0 comments/ 15627 views/ 3 favorites Third Time Lucky By: DirrtyGirl As we took our seats in the darkening cinema, I couldn’t help but wonder about his choice of film. Romance would not have been the genre I would have immediately associated with Richard, but as this was only the third time I had met him, I didn’t see I was in a place to argue. My friends, who had decided that if I didn’t meet a man soon, my virginity would grow back, had set me up on a blind date with Richard, a couple of weeks ago. Why they were so insistent it was he, I didn’t know, but the man was fine! He was over six-foot tall, with spiky dark hair and the greenest eyes I have ever seen. He was well built, due to the rugby training he undertook three times a week, and knew how to dress. We had kissed after the first and second dates, but had not gone any further, despite his efforts. As the film started, I could feel Richard staring down my top, as he tried the classic ‘yawn’ manoeuvre to move his arm around the back of my chair. I decided to ignore it for the moment, and concentrate on the film. Maybe later, I thought. After about half an hour of the film, it became apparent exactly why Richard had brought me to this one. The so-called ‘cops’ on the screen spent more time naked and shagging one another than they did solving the murder! I glanced over at Richard to find his eyes glued to the screen, and a slight bulge beginning to grow in his jeans. I laughed to myself and thanked God again I was female. I was turned on too by the blatant pornography filling the screen, but at least I could conceal it slightly better than my partner could. I was beginning to feel very horny, and a mischievous thought started to cross my mind. With my eyes fixed on the screen, I slouched right down in my seat and reached over to place a hand on Richards’s thigh. He jumped at the touch and looked at me, but I simply kept staring straight ahead. Moving my fingers slowly up, I brushed the side of the now evident growth in his jeans and left my hand resting on his crotch. Out of the corner of my eye, I could se a smile begin to emerge on Richard’s face as the realisation of what I was suggesting finally dawned on him. There were only twelve people in the cinema, and with our seats well behind everyone else, we were pretty much concealed form their view, save them leaving to go to the toilet. My fingers fumbled around for Richards’s zipper, before locating the tab and slowly unzipping his jeans. I reached in to the tight pants and removed his thick solid cock, which immediately stood erect in the air. He grunted loudly but quickly concealed it in a cough as the people in the cinema began to turn around. I giggled and got off my seat to kneel in front of him, not an easy task in between the cramped cinema seats! Raising my eyes up to look at him, I opened my mouth and stuck my tongue out to circle the very tip of his cock. Letting out a deep breath, Richard’s hands grabbed hold of the armrests and gripped them tightly. I continue licking my way down Richard’s shaft, one hand reaching out to massage his balls in perfect rhythm. His pubic hair ticked my nose as I reached the base of his cock, whilst my spare hand began to trace the path my tongue had just followed. Lifting my head slightly, I glanced up to find Richard staring at me, urging me to take him into my mouth. My hand continued to rub along his shaft as I bent my head back down to place a light kiss on his throbbing cock head. “For the love of god!” Richard muttered under his breath, as I felt one of his hands move around to stroke my cheek. Taking this as hint I finally lowered my mouth over his cock, sucking gently as I went further and further down. Emitting a deep groan, Richard pressed his hips up, forcing my head right down to the base of his prick, before I slowly moved back up again. I maintained the slow rhythm, feeling him twitch and squirm beneath me, trying to get me to increase my speed and let him cum. Gradually, I did speed up, sucking in quick firm stokes, listening to Richards breath quickening as I did so. My tongue began to softly massage the thick shaft each time it withdrew from my mouth. His hand snaked down between us to grab my breast, which it immediately began to massage, softly then harder until it was almost painful. I moaned my own pleasure with Richards’s cock deep in my throat, the vibrations of which caused the balls in my hands to tighten up. I looked up again to see Richard throw his head back in ecstasy, before the hand on my cheek, moved to grab my head and hold it still, whilst the other grabbed my breast tight. Suddenly, Richard’s cock exploded in my mouth, shooting wave after wave of hot cum into my mouth and straight down my throat. I swallowed as much as possible as the hand on my head showed not sign of letting go any time soon. Richard’s cock continued to twitch in my mouth as I sucked the last few drops out of him, before finally being allowed to free my head. Richard’s eyes were still closed as I sat back in my seat, and took a handful of popcorn from the bucket on the floor. “Mmmmm. Salted!” I said with a look over to my left. Richard opened on eye, gave me a hard look and closed it again. Picking the cola up from the floor, I took a long sip, as Richard finally came back to his senses. I began to swirl the straw around my tongue, mimicking the movements I had just performed on him. Catching my movements, Richard smiled at me. “Think you’re so clever don’t you?” he laughed. My eyes sparkled as I nodded and handed him the cup. I turned back to the film, feeling quite pleased with myself and randy as hell. Before I could get back into the film, a hand reached round the back of my head and pulled my face towards its owner’s mouth. Richard kissed me hard and deep, our tongues clashing against each other. I could feel the slight stubble around his mouth rubbing against my top lips as our tongues massaged each other viciously. Whilst thoroughly attending to my mouth I felt Richards hand slide under my top. He pulled back from the kiss abruptly and looked at me. Richard reached forward, pulled my top away from my body and looked down the front. “Where the hell is your bra?” he said, eyes wide open. I shushed him, as the couple a few rows in front looked at each other, and the glanced back. “I don’t have one on.” I whispered, “It showed underneath this top.” Blowing out the breath he had been holding, Richard shrugged his shoulders and resumed the kiss he had broken from, sliding his hand back up my top. I moaned into his mouth as he rolled my nipple between his thumb and finger. Increasing the pressure, he moved his mouth down my neck and along my collarbone. My right nipple was on fire; my left one was aching for the same attention. Richards’s hand graduated slowly down my body, before turning and pushing it’s way up my skirt and along my thighs. I spread my legs slightly, allowing Richard’s hand access to my, now, soaking wet pussy. “Fucking hell!” he swore breathlessly. “Do you own any underwear?” I shrugged and smiled at him. “You complaining?” “No mam!” Richard whispered in my ear. He resumed his probing, stoking me gently along my slit, before massaging my clit lightly. I bit my lip, to stop form crying out. Still with his thumb on my clit, Richard began to move his finger around the entrance to my moist hole. Gradually, but firmly, Richard pushed two fingers deep inside me, and began to slide them in and out. I adopted a position similar to the one Richard had done minutes earlier, closing my eyes, arching my back and throwing my head back against the seat. Adding a third digit, Richard thrust his fingers deep inside me, flicking my clit with his thumb. I forced myself down further onto his fingers, trying to bring my orgasm to the surface. I could feel it building inside me, just a few more thrusts and…. “What the hell ….?” I started as Richard suddenly removed his hand completely and pulled my skirt back down. Grabbing my wrist, I just had time to snatch up my coat as he dragged me out of the cinema, earning us looks from both people in the cinema and the managers in the lobby. Richard continued to drag me along the path. “What do you think you are doing?”, I said breathlessly, trying to keep my balance and keep up with Richard’s purposeful strides. He didn’t answer me, but did slow down and let go of my wrist, taking my arm instead. We passed a small alleyway just before the end of the car park, and with one tug of my arm I found myself in there. A couple of strides further along, Richard turned me so my back was against the wall and stared straight into my eyes. The apparent need for one another was reflected in both our faces and became more urgent as we gazed at each other. With a sudden movement, Richard kissed me hard and deep as he pulled my skirt up around my waist and I undid his zip. The sound echoed down the alleyway as he slammed his cock into my aching pussy. I scream out loud with delight as Richard began to pound into me, my back pressed hard against the wall. Wrapping my legs around his waist to get his cock further into my hot cunt, I pulled down my top, letting my breasts spill out. Richard took the initiative and bent