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Love Never Dies Pt. 01

By: JWren



This series is based on fact but I am indebted to Caroline Covington and her masterful creation "Vera" for the inspiration to write it. If you read my Big Cock Fantasy, you will recognise the character of Gaynor. As always, I hope you have an enjoyable read and comments are appreciated. 

~~~~~~~

I BLINKED, leaned forward to peer at the message on my computer screen and then settled back into my chair. I shook my head and muttered: "Well I never."

I'd been quite stunned when I saw the name in my inbox, didn't really believe it was true. Then I clicked on it and the familiar 'Facebook' panel came up. 'Gaynor sent you a message' was the heading over the sender's thumbnail picture. It read:

Hi Richard, spotted you on Facebook and was shocked to see you looking so thin and unwell. Are you OK? Gaynor.

Okay, I knew my Facebook portrait wasn't the best. Agreed, I appeared drawn and serious and I had been told it would frighten children. I had previously pledged to change it and this was probably the push I needed. But ill? Not me, I was fit and couldn't remember the last time I'd been to the doctor's surgery.

Now I looked at Gaynor's portrait. Yes, it was definitely her: Gaynor Reid. A little plumper in the face but I couldn't mistake those chocolate-drop eyes, the caramel-coloured skin tone and black curls. Though the hair did seem tighter to her scalp than I remembered. It seemed the years had been kind to her beauty. And how many years is it? I calculated, thinking back. More than 30, maybe even 35, since we last met. 

I studied the face some more. A playful smile creased the corners of her mouth, the full lips a pale pink. I could sense the softness of her kiss even now, after all these years. Then I smiled, noticing the gold hooped rings which dangled from her earlobes. Had she never stopped wearing them?

"To reply to this message, follow the link below . . ."

I clicked and typed in the reply panel: "Well, hello there. What a surprise after all these years. You're right about my pic, horrid. But I'm not ill, just ugly and older. I'll try to improve things with a less stern photo soon. Anyway, trust you're well. You certainly look it. Always were a beauty. Let me know if the new pic works. Richard."

I pressed send and sent the original message to my saved box. 

A scan through my picture files came up with one slightly less hideous and I replaced it on my page. Funny this, I thought, I was contemplating leaving Facebook and then a blast from the past drops onto my screen.

Reclining in my chair, I cast my mind back to younger more vibrant days. Foolish and headstrong, stubborn days, too. Times when I could have done with an older head on young shoulders, more patience and understanding, less selfishness, more consideration. In retrospect, I wonder how many men, and women, would say the same about their lives. The majority? Everybody?

I brought Gaynor's message back up and stared again at her photograph. Oh Gaynor, Gaynor, what a waste. What might have been, eh?

She was only 22, three years younger than me, when we parted. Oh, we saw each a few times for another year or so but, really, once I moved north, that was it. I was chasing a career: ambitious, determined, strong-willed and ready to rule the world. The move north was for a better position, higher pay and another step up the career ladder.

"Come with me, Gaynor," I said. At least three times I asked. I really wanted her with me but I wasn't going to beg. Three times was more than enough. I took her refusal as a sign that she didn't really love me. Or, at least, not as much as I loved her.

Now, looking at her face on my screen, I refreshed my thoughts on why she'd rejected me? Over the years, I frequently thought about Gaynor and our parting, until I finally saw sense, recognising that she had been justified. In hindsight, her refusal was perfectly reasonable. She had been in the middle of nursing training and sitting examinations and I remember her saying that we needed to consider her career, not just mine. But, back then, I was stubborn and selfish and didn't begin to consider her needs. It was, foolishly, all about me, me, me . . .

I removed my spectacles and, with thumb and forefinger, rubbed the bridge of my nose. I needed specs for reading and working on the computer but, otherwise, my eyesight was okay. If only my foresight had been as good back then. Perhaps I wouldn't have rushed into marriage with Veronica.

I married barely two years after I'd walked away from Gaynor. I was 27. Truthfully, apart from the birth of twin daughters, the marriage provided little joy for either of us. Veronica was ecstatic with the twins. It meant she'd got two children and she didn't want any more. Importantly for her, it also meant she didn't need to have sex with me. 

So, I dedicated my time and energies to my career and was successful. Veronica appreciated the finer things my money could buy - the cars, the clothes, the houses and holidays in far-flung exotic places. In return, she played the role of a supportive wife. She was a fine hostess at dinner parties and always attentive to my needs, except in the bedroom. Forced to be celibate at home, I had a few discreet dalliances and, if she did know about them, Veronica chose to ignore my occasional unfaithful moments.

Once the twins had married and left the nest, Veronica and I simply carried on our comfortable lifestyle: a couple of close friends following our own hobbies and interests but never sharing any bedroom antics. Divorce was never mentioned or wanted. We had become experts at presenting a loving public image for our acquaintances and family and, behind closed doors, settled for a quiet, undemanding life.

So, that was the situation when Gaynor's unexpected message arrived via cyberspace. At the age of 57, I was enjoying early retirement - and staring at the photograph of an old flame. No, that's not right. Gaynor was not an old flame, she was the love of my life. Our time together was 16 months of my best and most satisfying relationship with a woman. She was bright, funny, energetic, caring and daring. She was also beautiful with a great body, warm and enticing and so very, very sexy.

I again rocked back in my chair, closed my eyes and let my thoughts wander . . .

±±±±±±±±

THEN

IT was a typical February night, windy and cold but, thankfully, dry. I stood at the bar with friends, chatting about mundane men things: you know, sex, sports, beer, sex, music, sex and sex in movies. 

I can't remember the exact topic under debate, probably sex, when the door opened and a blast of cold air whipped through the bar. I automatically turned my head and watched the group of new customers enter. They were young, three girls and a lanky boy, but my eyes locked on the tallest girl. She scanned the room and caught me staring at her. Before I could avert my gaze, her lips parted in a tentative smile, showing tips of brilliant white teeth. I smiled back and she turned away when one of the other girls said: "Let's sit over in that corner."

The bar wasn't busy and I watched the group spread themselves around the corner table, removing their winter coats and placing them on unoccupied chairs and stools. The tall girl shrugged off her mid-calf black coat, folded it neatly, and bent to place it on a low stool. Her black mini skirt stretched tight across generous hips and the hem rode high but still preserved her modesty. She wore white knee-length boots, black tights, and a purple wool sweater which strained to contain a huge bust.

"You're drooling," said Mick, nudging me in the ribs.

"What? Yeah, well. . ." I mumbled, still looking at the girl. "She's gorgeous."

"Which one?"

"The tall one," I whispered, "in the white boots."

"White boots? You mean big tits," said Mick. "They're enormous."

As he spoke, the latest object of my desire, accompanied by the lanky guy, walked towards where I was standing. She didn't as much walk as flow, long strides setting her hips gently swaying and breasts trembling within the confines of her tight sweater. Curly black hair framed a stunning face. Skin the colour of caramel, she had chocolate-button eyes, a dainty nose and full pink lips. I was smitten. 

I breathed in her warmth and scent, light yet heady, as she stood at my side, offering me a small smile. I smiled back and nodded, unable to resist a quick peek at the swell of her two orbs. The V-neck of her sweater dipped low enough to offer a teasing glimpse of her spectacular cleavage.

From the other side of the counter, looking at the girl's big bust, old Arthur asked:"What can I get you?" 

She greeted him with: "Hi, I'm up here," and flashed her dazzling Hollywood teeth in a big smile. She had a sultry, husky voice. I melted. "We'd like three dry white wines and a beer, please."

"Which one?" asked Arthur, indicating with a sweep of his gnarled hand the five pumps which offered different beers. He struggled to keep his gaze on her face.

"Oh, I don't really know." She looked along the counter at the line of pumps and then turned to me. "What would you recommend?"

I looked into her eyes. They were sparkling, roaming over my features and I'm sure she was amused. Probably because my mouth was gaping.

"Oh, which one? Well, depends on your friend's taste really," I said, nodding at the silent lanky guy by her side. "Strong or light?"

"It's for me," she throated quietly and looked at the glass in my hand. "What's that you're drinking?" Before I could reply, she added: "Can I have a taste?"

"Sure." I proffered the pint pot.

"Thanks," she said and reached out with both hands, grasping it before I could release my hold. Her soft palm was warm on the cool back of my hand. She raised the glass to her lips, eyes looking over the rim at me. She sipped, withdrew her mouth and swallowed, hands still gripping. She waited a second or two, shook her head and said: "No, ugh, too strong, too bitter," and removed her hands. 

She looked back at the waiting Arthur, smiled again and said: "I'll stick to the wine but Barry here will have a pint of what he's drinking, thanks."

It was my turn to chuckle. I raised my glass to drink but the cheeky girl put a hand on my forearm, stopping me. "Sorry, I've left some lipstick on your glass."

I glanced down, saw deposits of lip-shaped pink on the far rim and smiled. "It might improve the taste," I said and turned the glass. I took a swallow, lightly smacked my lips and said: "Yep, much better thanks."

Her husky, low laugh was accompanied by a widening of her brilliant eyes and a quivering under her sweater. She offered her hand, the nails painted pale pink to match her lips. "I'm Gaynor," she said as I tried not to grip too tight.

"Richard," I said. "Pleased to meet you."

"Mmm, likewise," she said. "You a regular here?"

"Pretty much, three or four times a week. This your first time? Haven't seen you before."

She nodded and gently, slowly freed her hand as Arthur put their drinks on the counter. Lanky guy Barry paid. "Yes, first time in here. But I don't think it'll be the last." She gave a fleeting smile and turned to pick up two of the wine glasses. 

"Right, that's good," I said.

She looked directly into my eyes. Fleshy lips parted, this time for a full headlights-on smile which uncovered her perfect white teeth. Gaynor paused, as if considering her next comment, then nodded her head a couple of times. "Hmmm. Must get back to the girls," she said. "C'mon Barry." 

After a few steps, she looked over a shoulder at me and said: "Byeee." 

"Bye, Gaynor," I muttered as firm buttocks swung their way back to the corner table.

"Bloody hell, Richard," said Mick. "Reckon you're in there, boy."

I didn't comment but leaned back against the bar, looked down at the lipstick smudges on my glass and then back up at Gaynor, sitting in the corner. She was looking at me and raised her full wine glass in salutation. I nodded, raised my nearly-empty glass . . . 

±±±±±±±±

NOW

In my office upstairs at home, two days after Gaynor's surprise contact, I opened up my computer. Gaynor's name was in my inbox again. My heart thumped in my chest. Hang on, Richard, I thought, it's only a messsage from an old friend. Calm down.

Eagerly, I clicked on her name and the Facebook panel appeared. 

Subject: Picture change

Well, yes, picture is a bit better. Not so scary now! As for being old and ugly, it doesn't really matter what the subject looks like. If they are a good person that's what really counts. I've always thought that men look better than women as they age. Are you still planning to retire to the coast when the time comes. Or has that ideal changed over the years? Nice to 'talk' again, Gaynor.

I read it through three times. A couple of things bothered me.

Being a good person, not looks, is what really counts. Is that some sort of reproach? Or does she think, after all, that I'm ugly but a good person? 

And retire to the coast? I couldn't remember that plan but, then again, it's some 35 years since Gaynor and I last talked. Did we really discuss such things way back then?

I thought for a few minutes, mentally composing a reply. When I'd decided on my message, I suddenly wondered whether I should wait a few days before sending it. Don't appear too eager to correspond. But why not? I argued with myself. Enough wasted years have gone by. Ah, there you have it: wasted years. What are you expecting to happen? Hoping to happen?

I slumped back in my chair, staring at the few words on the screen. From somewhere out there, Gaynor had sat, typed and sent me two messages. Something had prompted her to get in touch after all these years. Surely it wasn't just because I looked ill on my Facebook picture. Anyway, in the first place, why would she be looking for me on Facebook?

I put on my spectacles, pulled the keyboard towards me and started to type in the reply box:

"Hi again, glad you find latest pic not too scary. I never did take a good pic but you, on the other hand, always did. I take your point about looks being secondary to what a person is like - but, in the mating game, appearances get a head start. You must know that. And, as for the ageing process favouring men, just compare our two pictures! I honestly cannot remember discussing retiring to the sea. Anyway, no it's not happening. In fact, I've already retired (early I know). What about you? Are you still working? Still nursing? Or are you a married lady of leisure? Nice to catch up. Look forward to hearing from you soon. Richard."

Satisfied that I'd said enough to encourage a reply, I clicked "send" and off it went into cyberspace. A little bit of my heart went with it, too. . .

±±±±±±±±

THEN

I turned down the volume on the television and answered the telephone on the fourth ring. My "Hello" was met by a husky voice: "Hello Richard, thought I'd give you a quick call before I go to bed. I'm knackered. It's been one hell of a week but at least I've got three days off now."

I checked my wristwatch: it was just after 10 at night. "What time did you finish?"

"Oh, about 20 minutes ago. A couple of the girls have gone for a drink but I came straight home. I need my beauty sleep."

"You must sleep a lot to be that beautiful."

"Flatterer," she said and I could hear her stifling a yawn. "Sorry, Richard, but I really am tired."

"That's okay. I'm glad you rang. It's always nice to hear your voice, even between yawns."

The sound of another sharp intake of breath filled my ear. "Right, sorry, but I honestly don't think I can keep awake much longer. Anyway, what I rang for, have you still got the day off tomorrow? Am I gonna see you?"

"Yes and yes. Thought we might have a ride out to get some lunch in an out of the way romantic place. That okay?"

"Mmm, sounds like a plan. But let's wait until tomorrow, eh, see how I am? Can you come round about 11? That'll give me plenty of time to sleep and get myself presentable for you."

"Yep, 11's fine by me."

"Okay, honey. Sleep well and dream of me. Night, night."

I laughed. "Okay Gaynor, my love, see you in the morning."

The sound of a loud "pwah" kiss was followed by the click of disconnection. I smiled and replaced the receiver and looked forward to receiving a few proper kisses. 

It was minutes before 11 when I tapped on the door of Gaynor's apartment. I couldn't hear any signs of life and was about to knock again when that husky voice said: "Just a moment, be right with you."

I heard a key turning in the lock. With the door slightly open, Gaynor peered round and looked through the gap."Oh, good, it is you," she said and stood back, opening the door wide to admit me. When she had closed it, I turned and my heart thumped against my chest and my eyes popped.

Gaynor was barefoot but what I noticed first was the pink satin negligee that clung to her body, highlighting every curve, hill and hollow. It was knee length, square-cut across the chest and somehow held up by the thinnest of straps. The delightful swell of Gaynor's proud bosom was mouth-watering, her nipples two jutting points barely contained within the soft material. As she came to me, her body warmth and scent wafted into my nostrils. We embraced and I tasted the peppermint of her toothpaste as our tongues danced and twirled together.

Gaynor broke off from our kiss, leaning back into my arms and turning her brown eyes up to gaze into my face. She wore no lipstick but her eyelids were lightly coated a pale blue, her long lashes and brows natural black. She smiled broadly, her teeth a brilliant white against her skin tone.

"I love you," she said in a throaty whisper which had my cock twitching.

"Love you, too," I managed, croaking and grinning.

She smiled again. "What's it been now, five months?"

Today was July 17 and I quickly did the calculation. "Yep, just over five months since you walked into the bar and my life."

"Hmmm," she said. "Well, I'm thinking if we're to carry on this relationship, there's something we need to know."

I frowned, my hands gripping her waist as she gently thrust her groin into my growing hardness. "What would that be?" I asked.

Gaynor studied my face, pecked my lips softly, and looked again into my eyes. "I can feel that you know," she said, wiggling against me. "But what we need to know is if we're compatible. At least," she smiled, "that's what I want to know. What about you?" 

I swallowed, wrapped my arms around her back and pulled her into me. I nestled a cheek against her head, took a deep breath and inhaled the lingering aroma of her shampoo. "Do you mean what I think you mean?"

A chuckle rose up from somewhere near my shoulder blade. "I think we're on the same page," she said and a hand brushed across my trouser front before settling on my hip.

"Right," I said, clearing my throat. "But I've not come prepared."

"That's okay," she said. "We can do it the old-fashioned way."

"You mean . . ."

"Yes," she cut in, "I'll trust you to pull out." And she leaned back again and put both hands to the side of my face before planting her lips firmly on mine. "I'm going into the bedroom now. If you want the toilet, you know where it is."

I nodded and released my hold on her lower back. I watched her swaying hips cross the room and then went to the bathroom. My cock was quite firm as I peed. I wasn't a virgin but I sure felt like one at that point. I shook my penis and my head at the same time as I thought: How lucky can you be? A gorgeous girl like Gaynor is just a few feet away, waiting for you in her bed.

I swilled my hands under the warm water, dried them and looked into the mirror over the wash basin. I smoothed a hand through my fair hair and muttered to my reflection: "Lucky bastard," and set off for the bedroom. 


Love Never Dies Pt. 01



When I entered, Gaynor had her back to me and was looking out of the narrow window. She leant with both hands on the window sill as I walked up and circled my arms around her waist and nuzzled the side of her neck.

"Mmmm," she said. "It looks a beautiful day out there," and she turned to face me, raising her arms to drape them around my neck.

"It is," I said.

"Shall we go out?"

The words stabbed at my heart. "What?" I said, panicking that Gaynor had changed her mind.

She grinned and patted my cheek with her right hand. "Just teasing, honey," she said and tugged to lift my sports shirt out of my waist band. "Let's get these clothes off."

I lifted the shirt over my head, tossed it onto a chair, and then sat on the bed to remove my shoes and socks. Gaynor stood at my side and ruffled a hand through my hair, resting the other on my naked shoulder. It was soft and warm against my cool skin.

Footwear removed, I sat upright and Gaynor guided my head to rest on the velvety shelf of her glorious chest. The steadily undulating twin peaks were soft and yet firm against my cheek. Her rising scent was intoxicating and my cock twitched and pulsed against my trousers. Gaynor kissed the hair on top of my head and said: "You feel so nice against my tits." She paused and then whispered into my ear: "My nipples need attention."

I raised my face from the soft warmth of her pillows. She slipped the tiny straps off her shoulders and down below her elbows, raised her arms free and let the negligee slither south to bunch at her hips.

"Oh my God," I muttered, looking for the first time at Gaynor's naked tits. Long brown nipples, surrounded by darker areolae, stood proudly on top of the globes. I placed a hand each side of the sumptuous mounds, the skin silky in my palms. I dipped my head and took a firm nipple in my mouth, swept my tongue over it, around it, and then gently sucked. Gaynor moaned and she adjusted her stance, putting a long leg either side of my right thigh.

I switched to the other nipple, my wet tongue feeling the hardness of the bud as I closed my mouth and sucked. I flicked my fingers over the other nipple and squeezed it, pulled it, and Gaynor's hands settled on my head. I continued to alternately suck one breast and massage the other until Gaynor eased me away. 

"Enough, enough," she huskily said. "Oooh that was good, Richard, very good," and kissed my brow. "Let's get your pants off."

I started to unbuckle my belt but Gaynor grasped my wrists and shook her head, sending her curls flopping and bouncing around her face. She took over, crouched between my legs and undid the belt, popped a button and unzipped my fly. I helpfully raised my hips as she pulled my trousers down, over my thighs and knees to puddle at my feet. My cock was thick inside my briefs and Gaynor brushed a hand along the bulge. A wet spot was visible and she delved between her own squatting thighs and announced: "That's both of us wet."

My mind ran riot with images of the sopping pussy that awaited me. A pussy I had yet to see.

"Oh my," said Gaynor as she tugged the waistband of my briefs to expose my pulsating member. She worked my briefs all the way down and I lifted my feet clear of them and my trousers. I was naked and Gaynor used a thumb to spread my pre-cum around the engorged head. She gripped my hard shaft and slowly stroked it, licked her lips and looked up at me. "Very nice," she said and then kissed the tip before releasing it and standing up.

Her bountiful breasts wobbled as she stood and inserted her thumbs into the waist of the bunched up negligee and eased it over her hips, wiggling and letting it fall at her feet. 

My heart pounded again and my pulse rate went through the roof. Dark curls of pubic hair camouflaged her pussy, tucked away in the gap between Gaynor's long, lean and firm thighs. Instinctively, I reached out and cupped under her mound, my palm pressing against her hairy softness and my middle finger sliding along the concealed slit. It was wet, warm and oh so soft.

"On the bed," said Gaynor.

I obeyed and lay on my back, watching as Gaynor climbed aboard and knelt, knees together. Sitting back on her heels, she reached for my cock and slowly and lightly stroked it with thumb and fingertips. Her tits bobbed in unison. I placed a hand on her thigh and Gaynor sighed. She released my cock, leaving it to throb on my stomach and, leaning on her straight left arm, she ran the fingers of her right hand feather soft around my chest and nipples. She leaned in for a kiss and I pulled her down, lifting my left leg over the backs of her knees. The kiss went on and on: lips mashing, tongues seeking and flicking, sighs and whimpers escaping on hot breaths, hands roaming and bodies wriggling and pressing together.

Eventually, we came up for air and I gently eased Gaynor on to her back. She opened her legs and I positioned myself between them, arms rigid at the sides of her body and her tits lazing against my forearms. My erection was full, rising proudly above the horizontal. But I slid down the bed, my hands tracing patterns along Gaynor's stomach, hips and thighs until I could look upon her pussy. 

It was exquisite.

The neat slit was slightly open, a hint of pink, and glistening. I rested my left hand on her mound, fingers playing among her curly hairs and thumb gently seeking her clit. I used the forefinger of my right hand to gently probe and tease her labia. Gaynor spread her thighs wider and her vulva opened up delightfully, like a rose greeting the sun. Her lips were pink petals and I just had to lean in to kiss this alluring, divine flower.

I lapped my tongue along the lubricated opening, pressing and rubbing my thumb around her expanding bud. "Oh my, oh my," she gasped and I probed further with my finger and sank it into her hole, knuckle deep. Up and down, up and down it slid in the juicy entrance.

Gaynor flapped her thighs against my head. "Now, Richard, now . . . I want you now. Bury your cock in me. . . C'mon, please, now."

Knees wide apart, ankles resting on the bed, she grasped my arms and pulled. I hurried into position, cock poised for penetration. But Gaynor reached down between us, took hold and guided my head to her opening. I pressed forward and . . . oh, wonders of wonders, I slipped into paradise. A wet dark place I'd never visited before.

"Yes, that's it," sighed Gaynor, hands pulling on my buttocks and bucking her hips to set the pace and rhythm. "Give me that lovely cock. Oh, Richard, Richard."

She was so soft in there, so wet and warm and welcoming. I plunged and withdrew, making the strokes as long as physically possible. I looked down: Gaynor's eyelids were tightly closed, she was biting her lower lip and her mighty globes were jiggling and swaying with each piston stroke I made in her dark tunnel. I sank slowly down until our bodies moulded together, still pumping my hips. I'd never felt anything like this. I wanted to be sucked up her love tunnel deep into her being: not just my cock, but all of me, body, soul and mind. 

Gaynor's hands left my buttocks and she put her arms around my back, finger tips scraping my shoulders and spine as she rocked and rolled under me. I kissed her neck and she murmured in my ear.

"Just there, just like that, oh yes, that's it . . . don't stop. . . just like that . . .keep going . . ."

Gaynor thrust to meet me, my cock fully inserted, until her body stiffened. She held her breath, her nails clawing me as I pressed my pulsating tube in her depth. Suddenly and loudly, she gasped, air burst from between her lips and she writhed and bucked, her pelvis banging hard against mine. When she subsided with another huge contented sigh, I could feel her juices soaking my length. She opened her eyes and a grin parted her lips. Sweat bubbled on her brow and upper lip.

"Wow, Richard, that was good, really good. It really was, thank you." 

That massaged my ego and I smiled. "Glad you enjoyed it," I said. "But we're not finished yet."

I resumed my journey up and down her sopping cavern knowing that I was nearly done. The thrill of Gaynor's orgasm had sent my cock pulsating wildly and my tightening balls warned me of the impending climax. Sure enough, within seconds, Gaynor's eyes popped wide open as I expanded and hardened against her tunnel walls.

Gaynor contracted her vagina muscles, gripping me passionately, and met my thrusts: once, twice, three times . . .that's it. I hastily pulled out and Gaynor's right hand grasped me. She pulled and tugged my juice-coated cock, rapidly drawing huge spurts and splashes of cum which sprayed her soft belly and lovely tits as I grunted and shuddered.

Gaynor chuckled. "Bloody hell, Richard, that's a whole lot of stuff. It's a good job you pulled out in time or I'd be pregnant for sure."

My breathing was ragged but I managed to smile before collapsing by her side, a leg draped across her thighs. We stayed like that for a few minutes, recovering, until Gaynor turned her head, kissed my sweaty brow and said: "I think we're compatible, don't you?"

I placed my hand on her cheek and we joined for a soft, lingering kiss. No tongue explorations, just lips exchanging love back and forth.

"Hmmm," I said, "I haven't got any complaints. You're wonderful." I kissed the soft tip of her nose and then added: "But, that might have been a fluke. I think I'd like to have another trial to be absolutely sure.'

Gaynor snorted and looked into my twinkling eyes. "I'll clean up your mess," she said, fingers trailing through the drying semen on her body, "and let you take me for lunch. I'm starving. Then, if you still need assurance, we can come back here and have three or four more test runs. How's that sound?"

±±±±±±±±

NOW

A rap, rap on my office door brought me back to reality, to the here and now. Veronica always knocks on the door, not wanting to intrude, as if I was still the big boss business man.

"Yes, Veronica," I said, clicking to bring up on screen an e-mail from Amazon offering cut-price thrillers for Kindles.

The door opened and she said: "You haven't forgotten we're out to dinner tonight, have you?"

"No dear," I lied. "No rush is there?"

"Well, you've got to get ready and the taxi is coming at 7:30. We promised Geoff and Margaret that we'd be there no later than eight."

I glanced at the clock in the top corner of my computer: 6:30. "Okay dear, I'll wrap up now and get a shower."

She nodded. "Right. I've laid out your new blue suit and that nice pale blue dress shirt. And there's a choice of ties. Think you can manage to select one?"

I didn't look at her but scrolled down the Amazon offers. "Mmm, yes dear, of course," I said as she backed away, leaving the door ajar. That was Veronica's signal that my time was up and I'd better get a move on.

I heard her footsteps retreat along the corridor and I clicked back for another look at Gaynor's picture. I studied it, sighed softly, rubbed a hand over my bristly chin and thought: I wonder where she is now? Wonder what's she's doing tonight? I sighed at my next thought: Not going to some boring dinner party with a bunch of pseudo prats.

I blew a kiss at Gaynor's picture and switched off the computer.



Love Never Dies Pt. 02



My thanks on record again to Caroline Covington, whose special story "Vera" was the inspiration for me to write Love Never Dies. Big Cock Fantasy readers will recognise the emerging character of Gaynor. As ever, I hope you have an enjoyable read. Comments are appreciated. 

