0 comments/ 74721 views/ 10 favorites There is a Time and Place By: Starlight Looking back now it seems bizarre that it could ever have happened. How could my parents have used me so? How could I have been so pliant, so yielding to their appeal? It seems like something out of another age, a time when girls were bargaining objects for family enhancement and useful connections. But I get ahead of things, so let me introduce myself. At the beginning of my story, I was Dallas Reeves-Eyre. My early life was lived in what was generally referred to as “The Family Home.” On the big gates at the entrance to our drive, there was a sign that read, “The Oaks,” but none of the family or our servants used that name. It was always, “The Family Home.” The land was bought and the house built, by my great grandfather, Septimus Reeves. The “Eyre” came later when my grandfather, Bryan Reeves, married Emily Eyre, a formidable lady of independent spirit who was not going to see her name lost. Septimus Reeves made a fortune in mining, but when my grandfather took up the family reins, the mining became less important, and other investments became prominent. Both Septimus and Bryan Reeves must have been very shrewd men of business, because by the time my father, Clive, took over affairs, our assets must have been very substantial. I can recall that when I was very young we had a cook, two housemaids and a general handyman working for us. My life was lived in a very loving environment and childhood was a happy time. The big problem was my father. He was a very kind and gentle man, but had no head for business. Although it was not revealed to me for a long time, our fortunes must have been in steady decline for some years. It was when I was about fifteen years old that I began to notice things. Paintings that had always hung on the walls began to disappear. The silver candelabra that had been used at dinner parties were no longer in evidence. I noticed my mother no longer wore her jewelry, and when I asked about these things, I was fobbed off with answers like, “Oh, we just thought we’d make a change.” Then one of the house maids left – I suppose dismissed is the correct term – to be replaced by a “Daily,” who in fact only came three times a week for a couple of hours. Then the cook and handyman went and mother took over the cooking. By then, it was obvious that we were in what my father called, “Queer Street.” The poor man had run the family fortune down to the point where soon we would have to sell up. Another of what my mother called, “our economies,” was one that touched on me directly. At the age of sixteen, I was moved from a very expensive girl’s school, or “Ladies College,” as they called it, to the local high school. Here I mingled with boys for the first time, and had my first sexual experience was with a lad called Gordon, who managed to split my hymen very painfully, so that I was deterred from further sexual experimenting for some time after. The situation had now become obvious to me; we were broke. Mother was grey faced and father obviously losing weight. The last housemaid had gone and mother was now trying to cope with the huge house with the help of two daily women. One afternoon, just after I got in from school, my mother said, “Daddy’s got a visitor with him in the office. Take these things into them, will you?” It was some refreshments on a tray. I entered the office to find my father with a slightly pudgy looking man about forty years of age. I put the tray down on the desk and was about to leave when my father said, “Dallas, this is Mr.Goldwood. My daughter, Dallas, Samuel.” Mr.Goldwood looked up from some papers he was studying and fixed a probing stare on me. “Hello, Dallas,” he said in the rumbling sort of voice. “Hello, Mr.Goldwood,” I said, returning his stare. I turned and began to leave the room, and as I reached the door, I heard Mr.Goldwood say to my father, “Fine, healthy looking girl you’ve got there, Clive.” I shut the door and heard no more. I thought no more about Mr.Goldwood until a week later he turned up again, this time staying for dinner. From then on, he would appear in our house two or three times a week. He began to engage me in conversation, asking me a lot of questions, some of them rather personal, about my health, my education, what sort of things I liked to do. I had long before learned that adults can ask some pretty silly questions, but I had never been interrogated in this fashion. He seemed forever seeking my company and at first, I thought he was just a dirty old man who had a fancy for young girls. I was soon to find out that there was more to it than that. One Sunday afternoon my mother asked me to go with her to the office. Sitting down, she began, “Darling, you know we are in a bad way financially?” “Yes.” “Daddy has had a lot of bad luck with his investments (a lot of bad judgement I thought). He owes a lot of money, most of it to Mr.Goldwood. If we can’t pay him soon we shall have to sell the house, and you know how that would break daddy’s heart.” “Yes.” I couldn’t see where this was going. “Darling, Mr.Goldwood has expressed an interest in you.” “He certainly hangs around me enough.” “You see, sweetheart, he wants to marry you.” “He what?” “Wants to marry you.” “Mother, he’s an old man, at least forty, and I can’t get married, I’m only sixteen.” “Well, yes you can, darling, if mummy and daddy sign a paper to say we agree.” “But you wouldn’t do that, would you?” “It depends, darling.” “Depends on what?” “Whether you think you could