his head down to take my nipple in his mouth. Richard persisted in fucking me as hard as possible, making sure I knew how much he wanted me. The frustration felt from being denied my orgasm previously came flooding back to the surface in the form of exquisite pleasure. As he bit down on my nipple, I felt my pussy contract and cried out as I came hard on Richard’s cock. I begged him to hold still, to let me ride this orgasm out, which he did, but Richard did not let go of my nipple. The feeling of sheer satisfaction raced through me from my head to my toes and made me shudder with delight. My juices were flowing good and fast, leaking down my thighs and drenching Richards’s balls. As my breathing began to steady, I rested my head on Richards’s shoulder, as he kissed the top of my head. He pulled out of me, but kept a knee firmly wedged between my thighs. Cupping both my tits with his hands he kissed both nipples in turn, before gently chewing on each one in turn. I groaned again and tried to pull his head back up to kiss me but to no avail. Richard continued his kisses down my body, until he came to his knees in front of me. I rested my hands on his head as he nudged my legs apart again and let out a long moan as he took my all-too-sensitive clit in his mouth and sucked hard. I felt Richard’s tongue lick at me, lapping up my juices as they ran down my legs. I ground my pussy down onto his face, begging for more, his tongue probing me. As I sensed Richards tongue enter my delicate hole, I raised one leg over his shoulder driving him into me as far as possible. I began to raise and drop my hips in time to Richard’s tongue thrusts, bringing myself closer and closer to a climax. I could sense my knees begin to shake, as I begin to cum again, still seeking more from Richard. With his tongue catching my clit again, I came on Richards’s face. He continued to lick at me throughout the waves that followed, cleaning me up until I was practically dry again. A car pulled out of the car park, it’s lights gliding over us as I released my leg and Richard rose from the floor. I glanced at him, mouth open in shock but he simply shook his head, indicating no one had seen us. I realised that I didn't care even if they had, this was the best fuck I had ever had in my life and it still wasn’t over. Grabbing his head, I pulled Richard around to face me. I looked deep into his eyes and he leant to kiss me once again. I could taste myself on his lips, on his tongue, the sweet taste of satisfaction. Reaching down I rubbed my hand against Richard’s throbbing cock, still hard and strong against me. I pulled away from the kiss and raised an eyebrow in question. Before I had the chance to read the response on Richard’s face, I was spun around to face the wall. I rested both hands on the cold stone and bent slightly at the waist as his hands pressed on my hips. I could feel the tip of Richards prick press at my tight entrance before he jerked his hips and filled me again. His hot breath blew against my neck as I adjusted to having him back inside me. Richard began to thrust forward, long hard strokes, which reached the very depths of me. I let out a short cry as he pumped harder into me, settling into a strong rhythm. Our bodies moved like clockwork as we ground against each other, both driving for the ultimate end. My arms began to ache with the pressure of holding myself upright against the pounding I was taking from behind. Richard moved one hand onto my shoulder and was pulling me further back against him. A gasp escaped my lips each time I felt and heard his balls slap against the top of my thighs. Suddenly, I felt Richard pull out of me before his cock moved upwards to press against my arsehole. I was not an anal virgin, but panic still filled me at the thought of a prick that big up there. “Please Richard!” I begged. “Not there.” “I want to feel you tight around me.” He rasped in my ear. “Let me do this.” Realising the was little I could do to dissuade him, “Please though. Go slowly!” I finally relented. Richard pushed forward persistently, my pussy juices aiding his efforts, but I nevertheless felt the pain of my arsehole being stretched open wide as he inched into me. Richard groaned loudly as his balls finally pressed up against me and I surrounded him with my heat. He moved slowly to start with, allowing my body to accept what was happening. I look the weight back on my hands, as Richard moved his hands back onto my hips. As he began to find a rhythm, I finally started to relax, and even pushed my hips back to meet Richards’s shaft. His thrusts got harder and more persistent as we went on, continuing to fill my tightest passage. In all honesty this turned me on, and I was soon begging Richard not to stop, to keep fucking me harder. I couldn’t take anymore and reached one hand around to my clit. A few short rubs and I felt my third orgasm rupture within me. I cried out loud and shook with the force of the sensations racking my body. The orgasm made my pussy and my arse contract in spasms and my knees almost give way. Behind me I vaguely heard Richards warning before he thrust hard once more. He let out an animalistic moan as his cum flooded into me. I could feel each spurt, hot and deep in my tight ass. The remnants of my orgasm milked his cock, squeezing every last drop of cum out of him. I fell against the wall, with Richard falling against my back, both panting with both exhaustion and a deep sense of satisfaction. As he softened up and pulled out of me, I could feel his thick cum leak out of me. “If you had told me you were that willing, I wouldn’t have bothered with the popcorn!” Richard breathed in my ear. I laughed and turned to face him. “Imagine what would have happened if you had bought me a large size instead!” I smiled and kissed him once again. Needless to say, we saw each other for a while longer! Third Time Lucky Caithleen McManus was an only child. Her father was an English teacher who enjoyed teaching literature, and her mum was quite happy taking care of their child, the little dog, the household and the garden. She was a good cook and Caithleen loved her. She had a sheltered youth and grew up to be a happy young woman. She had lovely eyes, so much so that even one of her teachers, an older man with a quiet sense of humour that most of her classmates didn't get, called her Miss Bright Eyes sometimes. One of her friends at the time, Ellen, the daughter of a Dutch immigrant, hinted he'd probably got designs on her, but nobody else remotely thought so; he was too vague, and never even noticed the blatant attempts the sexy gym mistress made to get him interested. Apart from those eyes Caithleen had a nose that was a little too long, full lips with a pronounced cupid's bow and a stocky figure. She was about 5'4", her breasts were just a little too big for her, but not big enough to cause her discomfort, and her lack of formal beauty was compensated for by a quick wit and a more than average intelligence. Some of the brighter young men in the final years of school and at university saw her for what she was; and she wasn't too interested in the others. She went her own way in most respects. She had no time for the bland hit parade songs her peers listened to; she liked folk rock and Zappa and the Velvet Underground, and she spent some time dabbling in playing the bass guitar. But she wasn't too talented, and it took her too much time to be any good at it. She had one real friend, Roseanne Jones, whom she had met in primary school, and who was quite different from her in lots of respects. But opposites attract, and they'd struck up a very close friendship. Roseanne liked to talk about girls' things and in doing so she filled Caithleen in on all kinds of things that would have eluded her otherwise; she told her about her boyfriends, and what fun it was to have some boy really interested in you, and how she sometimes stimulated such interest by dressing up for them. Caithleen usually wore jeans and some top or other, and she came to really noticing the other sex rather late; she did have a few male friends, but their sex was no consideration; Roseanne was a real beauty, and although she didn't exactly flaunt her figure she was well aware of its effects on the male half of the population. When she was twenty-five, Caithleen suddenly fell head over heels for Joey Ayers, a good-looking post-graduate with a brilliant mind, a wicked grin and dark, curly hair. She had met him a couple of times at parties and when she went out for a drink, and the things he said and the way he moved struck her in a way she'd not held possible before. He bought her a drink once or twice, and she noticed he never did so for anyone else. When she discussed him with Roseanne, she told her that Joey would not usually come to parties at all, and that she thought it was probably because of her that he did. It was; Joey had immediately recognised a kindred spirit in the young woman who was so unlike the other girls around, and there was something in her smile and in her eyes that held an immense appeal for him. He was a little shy sometimes, but he felt fairly comfortable with Caithleen. Caithleen didn't know how to flirt, and she