The first person character of this story is called Mr. Rogers in an obvious reference to the surrogate father figure of the TV program. That is, however, no implication that the story is about Fred Rogers in any way. All the characters are fictitious, as you can imagine from the opening line, but then forget that.
"I want to sleep with you, Mr Rogers."
Fran, sometimes still called Francie, Francisca by her parents, was putting a nighttime pamper on my four year old grandson. I was playing memory with her four year-old and losing as usual, when her soft remark surprised me. It didn't sound like she had looked at me, and I didn't look up at her as I replied: "Really?" hoping my response sounded as matter-of-fact as her so surprising statement had.
"Talk about it after the kids are all in bed."
Needless to say, I was only lucky to get a couple of more pairs of cards, and her son was delighted.
"All the kids" were her son and his two year old brother and my grandson and his younger sister. The two younger ones were already sharing her cot, playing with stuffed toys. Fran had offered to help me with my grandchildren, when my daughter Henrietta had to go to a conference, her husband away on a business trip, as was her husband. Normally, my wife would have minded the grandchildren, but she was visiting her widowed father.
Francie and Henny had known each other as long as they could remember, over the years not always the best of friends, but now again, both living in a larger city and with the additional common interest of having children the same ages. Of course, I had also know Francie from the time she was the age of the younger children, but just seeing her occasionally. She had always been large for her age, as a toddler; probably as tall as me as a young teenager, taller now; and she had red hair, not reddish-blond or reddish-chestnut.
While I was losing the game, it did occur to me that her surprising remark was typical of her directness, but there was nothing between us to suggest to me why she had so blatantly made it. I had only seen her a couple of times since her wedding. My wife or I could have suggested that she and her husband could call us by our first names, but an opportune time to do so hadn't occurred, even during the day she and I had spent together keeping the children busy. That made her remark addressed to me as Mr. Rogers even more surprising, but she had said it: "I want to sleep with you, Mr. Rogers."
If she wanted to?! What had given her that idea? Nothing that I could remember from our day together.
She had come with her children to my daughter's apartment before she left, and we had entertained the children, giving them lunch and supper, agreeing that since they would be sharing beds, we needed to keep them active enough to ensure that they went to sleep quickly. Despite the occasional, usual differences between the kids, it had been a fine day, all afternoon in the park. Fran and I had never spent so much time together. We had enjoyed each other's company, but only in our cooperation with entertaining the children. She had said that she appreciated that her boys had also accepted my intervening when the kids couldn't agree, but that was hardly a reason to suggest that she wanted to sleep with me, nor because her marriage was problematic. It wasn't, as I knew from the last time my wife and I and both the young families had been together.
Fran finished diapering my grandson, who was too tired to object. We had told the boys that they would have to share his bed, and they let themselves be put down at opposite ends of it. Fran turned out the light, and we told our respective children good night. The younger ones were already lying with a stuffed toy, hardly responding when Fran spread the cover over them. Fran opened the window, and we returned to the kitchen, where we all had eaten supper, and she and I had had a glass of wine.
In the light, we looked at each other with slightly puzzled expressions. She suggested that we have another glass of wine while she cleaned up in the kitchen. I poured, while she closed the door, and we drank, smiling a little wryly at each other. She began to collect plates, not saying anything. Finally, I asked - again:
"Really?"
"Surprised?"
"Very!"
"Hmm! Me too, that I said it."
"Couldn't be as surprised as I am. ... Do I have to ask why?"
She busied herself without looking at me, while I stood aside, watching her; yes, wondering how she looked with nothing on. She snorted and replied:
"I always wanted to. No! Not always, but you were the first person I thought of, when I started thinking about that."
"Why me? Maybe inappropriate to say so, but I thought girls ..., well, thought about their fathers."
"Oh, it started before we were thinking about that, younger."
"Hmm? And why me? Who: 'we'?"
"My sister and I, wanted to know what boys looked like, and Henny had an older brother."
"Hm-hmm! I guess she knew, at least when they were younger."
"Um-hmm! And maybe the doctor's son."
"Hmm? Maybe. We thought he might know a little too much from the older boy at the clinic."
"Maybe less than 'maybe'."
"And?"
"She knew that you slept nude and started making breakfast that way."
"True. And told you?!"
"Um-hmm! All about it, what she could see, a real, naked, grown man."
"Hmm! I thought she shouldn't be surprised the first time she saw another one, but not that I was enlightening the girls in the neighborhood."
Fran turned and gave me a grin, remarking:
"But you did, so with her description, ... well, when we - at least, I - started thinking about it, thinking about you."
"Not just thinking about it?"
She grinned again with a nod and reached for her glass, and we drank again. I snorted and remarked:
"Well, I hope it helped, but that's long ago, like maybe - over - twenty years ago. You've seen at least one naked man since then; don't need to live out your first fantasy."
"Not just one, of course, but why not?"
She smiled and took her glass again, and we emptied them. She held hers out to be refilled, and I emptied the bottle in our glasses. She took a sip and repeated:
"But why not?"
"For all the obvious reasons, and I think you're happily married."
"Yes, but we're here, and it wouldn't be like having an affair, ... and we don't have anything better to do this evening."
"Hmm! At least the last bit was right."
"So why not?"
"You always were direct. Doesn't bother you?"
"Not since I said it."
"Hmm? Looking at his little penis?"
"Maybe. Hadn't thought of that. Probably, since you mention it."
"Probably shouldn't have."
"Anyway, I want to sleep with you. Told Henny she didn't have to put fresh sheets on their bed."
"Anticipating this?"
"No, but it now seems convenient. I told her I would remake the bed in the morning, and she put out clean sheets."
"Hmm! Very 'convenient'."
She nodded with slight smirk, and we drank. She looked at me with a questioningly raised eyebrow. I snorted and remarked:
"Before you ask me; it would be rude to say that I don't want to; wouldn't be true, either, just a very new thought."
"That's good. ... Didn't you ever think about girls in Henny's class, when we were growing up."
"Hmm?! Not like that! Oh, I liked the one who worked with her on that school project; she had a nice figure, and I especially liked her deeper voice."
