Transferred-One Year Later The Day After The light of the rising Utah sun spilled into Joyce Martinez' bedroom. The salesman felt his lover's old body spooned next to his, her breasts pressed against his back, her thighs against the back of his. She drew long, peaceful breaths. Ordinarily, he would have snuggled back against her and slept another hour. But not this morning. He had heard her crying in her sleep. They had to talk. He rolled against her lightly, testing the depth of her slumber. "Hhmm?" she asked. God, she's a light sleeper, Dave thought. Must be the Indian in her. "Are you awake, Honey?" Dave whispered. "Mmm-hmm" was the reply. She wrapped her free arm around him and pulled him to her, sliding her thighs under his buttocks. Dave felt her breath on his back. He reached back to brush away what he thought was an insect crawling right where she breathed, but couldn't find anything. "Honey?" he asked, "Can you see a bug or something here?" pointing where he had felt something. "Yeah", Joyce answered. She brushed her hand where Dave had pointed. "Is that better?" she asked. He felt a sudden spot of coolness. Rolling onto his back, he saw the old woman's face, buried in her pillow. "Hey", Dave said, tugging on her hair, trying to pull her up so he could see her face. "Joyce, are you OK? You're crying! C'mon, tell me, honey." He insisted. "I heard you crying in your sleep last night, Joyce. Something's going on. If it's me, I want to know." "It's nothing", she said, her face still buried. "Will you get your face out of the bed? I can hardly hear you!" he laughed. Joyce propped herself up on her elbows and looked at her lover. Tears streamed down her face. "It's not funny, Dave" she said, wiping her eyes. "Yes, 'something's going on', and, well, yes, it's you, and it's me, too." Dave's heart sank. He feared the old woman was going to tell him it was all over; that she had found someone she liked better; someone older, someone richer, someone who would her away-the woman who had given him permission to enjoy his sexuality for the first time in his life, and he was afraid. "What?" he asked, not really wanting to hear what she might say. Joyce wiped her eyes. "I don't know where to start, honey", she said softly. "Start at the beginning", Dave said, fearing the worst. "OK" she agreed. "It's your fetish, Dave." God dammit, she thinks I'm weird, too, the salesman thought. She's been playing me for a fool all this time, taking advantage of me, using me, all the time thinking I'm some kind of nut who likes muscular old women. "Go on", he said, dreading what he thought was coming. "It's just that I.I just can't help thinking I'm too old for you, Dave", she said, starting to cry again. Shit, what an asshole I am! This isn't about me at all! "Whaaat?" he asked, totally surprised. "What? Tell me, Joyce. What's the matter, really?" "Just look at me", she said, jumping out of bed. "Look at me, I said!" she commanded. "Look at this old body! Look at this sagging flesh! Look at these fucking WRINKLES! I'm covered with wrinkles!" she was nearly screaming, pulling at her breasts, the skin of her belly, grabbing her ass. "And your point is.?" Dave asked, hoping to divert her with humor. "God-Damn-It, you shit.the fucking point is." she stopped, gathering herself before she announced her bottom line, "the fucking 'point' is: I don't know how you could like THIS!" she screamed, clutching herself with both hands, weeping pitifully. She fell to her knees. She cried for ten minutes, her face buried in the covers piled at the foot of the bed. "Joyce?" he asked, after she stopped. "What?" she asked, face still buried. "I'd like to tell you something", he began. "Are you ready to hear me?" "Yes", was the muffled reply. "OK. I've never really told you-I mean really told you-what it is about you-'an old woman with muscles' that turns me on. But I clearly need to tell you now.so I will. Are you ready to listen?" "Yes." "Good." The salesman drew a deep breath. He knew what he was about to say might offend his old lover, but, on the other hand, he knew he needed to say it. "I like what happens to a woman's body when she gets old." Joyce lifted up her head and looked at him. "Oh, please," she said, disbelief written all over her tearstained face. "Just hear me out, Joyce", he asked. She indicated her willingness with a nod. "I like how a woman's skin becomes thinner with age", he continued. It's because her body stops producing collagen after menopause, of course." "Of course", she said sardonically. "Like I wouldn't know." "And the reason is like it is: if the woman in question happens to be heavily muscled (like you, dear), as her skin becomes thinner, her muscular definition is enhanced." The old woman rolled her eyes. "Bear with me, honey, I'm complimenting you, really", he said earnestly. "Precisely because you're old and your skin is thin, I can see every muscle fiber on