wasn't going to try. Once she'd made up her mind she simply went to Joey and invited him over for a drink at her place. He was a little early, and she had just had a shower; she had wrapped a towel around her breasts and hips and went to open the door. "I am sorry," he said. "Shall I wait outside?" "No, come in. I'm glad you're here." She motioned with her hand for him to enter, and the towel came loose around her breasts. Blushing fiercely, and not knowing where to look, Joey stepped inside. "Drat that towel," Caithleen said. She gathered it up in one hand and preceded Joey into the living area completely naked. "Just a sec," she said, "I'll put something on." She disappeared into the bedroom, leaving Joey with an imprint of her naked back and buttocks and an uncomfortable erection. To divert his thoughts he wandered around looking at the contents of the room. It was just like her, he thought, a curious mixture of sweetly feminine things and various artefacts that in his opinion were more likely to appeal to a masculine taste. Caithleen came back into the room. She was barefoot and she wore a t-shirt with the Andy Warhol picture of a mouth and a Coca Cola bottle. "Velvet Underground," he said. "Yes - it's a beautiful sleeve." She rummaged in her records and took out the double album. "Like to hear some of it?" She put on side A. "I'm Waiting for the Man" blasted from the speakers, and she went to the kitchen. She came back with a thermos of coffee and two cups. They sat and listened for a moment, and then Caithleen said, "Look, I er - I'd like you for my boyfriend. I think you're nice, and I think I understand what you're about. I - Roseanne told me something about the way she gets in to and out of relationships, but I don't think I could do that. I got the idea that you might want to give it a try." Joey blushed again. "Damn," he said. "I don't usually blush. I'd love to, yes. I-I-I-" To his chagrin he started to stammer, but Caithleen didn't seem to notice. At his admittance she broke into big smile that went straight to his heart and crotch, and she fixed those eyes on him, and he melted for her like butterscotch. She got up from her chair, sat down on his lap and kissed him. Joey felt hot and cold, and after the initial paralysis he put his arms around her and kissed her back. It was clear to him that she wasn't experienced at all; when he touched her lips with his tongue she didn't respond. But she cuddled close to him, and heaved a deep sigh of contentment. Then she broke their kiss. "You'll have to show me what to do," she said. "I have never done this before, and er, Roseanne told me some things but I never bothered to ask any details. Shall we go to the bedroom?" "But er - are you sure? I don't want to be awkward, but er -" "Do you want me for your girlfriend or don't you? I'm not joking or something; and I don't want you for just the one time. You said you did just now..." Her eyes slowly filled with tears. Joey felt very embarrassed. He stroked her hair and mumbled, "I do - but maybe you'd want to think about it first, and we have not been together so often, and I haven't brought any condoms..." "Oh Joey - as if that mattered. I've taken care I can't get pregnant now; I'm not that naïve. Do teach me how - please?" She got up off his lap and held out her hand. Rather bewildered Joey took it and let himself be led to the bedroom. "Now what? You do know, don't you?" Caithleen asked. Joey finally got out of his stupor. He nodded and opened his arms for Caithleen to step in and kissed her again. Then he stopped, and said, "What I'd like when kissing is touching your tongue with mine, and tasting the inside of your mouth. It's sexier than kissing with just your lips, and I'd love to taste your saliva." "Ok," Caithleen said. She kissed him again and now she opened her lips when he stuck out his tongue. Joey felt her soft tongue touch his own; then she circled around it and sucked him inside. She didn't need any more instructions, and she held his head between her hands and stroked his hair and his cheeks. So that's why people like this, she thought. Hmm. She tried to put her tongue into Joey's mouth, and he happily received her. He ran his hands up and down her back. Then he went back to her shoulder blades with one hand and slipped the other inside the waistband of her trousers. Caithleen momentarily froze; then she let go of Joey's head and undid the fastening of her jeans. "Please feel free," she whispered before she went back to Joey's lips and mouth. Joey moved his other hand to her waist, too. He took hold of her waistband with both hands and pushed her trousers down past her buttocks. Then he sent her panties after her jeans and cupped her bottom in his hands. "You have a nice bum," he said in between kisses. He stroked it with one hand and ran the index finger of the other hand along the crack between, softly touching and teasing her rosebud with the tip. Caithleen had clasped her arms around his back. She was trembling a little with the emotions of the moment and she felt the crotch of her panties go very damp. She could feel Joey's erection press into her, and it felt good. It was sweet, it was exciting and she felt ready to learn all she could. To her delight Joey moved his free hand over to her front. He slid it under her t-shirt and up to her breasts, and he ran his hand along the elastic of her bra. She had put on her nicest one, with thin cups and some embroidery, and she loved to feel his hand on her nipple through the cup. "Caithleen," he said, "I'd like to have you naked now!" She stepped back, and he looked at her as she stepped out of her trousers and panties. Then he put his hands on her waist and she lifted her arms. He took off her t-shirt and bent over to kiss her nipples through her bra. "I'd like to feel your mouth on my bare skin," Caithleen whispered. Somehow she felt the moment was to precious to speak out loud, and Joey shared the feeling. "One moment," he whispered in answer. He undid her bra and her breasts fell free. They were big and beautiful, he thought, and he resumed kissing her nipples and started to stroke the undersides. "Yes - that's lovely. Oh please..." She was almost overcome by all new sensations; her nipples seemed to be in direct communion with her pussy and she got the impression that the tops of her legs were getting quite wet. "May I undress you now?" Joey stopped kissing her breasts. He straightened his back and smiled at her. "Yes please," he said almost inaudibly. Caithleen methodically removed his clothes. She unbuttoned his shirt, undid his trousers and knelt down to unlace his shoes. She took his ankles, one by one, and helped him out of his shoes and socks. She pulled down his trousers and underpants; then got up again and removed his shirt. She stepped back to have a good look at her handiwork. Joey had a nice body. There were just a few hairs on his chest. He wasn't too skinny, she thought, and he seemed to have strong arms. His pubic hair was dark, exactly like the hair on his head, and the skin of his penis was a little darker than his normal skin. The foreskin had moved back from the tip, which was shiny and purplish. They smiled at each other. "You're beautiful," Joey said. "So are you. May I touch your cock?" Joey nodded. Caithleen knelt down in front of him and took him in her hands. She hardly touched him. "You needn't be afraid to hurt me - only my balls are a bit sensitive, but you can squeeze my penis as hard as you like." She looked up at him and smiled. She exerted more pressure on him, and she watched with interest as a clear drop appeared on the tip. Pre-seminal liquid, she thought - but that's probably just the technical term... she enjoyed handling him. His cock felt warm and resilient, and her hand fitted nicely around it. She felt his balls with the other, and explored the way his nuts moved in side the loose skin. Then she moved her hand back and forth. "Is this nice?" she asked. Joey nodded. "It is. If you go on like this I'll come all over your hands." "Oh." She stopped and got up. "Can you insert it into me?" "Yes I can. You make it sound a little clinical, though." She made a face. "I don't know how else to ask it. You'd better tell me some time. Shall I lay down on the bed?" He nodded. "But I'll want to look at you first, too. Do you mind?" Caithleen shook her head. "Fair enough," she said. "Come!" She sat down on the bed, and then stretched herself and spread her legs. Joey sat down on the edge of the bed and stroked her pubic hair. Her inner labia were very swollen and they stuck out quite some way. She had a big clitoris that was visible as a whitish spot under the protective hood, and he enthusiastically breathed in her smell. "You're beautiful here." He touched the hair on her mons veneris and ran his fingers down to her pussy. "And you feel wonderful, too." He bent down, and kissed the outlines of her labia, and then he tasted her slit, running his tongue between her inner labia as deeply as he could. He mover his upper lip over her clit and she shivered. "Hmm..." she moaned. "Ooh..." Joey stopped eating her. "I'll come into you now," he whispered. "I hope it won't hurt." Caithleen shook her