Finding Francesca

When I wake it's to the petrichor of a warm Sunday post storm morning. Earthy smells sneak through the closed windows somehow and I can feel the world stretching its arms and rubbing its belly as it wakes too. Ordinarily I lounge on Sunday mornings and return to bed with a coffee and my ipad, but noises of motion in the kitchen remind me I have a house guest.

I had a bed buddy too; I smile to myself remembering as I piss noisily. Washing the sleep out of my eyes I wonder if the poor kid has just added another thing to be embarrassed about to her growing list. Fuck it was nice though. I don't remember getting up even once after she joined me, just the smell of clean long hair and womanly skin beside me lullabying me into probably the best sleep I've had in far too long.

She's sipping coffee quietly at that kitchen table. Faced away from me she doesn't hear me, so I stop and stare for a while. I've never seen her like this before. She's always been Delia's friend. Delia's very pretty friend that I cop a perve on every chance I get but still, just a pleasant young woman that exists in the 'far too young, far too pretty, but fun to think about' category. Now, I'm wondering.

Wondering why a simple faux pas has changed our dynamic and set our status quo on a wobbly orbit. Perhaps I think too much I decide. Well, the smell of her coffee decides it for me.

"Morning Chessie." I smile at her slight startled lurch.

"Hey, g'morning Pauly. I was wondering if I'd have to come and wake you." Her deep brown eyes dance on mine and then they drop with a smiled, "Sorry about being a sook last night. Thanks for cuddles."

"First live woman I've had in that bed for a long time. Thank you, to you, Chessie." That gets me a smile as I pour coffee.

"Paul?"

"Yes."

"How many dead women have you had in there? Should I be calling the cops?"

"It puts the lotion on its skin." I tell her mock seriously, sitting opposite to cradle my coffee. "You're up early."

"Got a hot date with a nice man." She beams at me.

"Date?" I ask myself silently. It must show on my face.

"Bike. The beach. Remember wally?"

"How could I forget." Indeed. I'm already chubbing up thinking about her arms around me and her long legs holding me from behind. The perks of motorcycling, I smile.

"Oh, have you got a bag or something for the bike that I can put some stuff in?"

"Yeah, big old rack on the back. Why? How much are you thinking of packing? I forgot what chicks were like."

"Pff..." She waves away my chauvinism, "Towels, a book, sunscreen." She shrugs.

"That'll fit just fine darlin."

Then we fall to a cosy silence as I tap my ipad and check facebook and such and she does the same with her phone.

"Hot already." She mumbles without looking up.

"Should probably get a wriggle on." I tell my empty cup.

"Give me twenty or so?"

"Sure."

Showered, I toss some board shorts and a towel in a plastic bag along with a brush and my wallet and phone.

"Hey. This do?" I hear and turn to find her twirling and beaming at my dropped jaw.

"God damn Chessie. You look like something from a magazine." And she does too. She's wearing a small but decent bikini. It's not the same one but this one is red too against her olive skin and covers all the important parts, drawing attention to them at the same time. "How tall are you anyway?" I shake my head in disbelief at the vision in front of me.

"Oh, um... a hundred and seventy-five centimetres. Not sure in old person language." She pokes her tongue at me and smirks pulling some jeans on. I'm pretty good with maths but my brain refuses to cooperate as she bends and twists. I've seen her plenty of times in a bikini, swimming with Delia on weekends but somethings changed. Perhaps it's the memory of those breasts pressed naked against me last night. Maybe it's the remembered moment by the pool when she changed on Friday afternoon. I'm not sure but I blush knowing I'm looking at my daughter's friend with a slightly predatory growling of new thoughts.

Finally, I volunteer, "Five eight?"

She shrugs and smiles at me as she slips on a t-shirt and takes the jacket I hand her. It's one of my old ones and it's a bit loose but settles nicely on her shoulders. "Ready?" she asks me a bit keenly.

"Sure, give me a few minutes to roll the old girl out and find you a... Hey, just come with me and try some helmets on. The girls are- were- you know." Way to go Paul. She's got you tongue tied like a teenager. So, I shut up and grumble something to myself as I walk to the garage.

Inside I thumb the button for the roller door, and it groans and rattles its way open. Nessy used to love my bike. Her favourite thing in the world was to pack up on Saturday mornings and ride down to Byron. We had a little beach just south of there we loved, and we'd come back Sunday afternoon with our batteries all recharged. She's staring at me I realise as I load the bike.

