Maries New Life Pt 01

Prologue...

Crossing the threshold of forty is often perceived as a significant milestone, a symbolic landmark that is approached with a certain apprehension. And yet, I have had to face far more daunting challenges. The real shock, the inner turmoil, was learning of my premature menopause at the age of thirty-five, a veritable earthquake in the tranquility of my life, just as my husband and I were nurturing the hope of a second child. After a deluge of emotions and questions, acceptance had to set in, a weighty realization that my life would be set in stone, that any significant change would henceforth be excluded. Only my body and soul, in a macabre dance with time, would continue to age, to bear the marks of the relentless erosion of years. More and more, I felt that my mind was still trapped a few years in the past...

Be that as it may, the routine, that mundane notion, that simple concept, probably easy to ignore for those who are comfortable with it, was so overwhelming that I felt trapped. Believe me, for some of us, myself included, it becomes a straightjacket, a vice that squeezes you until you lose your breath, until it erases you, until it reduces you to a nonexistent shadow. I lost myself, swallowed by this labyrinth of monotony. I tried to tolerate it, to embrace it even, but my efforts proved futile. I thus chose to rebel against it, to keep it at arm's length. But routine is an insidious adversary, you cannot simply push it away, you must learn to tame it, to transform it into a discreet ally.

Over the past five years, I have plunged into a mute depression, buried under incessant questions about my life and identity. It was high time for a change...

I spent eleven years of my life enduring the coldness of a company that I detested. Even worse, I spent twenty long years repressing my most intimate fantasies, sealing them in a crypt deep within myself... My name is Marie, I am forty-two years old, and this is where my second life begins...

An evening like any other...

As I was carefully arranging Léo's room, our son, the dull and familiar noise of the front door opening with a crash reached my ears. Like a ballet choreographed by habit, I heard Jacques throw his keys into the delicate vase at the entrance, a small marble treasure we had brought back from our last distant romantic getaway in Italy.

It had been nearly two years since we had made our home in this peaceful neighborhood. Our move here was the result of a gratifying promotion he had earned in reward for his hard work and conscientiousness. Jacques now had the heavy responsibility of leading a major network of a large DIY company, which was positioning itself as a leader in the European market. With gentleness and sensitivity, he distinguished himself by relentless determination, a firmness that left no chance for his family or professional life.

We had met when we were at the peak of our youth, and had since nurtured a love that seemed idyllic, at least on the surface... Jacques possessed a charm that had withstood the ravages of time, and he maintained this seduction with meticulous care that I deeply admired. This aspect of his personality was a source of pride for me. Often, as I struggled to find some comfort in my situation, my thoughts wandered to Fabien, one of his closest friends, once so attractive. The latter had let the years gnaw away at his allure until he was unrecognizable, to the point that I could only feel sorry for the life of his charming and always elegant wife, Sandrine... Thinking of them, I realized we had not seen them for over a year, time flowed at a relentless pace...

Unfortunately, the Jacques I knew, still sparkling with vitality only a few months ago, seemed to have vanished. Overwhelmed by legal disputes with his sister, he seemed to be sinking little by little into a bottomless pit. Every morning and evening, his thoughts and words were besieged by this conflict. He had become, so to speak, a true ornithologist, releasing a new volley of bird names each day. To cap it all off, she had ended up suing him a few weeks ago. This fury was demanding an outlandish share of the inheritance they had nevertheless evenly split at the notary's office after their mother's death.

This situation weighed on me all the more because Jacques had been my lifeline during the episodes of depression I had been through... Today, he no longer seemed to be the same man, he was rather the shadow of a once vibrant man, now exhausted and aging, for whom only money seemed to matter. The days when he savored his free time, had memorable evenings with his friends or spontaneously invited me to dinner at a restaurant now seemed to belong to another era, a bygone era.

"Where are the lawsuit files?!" he suddenly exploded as he stormed into the room, his outburst rudely catapulting me out of my reverie. "That bitch has managed to rally my distant cousins to her cause, she stops at nothing!"

"They're in the dresser, always in the same place, darling," I whispered, my voice betraying a shiver of irritation.

"What?!" His eyes widened in disbelief, "You don't realize we risk everything if she wins, you seem to take this situation lightly!"

