Irene free porn video

Irene A note before: Goodnight Irene is one of my favorite songs. I wanted to write a story different from the others I had written but still grounded in a possible situation. Chapter 1: First Moves The real estate agent looked over her desk at me and smiled. "I spent some time looking over our listings Mr. Bergen and I think we have found a couple of houses for you. The biggest issue was the limited area I had to search in. However, I have three places I think would do well, I am really excited about them, and one more you might want to look at." I smiled back at the agent. People skills are my forte. I knew she was working as much or more for the landlords and she knew that I knew, but if you smile, make the right jokes and have a firm handshake everything moves so much smoother. I looked at the three "choice listings" and the other one, quickly eliminated two and then climbed into my overcoat, scarf, hat and gloves to brave the Schenectady winter and see the houses. Janet, the agent, bundled me into her car and gossiped about the community, all the wonderful things I would have access to and basically did her job selling the area rather than the houses. Both houses were what I was looking for; small, partially furnished, within biking distance of the center of Schenectady, with off street parking and within my budget. I poked around, opened closets and tried to look as though I was seriously considering my choices. Actually that was an act. As soon as I walked through the door of the first place I felt welcomed. It was as of someone had reached out a hand and pulled me in. There was a warmth, a..., actually I don't know what there was but something said "Hi Peter, welcome home." There were a lot of things to handle; would the landlord bargain on the rent, having him repaint one of the rooms, replace a shower head, the security deposit, etc, but that's all basic stuff and I left Janet's office secure in the knowledge I had found a place to live. I drove back to the Holiday Inn and tried to decide what to do about dinner. I still wasn't used to living and eating alone and felt awkward going to a nice restaurant and asking for a table for one. I was staying in town for a few days and sat on the bed looked at my suitcase. Moira would have instantly unpacked her bag, filling the drawers and carefully hanging up various garments. Then she would have harried me until I did the same. But Moira was out of my life now. She would stay in Camden, New Jersey, live in our townhouse and have her affairs in peace. I managed a transfer to Schenectady and now was single, paying alimony and trying to figure out how, at thirty five years of age, I was supposed to start over. I did want a nice dinner however and Janet suggested I try the Glen Sanders Mansion across the river. I ate there and afterwards sat in the lounge with a brandy thinking about my situation. My employer, DataSys, was happy to transfer me. I was one their best database designers and programmers and the Schenectady office, while busy, was technically weak. They offered to help with moving expenses and finding a house had been easy. Now I had to find my life. Back at the hotel as I showered I totted up my assets and deficits. It didn't look that good but it wasn't a disaster. I was not too old be part of the dating scene and I was in decent shape if a bit overweight. No one would say I was good looking. In fact I was already developing the sagging neck flesh my father had. I wasn't a big jock, but I wasn't a small dweeb either. I played tennis well and bicycled. I suppose I could meet people that way and I had a job that paid well. All I had to do was shake myself out of the post-divorce slump and get on with my life. Tomorrow I would go to the office and do some work. I had made enough trips up there so every one knew me. For now it was time to go to sleep and with any luck not have another nightmare about Moira, fights and one-time friends. The situation at the Schenectady office of DataSys was common enough. It was swamped with work but couldn't find enough skilled programmers to do the jobs. I know the city had a reputation of being dull but still the salaries and benefits were good and they should have managed to find some more staff. Carl was the manager and knew enough about databases and websites to be a good manager, but not enough to be a pest. Michael and Claire were a married couple who shared a job, working about fifty hours a week between the two of them and were pretty good at web site design. Then there was Nancy, a retired school teacher, who could do simple database and website work but that was about all. A few other staff members drifted in and out but mostly they taught Windows courses rather than built systems. Finally there was Joanne the secretary who nodded at me as I came in while she juggled a couple of calls at once. I brought a lot of experience with Access, FileMaker Pro and MySQL to the office and wasn't a bad hand a websites either. Best of all I was a good public face. I could talk to small shop owners or large corporations and smile and nod and most of all listen. I spent the day setting up my cubicle, talking with the others and looking at some SQL code that wasn't doing what is was supposed to do. Over the next few weeks I spent a lot of time in Schenectady. I moved my base of operations from the Holiday Inn to a suite hotel and put in long hours at the office. I also saw a show at Proctors, a wonderful restored vaudeville theatre, found a nice lounge where I could drink with other business types and took a side trip to Saratoga. Then I rented a U-haul truck and with my friend Andy helping, moved my few belongings from the apartment in New Jersey to my new home in upstate New York. I didn't have a lot to bring. There was a stereo and a TV. I had my bicycle and a box of books. Finally there was my favorite chair, a reclining lounger I was addicted to. The apartment was pretty well furnished but I had asked the landlord to remove one easy chair in the living