punches his husband in the upper arm.

“Apologies if that came out wrong,” Bobby corrects himself. “What I mean is that you are our good friend, Cass. We are aware of your, um, woman issues. You’ve also told us several times that you’re not looking and, basically, not interested in anything romantic right now.”

“I wasn’t looking, but she was just… there.” I point at the table by the window Estelle’s been dining at for the past three weeks. “And no offense taken, Bobby. I know what you mean. She’s way too hot for me, but… I don’t know, maybe we’re at a stage in our lives where that matters less.”

“Oh, Cassie.” Bobby reaches for my hands. “That’s really not what I meant. Please know that.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” I pull my hands from his and wave off his comment.

“So you met her at Savor and then what happened?” Hunter asks.

“She joined Sadie’s surf club. We all had a drink together last Monday after you left.” Hunter clearly doesn’t remember offering Estelle his chair.

“Damn it. I missed her?”

“You couldn’t handle the amount of estrogen, remember?” I arch up my eyebrows.

“That sounds like him,” Bobby says.

“I had a hot flash. She was very kind and walked me home. When she came to dinner again next, she stayed for a drink, and I invited her to a private dinner upstairs. Things have kind of spiraled from there.”

“Tell me exactly what you mean by ‘private dinner’ and ‘spiraled.’” Bobby looks at me as though I’m a news anchor delivering the most important news of his life.

I’m still wearing my chef’s hat and it’s suddenly too hot. I pull it off and say, “We might have kissed.” I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, as though wanting to catch whatever taste may—impossibly— still linger. “And then, last night…”

Bobby gasps as if I’m about to announce that we’re getting engaged.

“We went on a date and ended up at her father’s house, where more kissing ensued.”

“Just kissing?” Hunter asks because he’s utterly predictable.

“Yes, just kissing.” Whereas I could tell Suzy about Estelle being ace with no qualms, that’s not a conversation I should have with these two.

“And talking, of course. We get along so well. She’s very smart.

Apparently, her dad was some sort of mathematical genius.

” This doesn’t impress my friends half as much as it did me.

But they didn’t sit opposite Estelle sipping fine scotch while looking into her dreamy eyes.

“She’s kind and funny and, well, extremely fucking hot. ”

“Plot twist, girl,” Hunter says. “I did not see that one coming.” He flashes me a boyish grin and drums his fingertips on the tabletop. “When can your gay besties meet her?”

“It’s a bit early for friends’ introductions,” I murmur. I don’t want to jinx whatever fragile thing we have between us by inviting Estelle to meet my boisterous friends.

“You just want to keep her for yourself a while longer,” Bobby says. “I get it.”

“How about brunch at ours next weekend?” Hunter doesn’t take no for an answer.

“We’ll see, babe. We’ll see,” I say.

“But when I see her in town, I am allowed to introduce myself as your friend?” Bobby asks, as if we’re in high school instead of midlife.

“You can do whatever you want,” I say.

“Is she staying a while or just passing through?” Hunter asks.

“Possibly staying a while. Her father has a lot of stuff that needs going through.”

“How thrilling.” Bobby smiles warmly. “I’m so happy for you, Cass.”

“It’s unexpected, but… yeah, it’s wonderful.” And also very early days.

“Either way, you and I are having drinks next Monday at The Bay while Sadie teaches the middle-aged ladies of Clearwater Bay how to surf,” Hunter says. “Aren’t you thinking of joining now?”

“I will if you do,” I tease.

Hunter is very fit for a man in his mid-forties, but he didn’t grow up near the ocean and, to his son’s disappointment—and despite several attempts—he’s never taken to surfing.

“It’s ladies only,” Hunter says, as if that’s the only thing stopping him.

“I’m sure Sadie would make an exception for her wife’s baby daddy,” I say.

“Let’s share a bottle of chardonnay instead.” Hunter winks at me.

“Make it sauvignon and I’m there.”