marry Mr.Goldwood.” “I certainly could not. I’m not marrying an old man. I don’t even like him much any way.” “He’s very rich, Dallas.” “I don’t care if he is rich, I’m not marrying him.” “Darling, he’s told us that if you marry him, daddy can forget about the money he owes, and even more, he will attend to our investments in the future.” So, that was it. I was to be payment for the debt. That was the “bride price”, family freedom from debt. My mother went on, “We have just two weeks to repay Mr.Goldwood. If we can’t, everything goes. We shall literally have nothing.” It was hard to believe this was happening. It was like something out of the Middle Ages. “Couldn’t we find some way to get the money?” I asked. “Darling, daddy’s tried everything. It isn’t a few thousand, you know, it’s nearer three million.” “Three million!” I exploded. How did we get three million in debt?” “Interest, darling. Daddy borrowed most of the money from Mr.Goldwood, and the interest has just mounted up. Please, sweetheart, do think about the situation seriously. Mr.Goldwood is not really old, and you would be set up for life married to him. You’d want for nothing, he’s promised us that.” So, it had got that far. They had actually reached the bargaining stage over my young carcass. “Would you let Mr.Goldwood speak to you about it, Dallas?” “He can speak to me if he likes, but my answer will still be ‘no’.” “Just listen to what he has to say, Dallas.” Two days later I found myself alone with Mr.Goldwood. He came straight to the point. “Dallas, I know your mother has spoken to you about my wish to marry you.” “Yes, she has, Mr.Goldwood.” “Let’s make it Samuel, shall we?” “If you wish.” “I won’t prevaricate with you, Dallas. I want a woman, a young healthy woman. One who can give me a son. I have a lot of wealth and I want a son who can inherit it.” On the first count of his wanting a woman, I had no difficulty understanding. On the second count of his wanting a son, I was shocked. I saw myself at seventeen giving birth and did not care for the idea. On the third count of his wanting a son to inherit, I thought that sounded like something from the Dark Ages.” Why not a daughter inheriting?” I thought, but said nothing. He went on, “I can give you this promise, Dallas, as soon as you provide me with a son, I shall not bother you again, if you know what I mean?” “You mean, if I give you a son you won’t be sexually interested in me any more?” “Certainly. There is only one purpose in the male-female sexual act, to produce offspring. So in that respect, you will be virtually free of me once you have given me what I want. You will, of course, continue to live in my house and, when a little older, take over its management. In addition, you shall be well provided for on my death. I am prepared to sign a contract to these effects, if it is your wish.” To a sixteen year old girl, having got her ideas of love, romance and marriage from books and television, it all sound a bit weird, and somewhat cold. Looking at Samuel, I tried to imagine him lying on top of me pumping in his baby making fluid. It was not a pleasing picture. On the other hand, his offer had its temptations. The thought that I should be a member of a thoroughly impoverished family did not appeal in the slightest. The idea that I should have a baby at seventeen years of age was not welcome, but I did not object to having a baby per se. It was just that I had thought of that taking place somewhere in my middle to late twenties, if I had thought of it at all. Still an immature girl, the one feature that stood out in his offer was his wealth. The thought that I would be able to tap into that was a big plus for Samuel. I saw myself in expensive clothes and driving an exotic sports car. For special occasions, I would, of course, resort to the chauffeur driven Rolls Royce. And so my thoughts ran on, through dinner parties, boxes at the theatre and concerts, and all those things money can buy. Yes, Samuel’s money was a very big plus. It was such a big plus, I agreed to marry Samuel, and to his credit, he began to keep his word right from the beginning. My father’s debt was wiped out and further money added but under Samuel’s control. As well as this, on the day of our wedding he presented me with an investment portfolio from which I could draw the interest. Even more, he said he would make a regular allowance payable into any bank I nominated. Whatever other complaints I might have about Samuel, I must in all fairness say he was extremely generous and kept to his word. Then came the moment for me to keep my side of the bargain, the baby making operation. I neither loved nor loathed Samuel, and I looked upon sexual activity with him as a duty. Whatever I had expected on the first night, it was certainly not what I got. I suppose that I had the idea that the first night with an attractive young woman would inspire a frenzy of lust. It was not so. Samuel did not kiss me, touch my breasts, which glands had been much admired by the boys at school, and of which I felt justly proud. To put is shortly, there was no foreplay of the sort I had read about. He could barely get an erection, and when he tried to insert his not overly large and marshmallow like organ into me, I was too dry for him to penetrate. As if he had anticipated this eventuality, he reached to the cabinet beside the bed, and took a small bottle from it. Taking off the top he said, “This might fix it,” and commenced rubbing some sort of oil into my vagina. That done, he made another attempt