head. "I used a dildo once, and my hymen is gone," she said. He knelt between Caithleen legs and ran the head of his cock up and down her slit. "Ok?" "Please..." she said. He pressed into her slowly. She looked into his eyes, smiling and a little anxious, and she took his face in her hands again. She opened her lips, and he put his mouth on hers. As he slowly moved back and forth she began to moan into his mouth. She loved the feeling of his cock filling her up, and she rubbed her body against Joey's, softly at first, but then more firmly, and she smiled into his eyes. Joey, who had made love to two other girls before, was floating on air. The others had not been like this - he had only had those girls once. One of them had not wanted him again and the other had been a tipsy mistake. Caithleen was the real thing. She made him feel comfortable, she made him feel at home and she made him feel happy and sexy and wanted - and he wanted her. He wanted her more than anything he'd wanted before. It felt as if he'd only come alive after a long sleep just now, as if his senses, which had been dull and unused before, had suddenly come alive. He slowly moved in and out of Caithleen's pussy and revelled in the smooth feeling of the inner walls of her vagina caressing his cock, talking to him of more joys to come and of a love that almost hurt. Caithleen's body tingled with the unfamiliar sensations coursing through her body, her veins, her being... and over all that was the utter bliss of lying in Joey's arms with his manhood lodged deep inside her, touching her cervix and then almost leaving her. She felt his weight on her hard nipples and his tongue in her mouth, and she instinctively began working her vaginal muscles on his cock. To her joy it seemed to stimulate him; he began to fuck her more determinedly, and she pressed her vulva up to be as close to him as she could. He was panting by now, and she was calling his name and she dug her fingers in his shoulders. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes..." she sighed, and then she went back to his lips and sucked his tongue into her hungry mouth again. Suddenly she felt a change in her body. The muscles of her pussy and pelvis contracted, and she got a sensation as if she were floating. Then she started to shudder. She heard Joey groan, and she felt his come spurt into her depths. "Caithleen, oh Caithleen," he stammered. "Oh, my Caithleen..." Then he collapsed on top of her. She squeezed his cock again and licked his nose. They looked into each other's eyes, and smiled, and Caithleen softly stroked Joey's back, lovingly and long. Eventually he got off of her and sat up. "Oh look," Caithleen said. "You've gone all small and wrinkled. When will you go hard again?" "Just give me a little time. Is there any more coffee in that pot? The coffee you poured must have gone completely cold." Joey loved her - lock, stock and barrel. He could watch her for hours and he would talk with her until deep into the night. He loved her body, and to him she was the epitome of femininity - nice and plump and soft, and entirely to his taste. They explored all possible ways to make love together. Caithleen loved his tongue on her pussy, and being on top, and she felt doggy-style was alright sometimes, although she always felt a little sorry she couldn't kiss him, and she didn't like just being on the passive end. She liked her anus stimulated in foreplay, but anal penetration didn't appeal to her, and Joey preferred her pussy any time. Nobody who knew them was in the least surprised when he moved in with her after they'd been together for only a couple of weeks. Caithleen introduced Joey to her parents, who liked him a lot. Especially her father hit it off with him, and the two men would sit talking together for hours. Joey never took Caithleen round to his family; when she asked him why he gave a somewhat evasive answer, and she didn't press the question any further. Joey had never talked about his parents; she didn't really mind, although it was hard for her to understand why. When they had been together for about a year Joey proposed to her, and she happily accepted. They got married soon afterwards with as little fuss as possible, at a registrar's office. Caithleen finished her studies and found herself a job; Joey had stayed on at university. He carried out various research projects and was quite contented doing them. For about two years they were extremely happy together. They thought they were too young to think of children. There was Joey's career to be considered, and Caithleen enjoyed working very much. There was ample time yet. Then Joey's parents died in a car crash. After the years of being taciturn about them Joey poured out all the repressed feelings of dislike, of having been neglected by his father in favour of his soccer-star brother, of anger at his parents' divorce - his mother had just left the lot of them one day for the builder who had repaired the dormer windows of his birthplace - and subsequent remarriage... Caithleen sat listening to him with a feeling of foreboding, which proved to be only too justified. From one day unto the other Joey fell into a deep depression. He didn't touch her any more; he couldn't bring himself to do any of the things he liked. He started to neglect his work; then he slowly began to neglect himself. He wouldn't speak to Caithleen for days, and when he did he was often either completely unreasonable or incomprehensible. Caithleen tried her best to get him out of it. She made an appointment for him with their GP, but Joey didn't react, and flatly refused to get any professional help. She tried to talk to him and to get him to tell her what it was that made him flee from all and everything; she tried to hold him, bodily at first, then just his hands, but he shrank from her as if she were a stranger. It hurt. It hurt so much she lay awake most nights, crying silently, not seeing any way out. Her parents noticed the change in her and asked her if they could help, but she just shook her head. If Joey didn't go and help himself, if he didn't want any help, nobody could. He started to drift. He often went out until far in the night and he frequently came home dead drunk. He never offered any violence, but nevertheless Caithleen was rather afraid of him sometimes. She did continue to try and help him, but to no avail. Then Joey went missing for a prolonged period. She went through those long, long days feeling dazed and numb, and when the police came calling she didn't have to ask what had happened; she could tell by the look on the officer's face. She did ask how; and she told him why. To her surprise there were no tears now; her misery had found an outlet through different channels. It took her a couple of years to get over it. She slept for days and then she would lie awake half the night, wondering how she could have saved Joey, and berating herself for not having tried hard enough; though rationally she knew she couldn't have made a difference it didn't feel that way. Third Time Lucky Joey oh Joey, she thought, why did you have to wallow in your unhappiness - and then the very thought made her feel angry with herself again. Slowly, slowly she got over it. In the first months of her recovery there would be frequent relapses into self-reproach. There was a new employee at her job that had to be shown the works and she was chosen to do it. He really liked her a lot, and one day he asked her out; but she was under the spell of one of her blacker moods just then and she bit off his head in response. He flinched at her uncalled-for aggression; after a few more days he left the firm. She was really sorry about it and she didn't have an inkling why. She thought he had been rather attractive. Oh well; life sucked anyway, didn't it? When she was more or less her old self again she went through her late husband's things and threw out almost everything that had no direct value for her. She didn't want to be reminded of the bad times they'd experienced in those final months, only those thing that carried the warmth of their early togetherness for her could stay. She did keep his name; that, she thought, was the least she could do. It took her a few more years to feel she'd really overcome the blow, but gradually she began to look like her old self again. Roseanne was a big help. She had witnessed Joey's deterioration from close by, and she was the only one Caithleen could talk to. Her parents were too old to be constantly worried with her feelings of insufficiency, and her other friends were far too superficial for anything like this. Eventually Roseanne managed to make Caithleen agree to go out with her and to try and have a good time again. "After all," she said, "it bloody wasn't your fault, girl. Come on, and smile at the bright side of life." Caithleen actually enjoyed going out now and again. When she went it was usually with Roseanne, who had found a friend, James, who lived some eighty miles away. They met irregularly, and their respective jobs didn't allow them to meet more often. Roseanne didn't mind; they really loved each other and whenever they did meet she was happy as a lark. They usually stayed at home at