your body quiver and twitch, even when you're doing the simplest things-washing dishes, working in your yard, anything at all. It's as if I'm looking at an animated Gray's anatomy." "And when you flex-God, Joyce, if you could only see yourself through my eyes. To see the way your muscles expand.to see them stretching your old skin, why, sometimes I'm afraid they're going to burst through!" Dave's dick began to throb. "Go on", she said, interested now. "What I've said so far is just kind of a 'statement of the facts in general', if you will", he said professorially. "Come on, Dave. Quit beating around the bush!" "I'll get there momentarily.I hope." He grinned at his joke. "Now I'll be more specific.regarding your calves." "How so?" the old woman asked, genuinely curious about where her lover's dissertation was taking him. "Not only are they big, they're (because of their thin covering), incredibly defined. All the muscular anatomy shows; the medial and lateral heads of your gastrocs, the soleus, plantaris, anterior tibialis, peronaeus longus and brevis, even your Achilles tendons and the muscles in your feet!" "You make me sound like a specimen" she said. "You are, dear", he agreed, disarming her. "You remember when we went to Salt Lake to see the symphony?" "Yeah, but what's that got to do with all this 'I-can-see-your-calf- muscles-better-because-of-your-old-thin-skin stuff?" "You remember what you wore?" "My little black dress." "And black sheer stockings and heels, remember?" "Yeah. So?" She was intrigued, hoping Dave's long-winded introduction would end with a genuine compliment. "Well, there's something about those black hose." he continued. "They flatter your legs-Hah! That's putting it mildly! They make your calves look even more defined, if you can believe it! Your muscles stretch the fabric, and it gets more, uh.translucent. And, conversely, between your muscles, like on the side of your calf where the gastrocs meets the soleus, the fabric is darker, and more opaque, because it isn't stretched.if you follow me." "Go on", she urged. "They accent the muscularity of your legs. They make your legs look like a painter used a thin black wash in order to elucidate their anatomy." "Really?" "Yeah." Dave continued, barely able to think past his hard dick. "Seeing your legs cloaked in black hose is almost more than I can bear." he said, almost gasping for breath. "When you wear them, I'm completed distracted-I can hardly think of anything else." "Go on", the old woman whispered hoarsely, sensing her younger lover's rising passion. "That night, our seats were in the balcony", he continued. "Remember?" "Yes." "I followed you upstairs so I could watch your calves. I deliberately lagged behind so they would be at eye level." "I wondered why you weren't right beside me!" she said, finally smiling. "Your calf muscles contract into iron-hard muscle teardrops when you climb stairs, you know." "'Iron-hard muscle teardrops'-I like that, Dave." "Yes, they do, or they are, or.I'm losing my concentration. Oh yeah! Now I remember. It was all I could do to keep from reaching out and feeling them right there on the stairs! My dick was so swollen I was afraid it was going to bust through my pants!" Dave laughed at the memory. Joyce's eyes were warm. "Is there more, Dave?" she asked. "Yes. I wasn't the only one watching." "Really?" "Yeah, I saw lots of guys looking at your legs. And most of them were adjusting their stiffening dicks!" I remember thinking, "Too bad, suckers-she's mine!" Joyce laughed. "You're kidding! Tell me more!" The old woman reached out and gave his ankle a squeeze. "I'm feeling better. Thanks." "Do you want more muscle talk?" he asked. "Yes. I like it when you tell me I turn you on. It makes me feel better about myself." "OK, change of scene. You remember that first day on my patio?" "You mean when we first met?" "Yeah. When I saw you, I thought I was a goner. Up until that day, I prayed I'd never see another old woman with muscles again. I'd been tortured.well, you know the story, don't you?" he asked. "Yes", the old woman said gently. "Joyce, you'll never know how much courage it took for me to ask if I could see your muscle." "I can't imagine, Dave. I thought it was wonderful that you asked me." "I remember.I was blown away by your willingness." "Anyway, when you flexed your biceps, it was one of those 'existential moments'-it was what I had lusted for, and at the same time, hated. All at once. I felt I could see to the ends of the universe." "Gosh, Dave. You really do like this old body of mine, don't you?" "I have from the first moment I saw you. I remember thinking, God, look at that arm! I wonder how big around it is.must be 15 inches at least." "It's seventeen", she interjected. "That old muscle swelled up so big it stretched all the wrinkles out of the skin of your upper arm! Your round, trembling biceps was smooth as it could be! The transformation