"I'm sorry, darling, but maybe you should try to relax a bit tonight. You're overworking yourself, and the trial is still far off. You have time to prepare, we will find solutions by then."

"By then, by then," he retorted, the force of his growl causing the walls to nearly tremble.

I thought for a moment that the mirror, the only memory of his late mother, was going to fall off due to the vibrations of his voice. That would be all we need...

If Léo, our son, had always been close to Mathilde, his grandmother, I could not say the same. That old hag had never really liked me and, until her last breath, had never really accepted that her son shared his life with me, "a girl of low birth," as she liked to say with her voice full of disdain.

Ignoring his barely intelligible lamentations, I quickly left the room, relieved to get away from his unbearable complaints. His moaning persisted for more than an hour. He had been cornered for months.... There was nothing I could do anyway.

A little later, around eleven o'clock, a slight creaking in the entrance hall reached my ears. I was comfortably seated in the living room, absorbed in the television while Jacques had succumbed to sleep.

"You're coming home really late, it's a weekday Léo," I murmured to my son as he placed his shoes on the entrance furniture.

"I know, sorry," he responded in a whisper, conscious that waking his father would be a very bad idea.

"You know how hard it is for your father right now, and yet, you make no effort..." I reproached him softly.

"Mom, I was with friends, sorry. I really thought I'd come home earlier but they kept me," he admitted, his face showing remorse.

"Of course, it's not your fault, I know the drill," I replied, my tone laced with sarcasm.

Later that day, reclining in the darkness of our bedroom, the gentle ticking of the clock as my sole companion, my thoughts began to wander. A peculiar insomnia had taken hold of me, making every minute seem endless. I watched Jacques, immersed in a deep, unshakeable sleep, his breathing heavy and his expression grim. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and I couldn't help but think back to those nights when that same sweat was the result of passionate lovemaking, of entwined bodies and sighs of pleasure.

My heart ached as I recalled those intimate moments we used to share, where worries and arguments would dissipate amidst our intense embraces. For several months now, our bed had known only sleep, not pleasure, our exchanges had become cold, lacking affection, lacking passion. I felt terribly alone in this vast bed...

Sexual loneliness is a silent pain, a insidious deprivation. My body craved this contact, this warmth, this primal urge. I could feel every cell in my body screaming out in frustration, my skin was longing for the touch of a passionate hand, my lips yearned for the bite of fervent kisses. My sex, once awakened by the desire of my man, now seemed to languish, suffering from an unquenched thirst. I hungered for him, but he was elsewhere, lost in a world of stress and fears that I couldn't reach.

These long, lonely nights led me to realize how desire and sensuality are essential aspects of my womanhood. I wasn't just Marie, the devoted mother and wife, I was also a woman, with her wants and needs. I needed to feel this desire, this excitement that makes your heart beat faster, that makes you shiver with anticipation. I needed to be desired, touched, caressed.

These thoughts swirled in my head, plunging me into intimate torment. A sensual melancholy that resembled more an insatiable hunger than ordinary sadness. I felt like a champagne bottle under pressure, ready to burst at the slightest spark. And this spark, I searched for in memories of our past lovemaking, in scenes from racier movies, in the erotic tales I had read, and sometimes even in the more audacious fantasies my mind conjured.

I felt like a woman on the brink, like a volcano ready to erupt. Every fiber of my being seemed to cry out for this release, this relief that only sexual pleasure can bring. But this release wasn't there, leaving in its place a feeling of frustration and unfulfilled need. In the silence of the night, alone with my desires and my longing, I made a promise to myself that night that I wouldn't remain in this state forever. I didn't yet know how, but I was determined to rekindle the fire that once burned within me, the passion that was once mine and which, I knew, was still there somewhere, just waiting to be awakened.

A Strange Presence...

For the past hour, I had been observing the comings and goings of the gardener in the neighboring garden. The man had an odd way of mowing the lawn: he would sometimes go over the same spot up to three times. Why did the neighbors like him so much? Not for his efficiency, that's for sure... Perhaps he did not charge them for his services, maybe it was just a passion of his? No, what a silly idea, I had seen him once or twice working in our other neighbors' front yards. Whatever the case, it took him no less than three hours to accomplish a task that even my son could have completed in two.

