Love and Respect

“I always wanted to be pampered, to feel desired and wanted, not just needed for a quick lay. He never did that for me. After we got married Joe never seduced me, his entire idea of sex centered on his balls and how fast he could empty them. I never felt he respected me.”

I was listening, eavesdropping maybe, as my older sister told her best friend Evelyn one reason why her marriage failed. Several months earlier Cindy had gotten a divorce from her husband of six years. She found him in bed with a pair of pole dancers from Tom’s Hideout, one of them male, all naked, all high and heavily involved in a threesome. Since I am her closest immediate family, she ran to me and asked for sanctuary. I invited her to stay in my guest room that night and she had been residing with me since. Cindy and I decided early she didn’t need to find her own place for a while. She was helping me with the condo payment but what I was asking was by far less than what she would have to shell out as rent anywhere else. As an added benefit my sister shared cooking and cleaning duties with me.

Cindy and I hated each other as we grew up, especially during the turbulent years of puberty. She started two years before me and turned into maniacal nutcase at thirteen. I followed her on the path to maturity so for about six or seven years we plotted almost daily against the other. Only after she moved from the homestead and my balls quit governing my life did our sibling relationship assume some sort of normalcy. Now that she was 31 we got on very well, I actually liked and respected her.

I was searing steaks on the patio grill while Cindy shared her tales of woe with her friend. “Have you seen anyone since the divorce?” Evelyn asked.

“No, I’m not really in the mood. I have a nagging feeling that most men in our generation that are single would be too much like him. Looking for a hole to pop into once in a while without commitment or romance. I want to be seduced, not fucked.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s like that saying ‘if he is 30, good looking and single, he is gay’. Everybody else is either a real loser or sniffing around behind the Missus’ back.”

I didn’t know where that left me, I’d had two long relationships but both were too involved in their own lives to share one with me so at 29 I was still single. My mother always said I was good looking and I’m not gay; I like a good hot piece of ass with a pretty pair of tits to complement, I’ve spent many delightful hours seducing women. I like the heated erotic chase, the sensual reaction of a woman I commit too. Hell, if I wanted a quickie I could buy one on Evergreen Boulevard for less than popcorn at a theater.

As the days slid past the snippet of conversation I’d overheard I kept thinking I needed to show Cindy some love and respect, she had earned that much from me. We had long since gotten past the hormonal driven insanity of our teen years and formed a close sibling bond, but how could I show her? The more I thought about it, the more I became convinced she needed someone to be nice to her and since she wasn’t dating, the task fell on my broad shoulders.

I started with flowers. I had a bouquet of spring flowers sent anonymously to her on a Saturday morning. I picked Saturday because I wanted to see her reaction. After the delivery girl left Cindy quickly opened the small card to find only “From one who admires you very much” nothing else.

Her reaction was as delightful as the bouquet itself. She flustered, she blushed sweetly, she spun to me “Who did this, do you know who he is?”

“Nobody said anything to me, and maybe it was a she” I said teasingly.

Cindy caressed those blooms until the petals dropped to the table and she needed to toss them away. Each time she focused on the flowers, she wore a pleasant but puzzled smile.

The next bouquet, slightly larger, was delivered with the message “Dinner and Dance?” Cindy went half nuts waiting for a phone call.