Roseanne's place but they sometimes went out with Caithleen, who liked James a lot. She felt a little jealous of Roseanne's good luck, but she enjoyed being with them nevertheless, and she didn't really look out for a new friend herself. Joey was still on her mind very often indeed, and oh well, she had enough interests not to get bored. And then, out of the blue, Caithleen got courted by a strapping young man - at least ten years her junior - who felt just right to her. Joey had been dead for over seven years, and she suddenly looked upon this youngster with desire. He looked a little like Joey, although he was not quite as intelligent, and he was good fun. He was physically attractive as well; and he seemed to find her attractive, too. She even wore dresses for him; he had frowned on her usual t-shirts and made a pointed remark about a well-dressed woman crossing the road in front of them, and she was eager to please. Anything not to make him think badly of me, she thought. Fred took her out to the opera, and invited her to dinner at one of the top-end restaurants in town, and paid lip-service to her interests. He took things slowly and in the beginning their contacts were limited to once a week at most. Caithleen loved the way he looked at her. She felt she was on her way to be getting old - "You're not, you idiot," Roseanne told her - and this young man seemed to be a hold on those lost years. Roseanne tried to talk Caithleen out of it. She had seen Fred look at her a couple of times and she didn't like the fellow at all. When Caithleen asked her why she couldn't put her finger on it. "But I don't trust him a jot," she said. Caithleen was completely under his spell, and when eventually he asked her round to his place after a night on the town she happily complied. They drove there in her car, and he complimented her on her driving - rather to her surprise, as it was nothing fancy. They shed their clothes on the way to the bedroom. His physique reminded Caithleen of a line in Dahl's Landlady: I open the door and I see someone standing there who is just exactly right. He lifted her up and deposited her on the bed - he had a very large bed - and went for her pussy with his mouth, long and pressing, and after all those years she just came and came and came... Then he took hold of her waist, turned her round and made her kneel on all fours. She turned her head his way to offer him her mouth, and he kissed her lips for just one moment. He slapped her buttocks, hard enough to be painful, but she attributed it to his passion for her. Then he entered her smoothly - she was very, very wet - and fucked her long and hard, telling her all the time what a good little cunt she had, and how tight she felt, and that he was going to make her come. He certainly did, even thought she felt a little embarrassed by his words. When she had reached her orgasm he pulled out of her and came on her back, and he rubbed his come all over her. She got up and turned around, and kissed Fred on the mouth. "Thank you very much," she said. He gave her a smug grin. "You liked that, didn't you? Let's have a drink and I'll fuck you some more." He disappeared and returned with two glasses, and a packet of cigarettes. They sat on the edge of the bed, and he lit a fag. Caithleen tried not to breathe in too much of the smoke, but Fred blew his smoke her way. She started to cough; it didn't make him change his behaviour. "Come," he said as he stubbed out his cigarette. "I want you to make me hard again" He stood up before her and put his hands on his hips, his half-hard cock dangling in front of her face. She touched it, wrapped her hand around him and moved it back and forth, and it grew hard again quickly. "No, no, with your mouth, of course," he said. He pushed her hand off his cock and rubbed the tip on her cheeks, then he put it against her lips. "Suck me - that's what you came here for. Come on; don't act as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. None of my other girlfriends object, and you're too old for scruples! You're lucky to get me, and you know it." Caithleen felt a strong nausea overcome her. She tried to get up but he held her hair and pushed a thumb in the corner of her mouth, and when her jaws parted he pushed his cock into her mouth. "Suck me," he said. "You love it." Caithleen hated it. He roughly pushed in and out of her mouth and he held her head and pushed in so deep she gagged. He didn't pay any attention to what she might feel, and when he had had enough of her mouth he grabbed her wrists hard and turned her around again. Then he bent her over, pushed her face into the mattress and fucked her ass. It hurt so much the tears ran down her face, and he kept pouring out what he thought were encouragements - she felt utterly filthy and contaminated. To cap her humiliation he eventually came over her face. "I'll bring a friend next time," he said when he had released her. "Then you can have us together. You're a good little fuck." Caithleen was flabbergasted. Fred apparently thought she had enjoyed the experience. The bloody insensitive bastard. She got up. "The toilet's downstairs?" she asked. He nodded and lit another cigarette. "Don't be too long," he said. "I'm not done with you yet." Caithleen hurried downstairs, collecting her clothes on the way. She used her handkerchief to wipe her face, dressed quickly and stole out of the house. Then she ran to her car and drove home. She took a long soak in the bath and brushed her teeth for at least five minutes. How could you have been so stupid, she thought. His other girlfriends - if only she hadn't contracted HIV... She saw her GP first thing in the morning. Doctor Stewart was an old friend of her father's, and she had known him visit them at home ever since she could walk. She briefly explained her predicament, and he listened and nodded. Then he sent her to the hospital for a series of blood tests; when the results were known she was relieved to hear that she wasn't HIV positive; she had contracted Chlamydia, though. "I will prescribe a course of antibiotics," doctor Stewart said. "My dear young lady, do watch out, please." She blushed deeply. If only she'd listened to Roseanne - but she had felt so good because of his looks and his youth... She told nobody apart from Roseanne, who shook her head but was sensitive enough not to tell her she'd told her so... They discussed men for a long time. The experience had served to make Caithleen remember vividly how fantastic the good years with Joey had been, and she felt deeply miserable, not so much because of Fred - he had proved a nonentity and a mistake she was happy to forget - but because all the sadness and the feeling of inadequacy that she had harboured for so long, and that had almost seemed overcome, came back with a vengeance. Life had seemed so great at one stage. She had been so happy - and Joey had been so happy, or so she'd thought. There must have been some nagging voice at the back of his mind even then? Roseanne upbraided her for thinking that way. She had liked Joey, too, and she felt certain that the happiness she had seen in those sunny days long ago had been unadulterated. "This way you're taking away the gloss from your own happy days; I don't think that's fair to either of you. I, for one, often envied you. I don't think I ever felt that kind of happiness. You really should count your blessings and not ruin you good memories." Caithleen sighed. "You're right, of course. But it's bloody hard anyway." "Besides, you're not forty yet. Life's still in front of you." Caithleen sniffed a little indignantly. "Yes, time enough to become an old maid." "Caithleen! Do pull yourself together - third time lucky!" "Third time miserable, more likely. Forget it, I'm fed up with everything. Joey's gone and I'll never get him back; and I don't want any more Freds." Roseanne shrugged. There wasn't anything she could do now. Hopefully this mood would wear off some time or other... It didn't really. Caithleen fell into a routine of hard work and early nights. She read a lot, but usually stuck to whodunits and nineteenth century classis, for modern novels too often reminded her sharply of all she'd lost. She thought of picking up her bass guitar again but decided against it as it would remind her too much of her days with Joey; instead she bought an alto recorder and a book of instructions and taught herself to play. Apart from Roseanne she hardly saw anyone, until her parents fell ill, one after the other. Her father was the first to start ailing, and she finally felt there was something to get involved in again. She arranged all necessary care for them, and went to her parent's house every weekend and half of her evenings as well. Her parents were very happy to have her around. Eventually they became completely dependent on her. The downward path continued for nearly three years and it was with a sad heart that Caithleen saw the deterioration in the people that were so dear to her. One morning in August she got a call from her father. He was completely devastated: her mother had gone to the toilet that morning, and on her way back she'd fallen in the hall. He had called 112 immediately but when they