Suddenly, my phone vibrated, interrupting my contemplation. An unknown number appeared on the screen, I put my phone back down without answering; probably yet another telemarketer, who seemingly had nothing better to do than harass me every afternoon, always with new numbers since I systematically blocked them.

A noise echoed in my ears, a rustling of leaves. I immediately sat up. The gardener was waving at me while approaching the hedge that separated my yard from the neighbors'. What did he want? I was at home, topless, and this interruption of my daily daydream did not please me.

"Good day, Mrs. Richard," he said with a smile that I found slightly inappropriate.

I picked up my bra, quickly put on my crop-top, and covered the few meters that separated me from the hedge.

"Good day, sir, is there a problem?"

He hesitated for a long time. I pressed him with my gaze, not hiding my irritation, he understood.

"My apologies ma'am, the mower's cable has burned out. I have a replacement at my workshop, but I was hoping to finish the job without having to take a forty-minute round trip. Would you happen to have a cable to lend me? I noticed you have the same type of machine, I saw your son mowing the lawn last week."

Despite my persisting annoyance, I kept a straight face. I nodded and made my way to the shed that served as Jacques's storage. It took me a good ten minutes to find the damn cable. It had been months since I had stepped into this shed, it was high time I did some cleaning. Most of the tools were completely rusted and dust caked every corner. Jacques had always refused to let me touch his so-called organized mess. Nonetheless, I stored this task to do in the back of my mind.

When I finally emerged from the shed, the gardener had disappeared. He hadn't had the patience to wait for me, too bad for him. I glanced at my phone: three o'clock. It was still early, and I wasn't in the mood to start tidying up or take on any other tedious task. I threw the cable on the ground and settled back comfortably on my lounger.

The sun was at its zenith when I opened my eyes again. An hour had probably passed, no more. Sitting up, I scanned the surroundings. The neighborhood was peaceful, no car noises, no birds, and above all, no husband or child on the horizon. So, I took off my bra again.It had been over a month since I had started these daily sunbathing sessions and, despite everything, my damn tan lines refused to disappear.

Half an hour passed peacefully. I felt the heat of the sun's rays hitting my ample chest. It was pleasant. In reality, I felt a slight almost childish excitement thinking about the little man who had interrupted me an hour ago. Bold thoughts crossed my mind, I smiled. After all, I was a beautiful woman, I couldn't deny it. My flat stomach, voluptuous breasts, and enticing curves didn't leave any man indifferent, as evidenced by the many indiscreet looks I received when I walked around town.

My son was absent until tonight, and as for my husband, he would surely not return until nightfall. I threw a few glances around me; still no noise and nothing on the horizon. The gardener and the neighbors all seemed absent. Without further ado, I removed my black lace thong; I felt in the mood to break a few rules.

Lying on this deck chair, the nudity of my body now offered me an unprecedented sense of fulfillment. The contrast between the heat of the sun caressing my bare skin and the slight breeze that came to tickle the most intimate parts of my body was creating a delicious sensation of well-being within me. I felt simultaneously an intense sensation of freedom and an odd sense of danger. I couldn't deny the passage of time, the inevitable process of aging that was starting to hit me, but in this moment, my body was still the pure expression of femininity, a tribute to sensuality. There was still time for me to fully enjoy every contour, every curve, every secret of this body before the wheel of time would alter its splendor. Every shiver I felt, every flutter under the soft kiss of the wind, intensified my desire to explore this pleasure, this osmosis with nature, more deeply. The taste of risk, the excitement of the forbidden, amplified this erotic sensation, making me even more aware of my nudity and the beauty of this body that was mine.

Suddenly, about ten meters to my left, a small noise caught my attention. I reassured myself by thinking about the neighbor's cat, used to intruding in our garden to dig its holes. However, a second sound echoed, this time in front of me. The first noise had deceived me, having simply ricocheted off the wall of Jacque's shed. There was no doubt, someone was rummaging through our hedges, or rather, making their way through what was left of them. Due to a lack of maintenance in recent months, the beech hedges that bordered our property were beginning to show signs of neglect, so much so that the individual couldn't cross the undergrowth without betraying their presence. Was it the neighbor, or the gardener? Yet no car had parked, I would have heard it. This seemed strange and far from reassuring. Pretending to be asleep, I feigned a long stretch and took the opportunity to sneak a peek. I saw nothing.