on me and at least partially succeeded. I was not sure how long men took to ejaculate, but Samuel seemed to go on trying for hours (it was probably only half an hour). He kept losing his erection, and gave the distinct impression he had no taste for what he was doing. At last, he managed to dribble into me (I discovered later, that most men could do a lot better than dribble). He rolled back off me with a sigh, not of satisfied sexual desire, but of relief that it was over. I think I was more bewildered than disappointed. I thought to myself, “My God, is it going to be like that every time?” The answer was, “Yes.” Samuel never improved on his first night performance. I began to think, “We’ll never make a baby at this rate.” Amazingly, we did make a baby, and quickly. I think his first night drip into me might well have produced the little spermatozoa that won the race to my egg. Within two months I was able to announce, with medical confirmation, I was pregnant. Samuel promptly removed himself not only from my bed, but my bedroom. He took up nocturnal residence in a room the other side of our vast house. I wondered if he thought that the distance between our bedrooms might deter me from journeying to his bed in order to rape him. As it was, I had no such intention. I was as relieved as he was that our connubial bliss was over. There was only one cloud on the horizon. From the start, the child in my womb was “He” as far as Samuel was concerned. I thought, “Suppose it is a ‘She’, does that mean we start all over again?” At that time, of course, the means to determine the gender of an unborn child was not available, so the mystery would not be solved until it made its entrance into the world. It was at this time that I discovered the reason why Samuel was such a lethargic and unhappy lover. What I came to call, “Pretty young men,” began to appear in the house. Sometimes I was introduced, sometimes not. Occasionally they stayed for dinner and beyond the time I went to bed, and were even seen breakfasting in the morning. At first, these arrivals puzzled me, and then I noticed something that upset my female ego. I was in the habit of expecting young men to take a special interest in me. After all, I had been told enough times that I was “pretty,” “attractive” and even “fantastic looking.” So, why were these youths unmoved by my charms? I finally realised; they were Samuel’s gay lovers. So, that was why Samuel had shown signs of aversion to my body. I must admit that it was with a sense of contentment that I saw now that if I did produce a son, I would have no more dribbles from Samuel. Strangely, when I knew I was pregnant, all my thoughts of sports cars and fine clothing seemed to fall into the background. I began at first to be interested in the “It”, that I carried, then later I began to love it. At night I would lay on back with my hands over my swelling stomach, hoping to feel the child move. I would talk to it, telling it I loved and wanted it. Samuel, for all his pleasures with his pretty young men, was very careful of my welfare. A month before the baby was due a nursemaid, Anne, was hired. He even asked me did I want a wet nurse for the baby. I thought they had gone out with Queen Victoria, but I protested most strongly that I, and no one else, would suckle my infant. Samuel gave up that idea. The best medical advisors were retained; a bed in an obscenely expensive hospital was on standby. Anything that would smooth the way to a successful outcome was acquired, bought or demanded by Samuel. Looking back now, I am amazed at the aplomb with which a seventeen-year old girl coped with all this. I must have been a very precocious young woman. The child was born, thanks be to the gods, a boy. Samuel was delighted with “his son.” Actually, I decided that as I had done most of the work, he was “my son”. Samuel was but a rather unsatisfactory auxiliary. Samuel wanted to name the boy Samuel Zebediah, but I created such a fuss he relented and we ended up with Robert Clive. After the first flush of joy over Robert’s birth, Samuel seemed to lose interest. I saw less and less of him. Sometimes we had dinner together, and very occasionally, I met him at breakfast with one of his pretty young men. Sexually he never approached me again. It was left to Anne and I to raise Robert. From the first time I suckled him at my breast, I knew I had made the right choice in refusing the wet nurse. I found feeding him both pleasurable and bonding. He was a bright light in my life, and I have never loved anything or anyone, before or since, as I love Robert. When he was weaned, I began to feel I needed to be doing something more with my life. My decision was to take up my interrupted education. With the nursemaid Anne taking over in my absence, I attended a local Adult College that catered for older students. So as not to keep me away from Robert too long, I took a couple of subjects at a time, eventually completing my high school qualifications. At the age of five, Robert started school, being sent to an extremely expensive establishment nearby. I proceeded on to university taking a general Arts Course, again limiting my subjects in order to be around for Robert. My really close times with Robert were early in the morning and when he went to bed. When breast feeding him it was my habit to give him his first feed of the day while I was still in bed. Once weaned I continued to take him into bed with me when he woke up. Once he began to talk, we used the time to chat about what he was going to do