Bimbo Wishes

Jason was on his third pass along the hedge when he realized he’d started trimming thin air. That was what happened when he let his mind wander.

He stopped, frowned at the hedge, and gave it one last pass. Ms Gertrude liked things tidy. Jason respected that.

He wiped his forehead with the hem of his T-shirt and checked his watch. There was still time before he needed to head home and crack open his biology 103 notes. Summer or not, the midterm was coming. But, he’d promised himself he’d finish her yard properly, not rush it.

Hard work first. Homework after. That was his system.

The lawn looked tidy and green, freshly cut, and the afternoon sun rested warmly on his shoulders. Jason didn’t mind yard work. There was something reassuring about tasks with clear beginnings and endings. You started with an overgrown mess, you put in effort, and you ended with something visibly improved. If only everything worked that way.

His treacherous thoughts wandered, as they often did, to Jen.

He knew better. He really did. He reminded himself daily that pining over her was pointless, usually right before doing it anyway.

Jen wasn’t unattainable in a dramatic, cinematic sense. She wasn’t a cheerleader or one of the “it” girls. She didn’t glide through the hallways with a breeze in her hair or command attention when entering a room. She was simply herself. Effortlessly affable. Teachers trusted her. Classmates leaned on her. People sought her out without really thinking about why.

She was a bookworm like Jason—real books, too, not digital copies and lecture notes. He’d seen her plenty of afternoons sitting in the football bleachers, legs tucked beneath her, reading while cheer practice unfolded below. She never cheered herself, but she always looked up when someone landed a challenging routine, smiling and clapping like it genuinely mattered to her, while the football team ran plays on the field.

Demure was the word his mother had used once, when he’d made the mistake of mentioning Jen at dinner. She never showed off. No flashy makeup, no loud look-at-me outfits that exposed her adorably petite figure. Simply soft sweaters, sensible skirts, and a quiet prettiness that snuck up on you if you weren’t careful.

Jason was careful. He’d been careful for years. Almost certainly too careful.

How could he verbalize how much he admired her coffee-brown hair or the way she cutely scrunched her button nose when struggling with calculus? What would she say if Jason told her he found her glasses and studious demeanor attractive? How would he speak to her at all without turning into a sweaty, anxiety-ridden mess?

He edged the clippers along the hedge, pretending he wasn’t replaying the exact moment from last semester when Jen had leaned over to ask if she could borrow his notes. He’d replied, “Yes—no—I mean—absolutely,” managing to answer three different ways.

She’d smiled anyway. She always smiled.

That was the problem. Kind smiles made hope feel reasonable, and hope was a dangerous thing for a skinny guy whose idea of flirting was offering meticulously color-coded flashcards.

When the job was done, Jason stepped back and nodded. Clean lines. Respectable. Ms Gertrude would approve.

As if summoned by the thought, her voice drifted out through the open kitchen window.

“Jason, dear?”

He turned too quickly and nearly tripped over the rake he’d leaned against the fence. Catching himself, he coughed and straightened, brushing imaginary grass clippings from his jeans.

“Yes, Ms Gertrude?”

“Come inside for a moment, won’t you?” She called. “You must be baking out there. I’ve made some lemonade.”

Lemonade. Homemade. The good kind, with real lemons and enough sugar to perk up a weary soul.

“That’s really not necessary.” Jason said automatically, already setting his tools aside. “I mean—thank you. I’d love some.”

Ms Gertrude laughed, beckoning him inside. The yard could wait a minute.

Besides, homemade lemonade and Ms Gertrude herself were difficult to refuse.

Jason opened the side door, careful to wipe his shoes on the mat. Her house always felt like a place where small courtesies mattered.

It was cool inside, pleasantly so, with sunlight filtering through sheer curtains and playing gently across varnished wood floors. The home was immaculate without feeling sterile—everything had its place, but nothing looked untouched.