"What Creepy McCreeperson?"

"You were smiling to yourself. What were you thinking of? Vanessa?"

I nod and take her bag of things and put it in the gearsack.

"Sorry. Just, I'd like to make a man smile like that when he thinks about me one day." She 'bops' my shoulder with her head as I zip up the bag and throw a leg over 'Lucky'. We've had some lucky moments, me and the old girl. I pat the seat behind me, and she fumbles with her helmet strap, smiling apologetically at her clumsy fingers.

"Here Chessie." She leans close and I do up her strap, then she puts her hand on my shoulder and swings her leg over the seat.

"Ooh!" she squeaks when I greet her on the intercom. "How does this work?"

"Just talk. You're supposed to be able to connect a phone to it too." I tell her as I roll backwards down the drive and swing around to thumb Lucky to life.

"Oh Paul!" she growls, "Oops, sorry I didn't mean to haha... shit." I pat her thigh beside me.

"Ready?"

"Yes." In the mirror I see her leaning back on the gear rack and holding the grab handles white knuckle tight.

"Relax Chessie, I'll take it easy love." And lucky rumbles off down the little street that leads to the main road. She's nervous and rigidly sits the first twenty minutes or so silently. By the time we get to the Beaudesert turnoff she's let go of the grab handles and now holds my jacket lightly.

"Thank you, Paul." She says quietly and sincerely then wraps her arms tight around me and leans against me.

"My pleasure. How are you going back there?"

"First time on a bike." She lets go of me to stretch her arms out to her sides in the wind. "I fucking love it."

She seems to content herself enjoying the scenery, there are some nice long sweepers and straights down along past Wyaralong dam and she speaks again, "What sort of bike is this?"

"Just an old Vulcan darlin."

"How big is it?"

"Seventeen hundred darlin."

"Hahaha, bigger than my Corolla. Dad is going to be SO jealous. Mum won't let him have a bike. I have to ring him later. Is it fast Paul?"

"Not as fast as some, faster than others. Plenty fast enough to get a speeding fine whenever you want one. Are you holding on?"

"Haha, am now."

Lucky lefts her skirts when I roll the throttle on and we surge quickly to a hundred and sixty then roll slowly back to a hundred. My ears are filled with giggled joy and as we slow, she leans forward to put her arms around me again. That's where she stays silently pressed against my back until we stop at McDonalds in Beaudesert.

Over breakfast and coffee, she calls her parents and I am rewarded with her gushing explanation of enjoyment. She keeps blushing at her own excitement across from me as she speaks with her father. I learn from eavesdropping that they depart tomorrow on their cruise and then she hands me the phone saying, "Dad I'll give you to Paul, Paul dad."

"Hi Paul." He says in a very Australian drawl. It's probably racist of me to expect him to sound Chinese, "Thanks for taking care of Fran while we're away."

"No trouble at all..."

"Tony, Tony Chen."

"No trouble Tony. Enjoy your cruise mate."

"Will do. When I get back, you're taking me for a ride on that bike mate. I'll make it up to you with beer and a barbecue if that's okay?"

"Sure."

"I'll let you go. Thanks again for taking care of Fran."

"She's taking care of me mate, cooks like a chef."

"Good to hear Paul. Bye mate."

"Seeya."

As I hang up Fran says, "Ha, I think Dad's got a bit of a man crush on you Paul. He's so jealous. Mum hates anything to do with bikes. I can't wait till you meet them. They'll love you too. Fuck. I mean..." She turns scarlet and shrugs. "They'll like you. Um, toilet."

When she returns, I clean up the table and use the loo. I return to find her standing beside the bike with her helmet on, tapping at her phone. When I do up my own helmet, I wish that I'd learn to connect my phone to it years ago. She's playing Creedence through the speakers and the music mutes when she says, "Okay Pauly?"

"Brilliant. You'll have to show me how to do that later."

She's sitting on the bike waiting for me like an impatient puppy. There's a shortcut just past Tabragalba that brings us out at Wonglepong and down on to Canungra. Her playlist fascinates me. I'm having to reassess my age-based assumptions about her. Until recently I thought her very similar in age and maturity to Delia, but her music selection reflects the tastes of someone closer to my age.

An hour and a bit later we come down out of the mountains toward Nerang and the Gold Coast.

"Where are we heading, lady?" I ask, quietening some ZZTop that has accompanied us through the twisting heights.