that day. As he became more vocal, it became a time for more serious talk about friends, school and life in general. We called it “Morning talk time”. The other close time was bedtime, when I would read him a story and we would talk over the day. Once Robert was of school age Samuel began to take an interest. Clearly, Robert was to be groomed to take over Goldwood Finance. As far as education was concerned, nothing but the best would do. So when Robert reached the age of ten Samuel announced he would be sent as a boarder to the most prestigious school in the country, I was shocked and horrified. “I put his name down for a place the day he was born,” Samuel announced. This he had done without any consultation with me. He had not even told me he had done this. Samuel and I had very few quarrels, probably because we saw so little of each other, each of us leading our lives in our own way. Now we did have a quarrel, or more accurately, a blazing row. No one was going to take my beloved Robert away from me. The thought of not seeing him for weeks and weeks was more than I was prepared to accept. The detail of the rows need not bother us now. Sufficient to say, Robert went to the school, but as what they called, “A Day Boy.” Anne and I moved into a house in the vicinity of the school, and Robert came and went to school much as he had been doing up to that point. Perhaps a note on Anne is in order. Robert was, of course, long past the time when he needed a “Nanny”, but Anne, being close to my own age, stayed on with me as a sort of companion and general help. She had been around for Robert when I was at university and did not get home at the same time as Robert. I think her love for Robert was nearly as great as mine, and she was very devoted to me. I went on from my university Arts course to study Business Management. I had in mind that Samuel was many years older than I, and might well die before Robert was of an age to take over, if he ever did. Robert entered those years when all the hormones are racing and roaring around. He no longer came into my bed, but sat alongside for our talk. I couldn’t help noticing that he often had erections in the early morning. I think Robert was about fourteen when during one of our morning talks he asked outright, “Why do you and dad sleep in separate rooms?” I was a bit flustered by his question, but as we had always spoken the truth to each other, I explained, without going into too much detail, that we had no sexual interest in each other. “Does that mean that you don’t have sexual feelings?” Robert went on, pursuing his first question. “No, darling.” “You mean you do have sexual feelings but don’t do…you don’t fu…you know?” “I think what you are trying to ask me is, do I have sexual intercourse?” “Yes.” “The answer is, ‘yes I do’.” “Who with?” “I can’t tell you that, darling.” He was quiet for a moment, than asked, “Doesn’t dad mind?” “I don’t go out of my way to tell him, but if he did know I don’t think he’d care.” I suppose it was inevitable that Robert would have these questions, and embarrassing though they had been, I was glad he felt able to ask them of me outright, instead of letting them fester inside him. I hoped that the subject would now be closed, but I hoped in vain. There is a Time and Place It was about two weeks later, and during another of our morning talks, Robert touched on the subject again. “Mother, are you in love with the man you have sexual intercourse with?” “Not exactly, darling.” “Aren’t you supposed to be in love with someone you have sex with?” “Well, I think that is probably the loveliest way to have sex.” “Why do you have sex if you don’t love the men you have it with?” “Darling, your mother does have sexual needs, and its not always very satisfactory if you only masturbate.” We had not used that word in our talks before, but I was sure that he masturbated himself, but what word he used for it I did not know. I was hoping desperately that he was familiar with the word so I wouldn’t have to explain. The indications were that he did know what it meant. “Yes, I know,” he said, then went on, “Have you ever really loved anyone?” “Yes.” “Who?” “You should know the answer to that, my love. It’s you.” He became very thoughtful, but did not pursue the subject further. The lovers I had taken over the years had been mainly my fellow university students. I always made it clear that nothing permanent could come out of the liaison, and the longest time I had with one lover was two years. Always I was very circumspect. The one person who was aware of the more intimate details of my love life, was Anne. She had lovers of her own, and together we shared the joys and woes of our love lives. Remembering the horny young boys at high school and the sexual fumbling that went on, usually in the most uncomfortable environments, I discussed with Anne the matter of Robert’s sexual development. “It always seems pretty hard on them,” I said, referring to the sexual development in general, “that at the time they are feeling most virile, and when they probably need some strong guidance in sexual matters, there is so little available to them.” Anne gave a strange smile and said, “Don’t worry, I think Robert will be all right.” During the school vacations, we returned to the big house so that Samuel could see something of his son. It was during one vacation when Robert was sixteen that I first noticed that Samuel seemed to be getting ailments, like coughs and colds that did not go away. He looked tired and drawn. When I asked about