The furniture was solid and tasteful, the kind that suggested quality, and there were quiet hints of wealth tucked everywhere if you knew how to look for them: a side table that was unmistakably antique, a painting that definitely wasn’t a print, a porcelain bowl by the door that looked far too delicate to be purely decorative.

Jason had never been quite sure whether Ms Gertrude was a widow or a lifelong spinster. He’d never worked up the courage to ask. Either way, she carried herself with an easy confidence that made the question feel irrelevant. She was handsome rather than pretty, her silver hair kept in a neat, practical style, her posture straight and energetic.

For a woman in her seventies, she moved with remarkable liveliness, showing little sign of slowing down or needing help from anyone.

Jason felt no attraction to her, of course—but he respected her enormously.

The walls were lined with framed photographs and memorabilia, and Jason’s eyes drifted to them as Ms Gertrude headed into the kitchen. He’d seen many of them before, but they never failed to catch his attention.

Photos of a younger Ms Gertrude stood out immediately: smiling beside politicians, shaking hands with dignitaries, standing proudly at podiums and gala events. There were keepsakes from travels all over the world—masks, carvings, textiles, little sculptures—each displayed with care rather than cluttering up the place.

Framed news clippings hung neatly in one corner, alongside letters of thanks from charities and organizations she had chaired or supported over the years. Jason read a few headlines without meaning to: fundraisers, initiatives, and awards. It was a quiet monument to a life that had been full, purposeful, and very busy.

Honestly, Ms Gertrude was the nicest person Jason had ever met. She was unfailingly kind, endlessly patient, and always ready with a fascinating story from her many, many adventures. He sometimes suspected she’d lived three lifetimes and had plenty left in the fuel tank.

She returned from the kitchen carrying two tall glasses of lemonade, condensation beading on the sides.

“Here we are,” she said cheerfully, setting one down in front of him. “Sit, dear. Take a load off.”

“Thank you.” Jason lowered himself carefully into a love seat. He took a grateful sip, eyes widening. “Wow. This is really good.”

“Of course it is.” Ms Gertrude said, entirely unmodest, perched on the edge of a divan.

Jason glanced back at the photographs, his curiosity finally getting the better of him. He nodded toward one in particular—a slightly faded picture of Ms Gertrude dressed in safari gear, standing confidently among a group that included several local tribespeople and a couple of rugged-looking men with rifles slung over their shoulders.

“That one.” He said. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked… what’s going on there?”

Ms Gertrude followed his gaze and sighed fondly. “Ah. Africa. That was a long time ago.” She waved a hand dismissively. “We were chasing ivory poachers across the savanna. Nasty business, really, but someone had to do it. Long days, very little sleep, and absolutely dreadful coffee.”

Jason blinked. “You… chased poachers.”

“Oh yes.” she answered brightly. “Didn’t catch them all, unfortunately, but we shut down a few routes. Worth the trouble.”

She took another sip of lemonade as if she had described a mildly eventful vacation.

Jason shook his head in quiet amazement. “That’s incredible.”

Ms Gertrude smiled at him over the rim of her glass. “Enough about my old escapades. Tell me about your studies. How’s college treating you?”

“Well,” Jason said, straightening a little. “Really well, actually. I-I’m doing fine. Better than fine, I guess.” He hesitated, then added, “I’m aiming for medical school.”

“Of course you are.” Ms Gertrude nodded approvingly. “And you’ll get there, too. You’ve got the diligence for it. I see the way you work. Not everyone does things properly when no one’s watching.”

Jason felt warmth creep up his neck. “I… try my best.”

She smiled at that, clearly pleased.

“Tell me,” she asked casually. “Is there a young woman in your life?”

Jason nearly choked on his drink.

“N-no?” He rallied quickly, setting the glass down a little too hard. “I mean—nothing serious. I’m kinda busy with school.”

Which was true. Mostly. He thought, unhelpfully, of Jen in the bleachers, afternoon sunlight highlighting her pretty features as she read.