"Um do you know Duranbah Beach? In Coolangatta." She asks.

"Nope, but I can get us to Coolangatta and maybe you can direct me from there darlin."

She guides me down on to Coral street and I find a carpark in Ebenezer park. She stretches prettily and I'm caught checking her out. She smiles back and raises an eyebrow then pulls her helmet off, her jacket off, her t-shirt off and then her jeans. A polite man would probably have had more success at pretending he wasn't enjoying the show as much as I was.

When I reached into the bag for my beach gear, I was wondering how I'd get my shorts on over the half boner I'd sprouted. I managed somehow and we stowed our clothes in the sack and she took my hand to lead me down onto the beach.

"Come on, you can walk right out on the rock wall and there's a little beach on the river side that's really quiet and calm."

She holds my hand the whole way out along the wall, smiling and chattering about family holidays and remembered fun. I learn she has a younger brother that's two years older than Delia. He's studying in Germany at the moment and she misses him. I learn that he slipped on the rocks here once and needed sixteen stitches from the barnacles.

In that short walk I learned a lot of things while I held her fingers in mine and listened. It wasn't until the walk back that I found myself speaking openly too. I was sharing memories of Delia and Vanessa at the beach in Broken Head, near Byron where we usually holidayed. Not so long ago, these same memories came with pain, but as I share with Chessie, for some reason they flow happily through my mind and out of my mouth.

I believe it's because her eyes dance on mine, thirstily drinking these precious moments I share out of interest. I've dated since Vanessa died. Some truly horrible experiences. Women my age come with just as much emotional baggage as I have and not once did any of the disasters actually listen as well and with as much pure interest as Chessie.

I'm still babbling some comedic moment where Delia crashed into some poor grandma on her boogie board as a child while I watch her spread our towels on the small sandy beach.

She smiles and interrupts me by handing me the sunscreen, "Do my back?".

Distracted I continue my story and massage the lotion into her shoulders. She does that neck stretching thing again and I can feel knots beneath my thumbs, so I rub them out and her groan rewards me.

"Paul, you have exactly three hours to stop doing that. God you have magic hands."

"They certainly like you." Sounded like a weird thing when I said it, but it was out there. I squirt some more lotion and cover her back and sides and naughtily slip my fingers just inside the band of her bottoms to thoroughly cover her. Her groan says she approves and then she takes the sunscreen from me, returns the favour, doing my shoulders and back.

"You're very fit Paul."

"Very dad bod Chessie. Not twenty anymore."

"Nonsense. You have a strong body, big shoulders, big arms."

"Hairy, you forgot hairy and a fat tum." I laugh embarrassed. I have some body image issues. Once I was very fit and this body is still a shock for me when I see it in the mirror. It's not a beer belly but it's not the six pack of abs that it was ten years ago either.

"Paul, women don't want gym junky fit guys that show them up. They want real men with real bodies, so they don't feel quite so bad about their own flaws. You have a strong, fit, healthy body and trust me your tummy is just fine. There, you're done, now your turn again." She hands me the bottle then knocks me for six.

She turns my palms up, squirts a little sunscreen in each hand and leaves me staring at them to undo her top and throw it onto her towel. "Front." She smiles and I try to remember to breath while I stare unchivalrously at her perfect breasts with their long hard nipples. She takes my wrists and pulls my hands to press them firmly against her beautiful chest. "Come on. They're just breasts. You've seen breasts before, yes?"

Something choked manages to escape my lips, but it doesn't resemble speech. I've touched breasts before. I've sucked them, licked them, fucked them, but right now I feel like that first time I stuck my hands up Jenny Roger's shirt in the sports shed at school and got my first real feel. She starts moving my hands a little. Lifting my eyes from my hands on her, I find her amused brown eyes and she nods gently. "It's okay Paul. It's important. It's part of the thing I'm trying to work out. I want us to be comfortable with each other's bodies."

So, I draw a very deep, surprised and slightly embarrassingly aroused breath and try to remember how to make this pleasurable for her as well as me. It's been quite a while since I've been offered breasts to play with, that weird hook-up date from the site I tried. The sex was good, but she was a nutcase, I remember as I explore Frans gorgeous chest. Her breasts are heavy, and I have no idea how they don't hang down lower. They're full and firm and definitely real. I love the mango shape of them and the hard nubs that tickle my hands as I pass over her nipples. I'm lost. Time means nothing.