this he just said, “Just a bit run down.” When we arrived home for the following vacation, I was horrified when I saw Samuel. He was white faced and looked almost skeletal. I questioned him more firmly this time, and he said, “The doctor’s don’t seem to know what’s wrong with me, and none of their treatments are working. I feel utterly worn out, and I don’t think I can cope with the business much longer.” Although Samuel and I had lived very separate lives, and there had never been any love between us, I felt a sense of responsibility. It was decided that at the end of the vacation, Anne would go back with Robert and I would stay with Samuel. Anne and Robert seemed delighted with this arrangement, much to my motherly annoyance. In the following weeks Samuel got steadily worse. There were no more pretty young men calling, and one morning, cornering one of his doctors, as he was about to leave, I asked him what was wrong with Samuel. “To be truthful, Mrs.Goldwood, we don’t know. He is totally resistant to all the medication we have tried. We can find nothing organically wrong, so an operation is out of the question. I have to tell you to expect the worst.” It was some years later that medical science was able to give a name to the condition. When Robert was seventeen Samuel died. Apart from a few bequests, and some further additions to my investment portfolio, everything was left to Robert, to be held in trust by me until he was twenty-five. Samuel had realised he was dying, and not long before death took place, he had briefly discussed with me the arrangement of his will. He felt that I would be unable to cope with the complexities of his business, which in reality was a combination of his own investments, which were vast, investment advice for a fee and good old fashioned money lending. “You can trust Coates,” he said. “Be advised by him.” Coates was the accountant Samuel employed, and I had heard Samuel say that he was quite a shrewd head in his own right. When after Samuel’s death I conferred with Mr.Coates, he said, “It is mainly investments. “Samuel was always bent on increasing his holdings, and did it very effectively, but if you are content with the present state of the business, and have no great interest in expanding your assets, just leave things as they are. It should take only a small amount of oversight to maintain things at their present level, and even if some investments do go down, others are likely to rise.” It was a holding position, and I felt that my study of business management had given me sufficient knowledge to keep things going at the level Mr.Coates had suggested. So taking Samuel’s word that Coates was to be trusted, and giving him a substantial increase in his salary, I left him to oversee the running of Goldwood Finance. I returned to living with Robert and Anne, and somewhat to my chagrin, they seemed to have had a very happy time in my absence. Robert now had less than a year to attend the school, and when that came to an end we could return to the big house, and then he would go on to university. My need to attend the office occasionally, and the necessity of dealing with some paper work connected to Goldwood Finance, made life a bit busier than in the past, so I did not see quite as much of Robert as I had done. The morning and evening talks, that both now took place in my bedroom, had become curtailed, as he was increasingly busy with his final year studies. When Robert completed his final school year, there was a three-month gap between the end of school and his start at university. It was early in this period when he came into my bedroom one morning looking very solemn. “Something very important today, mum. I have to tell you something, and I hope I’m not going to upset you.” This sounded very ominous and almost without thinking I reverted to our pattern of many years before, and pulled aside the bedclothes to invite him to get into bed with me. He was wearing a dressing gown, and he slipped this off, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath he was wearing only boxer shorts, and they did nothing to hide his morning erection. He stood for a moment as if deciding whether he should get in beside me or not. I gazed at him as he stood there, and the thought overwhelmed me, “My God, what a beautiful man I made.” He was totally unlike Samuel both in looks and character. In fact, he looked very much like my paternal grandfather, Bryan Reeves. From wide shoulders his torso tapered down to narrow hips. He was tall and muscular with clear clean skin. I felt a strange lurching sensation in my stomach, followed by a dull ache in my lower abdomen. He seemed to decide, and dropped into bed beside me and snuggled up like he used to. I felt a sweet but disquieting throbbing sensation start in my clitoris. “Something special, is it?” I asked, trying to control my emotions and make my voice sound natural. “Yes.” “Out with it, darling.” I later wondered whether this was a Freudian slip, as I could feel the pressure of his hard manhood against my upper thigh, and I was starting to lubricate copiously. “Dad always expected me to take over Goldwood Finance one day, didn’t he?” Samuel had always made that abundantly clear. It had been one of his disappointments that Robert had proved more interest and successful in subjects like math and science, than the more business oriented subjects at school. I replied, “Yes, darling. I think the fact that he has left the business to you indicates that.” “Mother, I don’t want to go into the finance