room and I was going to place my lounger where it sat. The rest of the furniture was pretty innocuous and the overall impression a little feminine and out of date. The landlord said he would repaint the living room changing the walls from dusty pink to off-white. Andy and I unloaded the van and then I treated him to a nice dinner. He would drive the van back so I made sure we went to a nice place. It was fun to spend time with Andy, and also a little bittersweet because we both knew that the distance we were putting between us could end a friendship. It definitely would end the weekend tennis matches. When Andy left, I looked around the place. The landlord had done a decent job of painting and cleaning. The kitchen sink was pretty badly stained and the bathroom tiles could use a good scrubbing but my only real complaint was that he had left the old easy chair. My lounger was shoved off to the side of the room and would stay there for a day or two until I could get him to come and take away the old chair. Looking around I found an envelope with my name on it and opening it up found a letter from my landlord and an extra set of keys. Dear Mr. Bergen: We've repainted and tidied up. Here is an extra set of keys. I'll give a call in a day or two to see how things are going. We didn't take the easy chair. I was going to remove it but I just felt that it fit in too well with the rest of the room. Think it over and if you want it gone I'll have Saul (he's the handy man) pick it up in a few days. I can be reached at..... Yours Jim Turner. I looked at the easy chair again, shook my head and then went around turning off lights and preparing for bed. I wasn't unpacked yet but I had the next day free so I just showered and tumbled into bed. To my surprise I fell asleep quickly and woke when the morning sun announced that my bedroom windows faced east. Chapter 2: Alone I had nothing in the house for breakfast but I knew of a diner nearby and sat in a booth looking over the local paper and sipping coffee while planning the rest of the day. I needed to stop at a hardware store and a supermarket. I still hadn't decided if I was going to get a phone or just use my cell. I had unpacking to do and some pictures to hang. Right now though it was nice to be sipping coffee on a Wednesday and to not be at work. I also thought about the dream I had. Since that first blow-up with Moira when she admitted not only the affair I accused her of but two more as well, my dreams had been nightmares and anxiety sessions. The prior night's had been pleasant if odd. In my dream I was sitting in the living room in a bathrobe. Unlike my terrycloth robe this one was dark blue silk. I was talking with a woman but I couldn't see her. It was as if we were constantly switching places. When I talked I was in the old easy chair and she was on the couch. When she talked I was on the couch. I couldn't remember what we talked about but it was nice to just be sitting with her. I shook myself out of my reverie, went to the cash register, paid my bill and received a suggestion as to where to go shopping. Then directions in hand I got into my car to find Balltown Road and the local Price Chopper, Target and Lowes. Back at the house I opened the windows, despite the cold air, to get rid of the remaining paint fumes and got to work. I put away groceries and dumped a bleaching agent in the kitchen sink. I put books in bookshelves and got my stereo set up. The place was cable ready but I wasn't up to working on the TV yet. Finally I took my few posters and paintings and started to hang them. There was room for a picture above the fireplace and I had a nice set of prints I planned to put there. I held them up to get the placement correct and was about to put in the first hanger when I stopped. I looked around. I felt as though someone had asked me to not to tap in the brads. Laughing at myself I was about to swing the hammer when I stopped again and looked at the blank space. "Hmm. I don't know, maybe it needs something larger. OK Pete hold off for a bit." Finally after cleaning the sink, hanging the other pictures, putting the books away and eating lunch I had to face my clothing. I don't know what it is, I'll clean, I'll shop, I'll do little around-the-house jobs but I hate putting away clothes. Not that I had that many. In the bedroom I hung up a few suits, slacks and jackets. I moved my underwear and shirts to the dresser I had brought from New Jersey. Shoes were tossed onto the floor of the closet and all that was left was summer stuff. I planned to put that in the spare room and gathering it up I walked across the hallway and pushed open the door. The spare bedroom was a dull little space. A bed frame with no mattress sat against one wall. A small dresser was placed in a corner. Light came from a single ceiling fixture. There must have been carpeting in the room once. I could see the staple marks in the wood floor. I looked around. Maybe if it was painted bright yellow and curtains were hung it could be made livable but it felt cold. It appeared not to be a place to live but only a place to exist. Maybe I'm getting too philosophical. I dropped my clothes on the dresser top and opened the small closet. "Damn, I thought Turner had cleaned this place." A large clothing bag, the type that you use for storing a season's worth of clothes, hung in the closet and a small red suitcase was on the floor. I didn't feeling like dealing with them so I pushed the bag to the side and hung up some sweaters and a windbreaker. Then I turned to the dresser. It was small with two full length drawers on the bottom and two half drawers in the top row. I opened one of the top drawers and just stared. A small collection of women's jewelry sat tangled in the drawer. I bought Moira enough stuff to know this was cheap costume jewelry. Feeling irritated I opened one drawer after another. The other half drawer had makeup and a purse. Women's underwear and other clothing half-filled the two larger drawers. I went and grabbed a plastic trash bag and