Ms Gertrude studied him for a moment, then nodded. “That’s not a bad thing, you know. Too many young men your age are slaves to their hormones. No patience, no perspective.” She smiled warmly. “You’re a fine, level-headed boy, Jason. You’ll come into your own in good time.”

She said it with complete certainty, as though it were an established fact rather than encouragement.

Jason felt something settle in his chest at her words. He hadn’t realized how much they would mean to him until they did.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

Ms Gertrude met his eyes and gave a knowing nod. She believed in him. Completely, and without reservation.

And that, Jason thought, might have been the nicest gesture anyone had ever given him.

Ms Gertrude leaned back in her chair, hands clasped loosely in her lap. For a moment, she seemed to be looking past Jason, her gaze drifting somewhere far beyond the neat little living room.

“You know.” She mused thoughtfully, “When I was your age, all I ever wished for was a fulfilling life. Nothing grand or glamorous. Just adventure. Good friends. Good health.” She smiled faintly. “Love, too, though I never quite knew what form that would take.”

Jason listened quietly. He always did when she reminisced.

“I found it,” she continued, her tone rich with nostalgia. “In the unlikeliest of places. I won fortunes—lost a few, won them again—and I tried to funnel as much of it as I could into making the world a better place. Or at least a little less cruel, where I was able.” She shrugged. “It’s kept me busy.”

Jason nodded, feeling the weight of her words.

“That… actually sounds perfect,” he said. “That’s kind of why I want to be a doctor. To help people, I mean. Not for the money or anything like that. I… want to do some good. Make things better where I can.”

He flushed slightly after saying it, worried it might sound naïve out loud.

Ms Gertrude didn’t laugh. She studied him instead, her eyes sharp and appraising, as though weighing his sincerity. The silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable.

Then she nodded, once, decisively.

“Good.”

Rising from her chair, Ms Gertrude crossed the room to a side table Jason hadn’t paid much attention to before. From it, she picked up a bronze lamp—unmistakably antique with a long, elegant spout, a rounded oil reservoir like a shallow bowl, and a gracefully curved handle. The style was ancient and likely Arabic in origin.

She held it for a moment, turning it in her hands. Her fingers traced the metal cautiously, almost reverently. Jason noticed a flicker of hesitation cross her face, quickly replaced by resolve.

Without another word, she held it out to him.

Jason blinked. “Uh… what’s this?”

“A gift.” Ms Gertrude said. “A special one.”

He stared at the lamp, then at her, thoroughly baffled. “I-I don’t think I should—”

“Nonsense.” She insisted, pressing it into his hands. “Consider it a reward for helping an old lady tend her gardens. Something that only belongs with a good person.”

The moment his fingers closed around the lamp, Jason felt a strange tingle spread across his skin. The brass seemed to gleam more brightly than it had a second ago, catching the light in a way that felt almost mystical.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of the object’s weight and presence. It was beautiful. Mesmerizing.

“Th-thanks?” he said uncertainly.

Ms Gertrude smiled an unreadable smile.

“Take it home.” She instructed. “And before you make any big decisions in the near future… consider the ramifications very carefully.”

Her tone was gentle, but there was no mistaking the seriousness beneath it.

Jason nodded, slightly dazed, and rose to his feet. He thanked her again—more confidently this time—and made his way to the door, the lamp cradled carefully in his arms.

As he stepped outside, the afternoon sun seemed a little brighter than before.

Behind him, Ms Gertrude watched from the doorway, her smile lingering as he crossed the street.

“Take care, Jason.” She murmured, closing the door. “That one is a handful.”

New story who dis??? I've been wanting to write a Bimbo Genie tale forever! Anyway, the whole story is already available for my awesome Patreon supporters along with some other early releases, including the somewhat anticipated and sometimes requested sequel to "The Widow's Gift," which I've cleverly titled "An American Lion in Russia." Check out my Patreon Page for more details!