She looked down at Gordon with an expression somewhere between a smirk and a sneer; almost smiling, but not quite. He wondered whether it made her feel attractive in some way to get a man his age to orgasm, or if was it simply the power of being able to do whatever she wanted that she got something from, but either way, he knew that he was looking up at woman who was obviously reveling in her superiority.
She lifted herself slightly off him and used his shirt to wipe herself down before standing astride him and picking up the neatly-folded pleated skirt and gloves from the armchair.
“I’m going in the shower now, so let yourself out, but if you put your cell phone number on the back of the card your mother sent I’ll let you know when I need anything else.”
Gordon left the house and started to walk as fast as he could. It was getting close to visiting time and he had to rush home and get changed before he went to the hospital and his mother would be upset if she saw him with his tie creased and stained, his suit crumpled and in need of pressing, and wearing a shirt with most of its buttons missing.
But he wasn’t trying to protect his mother from worrying that he’d been in a fight or an accident, it was more that he didn’t want her to know that he’d been to a funeral.
Especially not when it was less than twenty four hours ago that most of the hospital’s visiting time had consisted of him being warned how much of a sexual predator Jean Hargreaves used to be, and “how she’d had a bit of a reputation back in the day of having aggressive sexual preferences and being so freakishly strong that any man she took a fancy to ended up looking like they’d been attacked” and “how she was just the sort of woman who was liable to jump on the first man she was left alone with now that her husband had died … so don’t go anywhere near her or the wake and just send a condolences card with my name on it to be on the safe side…..”