~~~~~~~

NOW

IT had been another warm Tuesday and I'd played a reasonable round of golf, followed by a steak meal in the clubhouse. The company was good and the conversation, as usual, light. Occasionally, politics and finances reared their ugly cantankerous heads but, generally, we steered away from contentious topics. Our ingredients were mainly golf, other sports, sex and jokes. Never anything really personal.

My old friend Mick was a member of the group which regularly played on Tuesdays. We'd kept in spasmodic touch over the years and, in fact, when I retired and decided to move back close to my old stamping ground, it was Mick who introduced me to the club and proposed my membership.

On this day, our group gradually dwindled away after the meal until Mick and I were alone, relaxing in leather armchairs with a couple of beers on the table in front of us.

"And how's the good lady keeping these days?" he asked.

"She's well," I said. "Today she was going to the gym but I'll bet she didn't exercise much. A few minutes on the bike or on the cross-country walker is her limit. As soon as a bead of perspiration appears on her brow, that's it, workout over. And she heads off to the beauty room for a massage and manicure or some such pampering nonsense."

Mick smiled at my withering summation. "Well, she keeps herself looking good for you, Richard. Don't knock it."

"Hmmm," I said, thinking that it had been years since Veronica and I had indulged in sexual congress. "That may be so, if you subscribe to the view that women still dress for their man and all that. I reckon it's a bit of old hat in these days of the emancipated woman and sex equality. I think they do all these things more for themselves rather than a spouse or partner."

Mick raised his eyebrows at me but I was on a roll now. Don't know why, but I felt grumpy, curmudgeonly even, when I thought about Veronica's social life. I carried on: "Keep fit classes, Pilates, yoga, whatever. Most of the time it's just an excuse for women to gather and natter."

My phone vibrated in my trouser pocket. I fished it out, looked at the screen and said: "There you go, she must have heard me. It's a text from Veronica."

Mick took a swig of his beer as I read the message: 'Guess you're eating at the club. I'm out with Helen. Be home about 9 xx'

I tapped a reply: 'OK, enjoy, c u later xx' and put the phone on the table, next to my beer.

"Everything, okay?"

"Yes, Mick. Veronica's out with Helen for the evening."

"Right," he said and then shook his head. "My Karen never goes out. Well, not without me. She's very much a home bird. Leave her with the TV or a romantic novel and she's happy as a pig in muck. But you know that, anyway."

I nodded and reached for my glass. "Not a lot of high maintenance with her," I said crisply.

"That's true and a good job at that. You know, Richard, car sales are in a slump at the moment. I have to watch the pennies." He exhaled loudly and looked at my glass. "Want another drink?"

"You salesman are always pleading poverty. You make me laugh." I managed a smile. "Yes, okay, if you can afford it, I'll have one for the road. Then I must be getting home."

It was 7:30 when I got home and, after pouring myself a generous slug of brandy, I went upstairs to my office and switched on the computer. It had been four days since I'd sent a message to Gaynor and I opened up my e-mail account, hoping that she'd replied. I had 37 messages, most of them from on-line shopping (cut-price flight offers, golf equipment, menswear, books, DVDs etc) and a few from friends with the latest internet jokes.

And one which said: Facebook, Gaynor Reid sent you a message.

Ignoring the others, I quickly clicked to open it and leaned forward to read: 

Subject: Retirement

Hi Richard, I didn't think you would retire early. You were such a career-driven man. Anyway, hope you're enjoying it. Still married, I guess? Me, I never married and gave up full-time nursing some years ago. Work a few days in a hospice when needed but, like you, I've virtually retired. Little surprised you've forgotten about retiring to the coast. You talked about it when we had our first week's holiday by the sea. Still, it was a long time ago, love's young dream. So, where did you retire to? Still up north? Right, at the end of this note, I'll leave my e-mail address and, if you want, no pressure, we can have longer cyber chats instead of these little bites. Okay? Meanwhile, take care. Byee, Gaynor (aka Petal).

I copied the e-mail address into my contacts and then sat back. I removed my spectacles, sipped some brandy and wondered why such a beautiful girl had never married. I read the message again, slowly, letting each word sink into my brain. And then I stared at the last word: Petal. 

Oh my, that hit me like a bolt from the blue. My Petal...

±±±±±±±±

THEN

THE Water's Edge Hotel was, in fact, separated from the beach by the busy coastal road. It was set-back, quite high behind a well-manicured lawn. I drove up the incline of the driveway and parked in a vacant space close to reception.

I got out of the car, stretched my back to relieve the tiredness in my bones and muscles from the three hour drive, and walked around the car to open the passenger door. Gaynor beat me to it. A long left leg appeared and then she was out, standing and arching her back, hands on her waist. I blinked as her pelvis thrust forward and her huge breasts stretched the sleeveless blouse to button-popping point.

"What?" she said, noticing my staring eyes and gaping mouth. Six months into our relationship, I was still enthralled by Gaynor's curvy, sexy body and melted at the sound of her husky voice.

"Just waiting for your shirt to burst open," I said and licked my lips.

"Pervert. And it's a blouse."

She stopped stretching and turned to look towards the beach. I looked, too. Gulls swooped and "caw-cawed" and I could smell the brine, wafting on a light breeze. The sky was blue, dotted with puffy white clouds, and the sun was hot. A perfect summer's day to start our first holiday together.

"Lovely," she said and then switched her attention to the small hotel. It had once been a family mansion and was now a private business with 15 bedrooms. "Shall we book in, see what sort of room we've got?"

"Okay," I said and removed two small cases from the car. We walked up the flight of steps and into the cool of a small lobby. The reception desk wasn't manned but Gaynor spotted a bell-push and pressed it with a thumb and we heard it ring in what I presumed to be the back office.

"Good afternoon, how may I help?" The woman who appeared through the archway was medium build with striking red hair that flowed down to her shoulders. She wore a purple blouse, buttoned to the throat, and dark-rimmed glasses. Her lips were vermillion.

"We have a reservation for a week," I said. "The name is Johnson."

"Ah yes, Mr and Mrs Johnson," she said, opening a register and glancing at Gaynor standing by my side. Gaynor smiled, revealing glossy white teeth, and nodded at the woman.

I completed our registration and was handed a key. The red-head wore a simple gold band on her wedding finger. Perhaps the wife of the owner. She hadn't introduced herself or offered a name. 

"Room 10," she said. "It's on the front with a lovely sea view. Straight up the stairs," she pointed to the right and I noticed a diamond-studded gold bracelet drooping off her wrist. "It's the second door on the left. Breakfast is from 7 till 9:30 and dinner at 8. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

We said our thanks, I handed the key to Gaynor and picked up the cases. I sensed the receptionist watching us on our walk towards the stairs. I paused to let Gaynor go first and glanced back at the woman and smiled. She briefly nodded, nervously brushed her hands down her skirt, spun on her heels and returned to the back office.

Room 10 was clean and adequately furnished, dominated by a double bed with wooden headboard. The cramped bathroom had a shower, toilet and a hand basin.

I put the cases on the bed as Gaynor walked to the window. "Good view," she said and turned back to face me. "Fancy a stroll along the beach before we unpack?"

"Yes, good idea. Let's get out in the sunshine."

We didn't actually venture on to the sand. Hand in hand, we walked along the promenade, people watching, admiring the architecture of some large buildings and hotels and breathing in the fresh sea air, scented by seaweed. After about 20 minutes, we came across a cafe which had two tables and chairs set up outside. A pleasant, grey-haired grandmotherly-type lady, who beamed a radiant smile at us, served up two mugs of coffee and a plate of cheese and tomato sandwiches with salad garnish. 

I was the happiest man in the world.

I studied Gaynor as she relaxed back in her chair: hands clasped behind her neck, elbows jutting out, face upturned to the sun and eyelids shuttered. Apart from pink lipstick and customary pale blue eyeshadow, she wore no makeup on her caramel skin. The breeze gently rustled her black curls, her chest undulated sensuously with each regular breath and, with legs extended and crossed at her ankles, her mini-skirt left her naked thighs exposed.

"I know what you're looking at and I know what you're thinking," she said without opening her eyes.

I smiled and drank some coffee, looking at her serene face. "I'm not the only one looking."

Slowly, she opened her eyes and turned her head slightly to look at me. "Is that right?"

"Hmmm, it is," I said. "All the men and a lot of women as well. They can't help ogling you as they walk past."

She resumed her posture, eyes closed, head back and smiled. "Bet the women are looking at you, really. You're a hunky man, Richard. I mean, why else would I be here?"

"You flatter me," I said, laughing.

"Uh, uh," she said, barely shaking her head. "My panties are getting damp just thinking about you."

For a few seconds I was speechless. I still couldn't believe that this beautiful young girl found me so attractive and desirable. It was all a dream and one day I would wake up.

I regained the power of speech. "I noticed a few guys glancing at me. I could tell what they were thinking."

"Mmm, and what would that be, honey?"

"Lucky bastard," I said. "How does he get to be with a gorgeous girl like that?"

It was Gaynor's turn to chuckle, deep and throaty. "But they don't know what I know, do they?" she said and suddenly sat upright and reached across to smooth a palm against my cheek. "As the song says, 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me.' Give me a kiss."

We leaned towards each other and our lips merged, briefly but sweetly. I tasted her lipstick and, cheekily, she stabbed her tongue in-and-out of my mouth to conclude the kiss. My cock twitched as I gazed into her chocolate eyes. 

"See, I told you... I am one hell of a lucky bastard."

Gaynor's eyes roamed over my face for a few seconds, searching deep into me, her lips pursed. Then a smile creased the corners of her mouth. "C'mon," she said, "let's have a little look around this place before we go back to the hotel."

I paid for our food and we wandered inland, away from the beach, and explored the narrow streets and window shopped. It was then that I bought Gaynor a gift, my very first present for her.

"Oh, look at those, Richard." She pointed at a display in a jeweller's window. "They're fabulous. See them, there, look..." I looked as she pressed a pink-painted fingernail against the glass. "Those gold hoops."

Now I saw them. "Ah, yes," I said and felt her hand squeeze mine. She was clearly enthralled and my heart was captured. I wanted to please her, show that I cared and she mattered very much to me. "Would you like them?"

"I'd love them," she gushed. "But they're gold, real gold. Can you see the price?"

"No, but we can find out. C'mon," I said and tugged her hand and led her into the shop.

The soberly uniformed assistant retrieved the hoops from the window. "These are the only pair," she said, handing them to Gaynor. "Would you like to try them on?"

Would she? Gaynor replaced her gold studs with the hoops and looked into the mirror. She turned her head this way and that, setting the hoops oscillating and caressing her jaw bones. "Oh my" she muttered, breathlessly. "They're fabulous."

Then came the serious moment. "But how much are they?" she asked, looking apprehensively at the sales assistant.

"Never mind that," I said, withdrawing my wallet from my pocket and producing a credit card. "When you're old and wrinkled, these will be a reminder of our first holiday together."

Gaynor's throaty chortle and "cheeky sod" as she punched my shoulder even had the assistant grinning

Five minutes later, after some serious persuasion on my part, Gaynor exited the shop with the golden hoops dangling and swaying from her earlobes. Outside, she faced me, draped her arms over my shoulders and did a little excited bounce up and down off her heels and on her toes. As shoppers wandered around us in the middle of the street, Gaynor pulled me in for a sizzling kiss: mashing lips as eager tongues flickered and swept around panting mouths.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she gasped as we finally stopped kissing. "It's the best present I've ever had." She squashed her chest against mine and planted another firm but brief kiss on my lips. "I'll never take them off till the day I die."

"Whoa," I said with a big grin. "Steady on, that's a bit strong."

"No, I mean it," she said and pulled me back towards the shop window so that she could look at her reflection. "They do suit me, don't they?"

"Yes, they certainly do," I agreed, caught up and amazed with her almost childish excitement.

"Oooh, Richard, c'mon let's get back to the hotel so I can thank you properly."

Clutching hands, we swept along the promenade, Gaynor's ear-rings swinging with every stride of her long, shapely legs. In 15 minutes, we were back in Room 10 and, as I closed and locked the door, Gaynor lifted the cases off the bed and placed them on the floor before wrapping her arms around me in a passionate hug.

Gaynor was like a tornado, swirling all over me: intense and powerful, steamy and ardent. She pushed me backwards onto the bed and swiftly clambered astride me, knees at my waist. She tugged at my shirt, drawing it out of my trousers and up over my head. She tossed it across the room and it was rapidly followed by her blouse.

She bent to kiss my cheek and breathed a command into my ear: "Unclip my bra." Her fingernails razed over my chest, thumb pads brushed hardened nipples, and I unleashed her majestic bosom. Our lips mashed again and Gaynor wriggled her torso, sweeping and pressing her heavy tits against me.

My cock was straining and tenting within my trousers. My erection became even harder when Gaynor fed me a nipple and then switched to the other teat. "Can't let one get jealous of the other," she giggled. My hands caressed the fleshy, hanging globes as I licked and flicked my tongue around the protruding nubs and surrounding dark aureola. I sucked and nipped with my teeth. Gaynor gasped and moaned. "No, no," she whispered, almost to herself. "This is my treat."