pushed the things into it and replaced them with my cycling shorts, tennis clothes, swim trunks and the rest of the things I wouldn't need until winter eased up its grip on the city. I tossed the trash bag on top of the suitcase and feeling dusty and hot, went and showered. I was joining Carl and his wife for dinner so I dressed nice but casually and looking at the time decided I could sit and read a bit before heading out. Newsweek in hand I plumped into my lounger but shoved in the corner there wasn't sufficient light. I looked around the living room. The best light was above the old easy chair so I switched. The springs sagged a bit and the upholstery was worn but it was quite comfortable and gathered around me in an embrace as I read about the next piece of distressing news from Iraq and then which actor or actress had disgraced themselves in public. Dinner with Carl and Amy was nice. The food was good; Amy was as good a conversationalist as Carl was taciturn. I learned about shopping centers, libraries and summer music in Saratoga and arrived back at my new house feeling quite content with life. Work the next day was work. There is nothing else to say about it. Unless you are a programmer, listening to a programmer talk about his job is a slow death by boredom. Mid-morning I stood up to stretch and getting some coffee heard Nancy and one of the trainers discussing a sale at some outlet store. I went to my cubicle and sat back down as my mind swirled. I had dreamt the night before but had forgotten it until just then. In my dream I was taking the woman's clothes out of the plastic bag and putting them back into a dresser. It wasn't the cheap dresser in the spare bedroom; it was a nice oak dresser. I would hold up a garment, look at it, fold it and put it away. At the same time I was also sitting on the bed. It wasn't a bare bed frame though; there was a mattress and a bedspread and I could see a rocking chair in the corner. Then I was holding a necklace up and staring at it.... "Hey wake up Pete." I started. Michael the website designer was looking at me amused. "Sorry I was daydreaming for a moment." "Yeah that's ok man. Look can you take a peek at some Visual Basic? I've got a problem and..." That evening after dinner I finished up my unpacking, got the TV set up and tried to figure out how to switch the lounger with the easy chair. I just could not work out anyway to do it that fit the room and I grumped a bit as I watched the news. Before going to bed I sorted through some clothes I hadn't yet put away and taking some lightweight stuff went to hang it in the spare room. I looked for a moment at the garment bag then pulled it out, hung it on the door and unzipped it. A couple of dresses hung in the bag. I moved them aside. There were some skirts on hangers, a pair of slacks, a dark blue dressing gown and a few blouses... I stopped. Pushing aside the other garments I stared at the dressing gown. It was dark blue silk with black embroidery on it. Looking closely I could see that the black threads outlined the shape of carp. I stared for a good minute. "Stop this Pete. You aren't superstitious. Just because you dreamed of a blue robe doesn't make this important. Anyway were there fish on your robe in the dream? No. Now put this away." I hung the bag back up and looked at the suitcase. It was small hard sided bag. Dropping onto the bed frame I listened to the bare springs ring. I popped the latches and looked at more women's garments. It was a sad collection. A worn pink sweater, some shorts, a few panties and bras and a t-shirt or two. I pulled out a little plastic bag and unzipping it saw some makeup, a pair of earrings, a toothbrush and other odds and ends. I put away the bag wondering about the person who had owned the few possessions. Had she lived here? She must have. Were these things she had left behind because she didn't want them? Settling down to sleep I checked my alarm and drifted off, barely hearing the snowplow go by. I bolted awake in the early morning hours and held onto the head board in confusion. I had been dreaming vividly. I was sitting in the spare bedroom unpacking the red case and putting away clothing. Some I was hanging in the closet, some I was putting in a tall wood dresser. I started to shiver when I realized in the dream I was wearing the dark blue robe and I could make out small black embroidery on it. A loud bang outside my window startled me. I looked out to see a plow go by. The snow was coming down hard. I pushed the bar on my clock and the dim blue light showed it was about 4:30. Standing up I wobbled to the bathroom and then came back out and sat on the bed. No way was I going back to sleep. I grabbed my terrycloth robe from the hook but it was still damp from the evening's shower and it was chilly in the house. Befuddled with sleep I shoved my feet into slippers and stumbled into the spare bedroom. After ruffling through the hanging bag for a bit I put on the blue robe and went downstairs, started the coffee maker and dropped into the easy chair where sleep claimed me once again. My leg cramped and woke me a little before I normally got up. For a moment I could not figure out why I was sitting in the easy chair or wearing the blue robe. Finally I calmed down and poured myself some coffee. I lectured myself about fantasizing and looked out of the kitchen window. My car was buried under at least eight inches of snow. I would have to shovel out the driveway. I finished my coffee and went upstairs to change into warm clothes. After finishing the driveway and clearing my car I needed to shower before changing for work. I felt the warm water beating sensation back into my cheeks and nose. It was cold that morning. As I showered I started to sing. "Irene goodnight, goodnight. Irene good night. Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene, I'll see you in my dreams." Moira hated it when I sang. I can't blame her, my voice is terrible. Now I could sing and no one would complain. I made the shower hotter. "Saturday night I got married. Me and my wife settled down. Now me and my wife are parted. Gonna take a trip around town. Irene goodnight goodnight." Chapter 3: The Chair Will Stay "Bye, yeah good talking to you Ken. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yes, I'll try and make it. OK, Bye." I put down the phone and slumped into the easy chair. I should not have been surprised but damn it, it still was a blow. Ken was a good guy. He called to tell me about a party at his place in Patterson and then in passing mentioned that Moira was now seeing an old tennis buddy of mine, some guy named Andy. I felt betrayed. Sure, Andy was single and so was Moira, but still. I went back and stared at my half-finished dinner and dumped it in the trash. My beer was almost finished so I swallowed the remainder down and poured another. Staring out at the dark winter street I started to curse slowly. I cursed Moira. I cursed Andy. I cursed myself for marrying Moira in the first place. Somehow one beer followed another and I stumbled to bed lying face down on top of the covers. "The hell with it all" I said and then I started to cry. I kept my face in the blankets and must have drifted off dreaming of someone softly massaging my neck. It was someone I didn't know; someone who shared the pain of betrayal. Someone who softly spoke to me telling me it would be alright. I woke in the early morning hours when the urgency of my bladder overcame the alcohol and I found my way into the bathroom. My mouth felt terrible and my head ached. I washed my face and then took off my clothing. Maybe I'd call in sick tomorrow and spend the day moping. A bag from the Sports Authority lay on my bed. I had picked up a running suit the previous day. I took it into the spare bedroom and tossed it onto the bare springs of the bed frame. As I turn to leave I noticed something caught in the frame. It was wedged against the wood where the head of the bed would be. Bending over I pulled and poked at it until finally a wooden comb came out in my hand. It was the kind that women wear in their hair to hold a bun or braids in place. It was simple and beautiful. I turned it over looking at the carved lines. I almost tossed it into the trash but there was a poignancy in the little piece of wood jammed there, forgotten in the bed frame. I decided to put it in the bag with the other things I had found and pulled the bag out of the closet. Opening the bag I pulled out the pink sweater and stared at it. "Who were you? Why did you leave these things? Pretty poor stuff though I guess." I slowly looked through the bag looking at the worn underwear, cheap blouses and costume jewelry. I had come from my bedroom wearing only boxers and started to shiver. Without thinking I reached over and pulled on the sweater. Dimly I noticed that it sort of fit me and realized the woman who had left the items must have been quite large. The edge of the bed frame started to hurt my thighs and leaving the clothing scattered on the floor I went back to my bedroom, tossed the sweater aside. I lay down and pulled the cover over me. "Christ it's almost 2:00" but after a few minutes of tossing I knew sleep was not about to come. I kept seeing the clothes scattered on the floor of the spare room. Getting out of bed I shrugged on my terry robe, picked the sweater up from the floor and trudged back across the hall, the cold boards making my feet ache. One at a time I picked up the garments, folded them and pushing my clothes to the side of the drawers laid the old garments next to them. "Oh hell's bells, why did I do that?" I stared at the clothes now taking up most of the room in the dresser. I almost took them out when a wave of tiredness swept over me and I managed to make it to bed before crumpling. A deep sleep engulfed me and I lay without dreams until morning. I did make it to work that day. A cup of coffee, some quick repartee and I woke up and stayed awake. The hardest part was an office meeting in which we spent a lot of time discussing refurnishing the two classrooms. I managed not to doze off but it was close folks. It was close. Leaving that evening about 6:30 I fended off invitations to go out drinking and stopped at the diner for a quick bite before going home. The chair, a beer and a magazine seemed like the loveliest thing in the world. I glanced over the mail, settled back in the old chair and lifting the New Yorker tried to stay awake. "Would you help me hang the oil painting over the mantel." "Sure. I was thinking of putting up some prints there, but OK." I barely noticed I had replied and went back to the cartoons. "Thanks for putting away the clothes last night. I think the painting of the pines would look good there." "No problem I..." I started awake. My heart was racing. I stared at the couch and then at the mantel. No, I was alone, just a dream. I got out of the chair shaking my head to clear the cobwebs. It seemed so realistic. A woman had been talking to me. I could almost see her but not quite make her out. I searched my memory. Had I actually seen her? "Older than me, maybe forty, sort of dumpy with long brown hair piled on top of her head. Not attractive, overweight. Hold on Pete. Stop this." I couldn't though; I could almost see the woman in my dreams. She had been wearing a brown skirt and a blue and white blouse under that. She had on a rumpled pink sweater. I felt as though some one was pushing me in the small of my back as I went upstairs to the spare room. Slowly I open the hanging bag and pulled out a brown skirt and blue and white blouse. I held them in each hand looking and then held them to my face. I felt the cotton of the blouse against the stubble of my beard and my hands crushed the velour skirt. I tried to see the person who wore them. My cell phone played a passage from Bach and my reverie was broken. I angrily said "yes" and then recovered and in a more normal tone said "hello". It was Turner my landlord. He apologized for taking so long but he could come over and remove the chair this evening if I wanted. I thought