business.” “What do you want to do, darling?” I asked. “I want to become a civil engineer.” Certainly, Samuel would have been bitterly disappointed, since against all his sexual instincts he had gone to the trouble to produce a son specifically to take over from him. I thought, “Thank God he’s not alive, because there would be the most almighty rows if he was.” I had been lying on my back, but in making my answer to Robert, I turned on my side to face him. This might be classified as a mistake. My nightdress had ridden up so that it no longer covered my genital region, and my move brought his penis into contact with me at the top of my thighs. Now struggling to keep my voice steady and my body from shaking, I battled with myself to answer him. “Darling, your father would have been very upset, but he’s no longer here, is he?” “But what about you, how do you feel?” “My God! How did I feel?” If only he knew how he was working me up into a sexual frenzy. My own son, and I was lusting for him.” “How I feel is not really important, my love. If you are sure you want to be a civil engineer, then that is what you must do.” I wanted to give him sound advice, but it was incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything but my burning sexual need, but I somehow struggled on. “You have time. It’s another seven years before you would need to enter on the business. Why not try yourself out.” (“On me my sweet boy”) “Study at the School of Engineering for a year, then if you change your mind, you can take up other courses instead” (“Oh Robert, take me up now”). I won’t be upset whichever direction you choose to go in.” (“As long as you come in my direction and never change that course, dear love”). It was mad. It was as if there were two people inside me carrying on parallel conversations, one of which was spoken aloud, and the other going on in my head. This was the most disconcerting experience of my life. I freely confess that I had considered Robert as a lover, but never consciously as a lover for me. I had thought what pleasure some lucky girl was going to get from his beautiful body and obvious virility. That I should now be actually not only weighing him up as a lover, but was hungering for him myself, was a life-shaking occurrence. After this experience, my relationship with Robert could never be quite the same again. I had seen or been shown, an aspect of myself that could not be denied. My passionate love for him as a mother had spilled over, to became the sensuous love of a woman. In the midst of this turmoil of mind, I heard Robert speaking. “Thank you, mother.” I caught a tone in his voice that frightened me. It was his voice, but it had that in it, which I had never heard before. Despite his hard shaft pressing to within a few centimetres of my sexual organ, his body against mine, I suppose I had been counting on him to control the situation. He sounded ardent and sensuous. I looked into his eyes and saw there the fires of his passion. One overt sexual move from either of us would explode into erotic coupling. As he spoke his words of thanks, he leaned over to kiss me on the lips. We had, of course, often kissed, but not quite like this. It was not forceful but soft and tender, yet it had all the passionate fervor of sexual desire. The pressure of his hard young manhood against me increased, and I was lost. No word was said. It was as if we both knew what must now be, or the moment might be lost forever. I let my lips part to admit his tongue, and he explored the depths and crevices, tasting my saliva, and I his. Through the thin fabric of my nightdress, I felt his hand start to explore my breasts, gently drawing up from the base of my breast until reaching the nipple, he tenderly squeezed it. Then, discontented with the barrier of cloth, he slipped my nightdress over my head and dropped it on the floor. He stopped caressing my breasts for a moment, and sat looking at me. He had never seen me naked before, and now his eyes seem to take in every physical particle of me. His voice was a murmur of love and awe. He spoke as if in some holy, sacred place. “Oh God, I didn’t know you were so beautiful.” Leaning over me, he continued his caresses, at the same time taking a nipple into his mouth, suckling me as he did when a baby. A dark voice deep inside me cried out, “Resist, resist,” but my powers of resistance had fled. They had run before the insistent and relentless demand of my body, “I shall be fulfilled.” It had now been months since my last coupling with man, and now I was with a man - and what a beautiful man! – whom I had loved from birth. Robert had taken all the initiative, but now, in a final act of submission to my desperate need, I reached down to take his shaft into my hand, and found it hot, throbbing and wet with pre-cum against my palm. His mouth released my nipple and he moaned, “Mother…oh mother…” Waves of love and lust coursed through me. If he had tried to break away, and stopped the progress of our move towards sexual union, I would have begged and pleaded for him to stay with me; such was the overpowering nature of my greed for him. In the turmoil of my mind I tried to think what had led to this, but dropped the search almost before I had begun it. I was too lost in him. His beautiful body enthralled me and I longed for his penetration. His fingers were now exploring my vagina, penetrating my entrance and softly moving round my clitoris. If he sought to discover whether I was ready for his penetration, he could have been left in no doubt. I was