She sat upright, her fabulous tits wobbling and jutting. She dismounted me and stood between my dangling legs. She unzipped her skirt, let it fall and deftly kicked it to one side. With thumbs hooked in the waist strands of her white satin panties, she wriggled and drew them over her hips, slowly lowering them down her thighs until I could see the beginnings of her dark curly bush. Teasingly, she dipped her right hand into her panties at the cleft of her lean thighs and a sigh hissed between her lips.

Staring into my eyes, Gaynor let her panties slide to her feet. I looked from her face, down over the undulating swell of her breasts, the flat stomach and rounded hips to the V of her pubic hair. "You're beautiful," I said.

Gaynor smiled and squatted. She removed my shoes and socks, unbuckled my belt, popped the button at the waist and unzipped my fly. She tugged my pants down and off, flinging them across the room to join her discarded clothes. Her right hand smoothed across my throbbing cock, still contained in my briefs. She kissed the bulge before finally releasing it with a swift tug of my underwear.

My cock sprang free and slapped against my abdomen. Gaynor cupped my sac in her left hand, rubbing the thumb gently over my balls, and circled my swollen cock shaft with the fingers of her right hand. She tightened her grip, stroked my engorged length and brought my flared dome to her mouth. She licked and lapped the pre-cum and then swallowed me into her sweet mouth. She bobbed and sucked, lapping her tongue under my fat, sensitive mushroom.

I placed my hands on her shoulders, her skin cool and silky smooth to my touch. With my swollen cock end between her lips, Gaynor's big, brown eyes looked up at me and I couldn't help but notice the gold hoops bouncing alongside her sucking cheeks.

My balls briskly tightened and Gaynor's lips squeezed my head while her fingers rolled up and down my length until I gasped: "I'm gonna cum... Gaynor, I'm coming."

I thrust my hips, curving my lower back, and held my breath. Gaynor withdrew her mouth. Resting my balls in the palm of one hand, she employed long, slow strokes to my rapidly expanding thick cock. I closed my eyes and relished the gradual surge of mounting excitement, the pressure building until my first load dramatically spouted and splashed. "Oh yes, oh yes," said Gaynor, tugging and extracting spurt after spurt of my cream until I was spent. I shuddered, exhaled loudly and let my body and legs sag into the bed.

Gaynor rested my wilting tube against my thigh. "Don't move, I'm gonna get a cloth to clean us up. Just look at this lot," she said and I opened my eyes to see her peering down and holding up her wonderful tits awash with my fluid.

I watched her rear end sway the few steps to the bathroom, listened to the sound of running water, and waited for her return. Minutes later, she was back, obviously cleaned up, and carrying a towel and sodden washcloth, which she wiped over my sticky glistening cock and balls.

The careful way she attentively cleaned me was somehow exotic and I felt life returning to my soft love stick. "Is this how you give bed baths, nurse?"

"Only for my favourite patient," she said and swooped to kiss my clean and dry dome. "How's that feel?"

"Mmmm, good," I said and twitched within her hand.

"Wow, Tiger! Already?"

I edged up on both elbows and Gaynor stood between my knees, holding the towel and cloth. "Change places," I said. "You lie here and let me look at you."

She placed the washing gear on the nightstand. I got off the bed and we embraced, my warm body against her cool, soft flesh. We kissed deeply, murmuring and whimpering as tongues roamed. My cock, seemingly with a mind and will of its own, pulsed against Gaynor's thigh.

We held hands as Gaynor lowered her delightful buttocks on to the edge of the bed and slowly reclined, her feet still on the floor. I released my hold and knelt between her open legs, elbows resting on her knees and my hands running along and around her firm thighs. My fingertips were feather light against her silken caramel skin. She murmured: "Nice, very nice, Richard."

I teased high up on her inner thighs, almost touching her vulva. On the backs of my hands, I could feel the heat billowing from her sex. I concentrated my gaze on her hair-covered mound and tickled my fingertips through the curly bush, prompting more husky mumblings and sighs from my love.




Love Never Dies Pt. 02



I sat back on my heels and looked at the pink slit, exposed below the curly camouflage. I ran a finger along the wet, warm length and used both thumbs to gently pry it open. Gaynor instinctively reacted, spreading her thighs wider to allow access. My tongue lapped, kissed and sucked the outer lips, tasting the aromatic juices which seeped there. With my right thumb, I found her clit already peeking from its hood. I rolled my thumb around it, only lightly pressing, and that brought a tummy tremble and quick inhale of Gaynor's breath.

I probed the now slightly open crack with a forefinger, seeking her vagina entrance. She was wet and receptive as I slid into her hole, beyond the knuckle, and worked my finger gently in circles, polishing her walls. Gaynor's inner muscles tensed, trying to tighten on my lone finger. I responded by adding a second finger, stroking and exploring along the tunnel. Now, Gaynor could grip my fingers and the moist alley became even wetter.

Gaynor's breathing was uneven and she cupped her breasts, arms crossed on her chest, as I continued to stroke inside. Her pelvis rocked rhythmically up and down and she sighed loudly when I retracted both fingers. With my thumbs I again caressed her labia and she slowly, magnificently opened up.

"Good God, Gaynor," I said barely above a whisper. "You've got a gorgeous pussy. It's like a flower in bloom, your lips are like petals."

"How poetic, mister," she said, placing a hand on my head. "They're your petals now. But what I would really like now is for you to bury your cock between them. Can you manage that?"

I was already throbbing. Reluctantly, I stopped admiring Gaynor's pussy. "Oh yes," I said, standing and bringing my proud, horizontal member into view. "I'm ready and at your service."

Gaynor scooted backwards along the bed, sprawled with arms and legs akimbo and waited to welcome me. I crawled into position, and she raised her knees, feet flat against the bed. I held my cock head momentarily against her flower and pressed through the entrance into her depths with one easy movement. We both gasped and I remained motionless for a few seconds, savouring the moment of insertion, feeling my length and thickness so hard and tight inside her drenched cavern.

"Kiss me and make love to me." Oh my, those melting husky tones.

Propped up on rigid arms, my quivering cock plunged to the hilt, I looked down into Gaynor's eyes, sparkling and pleading with desire, and sighed.

"Oh yes, my Petal, I'll make love to you with the greatest of pleasure."

±±±±±±±±

NOW

I reached for the brandy glass and raised my eyebrows in surprise at finding it empty. I rubbed my eyes with the knuckles of both forefingers and focused on the clock at the top right of my computer screen: 8-10.

I read and absorbed Gaynor's message once more and then clicked on compose and entered her e-mail address. I sat back in my chair and thought: What to say? How far and personal do I go? She did sign off 'Petal.' That's about as personal as you can get. Better refill my glass.

I went downstairs and poured another generous measure of brandy. Veronica said she'd be home about 9. That would be 9:30 at the earliest.

Back in the office, I put on my spectacles and pulled the keyboard towards me. In the subject box I typed Hello Petal and then wrote this message:

"Dear Gaynor

Thanks for supplying your e-mail address. I agree that we can be more expansive via this method, much better than the abbreviated Facebook style. For my part, I think we have lots of things to catch up on.

First of all, though, I must tell you I was gobsmacked and totally stunned when I received your first message. It's been years and years since we last talked - but, stupid me, you know that. What I must tell you though, from the outset, is that I never forgot you and many times during these 30-plus years, I thought of you.

Perhaps you'll find this hard to believe but there are certain things that trigger my memory of you, of us. For example, Gladys Knight singing You're the best thing that ever happened to me. That hits home, particularly the 'Oh, you'll be there between each line of pain and glory.'

I truly regret so much about what happened (or didn't happen) and I've come to recognise what a fool I was. I just want you to know that, whatever happens (or doesn't) via this cyberspace link.

Okay, what now? Well, I've got two grown daughters, they're twins and married. I see them irregularly but it's a good relationship. In truth, they're more connected with their mother - phone calls and such like and occasional "half-way house" meetings when they go shopping in some outlet and have lunch. Both of them live some 200 miles in the north. Ah yes, I'm no longer in the north.

When I retired, I decided after about a year that I'd like to return to my roots. I'd kept in touch with several people and, while my parents have passed on, something drew me back. Not all the way, in fact about 25 miles out of town.

I still keep quite active, playing golf three or four times a week (even through the winter) so you can take it from me, the Facebook thumbnail pic that had me looking ill was misleading. I feel very fit for someone approaching 58.

Anyway, time is getting on and I think I hear Veronica (my wife) coming up the drive. Sounds grand that, the drive - but it's only a short one!

So, I'll say, night night - oh no, not yet, one other thing: You signing off as Petal. That really did provoke some exceedingly pleasant memories. Still a naughty, Gaynor!

Okay, think I've said enough for now. Please reply when you can, let me know what you're up to, and I hope I haven't written (said) anything out of place.

Take care,

Richard

PS: Of course, you've got my e-mail address now."

I read through my typing, corrected a few errors and then sent the message into space, before forwarding it from the 'sent' box to a newly-created GR folder. That completed, I started to work my way through the other e-mails which had increased to 41 - and another six in Spam.

Most of them I just deleted without opening and, not for the first time, pondered how much junk is sent out. In the Spam box, I had two offers of cheap Viagra. I chuckled to myself: If only they knew what a waste of time that was. 

Below, I heard Veronica open and close the front door. 

"I'm home, Richard, where are you?"

"Up here," I shouted. "Just finishing off, be down soon."

That's it, I thought, back to normal, back to reality. Until Gaynor makes contact again...