for a second. "No, that's alright. I've grown to like the old thing. What? Yeah it does seem to fit in perfectly. Thanks for calling. Yes everything is fine. No that's OK. Bye." I stood there in the spare bedroom with the clothes in my hand. I carefully laid out the brown skirt on the old springs of the bed frame. I put the blouse above it spreading the arms as if it was on a person. Then taking the sweater out of the closet I laid it across the two. Yes that is what she had been wearing. I stood there for a minute staring. Christ my imagination was getting out of hand. Looking at the skirt I noticed that the owner must have been quite large. I picked it up and held it against me. Ha, I could wear it. I shivered a bit and went downstairs to put on the kettle for some tea. Settling down in the chair I realized I was still holding the skirt and I draped it across my legs like a throw. "Yeah she must have been a large woman." I thought about it for a bit and tossed the skirt on the couch. The kettle was whistling and I made tea and read a bit. Before going to bed I called my sister and we talked for a while. It was only when drying off after my shower that I thought about the skirt. Damn I had left it on the couch. Naked though I was I quickly went down stairs without turning on the lights and in the dark room located the skirt and took it back upstairs. It brushed against my legs as I walked and I stopped. Giggling like a schoolboy I took it into my bedroom and standing in front of the mirror I pulled it on, the elastic waist easily sliding over my hips. I pretended to dance a hula. I stopped suddenly. The passage of the brown velour across my thighs and penis was intensely erotic. Suddenly the weeks, no months, of celibacy became a major issue. I pulled off the skirt and grabbing tissues masturbated to a massive climax and then with my heart pounding sat on the side of the bed. Lying in bed I kept thinking about the electric current that had passed though me when I wore the skirt. I drifted off and in dreams with no plot or logic, hung pictures, hung clothes in a closet, made beds and sang softly in a woman's voice. "Sometimes I live in the country. Sometimes I live in the town. Sometimes I take me a notion, To jump into the river and drown. Irene good night good night..." Chapter 4: Irene It was Saturday and I slept in late. When I finally got out of bed and finished breakfast I stared out the window. It was sunny and the wind had died down. Pulling on a parka and hat I went for a walk around the neighborhood. Finishing my loop I passed my neighbors coming back from a walk and as I petted their dog we talked and I ended up going in with them for some coffee. The Guptas were a nice Indian couple. He taught at Union College, she worked at the local hospital. We passed the time learning about each other and I learned more about my neighbors on the other side and across the street. It was only as we finished the coffee and I was making my excuses so I could leave, that Mr. Gupta mentioned my house in passing. "Yes it is nice to have someone in the house again. So tragic you know." "What?" "Oh in your house. Did not the realtor tell you?" Mrs. Gupta took over the story with all the relish of one who loves a tragedy. "It was so sad. You see the Maxwell's who lived there, John and Gloria, that was their name, John and Gloria Maxwell. You see their sister, I mean Gloria's sister, John's sister-in-law. She went through a nasty divorce and lost everything. So she came to live there." "It was bad from the start. You see Gloria and Irene they never got along well." I interrupted. "Who?" "Oh Irene, that was Gloria's sister the one who was divorced. She moved in from Pittsburgh. I always pitied her. I mean she was shoved in that dingy little room and she brought almost nothing with her. Gloria didn't like Irene, well there wasn't much to like." "Irene was this big dumpy thing. She was nice enough I suppose, I mean she smiled and would come over and feed Poochy and take him for walks when we traveled. She wasn't really anything." Mr. Gupta cut in. "True, she would take walks around the neighborhood always dressed poorly. She did look a sad person." "Very sad. We talked once." Said Mrs. Gupta. "When she left Pittsburgh she had some clothes and two possessions she treasured. She had an oil painting from her parents' house and this little wooden comb from when she was a child. She always wore it." "What happened to her? Where is she now." Mrs. Gupta looked distressed. "Oh that's right I didn't say. It is that John and Gloria always bullied her, so one day she went over to the Mohawk River and jumped in." "She died?" "Oh yes. For a bit the police were interested. They thought that she might have been abused by Gloria and John but that died down. Anyway the two of them moved out a while back." I just sat and stared. "Thanks for the coffee. You have to come over some time. I make killer chocolate cookies." I stopped. "What happened to the painting?" Mr. Gupta looked at me for a long moment. "She had the painting with her when she jumped. I suppose the comb as well. It was not found, but it would have floated away." I sat in the kitchen staring out of the window. I couldn't get the song out of my head. "Irene Goodnight." Did she sing it? Or did her parents sing it to her? The previous night's eroticism came back to me and eyes glazed over I climbed the stairs to the spare room. Shedding my clothes I opened the drawers and pulled out a pair of faded yellow panties. I stepped into them ignoring the growing erection. I hunted a bit and pulled out a brassiere. I fought with the clasps and tugged it down on my chest. The edge caught and pulled out a hair or two but it did nothing to rouse me from my dream state. I had hung up the skirt but I took it down and stepped into it. The blouse was very tight and I couldn't button the top two buttons but it didn't matter. Wrapping the pink sweater around my shoulders I went back downstairs and sitting in the kitchen sat at the table and began to