arrived all they could do was pronounce her dead. Caithleen dropped everything on hand. She packed a bag of clothes and necessaries and went to her parents' house at once. She competently dealt with everything. First she sorted out her dad, who felt completely lost without his wife; then she contacted the undertaker's. In the evenings the two of them tried to find the right music to play at the ceremony. It was a very companionable and even pleasant time, notwithstanding the sadness that had occasioned it, and they felt very close. Caithleen did feel a bit worried; sometimes it seemed as though her words didn't reach her father at all, and he looked even more fragile than usual. It took them some time, but at last they felt they had the right programme. They'd both written a speech, and read them to each other, and they were really happy with their preparations. It was only one more day till Friday when the burial would take place. On Friday morning Caithleen rose early. She showered and dressed. She went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast and then she went and knocked on her father's door. There was no reply. She knocked again, and when there was no reaction again she opened the door and went in. Her father lay in bed, on his side; she couldn't see any motion in his chest at all. This couldn't be true, she thought. But it was. It seemed as though all thoughts had fled from her mind. She blundered back into the kitchen and made herself a pot of strong coffee; when she had had a large mug of the bitter liquid she called Roseanne on her cell phone. Roseanne, who had been a little worried about her friend, came at once. "Alright," she said. "What have you done so far?" Caithleen looked at her and shook her head. Then she started to cry, for her mother, her father, Joey, herself... Roseanne held her in her arms and made soothing noises, and when Caithleen had calmed down a little she called the doctor and the undertaker's. At the ceremony both speeches were read by Roseanne; Caithleen was too dazed to be of much use. She experienced the period until her father's burial as a prolonged underwater affair, stifling and unreal, and if it hadn't been for Roseanne she would not even have managed to attend the burial. Roseanne was worried about her no end. The day after the burial she drove Caithleen to the doctor and asked him to sort her out. He talked to her for a long time, and prescribed an antidepressant. "But," he said, "I'd rather have you go away on holiday and get out of here for some time. Do something different, see something different - find something of interest!" It took Caithleen some time before she allowed herself to act on his advice. But eventually she booked a trip to Russia; she would fly to Moscow, spend three nights there, take the train to St Petersburg for another three nights and fly back. She got a visa and made all other necessary arrangements, and received lots of papers from the travel agency she'd booked with. There was a list of participants; most people came in pairs. One pair consisted of two men; there was only one other single, a man called Leonard Carr. She didn't know any of them, and she wasn't really interested. One Saturday in the middle of October Roseanne drove her to the airport. "Have a good time, girl," she said. "I'll try to," Caithleen said. She was not particularly looking forward to her trip, but it was worth giving it a try. There were various people on the plane that could be possible fellow travellers, but she couldn't be sure. I'll see, she thought, and then she sat back and opened her book. After a quiet flight it took the group a long time to reach their hotel. They were booked into hotel Cosmos, a huge building with a statue of Charles de Gaulle in front, and they had arrived so late that they had to take their luggage to their rooms straight away and find something to eat in one of the restaurants there. While Caithleen was wondering where to go she was accosted by a man who looked at her with a smile and said, "Would you mind if I join you? I'm Leonard Carr, and we seem to be the only loners in the group." She looked at him. He didn't seem too awful so she shook her head and held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said. "I'm Caithleen Ayers." They had pizza with some Russian beer. Leonard told her he had heard from friends that the trip was interesting, and so he had come to find out for himself. Caithleen nodded. She didn't talk too much about herself; it wouldn't do to think about her plight and fall into another of her black moods. But she felt she enjoyed listening to Leonard. He was intelligent and unassuming, and he managed to make her smile a couple of times. The next day they visited the Red Square. They marvelled at St. Basil's Cathedral and the Kremlin Wall with Lenin's mausoleum, and they had lunch at GUM. Caithleen wandered around the building for some time - she had been told the restaurants were on the upper floor, but she found it difficult to decide where to go - until she came across Leonard who was standing on one of the bridges spanning the aisles, admiring the view. "Hello," he said. "It's beautiful, isn't it? What a wonderful vault." He pointed at the glass roof. She nodded; it was. Leonard took a couple of photographs and then he said, "Have you had lunch yet?" Caithleen shook her head. "Let's find some place then," he said. They found a restaurant pretending to serve workers' fare; it was nice and not too expensive, and Caithleen found Leonard really entertaining. He lived near Nanpantan, and worked in Loughborough, and he was a bachelor by accident rather than inclination. He grinned a little when he said so and shook his head. Caithleen didn't ask him to elaborate on that; after all, they didn't really know each other and she had not come on the trip to get involved in other people's problems. She did tell him a little about her past few months. He listened carefully, and didn't offer any solutions; instead he told her how he'd experienced his own parents' deaths. "My brother and I were of little help to each other," he said. "I think you're very fortunate to have a friend like Roseanne." He sat thinking for some minutes. Then he nodded. "Yes," he said. "I really think you are. Friends like that are hard to come by. Shall we go and join the throng?" On the third evening they fell together again; they had had dinner and Leonard told her he would go and see the Red Square by night. Did she feel like coming? She did, and they went to the centre by underground. They entered the square under the arches. It was even more impressive than in the daytime. There had been some sleet that morning, but the weather had cleared during the afternoon, and the sky was bright. The buildings were lit. They walked past Kazan Cathedral - rather small but attractive - and looked at GUM with its outlines demarcated in lights, and at St Basil's floodlit domes. "Gosh," Leonard said, "this is even better than I'd expected." They walked the length of the square and then they went into GUM for a cup of coffee. The vaults were full of lights as well, and Leonard tried to take some pictures of it. "One or two will be ok, I hope," he said. "This is a good trip." They went to St Petersburg on a high-speed train; because they were the only single travellers they had been seated next to each other. Caithleen sat at the window, and she watched the rather dull landscape go past. She wished Leonard didn't live in the Midlands. If she could make him change places with Fred... She must have pulled a face at the thought, for Leonard asked her if she was feeling uncomfortable. "No," she said. "I'm sorry. I was just thinking..." "It can't have been something nice," Leonard said. "It wasn't your parents' deaths?" "No," she said. "No, it wasn't. I couldn't possibly tell you, I'm afraid." He nodded. "That's alright. I hope you won't let it spoil your day." She looked outside again. Leonard must have been looking at her, or he wouldn't have noticed. She turned to him again. "Don't you have any recesses in your mind where you rather wouldn't want to be but can't help but going sometimes?" "I suppose everyone has," he said. "When you're lucky someone will go there with you. You might ask Roseanne - you probably have." Third Time Lucky He was silent for a long time. "I sometimes try to exorcise my ghosts. But I'm not very good at it; they will sit on my shoulder at night." Then he unzipped his bag. "Would you like some chocolate?" he said. It was getting dark when they rode through St Petersburg on the way to Pribaltiyskaya Hotel. It didn't have the same variety in restaurants as their Moscow hotel, but there was a good Chinese restaurant on the corner of the road alongside it. They went there together to find one of the couples already having their meal. They said it was very enjoyable, and they sat down and ordered. "You don't seem too troubled by your ghosts," Caithleen said after they'd looked around for some time. Leonard looked at her quietly. "They are not too horrible," he said. "They're sad, rather. And I usually don't meet them in the daytime, or when I'm at work; but I may meet them in books, or scraps of poetry or bits