Love Never Dies Pt. 03



This story is based on fact and personal experience. Big Cock Fantasy readers will be familiar with the emerging character of Gaynor. As always, I hope you have a stimulating read. Comments are appreciated. 

~~~~~~~

NOW

OVER dinner - one of Veronica's casserole creations which pleased the taste buds but left me in the dark as to all of its ingredients - she suddenly asked: "Do you miss having sex?"

My wine glass was at my lips but I paused and looked across the dining table at my wife. Her head was slightly bowed and she seemed to be absently playing with her food, stirring it with a fork.

"That's an odd thing to ask," I said. "What's brought it on?"

Veronica didn't look up but continued to toy with her plate of food. "Nothing in particular." Then she looked up, her blue eyes briefly scanning my face, and shrugged her shoulders. "I just wondered. Curious, that's all."

The subject of sex, or making love, had not been mentioned (or tried) for many years - too many years, really - and I'd come to accept that Veronica was without physical desires. Truthfully, I thought she was frigid.

I sipped my wine, placed the glass back on the coaster and smiled: "It's not an invitation, then?"

Veronica rested her fork on the side of the plate, dabbed her mouth with a napkin and leaned back in her chair. She took a deep breath, her firm bosom rising within her silk, salmon blouse. She was still an attractive woman and subtle make-up highlighted her eyes and prominent cheek bones. Her brunette hair was glossy and flowed gracefully around her face and brushed her shoulders.

"Richard, I know that you've . . . well, been with other women during our marriage." She raised a hand, palm facing me, and I remained silent, closing my mouth without uttering a word. "I'm not blaming you and I really do understand why you sought sex elsewhere. It can't have been easy for you, not having any sex at home for all these years."

"Look," I interjected quickly. "You've been a good wife, a great friend and a good companion. Sex is only part . . ."

"Yes, only a part of married life," Veronica cut in, "but an important part. It's a physical way of demonstrating love for each other. Believe me, Richard, I wanted to do just that but . . ."

She paused, reached for her fork and resumed stirring food, eyes concentrating on the plate.

"But what?" I said softly. When she looked back up at me, I could see tears welling. "Oh, God, Veronica, what's the matter?" I said, rising from my chair.

"No, sit down, Richard," she said sharply. "I'm alright." She took a deep breath and continued: "We never really talked about this and it's my fault. I didn't know what to say, how to tell you, how to talk it through." She made a sound which mingled a snort with a laugh and sigh. "Guess I'm still struggling now, after all these years."

I was puzzled. A thought flashed through my brain: Is Veronica lesbian? But I dismissed it quickly and, instead, said gently: "It's all right, love, take your time."

Now she smiled. "You see, that's it right there. You're a very kind man. You've been a wonderful husband, caring and hard-working and you've provided me and our daughters with love and all the material things we could hope for. And what did I give you in return? Not to be crude, but I couldn't even open my legs for you and that's the least a man should expect from his wife."

Now I was stunned but I reached across and took hold of the fingers on Veronica's left hand. I ran my forefinger over her worn wedding band. "You've been good to me, sweetheart," I said. "You've always supported me, been loyal and never complained about my long working hours, or the too little time I was able to spend with the girls. You're an excellent mother and I know what they mean to you. But you never once complained or objected when I wanted to move back down here, hundreds of miles away from them."

"Oh, come on Richard," she said, putting her right hand on top of mine. "A few miles is nothing. And you know I'm always on the phone with them. The least I could do was go along with your wish to return home."

I shook my head. "But it was a big move for you. As well as the girls, you were leaving behind friends and family and coming to a strange area where you didn't know anybody."

"I knew you," she said, gazing into my eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek. I leaned and kissed it away, tasting the salt on my lips. Veronica snuffled and then hesitantly smiled again, just the corners of her mouth creasing. "I knew you really wanted to come back to your roots. I can't say I really understand why but I did know that I wanted you to be happy. It seemed the least I could do."

"What do you mean, the least? It was a big step to take."

Veronica shook her head. "No, you'd given me everything and I didn't even take you in my arms. When was the last time we cuddled in bed? No, Richard, don't even try to answer that. We kiss, a little peck goodnight or hello when you come back from the golf club or such like. And we sometimes hold hands when we're out walking. But that's it, that's all I've allowed for so many, many years. Could I have a sip of your wine?"

We unlinked hands and I passed the glass to Veronica and watched her sip and swallow, sip and swallow.Veronica preferred dry white wine but she returned the glass to me and said: "Thanks, that's quite nice for a red wine."

"Australian shiraz," I said, as if it was important.

"Hmm," she smiled. "Anyway, here we are, married for 30 years and I haven't let you make love to me since before the twins were born. I honestly don't know how you put up with it and still stayed so kind and caring. Most men would have gone long ago."

I shook my head and then took a hearty gulp of the shiraz. "Okay, Veronica, I admit it hasn't always been easy and, yes, I have been with other women. But nothing was ever serious, I never thought about leaving you or the kids."

"And now it's too late, is it?"

"What?"

"I mean, is it too late because you're settled in your ways, you're comfortable and, maybe, couldn't be bothered with all the upheaval of change?" 

I looked into Veronica's watery, inquisitive eyes. And, out of the blue, my mind switched to Gaynor. I envisaged her round chocolate-drop eyes, white teeth, tight black curls and the golden hoops dangling from her ears. I looked at Veronica's mouth but saw Gaynor's soft lips, the lips of the girl I fell in love with but, stupidly, turned away from all those years ago.

"Is that it?"

Veronica's question brought me back from my brief trance. I shook my head. "No, that's not it. Yes, I am at an age where I'm settled but, honestly Veronica, I never looked for a replacement." 

My glass was empty and I poured the last of the wine from the bottle and sipped. "Want some?" I asked, offering the glass, but Veronica shook her head.

"No, thanks," she said and, after a pause, added: "Anyway, as I was saying, do you miss having sex? I mean, you haven't had it recently have you?"

I laughed. "No, I haven't had it recently. And I'm not telling you when I last had it."

Veronica grinned at me and brushed the back of a hand across her cheek, where the tear trail was drying. "I wouldn't want you to, Richard. But you still haven't answered the question."

I thought for a while, drank more wine, and thought some more. Veronica waited patiently, her gaze never leaving my face.

"It's a difficult question to answer, you know."

"Just tell me the truth."

"I suppose in a way, yes," I nodded, thinking of the rare occasions when I viewed porn on the internet and gained relief through masturbation. "But, at my age, I suppose the libido is waning, anyway. Plus, opportunity would be a fine thing."

Veronica blinked at that last statement and I hurriedly said: "I'm joking about opportunity, sweetheart." She smiled, tentatively and I said: "Anyway, I think we've strayed from the point here. You were going to tell me why you stopped having sex with me."

Now Veronica did sip a little of my wine, took a deep breath, and said: "Don't get me wrong on this: I love the girls but . . . well, I hated being pregnant, hated everything about it. Except for giving life to the girls, of course. That is magical. But the whole business of morning sickness, getting grotesquely fat, the back pains and then the actual birth . . . ugh, it was horrible, so painful Richard. I vowed then that I would never go through it again."

Veronica grabbed at my hand and tears again welled in her eyes. "I just couldn't bear the thought of being pregnant again. Do you understand?"

I nodded but said nothing, just rubbed the back of my wife's clutching hand.

Veronica sighed. "So, that's it. I decided that I couldn't risk getting pregnant again. I didn't trust any birth control to be 100 percent safe and, anyway, I wasn't keen on taking pills. So, my solution was no more sex." She suddenly giggled. "Well, that's not truthful; I've rubbed myself off quite often. Does that shock you?"

"That you masturbated? No, not really. I supposed that you must do something. I didn't think that you'd gone from being sexually active to nothing. Full stop." I paused and then continued: "But I am sad that you were not able to mention your fears of getting pregnant. We might have been able to do something about it?"

Veronica shook her head. "That's the point. I didn't think my fear was normal and I didn't want you to think I was crazy or something. I just bottled it all up. I couldn't talk about it, not to anyone, not even doctors. I didn't know anyone else like it and I thought I must be odd. So," and now Veronica's words were punctuated by sobs, "I hid it from everyone, including you, my loving husband."

I left my chair and put an arm around her shoulders. I bent and rested a cheek on top of her head as she slid an arm around my waist. I breathed in the scent of her shampoo and squeezed a shoulder as her tears flowed. "That's good, let the tears flow, darling," I said and fought to keep my own tears at bay.

Gradually, Veronica calmed. Her sobs and tears stopped and I pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her. She wiped her eyes and cheeks, smearing mascara on the linen, and then, daintily, blew her nose. She looked up, eyes reddened, and said: "I can't have children anymore, you know that. But I'm not sure I can have sex, either. No, shush," she said, reaching up to put a forefinger on my open lips. "But, what I would like, if it's okay with you, I would like to lie naked on our bed and let me . . . well, let me take care of you. I'd like to feel you in my hand. Would that be okay?"

My mind was swirling. This whole conversation, Veronica's confession, and now her request to give me a handjob was overwhelming, simply staggering. My cock involuntary twitched at the idea of being held by Veronica. After all these years. My God!

"Whenever you say, sweetheart."

Veronica kissed the back of my hand and then held it against her heaving chest. "Right now, please. Take me upstairs, darling."

I followed my wife up the stairs, studying the natural sway of her hips and bottom within her cotton skirt. In the bedroom, she turned and draped her arms over my shoulders, hands linked behind my neck. We kissed, a few seconds, and then broke off, looking into each other's eyes. My cock grew as Veronica's groin and belly pressed against me. We kissed again, this time opening our lips, allowing tongues the access to explore and lick. Veronica whimpered and I responded with some low grunts.

"Let's get undressed," I said, our foreheads pressed against each other, warm breath wafting on our faces.

We parted from the embrace and I drew my shirt over my head, too impatient to undo buttons. Veronica noticed and followed suit with her blouse. I unbuckled and unzipped my trousers at the same time as she wriggled out of her skirt and kicked it to one side.

Veronica sat on the bed to remove slippers and roll down her pantyhose. I sat alongside and took off my slippers and socks, finally tossing aside my pants. Veronica's bosom heaved in the confines of her white bra and I bent to kiss the soft mounds, relishing the cool, silky softness on my lips and the sweet scent drifting up from her delightful cleavage. She unclasped her bra, drew the straps down her arms and let it drop on the carpet. Her rose-red nipples were hard and proud, waiting for my mouth. I obliged, sucking gently at first and flicking my tongue over the buds.

Veronica moaned and sighed and reached down towards my briefs. Her hand settled on my bulge and she lightly rubbed her palm along its length. I felt pre-cum drizzling out and she tugged at my waistband.

"Wait," I said and stood up to face her. I put my thumbs in the waistband and drew my briefs slowly down. Veronica's eyes focused on my swelling and they widened when my boner sprang free. She immediately scooted backwards on the bed, lay full length on her left side propped up on her elbow, and patted the duvet next to her.

I clambered onto the bed and lay on my back, my erection warm on my stomach. Veronica quickly tickled her fingers over my heavy balls and then closed them around my throbbing tube. Slowly, she stroked and stared at my stiff shaft which was pulsating within her light grip. I reached my arm across to massage her right tit with my left hand, pressing my palm against the rigid nipple.

Veronica shifted her position to rest her head in the crook of my arm and shoulder. She looked along my palpitating chest, watching herself masturbate me. "You've got a lovely dick, Richard," she whispered.

I grinned. "That's what you used to say."

"Yes," she said, "Richard the Dickhead," and laughed softly in remembrance. "Am I doing this okay?"

I tweaked her nipple in response and she, in turn, tightened her grip, rubbing up and down the length of my thick shaft and caressing the head. "Uh, uh," I said, "it's coming."

Sperm jetted violently, splashing my chest and arm. I gasped and bucked my hips as three, four spurts arced skywards. Veronica continued her steady stroke until my balls were empty and the last drops seeped from the one-eye onto her curled fingers.

I lay back, breathing heavily, and Veronica released my cock and ran her fingers feather-light among my spilled seed. "I'll get some tissues to clean up," she whispered.

"No, don't bother. I'll have a shower in a minute," I said.

"No," she said quickly. "We'll have a shower. Together," and kissed my cheek.

Our walk-in en-suite shower is a to-die-for luxury. Various heads are set at different heights and angles and the water temperature is set to our liking.

"Here, let me wash your chest," said Veronica, standing before me and lathering up a bar of soap. I put my hands on her shoulders as she washed my torso, water cascading down her back. "Turn around," she ordered and I obeyed, allowing her to wash my back and, cheekily, sweep swiftly over my rear end. "All done," she said, and, with even more cheek, slapped my right buttock.

I took the soap from her and began washing her shoulders, working down over her chest, proud breasts, rib cage and tummy. As I pondered going further down, to her bush and underneath, Veronica appeared to be a mind reader. "Not yet, if you don't mind, Richard. I'll wash between my legs and you can see to him." She nodded at my cock which wasn't quite limp.

I smiled, a little disappointed but content in the knowledge that we'd taken a giant leap this evening. "Okay," I said. "One step at a time, yes?"

Veronica nodded. "I enjoyed holding you again, Richard, and it was good to please you. I'd quite forgotten what sex smelt like, let alone have all that stuff flying about."

"What about you? Didn't you get wet?"

"Course I did. And I loved you playing with my breasts again. And kissing you properly." 

She wrapped her arms around my waist, pulled our wet, soapy bodies together and raised her face for a kiss. I bent my neck and we paired open lips, tongues urgent in their searches. After so many barren years, this was heady stuff but Veronica broke away and looked into my eyes. "I think I'm done here for now. Thank you, Richard but, please, still be patient with me. I'm not sure how far I can go."

We stood apart, I turned off the water and we toweled in silence. I sneaked glances at my wife, particularly when she bent to dry her lower legs and fleetingly exposed her vulva. I don't think it was accidental.

I pulled on my bathrobe but Veronica strode naked back into the bedroom and shrugged into a knee-length nightdress. "I know it's early," she said, "but I'm ready for sleep."

"Okay," I said and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'm not tired yet. Have a good sleep. And thank you."

She smiled but said nothing and buried herself beneath the duvet. "Night, Richard."

I went downstairs, poured myself a large brandy and settled back into the leather couch. And thought. Thought a lot. I was happy that Veronica had opened up to me, happy that she'd broken a barrier. But I was deeply concerned that she'd been unable to express her fears to me when they originated. And I wondered whether she'd fully recover. After all, this had been a long time problem and she still didn't want me to touch her down there. A psychiatrist or psychologist (one of those psys, anyway) would probably have a field day with her. She'd asked me to be patient. Now I grinned, widely. Bloody hell, what have I been for the past 30 years and more?

I switched on the TV and flicked through the channels menu. Nothing attracted me, so I turned it off. I drained the brandy, poured another generous measure and looked at the clock. It was 9:35 and I decided to spend some time in my office, perhaps play a few computer games.

I could hear Veronica's heavy breathing, not quite snoring, as I made my way along the landing to my office. Inside, I closed the door and started my computer. It was programmed to open up with my e-mail service. I had 14 messages in my inbox and another seven in the spam folder. 

The spam I deleted wholesale without looking at a message. I scrolled my inbox for anything that might be urgent or at least interesting - and took a sharp breath when I saw the name: Gaynor Reid.

Each time I saw her name, I reacted the same: so excited that my pulse rate increased. Lord knows what happened to my heart beat!

To calm myself, almost masochistically, I worked through the other 13 messages. I replied to some and deleted others until, finally, I was left with just the one. I clicked on it and, after using a finger to poke my spectacles back up on to the bridge of my nose, I read:

Subject: You're the best thing. . .

Dear Richard,

Hope you don't mind me addressing you in such a familiar way but that's how I feel, especially after reading your e-mail to me.

Perhaps you don't wish to hear this but I must confess that I shed a few tears after what you said about not forgetting me. As you will have guessed by now, I never forgot you either, Richard. 

Bloody hell, why would I have contacted you from my Facebook page if I didn't still think about you? By the way, I'm no longer on there. Another story for another time.

"You're the best thing that happened to me" - that was definitely a song for us, wasn't it? Funnily enough, even though we split up and went on to lead separate lives, I still believe those sentiments are true (oh yes, even though there was pain and not so much glory).

Of course, I knew that you got married to Veronica (it was in the local paper at the time) but I didn't know you'd had children. I did think you would. So, how old are they? Are you a grandfather yet?

I think I told you previously, that I never married. Could have done, had offers, but I was never smitten - after you, that is. Being honest here, Richard, the pain of seeing you walk away from me was hard to take and I've never wanted to go through that heartache ever again. 




Love Never Dies Pt. 03



I kept hoping that you would see sense and we would reunite but, of course, it never happened. When I read that you'd got married, I hit rock bottom. It was after that, I decided it was best not to get too involved with men. I really couldn't face going through such upheaval and sadness again. That's why, in a strange way, I was glad to hear that you didn't forget me altogether. It's nice that you thought of me sometimes - even though it's 32 years (next month, on the 11th, actually) since we last met. Ugh, that was a horrible day.

Anyway, as people do, I picked myself up, dusted myself down and got on with my life. It's not been a bad one, overall, but I made some mistakes. I just don't dwell on them. They've happened, they're in the past.

Well, Richard, I think I've rattled on enough for now. But, one final word. You say you're back within 25 miles of your old home. I've never moved far from base. Who knows, perhaps one day we'll bump into each other. Might be a surprise for Veronica. Does she know about me? Or didn't you discuss old flames?

Okay, that's it. I do hope you'll reply soon. Love seeing your name pop up in my inbox.

Take care,

Petal

(By the way, think I'm more butterfly wings now. Sorry if that's rude xx)

I read the message again - and for a third time. I relaxed back into my chair and pondered the contents. It was a sad message in many ways and I was sorry - felt truly sorry - that I'd had such a harsh affect on Gaynor's life. And for such a long, long time, too. I sighed and rubbed my temples, eyes squeezed shut behind my spectacles.

What to do? What can I do? What happened in the past cannot be erased. As much as I'd want to turn back the clock and do things differently, it's not possible. Can the damage be repaired? No, we're not talking about a car needing a bit of body work after a collision. This is a human being. We're not talking about patching up or restoration. This is about healing. And that's probably nigh impossible.

I removed my spectacles and drained my glass, still deep in thought. Gaynor says it was 32 years since we last met. She even remembers the exact date . . .

±±±±±±±±

THEN

GAYNOR crossed her right leg, the back of her knee resting on her left thigh. She wore open-toed shoes with a small heel and her nails were painted a deep red. Her finger nails were similarly coated.

I put my hand on her nylon clad right thigh and said: "I don't want us to end this way, Gaynor. But I've moved on and I wont be coming back down here in the future. At least not regularly."

"Yes, I understand that," she said, her husky voice almost a croak. She turned her head slightly to look at me, a hooped ear-ring swinging against her cheek. "But, as I keep telling you, I cannot just pack up halfway through my training and exams and follow you up north. With all the good will and love in the world, Richard, what happens if we don't work out? What happens to me then?"

"Why wouldn't we work out? Before I got this better job and moved, we were doing great, weren't we? And in this past nine months, we've kept in touch on the phone and by writing. I've not thought about anyone else, just you Gaynor."

"Oh Richard, Richard," she sighed, shaking her head and placing a soft palm on the back of my hand. Her brown eyes bore into my own eyes. "You're being so naive. I'd love to come and be with you but it's just not practical."

"Practical!" I exploded and was immediately aware that a few of the lunchtime drinkers had glanced over at our corner table. "Sorry," I said, lowering my voice. "I don't get this practical bit. I thought we were talking about love here and wanting to be together."

Silence enfolded us. Gaynor sipped her soda and lime and I watched her swallow. She replaced the drink on the table, ice cubes rattling, and said: "Richard, I love you with all my heart. I'm almost 23 and, even though that's young, I can't ever imagine loving anyone as much as I love you. But," she waved a finger like a metronome to stop me interrupting, "I cannot take a chance on it all working out. I have security here and the promise of a good career. I enjoy nursing and want to take care of people. I'm even considering training to be a midwife once I've qualified as a nurse."

"Christ, Gaynor, there's hospitals everywhere, even up bloody north where I am. Why on earth can't you come up with me?" I blew out my cheeks, exasperated.

"Why can't you understand what I've been telling you for months?" Gaynor said, barely above a whisper. "One more time: I am a student nurse at the hospital. I am hoping to qualify in just over a year from now and I cannot have any disruption while I'm training and sitting exams. If I was qualified, it would be a different matter. Then I could apply for a nursing post at a hospital near you, if there are vacancies."

My beer glass was almost empty. I swallowed the remains in one angry swallow. "So, I can't persuade you, then?"

"It's not a matter of persuading me, Richard. It's just not possible at this time." She paused and lifted my hand off her thigh and gripped it firmly. "Look, I didn't ask you to stay here, did I? I didn't ask you to turn down your new job? I didn't try to stop you moving on with your career. So, why can't you understand my position?"

I sighed. I loved this woman dearly but we were, literally, going nowhere. Reluctantly, I looked into her eyes and said: "Guess that's it then, Gaynor. I wish it wasn't so but I don't know what else to do."

I could see a tear forming in the corner of an eye and Gaynor's beautiful white teeth bit on her lower lip as she shook her head once more. This time in despair. "We don't have to split," she managed to mutter, valiantly holding back her tears. "We can get by for another year or so. Surely we can keep in touch like we have been doing, meet up sometimes. We could even arrange our holidays together . . ."

"No, Gaynor," I cut in. "That wouldn't work. Not a long distance relationship. If you can't change your mind, if you don't love me enough to do that, then it's best we go our own ways."

"Oh Richard, that's not fair. Nor is it true." She pulled her hand out of my grasp, brushed fingers across her damp cheeks, and then sat upright, her magnificent bust stretching her black sweater as she inhaled deeply. "It's not about how much I love you and I'm deeply sorry that you even thought that, let alone said it."

I did regret the remark. But I had macho pride, I was stubborn and I wanted to break her resolve. Clearly, that wasn't going to happen. I shrugged my shoulders and said: "That's the way I feel."

I stood up, bent at the waist and leaned in to kiss Gaynor firmly but briefly on her red lips. It was my last taste of her lipstick.

"Okay, there's a train I can catch. . ." I checked my wristwatch. . . "in twenty minutes. Have a good life and best of luck with your career."

"That's it?" she said, still seated. 

I nodded. "'Fraid so. You've made your choice."

She stared up at me for a long few seconds and, with her husky voice almost at normal pitch, never stopped looking into my face as she said: "So be it, if that's how you really feel. You go now, catch your train. I hope you find what you're after. Go. . .go on, go now, please." She flipped her hands as if shooing me off.

I started to trudge away, my heart down in my shoes but my head held high, straight back and shoulders square. After a couple of strides, I heard Gaynor call: "Richard, Richard."

I turned and said: "What?"

"Thanks for these," she said, touching a golden hoop, "I'll always treasure them."

"You're welcome," I said and made my way to the door. I opened it and looked over my shoulder to the corner table. Gaynor forced a bright toothy smile and raised her near empty glass of lemon-and-lime in salutation.

That's when it struck me. We'd first met in this bar and Gaynor had sat in the very same corner seat. She'd raised her glass that night and smiled at me. But now I wasn't smiling. 

I let the door slam behind me.



Love Never Dies Pt. 04



This story is based on personal experience. Big Cock Fantasy readers will have met Gaynor - but not like this! As always, I hope you have a stimulating read and thanks to those who are riding all the way to the terminus. It's some distance off. Nice to have company.

Comments are appreciated. 

~~~~~~~

NOW

I COULD have cried, or at least roared out in pain and anguish. I wanted to beat my chest and bellow to the skies, roaring out my frustration. The e-mail from Gaynor stabbed at my heart, sliced me open and exposed me as a conceited, arrogant fool. At least, that's what I was, way back then. 

Long ago I, realised what a huge mistake I'd made by walking away from her. I loved her but, at that time, I was too young and driven, too selfish and self-centred. Too determined to have my own way. Some of those single-minded traits helped in forging my career - but they were hugely destructive in my personal life.

By the time I came to my senses, it was too late. I knew I'd committed the biggest mistake of my life but I had to live with it and carry on the best I could. I had nobody to blame. I had made my own bed and had to lie in it. 

And now . . . Gaynor's words, 32 years after I turned my back on her, confirmed my worst fears. Not only did I spite myself - but I devastated a beautiful, caring young woman. So much so, that she refused to fall in love again. She couldn't face the prospect of another heartache, another loss, another traumatic episode.

Well done, Richard, you bastard.

So, what now? My eyes fixed on Gaynor's words and found that, somehow, they were amazingly kind. Yes, she referred to "rock bottom . . . a horrible day . . . pain and heartache." But there was no accusation, no finger-pointing, no recriminations. Just a bold, painful statement about how I hurt her then - and the knock-on affect for the rest of her life. Despite all that suffering, she'd been the one to bridge the years and renew our contact. And, even now, she said she liked hearing from me. Amazing!

I shook my head and thought, yet again, about the remarkable love I had spurned. It was all so tormenting. I couldn't help but wonder what might have been. How different would our lives have been?

Hang on, Richard, here you go again. Don't feel sorry for yourself - think about Gaynor. Think about what you did to her, not what you foolishly brought upon yourself.

I stood up from my chair, picked up my empty brandy glass - and then put it down again. I walked along the corridor, peeked into the bedroom and saw Veronica was asleep. Downstairs I collected the brandy bottle and returned to my office where I poured a large measure.

I put on my spectacles and prepared to compose a reply to Gaynor. It was 10:20 on my computer clock and I wrote:

Subject: Contact

Dear Gaynor/Petal,

Of course, I don't mind you addressing me as "Dear Richard." In fact, I'm flattered and pleased that you still think of me in those terms.

I was about to write that I enjoyed receiving your e-mail but, on second thoughts, that needs some clarification. Yes, wonderful to hear from you again - but, God, what did I do to you?

I've previously told you, albeit briefly, that I came to realise what a stupid, young, arrogant fool I had been when I ended our . . . what do I call it? love affair? relationship? courtship? I don't know, but I ended it and regretted it for ever.

But, if it's possible, I regret it even more now that I know what I did to you and your life. Honestly (and I hope you can believe this) I never thought you would be so hurt, wounded and distraught. I guess I thought you would carry on, meet someone else and forget all about me. But not so simple, eh?

In one selfish way (see, still got that trait) I suppose that pleases me (my ego, anyway). But, in reality and truthfully, I'm distressed at the damage to your life and happiness that I caused 32 years ago. Believe me, Petal, if I could turn back the clock and start again, I would. 

Whether we would have been together for life, no one knows - but at least we would have found out and not lived our lives always wondering "what if?" Hope that makes sense.

One other thing I must say is this: I am grateful and amazed that you can still think kindly about me, despite everything I did to you. I know I can never make up for it all but I do want you to know that I've never stopped loving you. No consolation, I know, but at least I've told you.

Oh dear, I've just read through what I've written so far and it's really a down-in-the-mouth message isn't it? It even rivals those suicidal Country songs about lost loves and dead dogs that you loved so much! Take it you're still a Country fan (I am now, believe it or not!). Nelson, Cline, Haggard, Price, Billie Jo Spears, Wynette, Tom T Hall, Don Williams, Parton et al, love 'em all.

Okay onward: I do want you to know that I'm pleased we're in contact again. I, too, get a kick when I see your name in my inbox (Nurse, nurse, my pulse rate's gone through the roof!). 

I never thought we'd be in touch again but . . . here we are, apparently just a few miles away. You may not like what I'm about to suggest and perhaps I haven't the right but, here goes: Would you like to meet up? Say, for lunch or a drink?

I realise it's a big ask, but I would like the opportunity to see you (and hear your husky tones, which I strive to "hear" when I read your messages. Nothing beats the real thing). 

Please, don't feel any pressure and forgive me if I've been presumptuous. I'll understand if you'd prefer to keep our contact via cyberspace but you did mention about accidentally bumping into each other. And, yes, I told Veronica about you many, many years ago. But that's another story.

If you do want to meet, I'm putting my mobile phone number at the end of this e-mail. Don't call but send a text with a number where I can reach you. Then perhaps we can arrange a date and venue. Okay?

Of course, if you don't wish to meet . . . please keep in touch by this method.

Love

Your Richard xx

I read through one more time and doubts seeped into my mind. I wanted to meet Gaynor but was it the right thing to do? What would be the outcome? Perhaps Gaynor would discover that she'd escaped - and then, of course, she'd be even more angry about the wasted years. But, what if that old spark was just waiting to be fanned? What then? What would we do? What could we do? Does it mean someone would get hurt - again? Or am I falling into the realms of fantasy? It's a long, long time and people change. Is it possible that the attraction could still be there? 

Oh, Richard, think, think, think!

I sipped at my brandy and then slugged the rest down my throat. Damnation! If Gaynor agrees to a meeting, that's okay. We can both satisfy our curiosity and where's the harm in that? 

I clicked on send, transferred the message to my special GR folder, shut down the computer and made my way to the bedroom. I stripped, cleaned my teeth in the bathroom and then slid, naked, beneath the duvet. Veronica's chest rose and fell with each deep breath and I reached across her warm body to switch off the bedside lamp.

"Mmmm," she murmured as I placed my hand on her stomach. "What's the time?"

"Nearly midnight."

"G'night, Richard," she said and turned onto her right side, her back to me.

"Night," I said to the darkened room. On my back, staring through the gloom at the ceiling, my mind was too active to allow sleep. I thought about Veronica's confession, the fear of pregnancy she hadn't been able to reveal until tonight. And I thought about the handjob she had surprisingly offered and given me - and where do we go from here? Would she eventually want to make love, open up her legs, as she put it, and take me in after all these years?

And I thought about Gaynor. Oh, I thought a lot about Gaynor. Various memories of happy, loving times, the glorious sex. And wondered how she'll react to my e-mail, my suggestion of a meeting. On and on my mind worked feverishly until, finally, exhausted, sleep came. 

When I awoke, Veronica was not there. The bedside clock radio read 8:52 and I stretched my arms out wide and yawned. My sore eyes were reluctant to stay open but I had to move. It was Tuesday and I had a 10:30 tee time with Mick and the gang.

I opened the curtains and looked out at another sunny morning. I shaved and showered before dressing in slacks and sports shirt.

Veronica, wearing a pink housecoat, was reading the newspaper at the kitchen breakfast bar and she looked up long enough to say: "Coffee's in the pot. Have you got time for something to eat."

"No, I'm running a little late. I'll grab some coffee and toast at the club."

"Right," she said, putting the paper aside and looking at me, her mouth a tight line.

"Are you okay" I asked.

She continued looking at my face for a few seconds before speaking. "Yes, guess so. I'm a little puzzled, though."

"Puzzled?"

"Hmmm. Puzzled."

"About what?"

"Come on, don't be thick, Richard." She got off her stool and stood in front of me, arms at her side. "Where do we go from here? After last night, I mean."