cry. I cried for Irene. I could guess the story. Forty years old, unattractive and tossed by her husband for another woman. Maybe he had flaunted his affairs the way Moira did. Maybe she was dull, or not interested in sex. I cried for myself and finally lay on the couch, pulling the sweater around me and fell into a restless afternoon slumber. She lay next to me. I could feel her bulk pressing against me, the combination of big bones, belly fat and soft breasts. We kissed and I slipped my hands under her blouse feeling the soft flesh. Our lips met, tongues moved together and I rolled on top of her pushing in again and again as she pulled me into her and I came gasping and bucking in passion. When I awoke I became unpleasantly aware of the stickiness and warmth in my crotch. Tottering upstairs I lifted the skirt, peeled off the panties and tossed them on the bathroom floor. I looked at myself in the mirror and quickly removed the rest of the clothes tossing them from me as if they were pest ridden. I stepped in the shower and first with hot and then with cold water washed until I felt cleansed. At least physically. Emotionally I was a wreck. I swore under my breath and prepared to cram all of Irene's clothes into the hanging bag and drag it to the curb for the Monday pickup. As I came out of the shower I stopped sharply. My eyes rested on a small wooden comb on my dresser. It sat next to my watch; plain dark wood with simple carvings. I picked it up and then looked at the ceiling. "Irene. OK I know you aren't really here. Well I'll pretend. Irene, who are you? What do you want? Are you stuck in your small room, in your small mind? You can come into the bedroom here if you want." I laughed at myself and getting dressed went to have a snack and then go to work out at the gym. It was while I was on the treadmill that I realized that under my breath I was still humming the song. I let myself continue and the virtual miles went by as I ran with Irene. Chapter 4: Small Treasures When work piles up, parties take up evenings, weekends are spent coding and you can't seem to find a moment to breath, the rest of life gets pushed aside. One of the trainers slipped on her front steps, then Claire came down with the flu and I inherited a lot of work with tight deadlines. When it was all over I asked for a day off and taking a long weekend drove to Philadelphia. I saw my parents, dropped in on some friends, came back by way of my sister and on Sunday evening was back in my house and relaxed for the first time in what seemed like ages. I had wrestled with my thoughts a lot during the trip, particularly when visiting my sister. Carol was a few years older then me and a psychotherapist. We had fought like cats and dogs as kids and grew to become good friends as adults. I wanted to talk about the house with her but couldn't bring myself to open up. It wasn't just what had happened; it was what I was thinking about while I traveled. As I drove from place to place, as I sat at dinner with my parents, as I drank with my friends in Philadelphia one thought kept coming back. When I get home I'll be all alone. I can light a fire, make some tea, dress in Irene's clothes and be safe and warm. I pretended to myself there was nothing on my mind when I got back. I brought in the mail and the papers and sorted through them. I turned on the kettle and lit the fire. I went around the house and drew the shades. I tried to act as if everything I was doing was normal but there was a tightness in my throat and my heart was pounding. Finally I could pretend no more and went upstairs. This time I thought about what I was doing and slowly went through the clothes in the spare room. I brought in a chair and I laid a large towel over the springs of the bed frame. Sitting down, one piece at a time I went through the underwear. I opened up the hanging bag and hung the garments on the closet rail. When I was done I stepped back and looked. Hanging there was a grey cotton dress with thin light blue stripes. I took it down and held it against me. The thin fabric was wrinkled and one of the buttons was loose but I was sure it would fit me. I draped it over the chair and turned my attention to the underwear on the towel. I picked up a pair of pantyhose. The label said Q1 which I suppose was the size. After taking hose off Moira many times these seemed enormous. I picked up and looked at a faded white brassiere, 40 C. Moira had worn panties with her hose so I selected a pair of blue panties and put them on the side. Then I put away the rest of the clothing, taking the dress and underwear into my room. By this time I was sweating a bit and I decided to shower. First though I shaved. Then I scrubbed my hair and reminded myself I needed a haircut. My hair wasn't long, just starting to look a bit scruffy. I put on the blue robe and looked at the clothing. Oddly, as tense as I was I didn't feel sexually excited. I was quivering but not aroused. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the panties, then rolling the legs the way Moira did I slid into the pantyhose feeling an uncomfortable compression that became a feeling of support as I got used to it. When I finished clipping the bra clips and sliding my arms through the straps I looked at the empty and sagging cups. Feeling foolish I searched through my dresser for some thin dress socks and stuffed the brassiere. Then I slid the dress over my head and buttoned the buttons one by one. I turned and looked in the mirror. I don't know what I expected to see; certainly not a woman. I looked at my reflection; a man in his mid thirties, a little overweight, clean shaven, wearing a cheap grey dress. I wasn't disappointed however, somehow it seemed OK. Something was missing though and I continued staring and then went back to the spare bedroom for the bag of makeup and the collection of costume jewelry. With shaking hands I applied the bright red lipstick and then brushed on some rouge. There were some clip- on earrings and I put on a pair only dropping the left one twice