from old wrinkled skin when your arm was relaxed, to when you flexed, WOW! It was astonishing. I don't think I have the words to tell you how it made me feel." "I can see how it made you feel", the old woman said, looking at the salesman's throbbing hardon, clearly visible beneath the covers. "Have I convinced you that I like your oldness and your wrinkledness and your muscleness?" he asked. "Yes", the old woman answered softly. She had been sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed, staring out the window. "Dave", she said, turning to look at him. "Thanks for saying those sweet things.I appreciate it." She gave his foot a little pat, stood up, walked to the window and stared into the distance. After a few moments, she lifted the sash and knelt on the floor. She crossed her arms on the sill and let the morning breeze blow through her long, silver hair. The bright sun made her close her eyes. "Dave," she began, "it occurs to me that all my ranting and raving about my appearance wasn't what was really bothering me." She opened her eyes and looked at the salesman. Dave couldn't believe his ears. He turned away. Tears came to his eyes. Here comes the kiss-off. "Dave, look at me", she pleaded. "No." "Please", she begged. "I want to see your face when I tell you what's really going on." "Why? Do you want to see if you can make me cry?" he asked, turning back to face her. "You already have, Joyce. See?" He wiped his eyes. "Oh Dave, I'm sorry. I didn't intend for any of this to hurt you." God, she really is going to tell me to kiss off. She drew a long, shuddering breath. "This has to be said, Dave. I don't know where it's gonna lead, but it has to be said, nevertheless." She drew another long, shuddering breath. "It does have to do with my age, but not in the way I thought earlier, when I was raving. And it has to do with yours, too, Dave." "My what?" he asked, puzzled. "Your age. And my age. Dave, I'm sixty-six years old. You're thirty-six. I'm old enough to be your mother. Look at me!" "I am." "Describe what you see, Dave. Be 'clinical'-say the words as they come into your mind. Don't think about what you're saying, and don't worry about hurting my feelings. I want to hear it.no, I need to hear it." "OK. I see a sixty-six year old, half-Indian woman. Her brown skin is softly wrinkled. Damn, Joyce, is this what you want to hear?" "Yes. Continue", she insisted. "Her face is lined from over a half-century of life in the Southwestern American desert. Her hair is silver. She reminds me of a photograph I once saw-'Ute princess, 1877', the caption read". Dave's throat began to tighten. "She is melancholy now, thinking of leaving her young lover, not for another, but." "How did you know?" the old woman asked, sky-blue eyes wide with surprise. "I can subtract, Joyce. I thought about it the first time we met. I remember my thoughts exactly: She will die much sooner than I, and I will be alone." "Then you must know why it makes me sad", she mused aloud. "Yes, I do. Come sit beside me, Joyce. We should be close when we say things that have to be said." The old woman stood up, drew another shuddering breath, walked over and sat on the bed beside her lover. "You are my 'Queen of the desert'", he said, taking her hand. "When we are out together, I'm proud to be with you. I never think of you as older. When I see you; across the room, next to me in the car, or when I look up from my plate and see your beautiful old face, I think about the sexual things, I'll admit." Now Dave drew a long, shuddering breath. "But wonderful sex; 'sweet confusion', isn't all there is. I've fallen in love with you, Joyce Martinez." "Ahh, Dave", Joyce said, turning away. "Why did this have to happen when we were so far apart.in years, I mean? Why couldn't we have been born in the same year, or at the very most, five or ten years apart?" She turned back. Tears followed the lines of her old Indian's face. "Joyce", Dave began. "I really don't care which one of us dies first. I could be the first to go, you know, driving as much as I do with this silly sales job of mine. I could be killed in an accident, you know that!" "Don't talk like that!" "Well, its true, Joyce. Face it. The point I'd like to make is this: Neither of us knows when life will end. We may well have twenty more years together. But, we might die tomorrow. Either way, I'm OK. Because," he said, taking her other hand, "if I were to die tomorrow, it would've been worth it-the time we've spent together would have been enough." "No one's ever said anything like that to me, Dave. I don't know how to respond." "Just lay down here beside me and hold me. Let me fall asleep holding my Queen in her sunny bedroom, and let the last thing I hear before I fall asleep be, 'I love you, Dave'". Dave was drifted off, his heart overflowing. He barely heard his old lover grant his request. He was dreaming about flying over the desert.