"Oh," I said and glanced at my wristwatch. It was 9:30, still ample time to get to the golf club. "Thought we agreed to take things one step at a time."

Veronica nodded, thoughtfully. Her hair was dishevelled and her face pale. "Yes, we did." She folded her arms, almost defensively. "Look, you've got to go. What time are you playing?"

"Usual, about 10:30. But that's not important if you want to talk."

Veronica laughed, almost derisively. "It can wait, Richard. Lord, there's no rush now is there? Go on, get off to your golf pals. I'll see you when you get home. And, if you've forgotten, I'm meeting Helen this evening and we'll be eating out. You'd better get something at the club."

"Okay," I said and bent to kiss her lips. It was just a routine peck, no emotion, and Veronica kept her arms folded.

After playing golf, one of my worst rounds for some time, I had fresh salmon and Mick, predictably, ate steak and jacket potato. "You need to watch your waistline," I told him as he flopped back in his seat. "You look eight months pregnant."

"Humph," he said. "It's cost me a lot of money to get a figure like this."

I shook my head and smiled at him. "Just saying, at our ages we need to look after our health." 

"Don't worry about me, pal, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about."

"Me?"

Mick took a gulp of beer and then nodded. "Yep, you. You've been rather quiet these past few weeks. And out there on the course today, you didn't seem quite with it. Worst game I've seen you play. Is something bothering you? Something wrong?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing wrong." I thought for a moment. Mick was my oldest friend and totally reliable, trustworthy and certainly not a blabbermouth. "I've just had a few things on my mind that's all."

Mick looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain. I debated whether to continue and how much to tell him. Truthfully, I wanted to speak to someone and Mick was as good as anyone. I could confide in him.

"You'll probably find this strange," I began and Mick frowned. "Do you remember Gaynor?"

Mick's frown deepened. "Gaynor? Gaynor?" he mused. The penny dropped. "The nurse? Oh yes, I remember her," and he rolled both hands in front of his chest. "Big boobs, enormous. You and her went out for a while, didn't you? Before you moved. Yes, you did," he answered his own question. Then: "Why? What's happened?"

I took a swallow of beer and began the story of Gaynor contacting me and our subsequent messaging, ending with my offer to meet.

"Good Lord," said Mick, rising from his seat. "I'm gonna get another couple of drinks." 

I was home by 7:15 and made straight for my office and the computer. I was anxious, desperately hoping that Gaynor had sent a reply. I was like a lovesick teenager not a man heading towards his 60s.

The page seemed to take ages to load and I impatiently tapped my fingers on the desk, muttering "C'mon, c'mon." I had 16 new messages and I scrolled down the index looking for her name. No, not there. I scrolled back up, slower this time in case I had missed it. No, nothing. I was deflated but started to read and delete the messages in the inbox. Then I slaughtered the spam.

I removed my spectacles and hovered the curser on "shut down." Another e-mail popped up: Gaynor Reid. Yes! Thank you, Gaynor! I smiled broadly and then, pessimistically, worried that her message would convey bad news. 

I told myself to calm down and decided I needed to go downstairs and get myself a brandy. But the bottle and glass was still standing on my desktop, left there from last night.

I poured a generous measure, composed myself, settled into my chair and put my spectacles back on. Then I opened the e-mail and read: -

Subject: Meeting up

Dear Richard,

Wow and wow again. That's some message, Richard. I must admit that it gives me a lot of satisfaction to know that you now recognise the hurt you inflicted on me. Yes, I believe you when you say that your youth and your single-minded drive to succeed in a career, stopped you from properly considering what you were doing to us.

That's the dreadfully sad bit in our story, isn't it?

Yes, we don't know how we would have turned out (think that was a point I made to you at the time: my security). But I firmly believe we could have enjoyed a good life together. Fact is, Richard, I think we are soulmates. We had so much in common, our likes and dislikes - and, look at you, a Country music fan now!!

I, too, never thought our paths would ever cross again. But something possessed me to look you up on Facebook. I didn't make contact immediately. I waited a few days, nearly a week!! Honestly, I didn't know what to say and that's why I blurted out that bit about looking ill in your pic. I mean, come on, what person in their right mind would post a picture of themselves looking ill? But, it really wasn't a very flattering picture: much too stern with no sparkle in the eyes. Not how I remember My Richard, at all.

So, happily, you responded and now, here we are, in touch again. Can't believe it, really. And now you suggest meeting.

My heart immediately said yes - but, is it the right thing to do? You are a married man and, tell me if I'm wrong, I don't suppose you've told Veronica about our cyberspace contact. (You gave me your mobile number but said text, not call. Big give away, Richard!)

So, soulmate, what to do? I've been chewing this over ever since I read your message and I didn't sleep too well last night. Partly, I'm excited, of course, but I'm also worried and concerned. I think the chemistry we had is still there. At least, it is for me and, judging by your written words, it looks like it's still within you. I suppose, really, we've got unfinished business and it's this not knowing that still binds us.

But, think about it, Richard, that was 32 years ago and we were young and vibrant. A lot has happened since then. Are we the same people? Doubt it and hope not. It appears to me that you've mellowed with age. Right? 

Me? Not sure. I think, basically, I'm still much the same in my 50s as I was when we met. But that's not for me to judge, is it?

One thing, I am happy with my looks. I've been blessed in that area and, though I've put on a few pounds and gained some wrinkles here and there, I can still turn a few heads when I dress up. (Lord, that sounds conceited, doesn't it? Not meant to be. It's just fact). 

Oh dear, I'm waffling. I do that when I'm in a quandary (is that the right spelling?)

I've just taken a break to calm myself down and try to think clearly. I want you to get this message as soon as possible but I know how important the next step could be. Don't want to say something in haste and then repent (sound familiar, honey?)

Okay, in a nutshell, I want to meet. Where's the harm?

When I send this, I'll also text you. Of course, we don't know how far apart we are (in miles, not thoughts) and we'll need to sort out a meeting place.

Hope we're doing the right thing, Richard. Oh, shit, who can bloody tell?

That's it. Till I hear from you,

Love Petal (butterfly wings) xx 

As I finished reading, my phone beep-beeped in my pocket. I fished it out and brought up the message.

"Hi Richard, you now have my number. Call tomorrow if you can. Anytime after 9:00. Night, night xx"

I saved the number to my contacts and then switched off my computer and made my way downstairs, taking the brandy and my glass. I settled into a chair and scanned the newspaper headlines but couldn't concentrate. At some stage tomorrow, I needed to create time and opportunity for the call to Gaynor. How could I do that? Risky to do it in the house, although my office is a possibility, depending where Veronica is at the time. Pop to the garage for petrol? Hmm, that's possible. 

"Hi, Richard," and the front door banged shut. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I hadn't heard Veronica drive up and enter the house. It was a wake up call: if I was going to indulge in clandestine phone calls and meetings, I'd got to keep my wits about me. No slacking, stay aware of all around me. God, what was I getting into?

"Hi, sweetheart," I said as Veronica came into the room. She looked flushed. "Had a good time?"

"Hmm," she said and slumped onto the couch. She wiped the back of her left hand across her brow and then used the same hand to tug down the hem of her skirt. "We had a bit too much wine with dinner so Helen suggested we get a taxi home. Seemed a sensible idea." Her words were slightly slurred. Unusual for Veronica. "I'll pick my car up sometime tomorrow. Perhaps you can drive me to it. You okay?"

"Yes," I said, folding the newspaper. "Just been looking at the headlines. Not a lot happening. Well, nothing new, anyway."

"Isn't there? Ah well, perhaps no news is good news."

I smiled as Veronica leaned on the couch arm and pushed herself upright. "If you don't mind, I'm going for an early night. Sleep some of this wine off. Good night, Richard," she said and bent to kiss my brow.

"Night, sleep well," I said, watching her cautiously stepping out of the room. "Where did you leave the car?"

She stopped, hand on the door handle and looked over her shoulder. "In the car park at the restaurant. Mario said it would be safe. Okay?"

"Course. We'll collect it in the morning," I said, thinking that everything was falling conveniently into place. Take Veronica to her car and then call Gaynor. Perfect.

"Right, thanks. You're a treasure, Richard. G'night again." And she tottered off towards the stairs, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I got up, went to close the door but listened as Veronica clomped up the stairs and along the landing. Yep, she'd certainly had a glass or three. Wonder why? Anything to do with last night's sexual activities? Her outpourings? I closed the door and went to pour myself a final brandy for the night. A good measure.

Sitting back in my chair, I tried to remember the last time Veronica had been under the influence of drink. Had to be years and years ago. I could remember one famous occasion when Gaynor enjoyed herself at a party. But my thoughts were more concentrated on that night's journey home . . .

±±±±±±±±

THEN

GAYNOR giggled and slumped her head on my shoulder. I turned my head briefly to kiss the mass of curls on the top of her head and returned my gaze to the road. The night sky was clear, a bright full moon and stars twinkling. My headlights flooded the narrow country road, sweeping over the hedgerow.

Gaynor gave one of her majestic heaving-bosom sighs and slipped a hand on to my crotch and playfully squeezed. "That was one hell of a good party, wasn't it?"

"Sure was," I said, squirming in my seat as Gaynor began to glide her hand along my trousers: top of my thigh, crotch, inner thigh, crotch . . .




Love Never Dies Pt. 04



"Hmm," she murmured, low and husky. "There must be somewhere we can stop and enjoy this balmy summer night." She shifted her head to look up at my profile. I focused as best I could on the winding narrow road, trying not to become part of the scenery. "Do you know anywhere, Richard?"

My cock was growing and Gaynor's hand found it, her fingers and palm working almost nonchalantly as she continued to look up into my face. I glanced down at her, saw round chocolate eyes twinkling in the moonlight and her wet lips slightly open, the tip of her tongue running along brilliant white teeth. Her hooped ear-rings flashed in the pale light. My cock twitched and I knew I must have seeped.

"I'll find somewhere," I said and almost immediately spied a farm gateway. I slowed the car, drove past the entrance and then reversed and backed up close to the gate and switched off the lights.

"There's a clever boy," said Gaynor, sitting up but not removing her hand from my hardening tool. She leaned in for a kiss and I put a hand on the back of her head as we meshed lips and tongued furiously. Her hands attacked my trousers, pulling down the zip and grabbing hold of me though the opening. She worked my cock free of my briefs and broke off our kiss to bend and suck my helmet. She bobbed, lapped and licked, moaned and groaned. I rested my neck on the back of my seat, closed my eyes and thrilled to the soft, cool, wet mouth sucking on my stiff tube. 

Gaynor gave one last firm suck, released me and sat up. "Back seat, honey," she said and we got out of the car. I clung on to the waist of my trousers, my cock swaying in the warm night's breeze. At the rear passenger door, Gaynor pulled her mini-skirt up to her waist and rolled down her panties, stepping out of them and climbing onto the back seat. One leg she draped along the seat, the other stretched out, her foot on the seat in front. She was wide open, her pink slit glistening in the white light of the moon. Her caramel thighs were taut.

"No licking or fingering," she said, patting her mound. "I just want your cock. Give it to me hard and fast, Richard. I'm sooo horny for you."

I clambered aboard, let my pants and briefs slip to my ankles and, with hands resting on the seatback either side of Gaynor's head, I dipped my pelvis forward and Gaynor took hold of my throbbing penis, guiding it to her vulva. She brushed the dome against her inner petals and then fed it inside to her vagina entrance. "Now, Richard, now," she said and I plunged forward.

"Oh, great Lord above," she blustered. "That's wonderful. Fuck me, come on, love me good, Richard."

I pounded, filling her soaking hole, and she met me thrust for thrust. It couldn't last long and it didn't. Gaynor held her breath, hips pushed up and bosom straining until she released with great gushes of juice from her pussy and hot breath from her mouth. Not to be outdone, I spurted and spurted, juddering to a halt as Gaynor wrapped her arms around my head and pulled me to her undulating, hot chest.

We lay there for a few minutes, totally sated from those few moments of wild sex. "Mmm," she eventually said, releasing her grip on both my heads. "That was terrific. I love you Richard but tonight I just fancied raw, animal sex."

I straightened up and looked into her eyes. "Right," I said, "it certainly was that," and bent to kiss her lips, gently and sweetly, not like the fierce coupling we'd just enjoyed.

"A little variety never harms, does it, Richard?" she said, slapping my bare buttocks. "C'mon, I've had my wicked way with you. Time to take me home."

±±±±±±±±

NOW

In the morning, Veronica was up early - no signs of a hangover - and we breakfasted on scrambled eggs, fresh tomatoes and toast with coffee for me and peppermint tea for her. After eating, Veronica said: "Give me 20 minutes and we'll go for my car. Okay?" 

I glanced at the kitchen clock, 9-05, and nodded. "Sure," I said, turning to the sports pages in the newspaper. "I'm ready when you are."

It was just before 10:00 when I pulled into Mario's car park and alongside Veronica's car. No sign of Helen's vehicle. "She must have got here earlier," said Veronica, leaning across to kiss my cheek and then exiting my car. "See you back home. I'm doing a bit of shopping first."

"Okay," I said, smiling and thinking that I could use the petrol ruse some other time. If there is some other time, of course. Gaynor had said to call after 9:00 and I hoped she wouldn't think I was purposely delaying matters because I didn't care. Truthfully, I would rather have called her last night than wait this long.

I waited for Veronica to get into her car, start up and drive towards the exit. I followed her out and kept behind until she turned off towards the shopping centre. I drove on for a few hundred yards and turned into a quiet side street and parked. I switched off the engine and pulled my phone from my jacket pocket.

I opened contacts, scrolled to GR and pressed the call button. I lifted the phone to my ear and listened to the ringing tone. It rang . . . and rang . . . and then: "The number you are calling is . . ." and I cut the connection. 

I took a deep breath, all the pent up emotions, the excitement of ringing and waiting to hear that husky voice again, after such a long,long time, were quashed. Gone to the answer service. Shit, Richard you should have left a message. At least let Gaynor know you had rung.

I found GR again and pressed call. The ring tone filled my ear and I waited for the answer service, preparing to leave my message about calling back later. The ring tone stopped and I heard: "Hello, Richard."

I was speechless, struck dumb. That deep husky, sexy voice entered my brain and turned my body and brain to jelly. "How did you know it was me?" I blurted.

I heard a chortle.

"Course,' I said. "You've got my number on your screen."

"Sharp as ever, honey," she said. "Sorry if that was you calling a few minutes ago but I was on the loo and, by the time I'd wiped myself, you'd gone. Dear me, that's probably too much information. Sorry, Richard."

It was my turn to chuckle. This was still the effervescent Gaynor I knew and loved. "Not at all. I got a lovely picture from that, thanks."

"Aaah, sweet talking, rude Richard."

There was a pause and then she said: "It's nice to hear from you. I've been on edge all morning, wondering when you'd call. God, I've done nothing. Haven't even got dressed yet. Where are you? Not at home, I hope?"

"No, I'm not at home."

"Good, because I don't want any trouble with your wife, you know. I don't suppose you've told her anything, have you?"

"No, I haven't. Why, would it be better if I did?"

Another pause and Gaynor said: "You'd know more about that than me. She's your wife and I'm just an old flame. What would she think?"

"Don't rightly know, Gaynor," I said, truthfully. "She knew we dated for quite a time and that I was serious about you. But it's so long ago. Not truly sure what she'd think about this call."

"What about a reunion?"

That did halt the conversation. I tried to get my thoughts in order.

"Hellooo. Still there, Richard?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, just thinking about what you said. I think I could tell Veronica that I was meeting you. I think for old time's sake she might be okay with that. But I'm not totally sure."

"Hmm," said Gaynor. "Sounds like we're on our own, kid. Skulking around in the shadows, furtive and all that."

I don't know why but I suddenly felt emboldened. "Whatever, Gaynor, I really would like to see you again. You know I'm unhappy with the way we parted and I can't really explain how . . . well, overjoyed and surprised I am that you got in touch again. And that we're even talking on the phone like this."

"Yes, I know," she throated. "In the past few days, I've asked myself about that. Why did I contact you again?" She laughed, almost cackled. "But of course, it's pretty obvious isn't it. I fell in love with you and I still am. As I've said, we're soulmates. But, is it destiny or a fantasy, Richard. Am I living in the past? Am I clinging to something I couldn't have?"

"Oh dear, Gaynor, what can I say. I'm sorry . . . "

"No, no, Richard" she intervened. "I don't want you to say sorry any more. That's in the past. Gone. Anyway, I could have followed my heart and moved north with you. Instead, I chose to complete my nursing training and I let you go. It was a two way street."

"Yes, but I severed the ties in the end. I said I couldn't do a long distance affair. That it couldn't work. Remember?"

"Yes, of course I remember," she said, softly enough that I had to press the instrument to my ear. "That was the worst day of my life, bar non. Sorry, Richard, but it was and I'm not pretending or telling you otherwise. Shit, you broke my heart." I could hear a snuffle and then: "But I've never stopped loving you."

"Oh God, Gaynor," I blurted. "What can I say? Nothing can alter what happened. But I am deeply, truly sorry and I've missed you every day of my life. Okay, I haven't thought of you every day but you always kept coming back to my mind. Let me tell you this - and it's the honest truth, may God strike me down. When my twins were born, I actually thought of you and what sort of kids we might have had. That's how much I've always been thinking about you."

"Oh, Richard, that's so sweet and yet so, so bloody sad." I could hear a large intake of breath and then: "What bloody fools we both were, eh?"

I laughed, disguising the choking feeling and the tears welling in my eyes. "Yeah, bloody fools who should've known better. But, that's what they say, isn't it? If I only knew then what I know now."

The thoughtful silence was broken by a husky question: "So, what do we know now Richard? What does your older, more wiser brain tell you to do now?"

"I know what my heart says, Petal," I replied slowly but with assurance. "I want to meet you, let my eyes look over you once more and have a hug." I gulped. "Just to hold you next to me, if only for one more time."

Gaynor's heavy, irregular breathing poured into my ear. I felt a tear run down my right cheek and I let it course down to run aground on my bristly chin.

"What do you think, Gaynor?"

More silence, just gasps in my ear. Then: "I think yes, my heart says yes. But I'm afraid, Richard."

"Afraid?"

"Uh, huh, afraid. I've lived my life since you making sure I wouldn't be hurt again. Not ever, never." She sighed. "Loving you was wonderful, the best thing that ever happened to me. Yes, that song again, Richard. But the pain, the heartache when we broke up . . . no, never again. I couldn't go through that again."

"I understand," I said quietly, almost meekly.

"Do you?" she asked, her huskiness deeper and stronger. "I hope so, Richard. Because, if we do go any further than this phone call and messages from cyberspace, I don't want to get hurt again."

"Yes, I do understand. Honestly." I let the words sink in and added: "I guess, really, the ball is in your court. I think you must decide on the nest step, if there is one."

"Oh, there'll be one," she said swiftly. "I can't deny myself that. Like you said, I want to be in your presence and I'd like to touch your flesh. Ooops, perhaps that should be skin or hand."

We both chuckled. Gaynor had done it again, introduced levity and a smile, lifted my heart.

"Where does Veronica think you are now?"

"Driving home. She left her car at a restaurant last night. Drank a bit too much wine to drive."

"Oh, what restaurant?"

"Mario's, a nice little Italian place . . ."

"I know it. Been there many times."

"You have? Does that mean, you live nearby?"

"From Mario's? Not that close now. Used to be closer. I'd say about 15 or so miles away now."

I thought and shook my head. Whichever compass directions we were in, Gaynor and I must be close. She obviously thought the same thing.

"Trouble is, Richard, if you and I are both known there, that rules it out as a meeting place. If we decide to meet, that is?"

I nodded to myself. "Suppose it does but I'm sure we can work something out."

Gaynor laughed again and spluttered. "Sorry, Richard," she finally said. "That was one hell of a choice of words, 'work something out.' We couldn't manage it 32 years ago, could we?"

She was right, of course, and I grinned. "No, we didn't. But we are both wiser now."