soaked with my lubricant. My state was such that I could bear it no longer, and I pleaded with him. “Now, darling, now.” As he came over me I felt his magnificent lance seek for the place of entry. I guided him, and felt him pierce me as if he would stab me to the heart. Having had experience with ardent young men over the years, I anticipated a quick ejaculation for our first sexual coupling, I was wrong. When he had fully penetrated me, I flexed my vaginal muscle round his shaft, and he gave a gasp, but made no further movement. We lay, looking into each other’s eyes as if searching each other’s souls. It was a moment of exquisite, agonising wonder and anticipation in which I found my true self in him and, as he revealed later, he in me. It was a union the like of which I had never experienced before. In all the wild lustful couplings over the years, this moment of stillness made them all pale into insignificance. “This is where I belong, my love,” he whispered, and he was right. He had come from me, and now he had returned to once more be at one with me.” He began slow movement in me, and I melded in with his rhythm. His speeding up was almost imperceptible, but suddenly I found myself shaking. It felt like an earth tremor that I had once experienced, when I heard the rumbling of its approach at first a long way off, but getting closer and closer, until it finally arrived, shaking the earth under my feet. Thus did my orgasm approach. I wanted to both escape from its intense agony and at the same time, embrace it. Then it was upon me, shaking my entire body. I felt the first explosion of his sperm into me. He had his hands under my buttocks, and I wound my legs round him to drag him in for the fullest possible penetration. I was tumbling down a tunnel swirling with brilliantly coloured lights, and I heard a voice that was mine and yet not mine, crying out, “Oh, my love, my baby,” over and over again. Then the tremor began to pass on, reverberating away into the distance. I came out of the tunnel into a place of tranquility. There was a silence, a peacefulness that engulfed us both. He, his ardour sated for the moment, and I basking in the after effects of the most overwhelming moment in my life, short of his birth. He was still inside me, holding on to me as if he would never part from me again. In this post-coital quietude we strove to find words for the love and joy we had in each other, but they were poor substitutes for the glorious moment of melding we had just accomplished. I knew then that there was no road back for us. Oh, I knew we could have said, “No more,” and parted, but we would from then on be half creatures slinking through a dimly lit world, our destiny having been denied, forever seeking the lost half of self. We had crossed a line of demarcation. On one side of that line was the known, the things that had been and could be no more. On the other side, where we now stood, was the unknown. It was a radiant and awe inspiring land, but we had no map or compass to guide us but our love. Still Robert was inside me, his penis slackening, but he unwilling to withdraw. I briefly wondered where he learned to be such a superb lover. I knew from my experience with ardent young male virgins, that however intense their desire, they had to learn the techniques sex. I thought I knew where Robert had learned his craft. Practicalities began to nudge my consciousness. I was soaked with Robert’s sperm and my own fluids. There was the post sexual intercourse aroma that the lovers often find alluring, but which can be offensive to others. “Darling,” I said, “we must shower and have some breakfast.” He groaned, complaining that he did not want to end our bond, but never the less withdrew from me, giving a gasp as he experienced that delicious pain that goes with withdrawal. We showered together, and our mutual washing of each other’s genitals speedily had us ready for another coupling. I was insistent, however, that we breakfasted before any other move was made. Anne had always shared her meal times with Robert and I, and she was sitting at the table just finishing her breakfast as we entered. She looked up, contemplating us for a few moments, then gave a shrewd smile and said, “And about time to.” She rose and left us alone. Her words might be understood in at least two ways. She might have meant, “It’s about time you arrived for breakfast,” or, “It’s about time you two found each other.” I have always suspected it was the latter. We started our breakfast, and about half way through the meal, a rather frightening thought occurred to me. We had been so overwhelmed by our zeal for each other, we had not thought about contraception. In the long period since I had last had a lover, I had grown careless, and failed to continue taking the pill, and even if Robert had some condoms in the house, neither of us were capable of thinking of them at the height of our passion. I knew I was still extremely fertile so our action might well bear fruit. Recalling how I had become pregnant as the result of Samuel’s first little dribble, I could well imagine the effects of Robert’s flood of semen. As if he had read my thoughts, Robert suddenly asked, “Dallas, can you still get pregnant?” (Without discussion, the new shape of our relationship brought the change in his mode of addressing me). “Yes, darling.” “Please don’t mind me asking, Dallas, but how much longer will you be able to get pregnant?” “I don’t know, darling. I read the other day of a woman in her sixties giving birth, but for