of song, and they assail me when I can't sleep. Or perhaps it's the other way round; I've never been able to decide." "So what do you do to exorcise them?" He grinned. "I try to catch them in poetry - or verse, probably - and put them in their place. It helps, I think, but it doesn't suffice. I don't believe in psychologists and stuff. They wouldn't suffice either, and versifying is much nicer." He thought for a moment. "And just as ineffective." Their meal arrived and they wielded their chopsticks with inexperienced fingers. It wasn't too difficult, they decided, and they really enjoyed their meal; it was the best one they'd had in Russia so far. They ate in silence; eating took too much time and energy to conduct a conversation easily. Neither of them returned to the subject they'd been talking about; somehow they didn't dare risking the possible unburdening of oppressed feelings. Instead Caithleen told him a little about her home and work. When she told him she played the recorder he smiled. "I wish you lived in my neighbourhood," he said, "then we could make music together." He told her he played the lute. There were a good many pieces for lute and woodwinds, he said, and it might be nice to try. If music and sweet poetry agree... Caithleen raised her eyebrows. "One of your poems?" she asked. He shook his head. "Shakespeare," he said. "The Passionate Pilgrim." After their meal they walked to the shore but it was to cold and windy to be comfortable so they returned to the hotel and went to their respective rooms. Leonard felt tired; he really enjoyed Caithleen's company, and he wanted to give her all the attention she deserved. That was not easy, though, because she seemed to have many hidden depths he wasn't allowed to probe. But then, he thought, he wasn't any different in that respect. On the day before they were to fly back they had some time for themselves. Most people rushed to one of the eateries on Nevsky Prospect; Leonard and Caithleen stood looking down the long road. Then he asked her to come and have coffee in the old Singer building. The entered through the ornate art nouveau door and climbed the stairs to the first floor where they found a table at a large window overlooking the somewhat formal Cathedral of Our Lady of Kazan. They ordered coffee and shared a piece of carrot cake. It was a good place to be in, and they enjoyed the ambiance and the view. "Back home tomorrow," Caithleen ventured. "Yes. All good things end too soon. I enjoyed myself immensely. Thanks a lot for putting up with me." He smiled at her and shook his head. "Oh well," he said. "Did your ghosts come round again?" Leonard smiled at her a little crookedly. "I'd rather not talk about them now," he said. "I don't think I'd be too coherent if I tried." Caithleen felt a little hurt - but then, she thought, I'd do the same. "Will there be anyone meeting you tomorrow?" she asked. He shook his head. "My friend are too busy, and they live too far from the airport. I'll catch the train back. I still have one book left to read." She looked at his eyes but he was not looking at her; he sat staring into the distance. She finished her coffee. "Come," she said. "It's time to join the others." It was raining in London. The airplane taxied down the runway slowly, and everyone disembarked and went through customs. At the luggage belt they stood a little apart, waiting for their suitcases. Caithleen's suitcase was the first to arrive. She took it off the belt and waved at Leonard. "Bye, then," she said. "Goodbye, Caithleen." She could hardly hear his response; then she disappeared into the throng outside the luggage reclaim area where she was immediately picked up by Roseanne. "Welcome home," she said. Caithleen felt less listless and unhappy than before. The trip had done her a lot of good, and her contacts with Leonard had restored her faith in man a little. He was quite courteous, she thought, and not as cocksure as some other people she could mention. She told Roseanne about the highlights of her trip. "Met any nice people?" she wanted to know. "Yes, there was one nice man. He was single too, and we often did things together. He was nice to talk to." "He didn't make a pass at you?" Caithleen shook her head. She wasn't sure what she would have done if he had. "No. When you're on holiday things are different, aren't they? I wonder if he'd be just as nice in real life..." She would never know, she supposed. She had kept the list of group members, and there was his Leicestershire address... Hmm. She put into a file with the other papers, receipts and mementos. She had recovered enough to resume work, and that in itself did her as much good as the trip to Russia. It wasn't too long before she felt her old self, more or less, and she seldom thought of Leonard any more. When she did it was with pleasure, though. He sent her a card at Christmas; she also received cards of a few others. So it needn't be their contact then that made him send it, she thought. January brought a lot of work. Caithleen had to do a lot more than she liked, but it was a temporary fluke and she settled back to a normal rhythm by the end of it. In the week preceding February 14 there was the usual torrent of ads, trying to get you to buy your lover roses, or sexy underwear, or a candle-lit meal... Like Christmas it was one of those days better forgotten when you were single. Caithleen went to work as usual and ignored the conversation of a few of her co-workers who were telling each other about their friends' or husbands' attentions. She came home to find a letter on her doormat. There was a single card in the envelope. It showed a detail of a medieval portrait of Maria: two birds cooing in a rosebush. It was a beautiful picture, she thought. Then she turned the card over. There was a poem on the reverse, without an address or signature. It was in small letters and read: Clear eyes that speak of happiness & light And sweetly smile upon the world, and show In their calm vision all I need to know To be contented in a face so bright. Hard light diffused, the raging world gone mute, Lean years forgotten in a brilliant spring: Each new day's warmer and the blackbirds sing Extolling joy, life's winter to refute. Now if you'd smile on me, my barren heart And tired eyes would brighten with your shine, Your heart my beacon and your gaze a sign - Essential to my world, you're Cupid's dart Replete with love, my fate, my inner shrine, Seductress, saint - the one true dream of mine. Hmm. She started her computer and fed the first line into Google. Almost 4 million hits, but no exact ones. She added double quotation marks. No hits whatsoever. Leonard had told her he sometimes dabbled in verse. Perhaps he had written it? But of course in that case he could send it to any girl he thought might allow him to woo her. She reread the verse. It sounded positive enough. What if he'd really written it for her? She shook her head and put it on the mantelpiece. A few days later Roseanne came round for a chat. She saw the card and commented on the picture. "It is a Valentine," Caithleen commented. "Who is it from?" "I'm not sure. It's a poem, but... Oh well, I just don't know." "Can I have a look?" "Be my guest." Roseanne carefully read the poem. "Gosh," she said. "How nice." Caithleen shrugged. "It's alright in a way, I suppose. He may have sent it to lots of girls, though." "Of course not." "Why not?" "Well, I would go for him with a rolling pin if he sent it to me." "And you tell me it's nice? There's being consistent for you." "You mean to say you've not noticed? It's an acrostic! You can't send those to everyone," Roseanne said. "Look!" She put the card in front of Caithleen who sat at the table with her head in her hands. She looked at it again; she saw and closed her eyes for a moment. "Oh, damn," she said. "Oh, I never noticed." "It's from your Russian, I suppose?" "He's from the Midlands, silly." "Wherever," Roseanne said. "But it was written for you, and it's a love poem, and that's for sure. And I don't think he can have written lots of these to bother random women." Caithleen sat thinking of the trip to Russia. The more she did so the more certain she was Leonard must be the addressee. "Now what do I do with it?" she said. "What would you like to do?" "I would like to find out what he's like when he not on holiday. He was a little like a cross between my father when he was young, and Joey, and something entirely different..." "You know what? Let's compose some verse together and send it. You make ask him to make a date, and if it isn't him he won't know who sent it anyway. Right?" They went to work at once, giggling and quarrelling good-naturedly, and having a lot of fun. Eventually they came up with a poem that seemed alright to both of them. Oh Midlands boy, I like your verse full well "Isn't that too old-fashioned?" Roseanne said. "He quoted Shakespeare," Caithleen said. "He won't mind" Provided that it is the truth you tell - If not it is one giant step to hell If what you say is true I'd like to see You in a middle place that's safe to me So we may find out if perhaps there'll be Some future for us here? You will know who Has done this verse and sent it out to