"Now that's something else I might have to chew over, honey. I'm not sure I'm doing the right thing here, the wise thing. You're a married man after all and we do have a history. Are you sure we're not rushing headlong into something we might not be able to control?"

This time the silence was prolonged as we both considered Gaynor's realistic question. Then she broke it: "I've got a lot to think about, Richard, and I'm sure you do, too. I'd like to meet but, please, let me think it over a bit more. I've loved talking to you, hearing your voice again and I could easily say, 'yes let's' and meet up. But . . ."

"Yes, I understand, Gaynor. I really want to see you, I really do. But I think it's only right that you make the decision. Just know that I'm here and will do as you wish. Okay?"

"Hmm, thanks Richard. You know, listening to you then I almost said 'To hell with it, let's meet' but I should take time." Another deep breath. "So, I'll either text or e-mail. I wont take too long. Okay?"

"Yes, fine," I said and began the wait.

"Good. Take care, honey. Speak soon."

"Right, you take care, too. Love you, Petal."

"Aaah, I told you: butterfly wings now. Byeee."

And she broke the connection.



Love Never Dies Pt. 05



This story is special to me and based on personal experience. Thanks to those readers who are riding all the way to the terminus. It's still a distance off. Nice to have your company and comments.

~~~~~~~

NOW

I ARRIVED home only minutes before Veronica and I helped unload the shopping bags from her car and carry them through to the kitchen where the kettle was already boiling. I made tea for Veronica and a mug of instant coffee for myself.

Leaving Veronica to put away the groceries, I went out on to the patio. I was greeted by the sun peeping over the fringe of a cloud. It was pleasantly warm and when Veronica joined me, carrying her tea and a magazine, she had changed into knee-length cotton shorts and a halter neck top, all of which showed off her tan. She'd pulled her hair back into a small ponytail.

"Nice ensemble," I said, peering over my mug of coffee as she sat alongside me. 

Veronica placed her tea on the table, crossed right leg over left and rested the magazine in her lap. "Hmm, thank you," she smiled. "I was in fact thinking about putting on a swimsuit and laying out on a lounger. What do you think? Is it warm enough?"

"I'd give it a little longer, see if these clouds disappear. But the forecast is for a warm, sunny afternoon."

"Okay, you're right. I'll give it a chance to warm up." She lifted the magazine from her lap and started to flip the pages. It seemed as though she was searching for a specific article but, abruptly, she plopped it onto the table and reached for her cup and saucer.

"Are you okay, Veronica?"

She half-turned her head, raised her eyebrows and, with the cup poised at her lips, said: "Hmm, why do you ask?"

"Well, you seem a bit restless. Something bothering you?"

She drank some tea, leaving a trace of red lipstick on the china, and settled the cup back on the saucer, which she held in her lap. She looked down for a few seconds and said: "You know me very well, Richard, perhaps too well." And she looked into my face, eyes searching and appraising. "Yes, something is bothering me . . . well, no, not exactly bothering me, it's more . . .oh, I don't know." She shrugged her shoulders which set her bosom rippling. I then realised Veronica wasn't wearing a bra beneath her skimpy top. Quite unusual for her.

"Want to talk about it?" I asked.

"Oh, I don't know Richard, I really don't know." She paused briefly and virtually whispered: "But I think I should, to be fair."

Veronica had bowed her head again and was staring into her tea cup. I was concerned because, in the past few days, she had been most unlike her usual reserved, equitable self. The handjob and the wine drinking were two striking examples of Veronica behaving out of character.

"To be fair?" I asked. "Fair to whom?" 

Now she sat upright, sergeant-major straight, bare shoulders pulled back and undulating chest proudly jutting. She said: "I don't want to make a big fuss, Richard, but I've been a bit . . . well, confused, lately. It's nothing serious, just something that's happened and . . ." she trailed off and sank back into her seat.

I sat and waited for her to continue. The silence dragged. Veronica was evidently contemplating her next statement. The sun was warming up and birdsong carried on the light breeze which ruffled through the trees and hedges. I ran out of patience.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?"

I didn't know where Veronica's mind and thoughts had been but she was clearly startled to hear my voice. "What?" She looked at me, her face registering surprise as if she'd forgotten I was sitting there. "Oh, sorry, Richard. I was miles away," and she sighed.

"Yes, I could see that," I said and resumed waiting for more information.

She turned her face up to the sun, eyelids closed. "Mmm, I think I will get changed into my swimsuit," she said. "Would you be an angel and get out a sun lounger for me?"

"Yes, sure, of course," I said, disarmed by this sudden switch in the conversation.

"Thanks," she smiled and again looked into my eyes, almost quizzically. "Why don't you get one for yourself and join me. I'll get you a cool beer. How's that sound?"

I nodded, somewhat bemused. "Yes, okay, Veronica," I said and we both rose from our seats. I made my way to the shed where we kept our garden tools and various foldaway sun loungers. Veronica disappeared inside the house.

I set up the loungers, placed a small plastic table between them, and decided I should exchange my pants and sports shirt for swim shorts. At that moment, Veronica came through the patio doors and I was stunned: Veronica in a bikini!

It must have been bought recently because she hadn't worn a two-piece in years. Sea blue, the top was held up by thin straps and the panties were quite brief, cut high on the hips. I wolf-whistled and Veronica beamed at me.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," she said, walking towards me, proffering a can of beer and I'm sure she exaggerated the swing of her full hips. Sunglasses were lodged in her hair and she had refreshed her red lipstick.

"When did you get that?" I asked, nodding at her outfit.

Veronica laughed. "Before the girls were born. Can't you tell? It's not today's style at all. Now they're tiny thongs and patches which barely cover nipples let alone breasts."

"In fashion or not, you look good," I said.

"I discovered it the other day when I was doing a bit of late spring cleaning, sorting things out for the charity shop." She smiled. "I tried it on just out of curiosity and was surprised that it fit me at all." Then she tapped her stomach. "I'm having to breathe in here, you know, and my thighs are thicker. My bottom's not too big, is it? Anyway, I'd never wear it in public."

I looked again at Veronica's figure, this time a little more critically. As she sat on the lounger, her tummy sagged over the waistband and her legs were on the chubby side. Her bosom, I knew, was still defying gravity and, although her arms were somewhat fleshy, they were not yet flabby. Overall, not bad for a lady in her mid-fifties wearing swimwear she'd bought 30 years ago.

She settled back on her lounger, dropped the sunglasses over her eyes and said: "This is the life, Richard."

It seemed she had forgotten all about our earlier conversation. I popped open the beer and took a swig. It was cold, refreshing. "Right," I said. "I'll get changed."

"Okay," she said. "I'll still be here."

Inside the house, it was cooler and darker. I waited for my eyes to adjust after being in the bright sunlight and then made my way to the bedroom. Climbing the stairs I felt my phone vibrating. I had a message.

In the bedroom, I removed the phone from my pocket and looked at the screen. I was surprised to see: 1 message from Gaynor Reid. The time was 1:27, barely three hours since we'd spoken on the phone. I opened the message:

Hi Richard, promised I wouldn't keep you waiting. Have sent an e-mail xx

I quickly disrobed, found my shorts in a drawer and then headed barefoot along the landing to my office. I booted up the computer and wandered over to the window while the machine whirled into action. I looked down at Veronica. From on high, her thighs were definitely plump and her hips generously spread in the lounger. I suppose the unexpected sight of Veronica in a bikini had prompted my wolf whistle. And that led me to ask myself: What on earth is going on with her? Why is she acting so out of character? She's not menopausal. Been there, done that. It was a puzzle but I turned away and went to sit at the computer.

Gaynor's message was at the top of the inbox menu and I clicked on immediately.

Subject: Telephone chat

Dear Richard,

First, it was really good to talk, to hear your voice again. I guessed you were a bit nervous and so was I. But I tend to come over a bit flippant in times of stress but you sounded serious and a bit shaky at first.

Anyway, it was good and I've been doing virtually nothing since then but sit here thinking about you, about our conversation and what to do next.

You may think I'm being premature here, Richard, but I am concerned about what might happen after we meet. (Notice the after).

As I told you, I don't want to get hurt by this relationship. Once was enough and I've avoided anything like it for 32 years now. Oh, I've had my moments, believe me on that, but you were my love and soulmate. I couldn't opt for second best even though you weren't available for me. I know: silly cow, but there it is.

I'm in danger of waffling here. That's my nerves. Okay, I've just sat back and composed myself again and this is what I'm thinking:

One: Can you promise me no trouble will occur between me and Veronica. I don't want to be responsible for any fall-out between you two.

Two: Are you sure you can handle this situation? Meeting physically is rather different from cyberspace or even voices on the phone.

Three: Why do you want to see me again? I mean, REALLY WHY? What do you expect and want from this reunion?

Four: Are you available Friday morning about 11-30 for a few hours?

Yes, whether it's right or wrong, I do want to see you. It could be another huge mistake but . . .

Either phone me (anytime you can) text or send a reply this way.

Oh yes, stupid brain-dead witch: where to meet if you can make it on Friday? I've got a rough idea about your location area (the Mario's restaurant car parking affair has helped) and I wonder if you remember The Toad's Hollow on the river. We went there a couple of times on summer evenings. It's still going, extended a bit, and they do food. We could even stroll along the riverbank and make believe we're in romantic Paris.

Or, perhaps not. Anyway, think about those points I've mentioned and I'll wait to hear from you.

Love

Nurse Reid (as was)

Gaynor (as is)

Butterfly (hey, you know by now)

Byeee xx

I quickly read through the message a second time and sent it to my special GR folder. I put the screen on sleep mode and made my way back downstairs to rejoin Veronica while I chewed over this latest development.

As I stepped onto the patio, Veronica asked me to bring over her magazine and I obliged, placing it on the table between our loungers.

"You've been a long time," she said.

"In the loo, call of nature," I said, patting myself metaphorically on the back for my quick response. "Have you put any sun lotion on?"

"Yes, when I was in the bedroom. What about you?"

"No, but I'll be okay, it's not that hot. No hotter than when I'm golfing."

"Right," she said. I could see Veronica's eyes were still closed behind her dark lens. She ignored the magazine I'd placed on the table.

I relaxed back on my lounger. Well, relaxed may not be accurate. I lay back but my mind was busy, contemplating not only my response to Gaynor but the prospects of meeting on Friday, two days away. Just two days. After all these years. 

I exhaled loudly and Veronica said: "You okay?"

"Yes, just relaxing," I lied and decided I must phone Mick and arrange a phony golf match. The deceptions are beginning to pile up, I thought, and I recalled Gaynor's husky voice: "I don't want any trouble with your wife, you know."

"By the way, I can't remember, Veronica, did I tell you I was playing golf on Friday?"

"Hmm, Friday? Don't think so. But I don't think we've got anything on."

"Good," I said.

"Oh, wait a minute." Veronica wriggled and sat up from her reclining position. She turned her head to look at me. "This Friday?"

"Yes," I said, my stomach churning and my heart drumming furiously inside my chest. Please, God, don't tell me she's arranged a dinner party.

"I'm seeing Helen again on Friday. That'll probably work out okay. You can eat at the club again, can't you?"


"Yes, sweetheart," I said, relief flooding through my body. Then thought: Helen, the divorcee? Again?

That evening, I phoned Mick from my office to arrange my alibi ("Be careful, old pal," he said) and sent an e-mail to Gaynor:

Subject: Can't believe it

Dear Gaynor,

Yes, Friday is good for me, excellent in fact. I remember The Toad and it's not too far from me. I can make it by 11:30 and suggest we meet in the car park. I'll be in a grey Volvo but I think you'll recognise me from my wonderful Facebook pic.

You know, I'm quite amazed that we're so close to meeting again. I never, ever thought I'd see you again. I dreamed about it but never thought it would happen. Crikey, I'm like a lovesick teenager. I promise I'll have calmed down by Friday (oh, yeah, pigs are flying!)

Please, don't concern yourself about any fallout regarding Veronica. We've been together for a long time but I'm sure you'd be surprised about our relationship. It's not what most people would think a marriage should be like. Anyway, that's for another time. Just to say, all is under control and you need not have any fears.

I have, of course, thought about the points you made and perhaps we can talk about them on Friday.

On Friday, that sounds so normal and yet it's so NOT normal: it's very, very special.

By the way, I'll be dressed in golfing gear, just pants and sports shirt (maybe a sweater, depending on the weather) because that's where Veronica thinks I'm going. Mick is my alibi. Think you'll remember him: Mick Palmer, my old mate.

Okay, my Petal (not quite sure about this butterfly wings bit) I'll see you Friday at 11:30 (guess you'll be a little late, just to keep me waiting on tenterhooks. A ladies prerogative, eh?).

Till then,

Love

Richard x x x

Downstairs, I found Veronica sitting on the couch, reading her magazine. "Would you get me a glass of brandy, please Richard," she asked, looking over her shoulder as I entered the lounge.

"Sure, anything with it?"

"Perhaps a little more brandy," she said, and chuckled. "A couple of ice cubes would be good."

I decided to join her in the choice of drink. I poured decent measures but didn't bother with ice in my glass. "Here you go," I said handing Veronica her drink and then walking to sit in my nearby armchair.

"Thanks. Cheers," she said and sipped.

I watched as she put the magazine down at her side and looked across at me. It didn't seem this magazine would ever be read. "You know what we were talking about earlier . . ." she started and I looked at her, trying to remember which subject she was now recalling. I cocked my head to one side and raised my eyebrows.

"We've discussed a few things today, sweetheart," I said with a smile.

She didn't smile but dipped a finger into her brandy glass and stirred the ice cubes around. Then she licked the finger and finally looked up at me. "I mean about what's been bothering me. Well, not bothering . . . just something that happened."

"Yes, I remember, that now," I said. "It was before you decided to sunbathe and put on your old bikini."

Veronica nodded. "Well . . ." she paused. "Look, you'll probably think I'm being stupid, that's it's something about nothing."

She stopped again. I waited and wondered what bombshell she was about to drop. Finally, I could wait no longer and broke the silence: "I can't say until you tell me, can I Veronica?"

"No, you can't," she said and lifted the magazine off the seat next to her. She dropped it on the floor and patted the cushion. "Come sit here with me, Richard."

I did as asked, settling back into the couch. Veronica, with brandy in her right hand, reached with her left and took hold of my right hand. I turned my head to look at her and she gave me a small, corner-of-the-mouth smile and took a deep breath. Here it comes, I thought, whatever "it" is.

"You know that Helen's been divorced for some months now, since John decided last year that his secretary was a younger and more desirable prospect."

I nodded. "And you've been a good friend, helping her through some tough times."

"Hmm," she said. "Well, it wasn't easy for her and, quite honestly, I worried at times. The doctor subscribed her pills. You know, tranquilizers and sleeping pills and such and I was worried that she might do something silly. Sometimes, especially when I went round to visit her in a morning, she slurred her words. I guess she was also drinking. Not that I could smell anything on her but she likes vodka and there's not a lot of smell with that, is there?"

I nodded and we both drank brandy.

"Well, what I'm coming round to . . . a few weeks ago, after we'd been out for dinner, I drove Helen home. By the way, John's let her keep the house under the divorce settlement. But he can afford it, the bastard." Veronica sipped more brandy. "Anyway, Helen asked me in for a nightcap and I had a small glass of wine. I think Helen had gin, quite a big one with a splash of tonic. So, we sat on her sofa, bit like you and I are now," and she squeezed my hand, "except we weren't holding hands. Well, to cut the story short, Helen was talking about John and his floozy and she got very upset, started crying and sobbing. So, as you do, I put my arm around her to give her comfort and she put her head on my shoulder."

Veronica paused again and drained her glass. Mine was still half full. "Want a refill?" I asked.

"Mmm, but not just yet," she said, again squeezing my hand. "So, there we were, me comforting Helen, her sobbing on my shoulder, when I felt her hand move over my breasts. Not just brushing over them but really rubbing them and feeling for my nipples with her fingers. I was shocked." Veronica paused and looked at me. "I will have that refill now," and she handed me the empty tumbler.

"So, what did you do?" I asked as I got up to replenish our drinks.

"Well, nothing really. I didn't know what to do. I just thought she was so upset and probably wasn't even aware of what she was doing."

"You're probably right," I said, returning with the drinks.

"Mmm, thanks," she said, accepting her glass as I sat down again. "But it happened again, the next time I went to see her. In fact, she greeted me with a kiss on the lips and that's not something we'd ever done before."

I looked at Veronica and wondered how far this tale was going, recalling how flushed and tipsy she had been after her last outing with Helen. "Are you saying that Helen has come on to you? In a lesbian way?"

Veronica took a fair slug of brandy and squeezed her eyes shut as it burned down her throat. She coughed and nodded her head. "Yes, that's it, Richard. Well, I think so."

"Hmm," I said, "and this has got you confused. You don't know what to do because she's a friend in need coming out of a nasty divorce?"

"Yes," she nodded, "partly that."

"Partly? What else?"

Veronica smoothed her left hand along her skirt and then again gripped my right hand. She looked down into her lap. "I think I like it," she whispered, haltingly.

Now I was stunned. And speechless. For a few moments nothing was said until I managed: "And so how far have you gone?"

She shook her head. "Not far. Kissing and cuddling. All above the waist, nothing between our legs. Helen's kissed my breasts, sucked my nipples. That was the last time, the other evening."

It was my turn to slug the brandy. "So, are you telling me that you're confused because you don't know whether you're lesbian?"

"Or bi-sexual." she said quickly.

"Ah," I said, the unexpected handjob springing to mind. "Is that why you wanted to play with me the other night? To see what you felt like after all these barren years?"

Veronica nodded but didn't speak.

"And?" I asked.

Veronica shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not sure," she said softly. "I liked the feel of you in my hands but I'm very confused. I'm not sure about anything. It's all so new. I mean, with Helen it's new. With you, with any man I suppose, I don't know whether I'd want to be fucked." She shook her head. "Sorry, that's crude. But you know what I mean, don't you?"




Love Never Dies Pt. 05



"Think so," I said, reflecting on Veronica's recent confession about the fear of pregnancy and the fact that for many years she'd avoided taking a penis in her. "But, before Helen, did you ever have sexy feelings towards a woman?"

"I'm not sure." She turned to look at me. "I'm not sure about anything, Richard. It's all so puzzling. I don't know that I'm even attracted to Helen. It could be just something that's happened and I've got carried away with it. It's as if I'm consoling her and don't know how to stop it going too far."

"I think that could be right," I said. "Bit of a runaway train, eh?"

She shrugged again. "Could be, maybe . . . oh, I don't know. Oh dear, what on earth must you think of me. And please, please, don't mention any of this to the girls."

I smiled at her. "Don't worry, Veronica. I've never mentioned our sex life to the girls and I'm not about to start now." I bent and kissed the top of her head. "I'm sure you'll sort it out with Helen."

"You don't mind?"

"Don't mind what? That you're unsure about what's happening between you and a friend?" I shook my head. "Believe me, Veronica, I knew something was happening when you came on to me. I just didn't know what had sparked it. Now I do. What happens next is up to you. All these 30-odd years we've been good partners and had a good life together. Except for not having sex, I've no complaints. But I will tell you this, after the girls were born and it became obvious you didn't want me making love to you, I thought you were frigid."

"Maybe I am," said Veronica quickly.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Not to be harsh here, Veronica but after all these years do you think I'm bothered? We don't have sex, we haven't had sex for a lifetime, and that's that. I came to accept the situation a long, long time ago and, truthfully, in our relationship now I don't think it matters a jot anymore. If you now find that you can have fun with Helen, or any other woman, well . . ."

"You really are quite a remarkable man, Richard," she said with a slow shake of her head. "Quite remarkable."

I watched Veronica sip her drink. I tried to recollect when she had first mentioned Helen, when they'd become friends. "Remind me," I said, "how did you meet Helen?"

"At the gym. John hadn't long left her for his floozy and we got talking one afternoon in the beauty room. We had a coffee later and she told me about her situation and we sort of developed from there."

"So, you've known her less than a year?"

"Yes, about 10 months or so." Veronica nodded and paused before adding: "But we've got closer since her divorce. I think she's quite lonely. From what she's told me, I reckon most of their friends were really John's."

" Could be," I said and stood up. "But I do think that you'd probably be better talking over this, er . . . situation . . . with Helen. Find out how she feels at least. What she wants, eh?"

Veronica looked at me and I added: "But, whatever you do, just be discreet. Remember, way back in the day when I went with the occasional other woman for sex, I didn't broadcast it. Okay?"

Veronica nodded. "Yes, Richard. And thank you for being so understanding."

I smiled. Would she be equally as understanding about Gaynor? And was it because of my renewed contact with Gaynor, that I was able to be so understanding? Was I hoping for a similar response from Veronica should the occasion arise?

"Okay, I'm going up to my office to play some computer games. Goodnight, sweetheart." 

"Night, Richard," she said and bent to pick up her magazine. "I'll just finish my drink and then got to bed."

Upstairs, I switched on the computer and settled into my leather, swivel chair. And I thought, my mind wandering back . . . 

±±±±±±±±

THEN

SMALL bits of confetti were still lodged in our clothing when I carried Veronica into the hotel suite. In the ballroom, the reception was winding down and we'd made the rounds to say goodbye and thank everyone for the gifts and for attending. We made a special point of thanking Veronica's parents for the whole day. No expense had been spared for their only daughter's wedding. Her father Clive had even paid for our first night together as man and wife in this honeymoon suite.

Now, I back-heeled the door shut and carried Veronica through the sitting area, evading our luggage which had been left earlier in the middle of the room, and on into the bedroom. We shared a lingering kiss and, finally, I bent my back and lowered her feet gently and slowly to the thick-piled carpet.

I placed my hands on her waist, the brocade of her white dress tickling my palms. We kissed again and then Veronica looked up into my eyes. "Well, husband," she said, smiling, "I believe there's one more thing we've got to do to make this wedding day complete."

"Mmmm," I said, staring into her blue eyes. "I do believe there is, Mrs Johnson. And that means, I'm afraid, it's time to remove your lovely wedding dress."

"I know." Veronica exaggerated a sigh. "And my tiara," she said, raising her arms and seeking to remove the pins that secured the jeweled band to her hair.

I removed my suit jacket and shook a cascade of confetti onto the lush carpet. I began to unbutton my shirt and Veronica stepped forward to run her hands over my chest.

"You will be gentle with me, won't you Richard?"

I gulped and nodded, looking deep into my virgin bride's eyes. "Of course, always sweetheart," I said and located the zip high in the back of her sleeveless dress. Slowly I drew it down, stopping at the base of her spine. I kissed the hair on the top of her head and used my hands to ease the bodice down to her waist.

We held hands and I stood back a pace, casting my eyes over her naked shoulders and the swell of her breasts in the half-cup bra. I looked back up at her face and smiled.

Veronica smiled back. "I've got things to do in the bathroom," she said. "Why don't you open the champagne and get into bed? I won't be long." She pecked my lips and I watched her cross the room to the bathroom, where she gave a little wave of her fingers and closed the door.

I hastily disrobed to my briefs and then opened the bottle of champagne which stood in an ice-bucket on a silver tray on a bedside table. Three flutes stood on the tray, two empty and the third containing a single red rose. Nice touch. As I poured the bubbly, I heard the bathroom door open. With a glass in each hand, I turned - and inhaled sharply.

Veronica wore a white, full-length satin nightdress. The material clung to her curves and was slashed from the shoulders in a deep V between her round breasts.

"Wow, Mrs Johnson!" I exclaimed as she approached me with an easy sway of her hips and jiggling of her tits. Her nipples jutted darkly against the near-transparent fabric. Her red lipstick smile was wide and her eyes shone brightly.

"I guess you like my nightie," she said, glancing directly at the growing bulge straining in my briefs. She took a glass out of my hand and we clinked in a toast: "To us," we said in unison. We sipped and Veronica walked around to the other side of the bed. She placed her glass on the nightstand, turned down the covers and fluffed up the pillows.

I put down my glass, propped the pillow against the headboard and sat on the edge of the bed before swinging my legs between the sheets. I reached for my glass as Veronica eased between the sheets and lay down on her left side, facing me. Her right hand glided up and down my thighs for a few seconds and then rested on my briefs. My cock was hard and hot.

"Come, kiss me, please," she said quietly, looking up as I emptied my champagne flute.

I leaned to put the glass on the silver tray and then slid down the sheets on my right side and placed my left hand on Veronica's cheek. Our lips melted together and opened to allow entrance for our flicking, licking, seeking tongues. My hand wandered from her face, down her neck, shoulder, chest and settled on her right breast. The satin was smooth in my palm and as I caressed the soft globe I felt her nipple harden beneath my fingers. And my cock stiffened as Veronica eased a hand under the waistband of my briefs.

We stopped kissing, looked into each other's hungry eyes and Veronica said: "He's really big now, Richard. Bigger than those other times I've held him."

I smiled and kissed the tip of her nose, all the time fondling her breast and teasing her firm nub. "It's all for you, sweetheart," I said.

"I know," she said, removing her hand. "You'd better take your pants off so that I can feel him properly."

I sat up and slid my briefs off, tossed them across the room and lay down, propped on my right arm, head resting in my hand. I smiled as Veronica circled her fingers around my shaft and slowly stroked my length. My left hand roamed over her tummy, her right hip and thigh.

"Just a second," said Veronica and wriggled to pull up her nightie. She sat up and drew it over her head, releasing her proud tits, and shook her head to loosen her hair. She slid back down on her left side and, with my left arm, I drew her to me. The flesh of our bodies was cool, chest against breasts, stomach against tummy, thigh on thigh - and a hot cock squashed down there. We kissed deeply and my left hand roamed over Veronica's back, buttocks, thigh and found space between our bodies to lightly play among her soft pubic hairs.

Veronica sighed as my fingers tickled and probed, caressed and stroked until she parted her thighs a little, giving access for me to slide a finger along her moist slit. I gently rolled her on to her back, lowered my head to kiss and suck her tits, and brushed my fingers tenderly around her vulva. With thumb and forefinger, I gently parted her labia and eased my middle finger towards her vagina. Veronica was wet and she closed her eyes as I probed deeper, entering slowly and gradually. I stroked up and down, in and out, knuckle deep. Veronica's breathing was short and rapid and the seeping juices in her love tunnel covered my exploring finger until she whispered: "I'm ready, Richard."

I got between her legs and she raised her knees before putting her hands on my shoulders. I reached between our bodies and guided my erection to her pussy where I rubbed the dome between her pink moist lips and sought the tight entrance.

Veronica tensed as my cock nudged forward and I kissed her forehead. "Relax," I said and she surprised me by spreading her thighs and reaching down to grab my buttocks and encourage me towards her. The moment my dome burst into her vagina, penetrating her for the first time, Veronica let out a loud, hot-breath gasp and shouted: "Good God Almighty."

I let the initial shock of intrusion subside before slowly progressing up and back down her tight but lubricated channel. Veronica's fingers, which had remained clenched into my buttocks, finally slackened and she began to meet each of my thrusts, raising and lowering her hips steadily to the accompaniment of an increasing murmur from her mouth.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"Mmm . . . yes, Richard . . . just keep it like that . . ."

I maintained a steady rhythm, easily and tenderly probing her inner depths, my balls sac flapping against her lower groin. Veronica's vagina walls gripped and clung to my pulsating erection and I knew I couldn't last much longer. Our first time of complete love-making was about to end.

"Oowa," breathed Veronica, her eyes squeezed tightly shut, as my rigid cock rapidly expanded even thicker. I increased the piston movement, quicker and harder, until, panting and grunting, I ejaculated powerfully into her dark cavern. Veronica clung to my back as I spurted and spurted and, as I juddered to a breathless halt, she suddenly exhaled loudly and threw her arms outwards to thwack down on to the bedclothes. She rolled her head from side to side and finally became still, sinking heavily into the mattress. Our breathing was ragged and I took most of my weight on my toes and arms. My cock twitched and throbbed in the confines of Veronica's hugging, sodden pussy.

Eventually, I withdrew my diminishing penis and settled on to my right side. I placed my left hand on Veronica's hot mound, the pubic hairs damp and matted. "Are you okay?" I whispered.

Veronica opened her eyes, turned her head to look at me and smiled. "Oh yes, thank you Richard." She gave a girlish giggle. "Now I know what all the fuss is about, I wish I hadn't waited so long." She reached down to feel my sticky, almost-limp manhood. "Can you get him hard again for another go?"

±±±±±±±±

NOW

I realised I was smiling broadly at the recollection of our honeymoon night. The card game on the computer screen in front of me had not even been started and I closed it with one click of the mouse.

Yes, Veronica was an enthusiastic lover in those early months of marriage. She had been keen to learn, to try new positions and we didn't confine ourselves to the bedroom. And then it all shut down. Click, just like that. For years, nothing. Until now. And what was happening now?

I shook my head in wonderment and reached for the brandy glass. I swallowed and enjoyed the heat of the liquid threading down my throat. After all these years, Veronica is again thinking about sex, talking about sex. Great - except she doesn't know if she's lesbian! Whatever next?

I laughed to myself. How strangely ridiculous is all this? I've reached the time of life when most men are content with the "slippers and a pipe" lifestyle. Me? I've got a wife who might be starting a full-blown lesbian affair. And, in less than two days, I'll be reunited with an ex-girlfriend who, I believe, is the true love of my life. Where is all this leading?

I scratched my head, removed my spectacles and switched off the computer. I could hear Veronica's heavy breathing from the bedroom. She was obviously asleep and I looked at my phone, lying on the computer desktop. Gaynor had said: "Call me anytime you can."

I picked up the phone and scrolled through my contacts to GR. I paused, my finger poised to press "call." The time display showed 10:32. That must count as anytime, I mused.

Then, I shook my head and switched off the phone. No rush, Richard, show some patience. After 32 years, you can surely wait another couple of days. I rose wearily from my chair and padded along the landing to the bedroom where I would spend another night sleeping alongside but not with my wife.



Love Never Dies Pt. 06



This story is special to me and based on personal experience. Thanks to the readers who have journeyed this far. Your company is very much appreciated.

