STEPMOM

Claudine. Here she is, grown.  Sandy blonde hair down past her shoulders, toppling over a scarf that her mother gave her.  Claudine is 23, and she’s beautiful.

On the occasion of her mother’s funeral, this is how I see her, standing somber in her father’s apartment. 

Sweet girl with a soft face, rounded, young.  I want to grab her and kiss her.  Claudine from my youth.

I hug her tight and tell her how sorry I am.  I loved her mother so much- she was one of my mother’s oldest and dearest friends.  There we are, close, touching, cheek against cheek, my mouth so close to her ear as I whisper soft.

I think I love Claudine.  How can I?  I haven’t seen her since she was 15.  I was already in college then.  I never felt anything for her before.  Just friendship really. She was much younger, so innocent, and awkward even, but with a very dry wit.  Clever Claudine, I love you.

I will marry her father.  I will marry her father to be close to her.  I will marry her father in hopes that I can seduce Claudine.   This is my plan.

But for now, I just hold her face to mine, smell her hair, stroke her back.  Love her in the small way that I am able for this moment.

There is a complication.  Claudine is married.  She married two years ago to a man from Spain.  They live in Paris.  She’s so far away- far from me.  I wonder how she feels.  Can she sense my attraction?  Does she return the sentiment?  Would she leave her husband if I asked?  But no time for questions on the day of the wake.  This aching love breaks my skin like a knife, a knife in this wake.  My heart is already breaking for her.

Then she asks me to come to her bedroom.  To come and help her pick out something to wear to the funeral.  She undresses in front of me, and she seems so French now.  I watch the way she moves so deliberately.  So strongly; she’s really a woman.  Slender and tall, a classic beauty.  She drops her skirt and picks it up again.  She’s wearing lingerie.  A white garter belt and a bustier- both lace.  She looks like a bride.  I wish she was mine.  She holds up different dark suits- navy, black.  Her breasts fill the cups of her top, wire pressing them up and together.  I want to bury myself in her chest.

I know it’s wrong of me to lust after her during this hard time, but can’t stop.  I have to have her.  I need Claudine.  Claudine of my heart.

The funeral passes, and I cry for the life lost, the love, her mother who, for me, was so bright.  The light’s all gone out though.  I am remorseful and ashamed of my selfishness, but I know I will go through with my plan.  I will steal her, and she will be mine.

To be continued…