you; Do not react unless your verse is true. They took it to the post that same Tuesday afternoon, still giggling and light-headed, trying to predict what Leonard's reaction would be. Then Caithleen took Roseanne out for tea, and she promised to let Roseanne know if and when she heard anything from him. On Thursday evening Caithleen got the call she hoped for. "Hello Caithleen," a well-known voice said. " Thank you for your poetic invitation. I will very happily meet you on some safe middle ground. Have you any suggestion to make?" Caithleen had. They arranged to meet that weekend in a small town roughly half way, in front of the town hall. That Saturday Caithleen got up with some trepidation. She'd lain awake half the night wondering what she let herself in for, wishing she hadn't invited him and then glad she had, and now she wondered if anyone could like her at all - she'd never found herself exactly beautiful, and as she was well over forty... It was unpleasantly hot in the bathroom. She had had a long shower, and her hair was damp. She stood naked in front of the mirror and examined herself critically. Her breasts sagged a little, but her bras would take care of that, and she thought they were still ok. She turned to the side so she could look at her stomach, and made a face. Joey had always said he loved her figure - nice and plump, and nothing like those fashion models you sometimes saw on the catwalk. She sighed. That was all well and good, but when did one cross the line from plump to stout? She put on her underwear and went to the wardrobe. It took her some time to find the old jeans she was looking for; she looked at them with some misgivings. Much to her surprise the legs still fitted nicely, and she could close the waistband, albeit with some difficulty. Not too bad, girl, she thought. She looked at her face. There were some slight bags under her eyes, and lines at the corners. There was a hint of grey in her hair, too. She grimaced again. Then she tried smiling, and sighed. She didn't think she was too unattractive - but you could never see yourself through other people's eyes. Besides - it was all very well to stand here wondering, but she didn't even know if Leonard was really physically interest in her. He was quite nice. He was actually so nice that she had slept badly for thinking about him... Now what could she wear over those trousers? She rummaged through her tops. Of course - the Warhol t-shirt. She'd never worn that one again after her first time with Joey; if Leonard liked it that would be a good sign. She finished it off with a red flannel shirt that she left unbuttoned. She sighed deeply - she really felt like a teenager on her first date, torn between two opposites... Pull yourself together, girl, she thought. It will be alright. They'd arranged to meet in front of the town hall. When she walked down the square a little voice inside her said that he wouldn't be there, but her heart started to beat faster when she saw him standing there, looking at the people around him, obviously as eager to see her as she was to see him. When he caught sight of her his face broke into a broad smile, and he waved at her while he quickly walked her way. "Caithleen," he said as he took her hand, "I was afraid you might change your mind - thank you for coming!" She grinned at him. "Hallo. Shall we find some place to have coffee first? I'd love to sit and talk for a long time." "There is a nice place very near," he said. "Let's go." When Caithleen took off her coat he looked appreciatively at her t-shirt. "I've got that picture in an album sleeve," he said. "I never play it anymore because I bought the original albums later. But the sleeve is fantastic." Caithleen smiled. So he did like it, too. Good. They settled down at a window table and ordered coffee and cakes. Leonard gave her a bunch of pictures. "These are the better ones," he said. "This is the best one of the lot, I think -" and he took a picture from the stack that showed her own face, smiling happily while looking at the domes of the Kremlin. She'd never noticed he'd taken that; she'd been too busy enjoying the sights. "You look absolutely stunning in this one," he said. "Thank you," Caithleen said. she looked at the photograph critically, but she could understand what he meant. She looked happy and quite at ease. "I'd like to thank you for your poem," she said after some time. "I didn't realise at first that my name was in it; when Roseanne drew my attention to it I realised it was not just something that could have been aimed at anyone." She looked at Leonard pensively. "If you are serious about your poem, I'd better tell you a little about myself first," she said. "And if that doesn't make you feel I'm too difficult or not to your liking, I would like to know some more about your ghosts." Leonard nodded. "The recesses in our minds." "If we are to be anything together we can't afford to have too many of those," Caithleen said. Then she took a deep breath and told Leonard how she'd arrived where she was now. He was a good listener, she thought. To her relief he didn't but in with all kinds of suggestions, and he didn't laugh in the wrong places. He sat looking at her with a hand under his chin, sometimes nodding, sometimes shaking his head, and when she came to the really painful part of her misguided liaison with Fred he looked at her hands and allowed her to talk on without feeling his eyes on her; he didn't seem to want to pry. Caithleen told him how embarrassed she'd been when she realised she'd been simpering and grateful for having a young and strapping lover and Leonard was struck by Caithleen's honesty. He wondered if he would have been brave enough to relate it; but then, he thought, it was obviously bad luck for her to have come across a creep like that. When she'd told him all she had to tell she concluded, "And this is why I sojourn here, alone and palely loitering..." She looked at him earnestly. "I've been a mess for a long time. My trip to Russia did me a huge lot of good, and I think you were largely instrumental in that. But I'm still rather insecure, and I had to tell myself it would be alright a couple of times this morning. If you want to back out..." He shook his head. "My turn, then?" She nodded. "Let's have some more coffee first." When they'd been served she said, "Here goes, then." "Yes. Well, first, there's my family. I have just the one brother; we never seem to see eye to eye. He can be somewhat pushy sometimes, and he thinks he has a right to - well, to anything the family acquired over the years. I'm afraid I do resent that a little, even though I didn't stop him from getting his way. But I didn't think it was worth the inevitable quarrels and shouting matches; so I'd just give in. I hardly ever see him nowadays. It saves a lot of trouble, and yet it doesn't feel too right." He took a swig of his coffee. "Then there is my personal life. I er - well, talking about messing things up, I really managed to do so. When I was at university I had a succession of girlfriends that came to absolutely nothing. We hardly touched, let alone kissed, all because I was far too shy. I suppose they must have either been hugely disappointed in me or had a good laugh at me - I must have been cause for both. "I grew up with a confused jumble of ideas about courteousness and good behaviour, and my contacts were quite platonic, and no one put me wise to the idea that even girls might like to get physical sometimes, too. Then, eventually, I got a girlfriend that obviously did; she put the thing to practice. It felt rather frightening to me and it was such a shock that I fled. I never contacted her again; I still feel hot with shame when I think of how cowardly I behaved. Apart from that, I have regretted the lost opportunity ever after; I never met anyone like her again..." He shook his head. "After a long time I fell in love; we married and made life a misery for each other. It wasn't long before there was no rapport left, either emotional or physical. That was when the ghost of my lost chances started to plague me; the fact that I had only myself to blame doesn't really help. We got divorced, eventually. Thank god there were no children; we only ruined each other's lives, not anyone else's." He smiled a little ruefully, and concluded, "Since then I have more or less kept myself to myself. I haven't touched a woman ever since. The women around me are of no interest to me, and I tried to convince myself for a long time that I didn't need anybody, and that I was perfectly happy. I thought I had succeeded; but when we stood talking on that bridge in GUM I realised that I hadn't, and I went to sleep that night with your eyes on my retina. It was quite exciting and pleasant. It was also disturbing and very frightening, and I realised, too, that you were quite out of reach then. Since then you have been on my mind most of time." He lifted his cup to his mouth but found to his surprise that he'd finished it already. "It's a little silly, but sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd met you before. But I realise that you'd probably not have been interested and that I would have messed thing up if you had."