~~~~~~~

NOW

THURSDAY night I hardly slept. I was like a child on Christmas Eve, excited and desperate for morning to arrive so that I could open my gifts. But I wasn't a child. I was less than a month from my 58th birthday and my special present was a meeting with Gaynor.

I lay quite still for most of the night but my mind restlessly darted from one memory to another: some from years back, others just snippets from our phone conversation and the written messages. I'd thought about Gaynor at various points in my life - but now she dominated my mind. These past weeks, she had been right there at every waking moment and, tonight, she even prevented me from sleeping.

Veronica, on the other hand, didn't seem at all troubled by her upcoming date with Helen. From the moment her head lay on the pillow, Veronica seemed content, breathing deeply and rhythmically in her peaceful sleep. I lay there, listening and thinking. And thinking. And thinking . . .

I was startled when the phone alarm buzzed, buzzed at 7:30. I must have dozed off, exhausted, and now my eyes burned as I opened them. I reached to switch off the alarm and Veronica's muffled voice inquired: "What time is it?"

Her head was half buried beneath the duvet and I said: "It's seven-thirty. No need for you to get up yet."

"Hmm." Veronica didn't stir.

I eased out of bed, donned my dressing gown and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen, where I switched on the kettle. A mug of instant coffee was required to jolt me alive. What a weary state to be in for an important date!

Waiting for the water to boil, I made my way to the toilet and peed. Swilling my hands under the warm water, I felt the phone vibrate in my dressing gown pocket. Early for a message, I thought, and dried my hands before lifting the instrument from my pocket. I peered at the screen: 1 message from Gaynor Reid

I thumbed to bring up the message and my heart slowed as I read:

Panicking here Richard. Please ring ASAP or sooner! Need to talk urgently xx

I walked back into the kitchen in a puzzled daze. What on earth has happened? What's the panic all about? What's so urgent? Only one way to find out. I walked to the lounge, drew back the floor-length curtains and opened the patio doors. Outside, the paving slabs were cold to my feet and I stepped onto the lawn. The grass was still damp with morning dew and my feet were now cold and wet. A pale sun had risen but the day was still chilly as I scrolled to GR and pressed the call button.

I heard only one ring and then a breathless, husky voice: "Oh, thank God, Richard. Thanks for calling. Where are you?"

"I'm at home. I've just got up and . . ."

"You got my text," Veronica cut in. "Is it safe for you to talk there? I mean, where's Veronica?"

"She's still in bed and I'm outside in the garden. Don't worry about that. What's the panic?"

"I do worry about that. I don't want any trouble with Veronica. Anyway, I'll make this quick." Gaynor paused and I heard a deep breath. "I'm panicking because I'm scared, Richard."

"Scared? Scared of what?"

"Of us, you . . . me. What are we doing, Richard? You're a married man and I'm arranging to meet you. It's a dangerous game we're playing and I'm not sure I can go through with it."

I switched the phone from my right ear to the left and my heart sank to my numb feet. The meeting I had so looked forward to was slipping out of reach, disappearing over a distant horizon.

"Are you still there?"

"Hmm, yes, still here," I mumbled, my mind in a whirl. "Just trying to understand what's happening."

"Look, Richard, I'm sorry about this but I've been awake all night, worrying and wondering what on earth I'm doing. Don't get me wrong, I would like to see you but I'm scared what it might lead to. You do understand, don't you?"

I took a deep breath. "I guess so, in a way. I've been awake most of the night, too, Gaynor but for a different reason. I've been excited about seeing you again and, well, now . . ."

"Oh, Richard, please don't make this any harder for me. I do want to see you but . . . oh hell, did you think about those things I asked? Why do you really want to see me? What do you expect to happen?"

I nodded as I listened and realised I had now walked to the bottom of the garden. I turned round and looked up at the house. The bedroom curtains were still closed. "Yes, Gaynor, of course I thought about all those questions. Believe me, I'd thought about them even before you asked."

"And?"

"Truthfully, I haven't gone too deep into the reasons other than I know in my heart that I dearly want to see you. Like I've told you, I'd like to at least sit with you, face to face, and talk. We had a past and I think our . . . well, our relationship, for want of a better word, is unfinished."

"That's what I mean," Gaynor said quickly. "Unfinished business. But what does that mean? Where does that take us? How do we finish it, eh Richard?"

"As friends, loving friends," I said and paused, hoping my words would soothe Gaynor. "As you keep saying, I am a married man and, being honest here, I have no plans to alter that fact. I have some marriage issues but Veronica has been a good partner for 30 years and I will not knowingly hurt her. I am truly sorry if you feel we should not meet up but . . . well, it's your choice, your decision, really."

"Is it? My decision?"

"Yes, Gaynor, it is. As much as I want to see you, I have no rights in this situation. I know I suggested the meeting but I never thought for one moment that it would cause you so much grief. I didn't think you'd be worried." I rubbed my free hand through my hair. I was agitated, desperately seeking the right things to say. I didn't want our meeting aborted. "Okay, look. . . perhaps, yet again, I didn't think it through properly. Another mistake on my part and I'm sorry. But, as I see it now, the situation is that I am married and that means I really have no right to ask you to meet me or do anything at all. You know how I feel, how much I want to see you, but I will abide by your wishes. I can't do anything else. Okay?"

I could hear Gaynor's heavy breathing and she finally broke the silence. "Okay Richard, here's what I think: We've come so close we'll probably be totally frustrated and left with even more questions than answers if we don't go ahead and meet."

"Agreed," I said.

"I know you suggested meeting but I set the ball rolling by contacting you. And it's my fault that I'm panicking. I can't help being a scaredy cat."

"I know. You've told me you don't want to be hurt again and I don't want that to happen. God forbid. I just thought that if we could meet, as old friends, we might both find some happiness. . ."

"Say no more, Richard," Gaynor cut in. "I'm convinced. Get off the phone now and don't call me from your house ever again. It's not safe. Sorry about the panic and I'll see you as planned. Okay, 11:30 at The Toad's Hollow?"

My pulse rate increased. "Yes, thank you, Gaynor. I'll be there."

"Good, so will I. Now get off the phone. Byeee."

Before I could say anything more, she cut the connection. With a huge silent sigh of relief, I dropped the phone into my pocket and walked back into the house. The soles of my feet were wet and cold but I didn't care. The meeting with Gaynor was all that concerned me and I wandered off to the kitchen to finally get my mug of coffee.

The next two hours dragged. Initially, I scanned the newspaper as I munched a bowl of cereal. But I couldn't concentrate and I decided to make tea for Veronica and take it to her in the bedroom.

She was just stirring when I placed the drink on her nightstand and then drew back the curtains. Sunlight spilled into the room and Veronica sat up, rubbing her eyes. She straightened the straps on her nightdress.

"Morning Richard. Thanks," she said and raised the cup to her lips. She drank, a couple of sips, and said: "Mmm, that's good. A nice start to the day. And it looks nice out there." She yawned. "Good day for your golf game, eh?"

"Yes, it's very pleasant," I agreed, removing my dressing gown. "Unless you want the bathroom, I'll have a shower and shave."

"No, you go ahead. I'm okay. Have you got the newspaper?"

I stopped at the entrance to our en suite bathroom and turned to face Veronica. "Sorry, I've left it in the kitchen. Shall I fetch it for you?"

"No, that's alright. You get your shower and I'll go downstairs in a minute. Go on, shoo."

I shaved and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were slightly red-veined through lack of sleep but, otherwise, I looked okay. After a lengthy shower, I was refreshed. I applied some aftershave and deodorant and had quite a spring in my step when I returned to the bedroom to dress. I elected to wear all black: slacks, socks, briefs, sports shirt and slip-on shoes. The whole ensemble. I once read somewhere that black was a slimming colour. Whether it was true or not I didn't know but I looked in the full-length mirror and I didn't look too bad. Slight paunch, maybe, but a reasonable shape for my age.

Downstairs, Veronica sat at the breakfast bar, eating toast and reading the newspaper. She looked up as I entered the kitchen. "Have you had any breakfast?"

"Yes, some cereals and coffee."

She nodded and turned her attention back to the newspaper. "The weather forecast is good for the next few days," she said."Quite a decent end to the summer."

"Hmm," I said, "it's been a good summer. Probably pay for it with a harsh winter."

"Pessimist."

"Maybe. Anyway, I'm off now,' I said and bent to peck Veronica's lips. They tasted of marmalade. "Any idea what time you'll be home tonight?"

"Not really, no. I'm meeting Helen at the gym about five and then we'll have a bite to eat and a drink somewhere. Probably home about nine, I should think."

"Right," I said, debating whether to mention Helen's sexual advances. It didn't appear to be in Veronica's thoughts so I confined myself to saying: "I'll no doubt be home first. Enjoy yourself and I'll see you later."

"Yes, have a good game. See you tonight." And she resumed reading the newspaper.

When I started the car, it was only 9:58. I estimated it would take 40 minutes to drive to The Toad's Hollow but I planned to make a brief visit to the golf club, just to show my face and firm up my alibi. You're one devious bastard, Richard, I thought and slipped the Volvo into gear.

At the club, I spent a few minutes in the professional's shop, browsing and discussing the latest models of driver. Then I popped into the bar, ordered a coffee and sat in a chair by the window overlooking the first tee. I watched a couple of matches tee off, finished my coffee and headed back to the car park. It was now 10:37 and I was on schedule.

When I arrived at The Toad's Hollow it was 11:22 and the car park was almost deserted. I reversed into a spot not far from the entrance and switched off the engine, leaving a Tom T Hall disc softly playing. I partially wound down my window and counted the other cars. Seven. I looked at my wristwatch, 11:24, and chastised myself : Calm down, she'll be here soon. Don't have a heart attack.

I gazed at the car park entrance, willing Gaynor to appear. Crikey, you don't even know what make of car she drives. As that thought hit me, a red mini swept into the car park, swung into a space, braking sharply and, within seconds, a young girl leaped out, slammed the door and headed for the bar entrance. She walked quickly in flat shoes, a white blouse tucked in at the slim waist of her tight black skirt. Late for work, I thought, as she rushed through the door.

I hadn't smoked for more than 20 years but I felt the urge to light a cigarette, inhale and be calmed by the nicotine hit. Stupid thought!