before I managed. An imitation gold bracelet completed the outfit. Standing in front of the mirror again I noticed my feet were cold so I shoved them into my fleece slippers and looked again. I suppose I looked ridiculous but it wasn't important. I shrugged the pink sweater on and went downstairs. Throwing another log on the fire I sat in the easy chair and stared at the flames and did nothing. I felt the warmth of the fire on my face and closed my eyes. The image of the fire stayed with me and I thought about the blank wall above the mantelpiece. I had to put something there. I needed something to fill the gap so I had something to look at on those evening when I sat here. Unconsciously one of my hands moved to the lumps of the sock stuffed cups and when I noticed I was massaging my so called breasts I laughed. The spell was broken and I stood up. I put away some magazines and tidied up a little. Tomorrow I would be back to work but for now I was just a woman enjoying some piece and quiet, protected from the cold of the February wind and the chill of the world outside my little house. I undressed slowly and as I put the clothes back in the spare room I felt a touch of melancholy. I checked the hanging bag again but there was no night gown in it. I washed up and went to bed still wearing the panties instead of my standard boxers. Lying in bed I looked at the ceiling in the dim light from the street lamp. It occurred to me that when I had been downstairs I thought of myself as a woman alone in her cozy space. It felt nice. I wondered if I should call my sister and talk about this but drifted off to mixed-up dreams of arguing about databases and trying to make flight reservations to Albany. That morning preparing for work I spent a minute or two going around the house checking to make sure I had put everything away. As I closed the closet in the spare room I thought back to the previous night when I was disappointed that there wasn't a nightgown. I looked into the dress to see if there was a size; 16. I had spent the previous 35 years being open, honest and transparent. Now I was trying to figure out how to buy a nightgown without everybody looking at me, pointing a finger and shouting "pervert". I suppose it is a mark of my naivet? that it wasn't until I was back home that I thought of using the internet. Looking back it was really funny. My laptop was in the kitchen and even if someone climbed up and looked through the window all they would have seen was the "hp" logo on the back. None-the-less I lowered the blinds. My fingers kept mistyping and strange combinations of words popped up the oddest searches on Google. Finally I calmed down and thinking more clearly I remembered the name of a store for women with the word "plus" and typed in "nightgowns plus-size". At first I looked at nightgowns I would like to see a woman in but they all seemed wrong. I realized I needed to be looking for nightgowns that a woman like Irene would wear. Of course I didn't really know her but I could imagine. They wouldn't be expensive and might have a little decoration but nothing fancy. From the Soft Illusions website I chose a long pink flannel night gown with a little embroidery around the neck and pleated short sleeves. Then I had to choose a size and ran into a problem. I assumed that the night gowns would use sizes like the dress in the bag but I was wrong. Fortunately I spotted a link to a size chart and ended up deciding I was a 1X. The web site was fascinating though, so I kept looking and persuading myself that I wasn't out of control ordered a package of three cotton pastel panties as well. Putting in my credit card information was hard because it needed a name, but told myself that surely some women used their husband's cards. All in all though, I was glad when I closed the site and could sit back and breathe. The next few days I would look at my porch when I came home and then remind myself that orders take time. I worked, I went out for dinner with some of the others from the office, I avoided the spare room, I looked at the porch. When the package finally arrived I actually glanced up and down the street as if embarrassed to pick it up. I brought it inside with the mail and forced myself to put it aside until I hung up my parka and sorted the mail. Then I almost ran upstairs to my bedroom and tore open the package. Standing in my bedroom, my heart pounding I pulled the pink gown out of its plastic wrapping. I held it up and looked at it and then holding it against me looked in the mirror. I rubbed the soft fabric on my face and then laid it out on the bed. I opened the package of panties and taking a light blue pair put it on top of the gown. A feeling of gratitude spread through me. I was happy. I put the yellow and pink panties on the bed beside the gown and stepped back. The four items were nothing much. I had spent less than sixty dollars on them including shipping. That was unimportant. I felt enriched as I looked down and thought about sleeping in them that night. Chapter 5: In the Pines I lay in bed. Occasionally I let my hands run along the soft cotton of the nightgown. The clinging tightness of the panties contrasted with my standard boxers. I felt excited, guilty, even lightheaded, but most of all contented. I even thought about Moira for a brief moment and laughed. Oh, she would have sneered at me but somehow lying there in a nightgown and panties seemed to be almost taking a slap at her. I can't describe it. My light was still on and once I got out of the bed to take another look at myself in the mirror. After a while I drifted off to sleep and slept soundly 'til my alarm woke me, rested and happy. Breakfast that morning was in the blue robe and the nightgown. The paper was left on the porch and my heart pounded as I opened the door, snatched the paper and then was safe inside again. I drank my coffee, read the news and occasionally would chuckle as something reminded me of what I was wearing. After work a few of us went off to a local bar for drinks. Anne, a