With calm quickly returning, I finally began to feel my heart slow down; I must have been imagining things. It was obviously the neighbor's cat. What an odious feline, coming to play the pest, the only day I dared to expose myself in this way, pushing all the limits of my modesty.

Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. I hadn't dreamed it! The presence in the foliage again crushed several branches. No doubt, I wasn't alone. Did it really think it was being discreet?! I froze. Should I get up quickly and then rush away without getting dressed? Or should I simply wait, wisely, for this person to get tired and leave? Could this person have bad intentions? This idea sent chills down my spine.

I took a deep breath, trying to banish the irrational fear that was sweeping over me. It was the middle of the afternoon, in a neighborhood where everyone knew each other. The possibility that someone from outside the housing development chose this very day to intrude on my property, going through the neighbor's yard with the intention of harming me, seemed increasingly unlikely. So I let a few minutes go by, paying heightened attention to each ambient sound. I even heard the neighbor across the street, about a hundred meters away, operating the pump of his rainwater collector. But why on earth was he using that thing today?! There wasn't a single cloud in the sky. No matter, it was time I did something. Remaining thus petrified with fear was ridiculous and moreover, I did not at all like this scaredy-cat side of myself.

A good quarter of an hour passed again, or even more, since my last movement. So, it seemed entirely plausible that I was just waking up, I decided to mime waking up, stretching in a pantomime worthy of Marion Cotillard. Head tilted to the left, arms stretched in various directions, I finally spotted the unknown person who was rather clumsily hiding.

What a pleasant surprise, it was the gardener! Dressed in his usual work blue and red-branded cap, it was impossible to confuse him. The rascal hadn't left after all. I couldn't believe it. Was it for some other reason that he had lingered, other than this perverse staging he was engaged in, or had he simply seized an unexpected opportunity for voyeurism?

Fabien was the gardener of Cynthia and Gregory, our neighbors. He was rather small, measuring by eye about one meter seventy at most. However, his robust physique revealed a well-preserved musculature despite the years. I didn't know him as well as my husband, who had already had the opportunity to chat with him several times. From what Jacques had told me, he must have been in his fifties. My son also seemed to have forged some connections with him, but nothing more. In any case, I could never have imagined that this little man, usually so discreet, would dare to embark on such an adventure.

Enough daydreaming, Fabien was still there, silent as a fish, a few meters from me. His head slightly protruded from a large half-yellowed beech scrub. As the situation presented no real danger, I began to think. It was not yet very late and neither my husband nor my son would be home for several hours. Should I really dress and leave? Could I not just consider staying there, offered to his gaze, if only for a few minutes? I thought back to my nocturnal resolutions of the previous night; should I not simply seize this funny opportunity? The idea excited me somewhat.

Time flowed and Fabien remained motionless. His stocky silhouette, barely masked by the foliage, gradually imprinted itself on my retina. He certainly had no idea that I was watching him in return, my sunglasses masking the movement of my eyes. Fabien, don't you feel a bit ashamed, I thought, barely suppressing a smile. You are spying on a woman in her intimacy, acting like a vulgar voyeur. This time, I couldn't help but sketch a mischievous little smile.

His frozen stature reminded me of a marble statue, like the one we had seen in Rome with my husband. Nevertheless, I wondered what spectacle was so captivating his attention? Was it my pussy or my boobs, or perhaps both? Unfortunately, the distance prevented me from following his gaze precisely. An ambiguous feeling took hold of me, a delicious mix of shame and pleasure. A perfidious pleasure, akin to that felt in poker when you hold the best hand and the opponent bets everything he owns. I felt all-powerful, so much so that I even began to feel a certain exhilaration in dominating him thus. Without being able to explain it, a heat wave settled in the pit of my stomach; it was a truly strange sensation. Quickly, as I continued to fantasize about the situation, a pleasant tension spread within me. I even had the impression of experiencing a small orgasm; not one of those that conclude sexual intercourse, no, something more subtle, softer, similar to a strong adrenaline rush when you find yourself on the edge of a precipice. I wanted to experience this charming sensation and, in a slow and sensual gesture, devoid of any reflection, I gently slid my right hand down my belly, to my crotch. I hoped he didn't miss a crumb...