"Paul." She gasps for breath and her chest is heaving in my hands, "Stop now please. I need to- "She swallows, "We need to stop. Thankyou." She pecks me on the cheek, frowns then tugs my beard gently to pull my lips to hers and she presses them a little too wetly and a little too long to mine.

"So. Breasts-Paul, Paul-Breasts..." She laughs and pulls her book from her cotton beach bag. She tosses it to the towel and finishes applying sunscreen to her legs and arms while I try to muster what's left of my mind. I discover its devoid of bloodflow due to my erection and embarrassed, I drop to my towel and lie face down in the glorious midday sun.

When thought becomes possible again there is really only one thought that keeps coming, "What in the world would someone like her want from someone old and broken like me?"

She reads beside me with her breasts proudly on display like it's not a single thing. And perhaps it isn't. Certainly, years ago Vanessa and I used to enjoy Seven Mile Beach in the skinny and it was just fine. Why then is it that the other day when she changed in front of me and today as she sunbakes beside me, is this so sexually charged? Am I attracted to her? Physically fuck yes. I'm human and I'm male and she is without a doubt, a fucking beautiful woman. But could I be... romantically interested? She's so young. And really does it matter.

"What in the world would someone like her want from someone old and broken like me?" I ask myself again. "And how would that even work? I'm still so in love with Nessy.

"Paul?"

"Hmm."

"Relax. Enjoy the sunshine then take me home. I love your bike. We're going to have to do this again sometimes."

"I'd like that."

So, I settle back and enjoy the noise of the ocean, the occasional boat crossing the bar and motoring slowly past us. The world passes slowly, and we bake ourselves, turning occasionally and silently enjoy the simple serenity of the afternoon. Some kind of timer ticks 'ding' in Chessie's head and she sits and stretches offering me a splendid view which I notice has become a lot less of a 'thing'. I know this because despite her breasts, I'm staring at the simple pleasure and relaxed peace that fills her face.

Her brown eyes are far away and beneath her little upturned nose there is a gentle happy curl to her lips. Catching me staring at her face, she smiles back and says, "Yup, I think I've got a" she makes that fist gesture again, "handle on it now Paul. Thank you for today. If I forget to tell you later, I've had a brilliant day."

"Me too." I tell her simply and honestly.

"We better get home. I've got lasagne to cook." She smiles and I help her to her feet. She puts her bikini top back on for the walk back to the bike and again, she takes my hand like it's just not a thing.

The ride home is pretty boring. We take the highway back up to Logan and the motorway across then home. It's quicker but less scenic and I'm grateful for her taste in music again. I'm also grateful for the random sudden hugs I get along the way.

We roll slowly toward the opening garage door and Lucky makes those smells and sounds that tell me she's been ridden hard and loved it. Fran bounces off and places her helmet and jacket carefully with the others on the shelves then she disappears smiling inside the house. I refuel Lucky from the drum and stretch some aches from my shoulders, reminded I'm not as young as I've felt today.

The lawn is healthy and vigorous and if I don't mow each weekend it gets too thick and yellows off when cut. It's kind of therapeutic anyway; the hum of the Briggs and Stratton motor and physically walking in diminishing circles or making zen like patterns in the lawn. This afternoon is fading as I take my sweaty arse inside.

To find the smells that I imagine come from an Italian homestead. Herbs and garlic and meaty cheesy smells of baking fill the kitchen and living area. She's set the coffee table with candles and cutlery and put two couch cushions either side of it. My black plastic bucket again holds two bottles of wine and ice and I think I should invest in something a little classier.

"Eww... You're all sweaty and grassy. Shower now Pauly." She's probably right. I really should shower. But she is also completely naked and beautiful and standing proudly in my living room towelling dry her beautiful long hair. "Oh, and in case you haven't noticed, it's clothing optional this evening. You're a lovely man and probably also haven't noticed but..." She cocks her knee to the side and nods downwards, "I'm wearing a tampon so there's a string but I'm sure you are going to cope and there'll be no messes."

"Are you okay?" She asks as I stand and openly admire her. I nod agreeing to my earlier appraisal that she is simply the single most beautiful woman that I have ever seen naked. Vanessa was lovely naked too, but in her own way and if she was here right now, I'm sure she'd arrive at the same conclusion as me. I reckon this is her doing somehow, the sneaky dead cow. "Optional. Up to you if you want to join me but this is how I'm staying, so get over it."