trainer who I had casually flirted with once or twice, commented at how relaxed I looked. I enjoyed myself and laid the groundwork for future drinks and who knows what. When the crowd broke up I knew I had turned a corner. I dreamed that night. I was sitting at the kitchen table talking with Irene. I can't remember what we said but I could feel the approval. The clothing, the house, Anne; everything was working out. In the morning I folded the nightgown and put it away and tossed the panties in the hamper. On the way to work I planned my day. After work I had to go shopping. I still needed a lamp for the house and a couple of bath mats. As much as I hated the thought, the mall beckoned. I'd pick up a quick dinner after shopping. As I pulled into the parking lot I made a decision. I'd ask Anne to have dinner with me in on Thursday. I could feel my smile reflecting off the windshield. Anne turned me down, but in a way that indicated she wanted to be asked again. Then she invited me to join a few of her friends going cross- country skiing and promised not to laugh at me when I told her it would be my first time. The rest of the day went well and when I left about 6:00 I was ready to face the mall. OK I hate malls. I hate shopping. I used to irritate Moira because I would make up a list of things I had to buy, rush through the stores and then announce "OK we're done let's get out of here." Moira would be just warming up and ready to wander from store to store. I had my list and hit the stores I needed and with a box containing a desk lamp, and a bag holding two mats I began my journey back to the exit and freedom. I walked past the shoe stores, kitchenware shops and then, as if hitting a wall, stopped dead in front of a frame and print shop. Normally I never window shop and when I do it's at bookstores or men's clothing stores. Now I looked at the various posters displayed in the window. There was a framed reproduction of an oil painting. It was a scene of scrub beach pines on a dune. A weathered fence cut through the pines and a glimpse of the water could be seen past the sand. It was framed and looking back at me as if illuminated from some hidden source. I walked into the shop, took another look at the picture and had it wrapped and was out the door in less than ten minutes. Then feeling almost nauseous from emotion I managed to get all of my packages to the car. I breathed deeply for a few minutes before driving home and sat in the driveway for a little while. Sitting in the car I stared at the darkness with the occasional flake of snow. I did not want to move but the car was getting cold. I brought my packages into the house, gathered the mail and without removing my parka slumped onto the couch. My eyes rested on the bare space above the mantel. I finally moved, sorted the mail and went to get my tool box to hang the picture. It was when I took out the hammer and picture hooks that I knew something was wrong. I shook my head and tried to pick up the hammer again. Finally bending to a will not my own I went upstairs. It was like a ritual was being performed. I took off my clothes and then shaved and showered. Then, still naked I went into the spare bedroom. At first I reached for the grey dress but then I saw a skirt in a light blue and white pattern. There was a loose grey turtleneck sweater in the drawer. I took it out and also a pair of pantyhose and a bra. Carrying the clothes back to my bedroom I laid them on the bed and took out the last of the new panties. I was shivering violently as I sat down and put my legs into the thin yellow cotton undergarment. I pulled it up feeling the fabric gather around my bottom and cup my genitals. I slid my legs into the pantyhose and again struggled with the brassiere. This time I didn't laugh as I stuffed the nylon socks into the cups. I just concentrated on making the cups look as smooth as possible. I pulled on the skirt and then shimmied my way onto the turtleneck. Looking at myself in the mirror, once again I thought about how it did not seem grotesque or ridiculous. Back in the spare bedroom I gathered earrings, a necklace and a bracelet and the bag of makeup and then slowly finished dressing. I tasted the lipstick and could smell the powder. I turned my face from side to side feeling the earrings swing and then shut off the light and went downstairs. This time I picked up the hammer with no hesitation and standing on a kitchen chair hung the painting above the fireplace. I stepped back and looking at the scene felt a flood of emotions surge through me. Walking to the easy chair I felt the skirt brush against my thighs and the pressure of the brassiere. I sat down and looked around me. Until that moment I had been in a house. Now I was home. In time my stomach reminded me that I had not had dinner and I made a sandwich and some tea. Sitting at the kitchen table I ate my sketchy meal and went through the mail. The urgency I had felt to dress up was ebbing and I realized I had no desire to wear the nightgown and panties to bed. When I finished cleaning up I stared at the picture and felt words coming up that needed to be spoken. "Yes, I see. You are welcome." I went upstairs and fetched the wooden comb and with tape stuck it to the back of the painting. Then I straightened the painting and felt that my work was completed. That night I separated the underclothes from the dresses, skirts and other garments. I put the underclothes in a plastic bag to be thrown out and hung the rest in the garment bag to be brought to the Salvation Army. I took a long look at the nightgown before hanging it up but I didn't need it any more. Something had been accomplished. Something had been laid to rest. In my dreams that night I made long and wonderful love to Irene but it was a different Irene. She was younger, happier, full of life and looking lovely. When I awoke in the morning she was gone but I swear, I really do swear I could smell a touch of perfume in the air and hear a young woman's voice singing softly in the background. The End.