myself I would say perhaps another eight to ten years. Why do you ask?” “I was just wondering how many children we could have.” I choked on a piece of toast. That was one thing I had not taken into account in my preliminary thinking about our new relationship. As I have already said, I could have become pregnant from our first encounter, but that Robert would want to have children with me had not registered. I swallowed some coffee and responded to him. “Robert, do you mean you wouldn’t mind if I was pregnant to you?” “Well, when you boil it all down, that’s what sex is really for, isn’t it?” “Like father like son,” I thought, but of course, with some vast differences in most respects. There is a Time and Place “If I were to tell you I might be pregnant to you already, how would you feel?” “Really? Do you mean that?” “Darling, it takes about a couple of months to be sure of these things. I was just asking a hypothetical question.” “Oh, I see. Well, firstly, if you were pregnant to someone else, I should be rather upset. Secondly, if you were pregnant to me, I should be delighted. How would you feel?” “To follow your pattern, firstly, if I were pregnant to someone else, it would be strange, because sexually speaking there isn’t anyone else and there’s not going to be. Secondly, if you would be delighted if I were pregnant, then I’d be over the moon.” “Wonderful. We are in complete agreement. Pity we can’t get married.” “Robert, I think what happened between us an hour or more ago, is about as “being married” as you can get.” “Yes. Good lord, is it really over an hour ago?” “Yes.” “Dallas, I think we should go and do some more baby making in that case.” He led me back to the bedroom, but this time I was not going to let him have the initiative. I pushed him onto the bed and on his back. Lowering a breast to his lips I said, “Suck me, darling.” He began with my nipples, but soon he was avidly drawing more and more of my breast into his mouth, his tongue washing it with his saliva. It felt as if he wanted to consume me, and I think that was in a sense what we were both trying to do. It was the longing for oneness, for wholeness. I withdrew my breast from him, and sat so as to lower my vagina to his mouth. He knew what to do, and did it with complete abandonment, thrusting his tongue into me, licking and very gently nibbling my clitoris. Then once more the tremors began, first at a distance, then bursting upon me, reducing me to a weeping shrieking demon. As I shook with the intensity of my orgasm, Robert clung to my thighs, dragging me to him. I responded with my hands behind his head. I must have drenched the poor boy with lubricant, and as I calmed down after my climax, I gave him his reward. I took the crown of his sex organ into my mouth and began to slide my tongue over it. He began to give ever increasing in volume groans, and sensing his orgasm approaching I took more and more of him into my mouth, speeding up my movements. Suddenly he clutched my head firmly and took over the movement himself. His first burst of semen hit the back of my throat and I swallowed. Then he was gushing into me and I could not take it all. It flowed round his shaft and out of my mouth to cascade along the outside sheath of his penis and settle in a pool on his lower abdomen. When he had finished, he lay back with a sigh of contentment. I took my mouth from his penis and lay over him to kiss him, mingling our fluids in each other’s mouths, tasting each other. After while I lay back and laughed. “What are you laughing at, Robert asked, puzzled at my response to what we had been doing.” “Sweetheart, I thought we came to bed to try and make a baby. You don’t make a baby with what we’ve been doing.” I laughed again and Robert joined in. “In that case,” he responded, “Give me ten minutes to recuperate, and we’ll start manufacturing.” “Ten minutes!” I exclaimed. “Bet you can’t manage it again in under half an hour.” Wrong again. He managed it in seven and a half minutes. As I write, Robert and I have been lovers (I almost said, “married”), for ten years. Our “baby making” produced three beautiful children. Unfortunately, we had to stop after our third because I was getting past the time when it was safe for me to have any more. I hope you will rejoice with me when I tell you that Robert was never really convinced that sexual intercourse is only for baby making. He is proving that very frequently. There may be many, even among you, my readers, who frown upon the relationship Robert and I have. It may be genuine moral outrage, or, as I have discovered, it is often jealousy, that motivates people to condemn us. A point I want to make is one that may sound hopelessly old fashioned and sentimental. I have heard a lot of married couples refer to each other as, “My other half.” Sometimes I am sure that it is authentic, but most times, I think it is a cliché used to cover up a less than satisfactory relationship. In Robert, I truly found my “other half,” and as he has often said, he has found his “other half” in me. There is a completion as far as we are concerned. I believe there is an “other half” for everyone, someone with whom we are destined to find our fulfillment. Many people are prepared to settle for less, and spend their lives wondering what is missing. But I am sure there is a time and place when the “other half” breaks into our lives, even when that “other half” has been with us all the time. I really must stop my philosophising. It’s bedtime and Robert and I have a few things to attend to.