Gemma was determined to indulge herself that afternoon. It was a beautiful day, the sun shining and not too hot, but sufficiently warm to lure Gemma to the summer house at the bottom of the garden.
No one was around and she wasn't expecting anyone, and so she stripped off her clothes and luxuriated for a while in the freedom she felt.
The warm air seemed to caress her, and proud of her excellent figure she ran her hands over her body and let them stroke her breasts which she had always thought her best feature.
She lay on the old divan and remembered the times when Jason had made love with her on it. "If only he was here now," she thought, and then her thoughts ran on, "If only someone was here, someone who would ease the insistent demands of my body, someone she could love me as had dear dead Jason," her husband and lover for nearly twenty years.
Insects buzzed, a blackbird sang in the peach tree and everything seemed to be in love...in love...all the world seemed to be lulling and crooning its song of love."
She heard a sound and made a move to cover herself, but then through the entrance to the summer house she saw Jason gliding across the lawn to her. But it couldn't be; Jason was dead, crushed under the wheels of a truck.
The figure drew nearer and she could see it was her son, Glen, so like his father, but as his father had looked twenty or more years ago; dear Glen, so loving, so caring, and despite his own grief at the death of his father, had been such a support when she had been overwhelmed by her own grief.
Yes, Glen loved her and she loved him.
Gemma wondered vaguely why Glen was home at this time, and she made no further attempt to cover her nakedness, let him see her as she was beneath the masking of the everyday world. He wanted to see her unmasked, she knew that.