The harmonica and piano introduction to "Old dogs and watermelon wine" got my attention. I turned up the volume as the digital clock clicked to 11:32 and a black Vauxhall glided across my windscreen. Gaynor fluttered her fingers in greeting and I watched as she parked about four or five spaces away. She, too, reversed into her chosen spot.

I withdrew the ignition key, rudely cutting of Tom T Hall at 'this old man and me,' and got out of the car. I shut the door, locked it and looked across as Gaynor emerged at the front of her vehicle.

My mouth suddenly dried. I was stunned; she was stunning. 

The curls of black hair were tighter and closer to her scalp than in years gone by but, even from a distance, the chocolate-drop eyes and the full lips, coated with a crimson lipstick, were familiar. Her caramel arms were exposed in a sleeveless, pastel lemon dress. It was the only bodily flesh on view but, in this instance, less was certainly more. From a demure white-trimmed collar at the base of her throat, the tight bodice dramatically accentuated the majestic swell of her breathtaking bosom. The knee-length skirt billowed from her hips, black leggings stopped inches above her trim ankles and black peep-toe sandals completed the visible outfit.

And, of course, gold hoops dangled from her ear lobes. 

The enticing package was complete when she smiled at me, revealing bright white teeth. But, as we walked to meet, she suddenly raised a hand to her mouth and said: "Oh, wait a minute," and turned back to her car. I stood, like a statute, waiting.

Gaynor ducked inside her vehicle. Seconds later, she shut the door again and slung a leather tote bag onto her shoulder.

"Nearly forgot my bag," she said huskily and came to a halt in front of me. "Well, here we are. How are you, Richard? Black suits you."

How was I? Dazzled. Incredulous. Ecstatic. I could have said all of that and much more. Instead, I lamely offered: "You look well, really well. As beautiful as ever."

Gaynor's smile was broad, her eyes glistened. "Why, thank you. After not sleeping all night, I don't feel very glam. More like a bag lady." She chortled briefly, then added: "It's good to see you Richard, it really is."

"You too," I said quietly, still astonished by the vision in front of me, a marvel I never thought I'd see again.

She crossed an arm to hitch the bag strap further onto her shoulder and smiled again. "Are you planning on standing here all day?"

"What? Oh no, sorry," I blustered. "Do you want to go inside or sit out the back by the river?"

"Let's find a little nook inside shall we? I don't think there's many here," she said, glancing around the car park.

"Okay," I said and turned to walk towards the entrance. Gaynor strode by my side and I pulled open the door and stood aside. "Thanks, ever the gentleman," she said and I breathed in her fragrance as she passed by. Lilac? Lavender? Whatever, it was light and captivating.

I followed as Gaynor walked purposefully, hips swaying, to the far end of the room and plonked her bag on a corner table before sitting down on the padded bench, facing into the room. Gaynor liked corner seats and I prepared to sit opposite her, the round wood table between us.

"What would you like to drink?"

She looked up, focused on my eyes, and said: "Do you still drink beer?"

"Lager now."

"Hmm." She tapped her crimson-painted finger nails on the table top. "I'll have a diet Coke please. Ice but no lemon, thanks."

"Nothing stronger?"

"Uh, uh," she shook her head and set the hoops swinging. "Not at the moment."

The young girl who had made a hasty arrival a few minutes earlier, was serving at the bar. I ordered and looked around. Two other middle-aged couples occupied separate tables and a young man in jeans and T-shirt stood at the end of the bar. He had eyes only for the young bar girl.

I looked across at Gaynor. Her head was bowed and her fingers were moving swiftly over what I assumed was her phone: texting.

I paid for the drinks and as I approached, Gaynor put the phone in her bag, which she lifted off the table and placed beside her on the bench. "Cheers," she said, raising the glass to her lips and sipping. I sat and had a swallow of lager.

"Don't remember you drinking coke. Certainly not diet stuff."

"You didn't drink lager," she said. "Anyway, I have fads. Mostly I have white wine but I don't like to drink anything when I'm driving. Careful girl me," she said and smiled broadly.

"Very commendable," I said. "But diet drinks? You don't need them."

"Very nice of you to say so. But you'd be surprised, Richard. It's very easy to pile on the pounds and I'm not into aerobics and such like. Too much like hard work. I've got an exercise bike and I sometimes get off my backside and go for a brisk walk. But that's it. What about you? How have you managed to stay so slim? Not just through golf surely?"

So, black does work, I thought. "Thanks for the compliment Gaynor but I'm not really slim. I'm carrying a bit around the middle but I've been lucky, never had much trouble with my weight. And golf is my only exercise."

"Are you good?"

"Good? Ah, the golf, you mean?"

Gaynor raised her eyebrows. "What else would I mean?"

I smiled. "I'm not too bad. Handicap of 12."

"Hmm," she said and used a finger to draw a smiley face in the condensation on her chilled glass. She leaned back on the bench and took a deep breath, filling her lungs and expanding her delightful chest. I saw the outline of her globes battling against the constraints of her cotton dress. "Do you remember that time we played crazy golf and I beat you? You sulked like a spoilt kiddie. We never played again."

I shook my head. "Not me, must have been someone else."

"Bah!" she said, laughing deeply. "Even now you can't face up to the fact that I beat you. C'mon, Richard, be a man, admit you lost." 

"Okay, okay," I said, smiling broadly. "I lost."

"There," she said, leaning across the table and placing her right hand on my cheek, "that wasn't too painful, was it?"

It was our first physical skin-on-skin contact. Her palm was warm and soft. For the fleeting second or so that she touched my face, I was stupefied, transported into the distant past, to a time when I took her caresses for granted. Slowly, staring into my eyes, she withdrew her hand, fingertips gliding lightly across my cheek. She rested her hand back on the table and I impulsively reached out, clasped it and enfolded it between my hands. I caressed her knuckles with my thumbs, my finger ends in her palm, and she responded with a little squeeze.

"It's been a long time," she said softly, placing her other hand on mine.

I nodded and gulped, looking down at our entwined hands. "Yes, it has . . . a very long time." I looked into her brown eyes and the years disappeared. Here was My Gaynor. "I really am so sorry. I was such . . ."

"No, Richard, don't," she interrupted. "No sorries, no apologies, no recriminations. It happened, it's gone, nothing can change it. Nothing, not now, not ever."

"Yes, I know we can't turn back the clock but I must tell you how much I regret what happened, what a foolish pig-headed sod I was. I am so very, very sorry for hurting you the way I did."

"Richard, no . . . stop it. We've covered that ground. I don't want to dwell on it. Maybe we wasted our lives, I don't know. Who knows what might have happened?" She placed a finger over my lips to stop me talking and shook her head, gazing into my eyes. "Listen to me. . . I loved you then and I never stopped loving you. The you that I knew then. Now we're here. Okay, the circumstances are strange, not the best by any means, but let's enjoy what we can. On the phone this morning you said you thought we could meet as friends and share some happiness." She sighed. "Richard, it was those few words that made up my mind to come here today. I'm still a scaredy cat but I'm taking a chance."




Love Never Dies Pt. 06



"Okay, I understand," I said. "But just let me thank you for treating me so kindly. I'm amazed that you can forgive me so easily."

"Oh Richard, Richard." Gaynor's eyes opened wide and her hoops swung merrily as she chuckled deep in her throat. "You still don't get it, do you? I loved you. My thoughts over all these years have been loving ones. Yes, some sad thoughts, too. That's obvious. But I always loved you, the memories I had were of good times."

She leaned back into her seat, leaving just the one hand in my clutches. "So, here I am now, looking at you, a much older man. Tanned, hair thinning, a furrowed brow, hair in your ears." She smiled. "But, for all that, you still look very much like My Richard, the young go-getting man I fell in love with." 

I gave her hand a squeeze and reached for my drink. I took a good swallow to lubricate my arid mouth. "You are one remarkable lady," I said, replacing my glass on the table. "I really do wish that things had been different. . ." It was my turn to raise a hand, palm towards Gaynor to stop her interrupting. "But they weren't. Now, looking at you, I can hardly see any difference. The years have been kind to your beauty, as the man sang, and I know it's not just skin deep. I appreciate your concerns about Veronica, about my marriage and what this reunion might bring up. You have a warm, generous, big heart."

"That's why I have these huge lumps of fat to keep it in," she laughed looking down at her quivering chest.

"Ah, Nurse Reid is in the house," I smiled. "Yes, I remember the time when I was telling you how wonderful your breasts were and you said: 'These? They're only lumps of fat.' Well, they're still looking swell, literally, if you don't mind me saying."

Gaynor smiled and lifted her glass, swilling the liquid round and round, the remnants of the ice cubes clinking. "I think we've broken the ice, Richard, don't you?"

I nodded. "Yes, I do, thank you."

"So, what do you want to do? How long have you got?"

"I need to be home about seven or eight at the latest."

Gaynor smiled. "Long game of golf." Before I could say anything she added: "Shall we have a bite to eat here and then perhaps go back to my place for an hour or two? I mean, at our ages, we don't want to be wandering around the streets like lost sheep, or lovelorn teenagers, do we?"

"Lovelorn teenagers? Good God, no," I said, laughing and concealing my surprise and delight at her suggestion. "Yes, I think that's an ideal plan. Thank you."

I looked at my wristwatch. "It's coming up for 12-30," I said. "What would you like to eat?"

"To be honest, Richard, not a lot. My stomach's been churning for a couple of days. I'd settle for a sandwich if that's alright?"

"That's fine by me," I said. "I'll get a menu, see what's on offer."

~~~~~~~~

Gaynor told me where she lived but I followed her black saloon through country lanes ("The back way is nice," she'd said with a saucy wink). It took about 15 minutes before she indicated a right turn at a pair of open wrought-iron gates and we drove up a gravel driveway to an impressive large house. The drive was an in-and-out horseshoe around a manicured lawn. A concrete statute of a peeing boy stood in the middle. Thankfully, there was no water.

"Some place for a nurse," I said as we both exited our vehicles.

"It's not all mine," she said, lugging her bag onto a shoulder and rattling a large bunch of keys. "Long story. C'mon, this way."

I walked with her to a side of the house and she put a key into a maroon-painted wood door. It opened onto a short passage and stairway. Gaynor squatted to pick up mail before climbing the stairs. I closed the door and followed, looking up at her swaying rear.

"Shame I'm wearing leggings, isn't it," she said without even turning or breaking her step.

"The view's just fine," I said.

At the top of the stairway, she said: "Bet you didn't notice the pictures on the walls." 

"Got me there," I said. "I'll look on the way out."

We were clearly on the top floor of the house. Doors were on either side of a long corridor. "Quick tour," said Gaynor and set off. She pointed to each closed door, right and left, saying: "Bedroom . . . bathroom . . . utility cupboard . . . lounge . . . toilet . ." until we reached the end where a door was open. "And this is the kitchen."

It was superbly fitted with labour-saving white machines, electric equipment, work surfaces and cupboards. The sink was to the left, beneath a large window which afforded a view over fields.

Gaynor made two mugs of coffee and we carried them into the lounge. It was a large airy room with minimal furnishing: a four-seater leather couch behind the door, a glass-topped coffee table in the centre, two armchairs in a bay window either side of a small wood table, a flat screen TV and entertainment centre. The carpet was a warm beige and various pictures adorned the white walls. My eye was drawn to a water colour of a robin, a proud red breast expanded, sitting on snow-covered tree branch.

Gaynor kicked off her shoes, put her mug on the wood table and settled into an armchair with one leg bent under her. I sat in the other chair and said: "I see you're still supple."

At The Toad's Hollow, Gaynor had asked most of the questions, inquiring about my daughters, the passing of my parents, why I'd taken early retirement, why I'd left the north and exactly where did I now live. It left me little time to discover anything about Gaynor's life these past 32 years and, relaxing back into the chair, I thought it was now my turn. Before I could frame a question, she said: "I'll put some music on."

Magically, from somewhere, a remote control appeared in her hands and she clicked it in the direction of the entertainment centre. "I found a radio station that plays all the old stuff," she said, smiling at me. "I know it's like living in a time warp but I like it. And they don't waste time chatting, just play the music. Course, there is the advertising but you get used to that."

As if on cue, we were told about the best deal for new cars in the whole of the universe, or something like that. Gaynor smiled and put the remote on the table.

"Well. . ." she said and stopped as the advertisement segued to the introductory notes of a familiar song. She shook her head, looked at me, amazement projected from her brown eyes. "I can't believe this, what's the chances?"

I listened, equally astounded, as Gladys Knight started: 'I've had my share of life's ups and downs . . .'

We listened in silence, eyes locked on each other, as 'You're the best thing that ever happened to me' filled the room. Gaynor swallowed at 'between each line of pain and glory' and I reached for her hand. We linked fingers and squeezed. I fought my emotions and teardrops leaked from the corners of Gaynor's eyes.

I rose from my chair, dropped to one knee in front of her and kissed the backs of her hands. Her crimson nails dug into my palms and I looked up. She had slumped back, eyes closed, silently sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks . . . 

±±±±±±±±

THEN

GAYNOR'S arms wound around me and she nestled her head into the crook of my shoulder and neck. My arms hugged her close as we smooched to Gladys Knight and the Pips. The record, on a repeat loop, was on its fourth spin.

In this tiny room of Gaynor's apartment, on a drink-fueled late night, our hips swayed and groins thrust together, my cock hard against her tummy. It wasn't dancing, just primitive gyrating. And so sensual.

With eyes closed, my other senses were heightened. I felt her breasts squashed against me, her warm breath filtering through the open neck of my shirt and her firm buttocks yielding beneath my grasping fingers.

"Tell you something, Richard," she slurred into my chest. "This record lasts just over three and a half minutes."

"Does it?" I said, kissing the top of her head.

"Hmm, it does. And I'll tell you something else."

"What's that?"

She lifted her head off its resting place and big, brown eyes looked up at me. "I'll bet I can get you to cum before it ends."

"It's nearly finished," I said.

"Mmm, I know. I mean when it starts again."

I thought about it, not for long. I was already aroused. "Okay, you're on," I said. "Let's do it."

"Attaboy," said Gaynor, a hoarse chuckle rising from her throat as she detached herself from our smooch.

Gladys reached the final 'yoooou' and Gaynor reached under her flouncy mini-skirt and pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them, a little unsteadily, and reached for my belt buckle. I heard the arm of the record player click and a hiss as the needle landed on the edge of the disc. At the opening notes, my trousers and briefs were at my ankles and my cock pointed straight out from my pubis. Gaynor dropped to her knees and eagerly sucked my dome while her hands roamed over my buttocks and thighs and tickled my balls. Gladys was hardly into her stride when Gaynor stood up, turned her back on me, bent over and flipped up the back of her tiny skirt. Her pussy awaited. She opened her legs, rested her forearms on the back of a chair and said: "C'mon, lover, put that big thing in me."

I ran a finger along her open, wet slit and parted the soft folds to permit my engorged helmet to burrow home. With my hands on Gaynor's hips, I thrust and entered deeply.

She stifled a yelp and wiggled, pushing back into my groin.

"Give it to me, Richard . . . pound my pussy . . .do it now . . . yes, that's it . . . oooh, yes, Richard."

Gaynor was right. I looked down at my thick penis sliding smoothly and rapidly up and down her soaking tunnel, her lovely petals clinging to my girth. It was all too much, too good, too arousing. I couldn't last. I surrendered to my carnal instincts and discharged my semen in thunderous streams, still pumping as the fluid squelched out and ran down Gaynor's inner thighs. After one last fierce thrust, I sagged forward and rested my head on her back, panting and quivering. 

And I heard . . . 'should ever write my life's story' . . .and knew Gaynor had won the bet. "You win," I gasped and straightened up, my cock slipping from her sopping hole.

Gaynor turned and put her hands either side of my face and kissed me fiercely, her tongue exploring and wriggling. I joined in eagerly, bringing my hands up beneath her top to fondle her naked tits. She broke away from the kiss, looked into my eyes, and said: "That, my sexy, randy man, makes the song even more special for me."

"And me," I said as Gladys finished with a 'whooa. . .wu. . .hu.'

±±±±±±±±

NOW

I stood, still holding Gaynor's hands and her eyes opened. She pulled her right hand free and, with the pad of her thumb, wiped her eyes. Smeared mascara gave her a Panda look. She sniffled, put a forefinger under her nose and asked me for a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

She blotted her tears, looked at the black stains, and then blew her nose. She screwed the tissue into a ball and edged forward on the chair. "Sorry about that, honey," she breathed. "Gosh, I must look a sight," she added, stood up and walked out of the room.

Another door opened and closed, the bathroom I assumed, and I sat and waited. I drank cool coffee, discarded it, and thought: Just how delicate is this situation? How vulnerable is Gaynor? My heart pounded and I linked my fingers, arms resting on my thighs. The song, our song, had upset her mightily. I took a deep breath, aware that I, too, was close to tears.

I heard a cistern flush, running water, and seconds later Gaynor was back. "Well, what can I say, Richard?" She sat again in her chair, this time with both feet on the carpet. "I'm sorry. . . don't know what came over me."

"Don't you? I think you do. That was our song . . . no, still is our song."

Gaynor's mouth opened into a huge grin. Her whole demeanour changed and she wagged a finger at me. "You naughty, naughty boy," she said. "I know what you're thinking about."

"What?" I said, feigning innocence.

"You don't fool me. I can see you haven't changed."

I said nothing but looked into her beautiful brown eyes, no signs now of tears. Just a familiar pale blue shade of eyelid make-up.

"Admit it, you've been thinking about that drunken night when you took me from behind."

"I took you! No, you seduced me. You were the temptress."

She chortled, husky and oh so sexy. "See, told you, I knew what you'd been thinking. You haven't changed. . . except you're older and, perhaps, wiser. Are you wiser, Richard?"

I pondered the question. Does sitting here with an old flame make me wiser? "I like to think I am," I said. "But I'm not the best judge, am I? I'm biased."

"Hmm," she said as if reading my mind. "Would you be here if you're a wise man?"

We stared at each other for a while, both minds active. I eventually shrugged my shoulders, raised my hands palm upwards and broke the silence. "I don't think anybody can answer that one, Petal. I wanted to see you again, even if it was for one last time. You seemed willing to meet - until this morning's panic, that is - and I'm glad it's happened."

Gaynor wasn't smiling now. "You just called me Petal," she said slowly and quietly.

"Did I? Well, that's how I think of you: Petal, Gaynor, My Love . . .that's what I always called you."

"I know," she said, even quieter, almost reflective. "And I brought it up in our e-mails. But it's just odd to hear it spoken again after all these years." She paused and a buzz, buzz came from across the room. "My phone, a text message," she said, nodding at the tote bag in the corner of the couch.

"Are you going to see who it is?"

"No, not yet," she said. "I think it'll be my friend, Charlie."

"Charlie?"

Gaynor laughed. "Yes, Charlie. Don't tell me there's a jealous green giant in the room, Richard."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I never thought about another man, that's all."

Gaynor reached across. "Give me your hand," she ordered and grasped it firmly. "There isn't another man in my life. Charlie lives downstairs, the other half of the house. And she's Charlotte, a friend who goes way, way back. In fact, when I first met you that night in the bar, she was with me then."

"Oh," was all I could manage.

"At the time we were student nurses together. We went out occasionally for a drink after work but we didn't become real friends until much later. Long after you and I split up, in fact."

"Right. Don't you want to see what she wants?"

Gaynor shook her head, hoops oscillating. "Not necessary. She'll only want to know what happened between us." She reacted to my raised eyebrows. " Don't be surprised. Course I told her. She's my best friend and knows all about our past. She's even seen our photos."

"Photos? Didn't know you had any photos."

"Kept them all, Richard. I don't expect you have any, after all you moved on and got married, didn't you?"

"Well, yes . . ."

"No bother, I'm not attacking you. Maybe one day we'll look at them together."

"Hmm, I'd like that. I'd like to see how we really looked back then. Or perhaps not, eh?"


"Might be a shock for you. My hair was more Three Degrees or a young Michael Jackson then," she said, patting her tight girls. "Not cropped like this."

I smiled. "You're still gorgeous."

I still held one her hands and Gaynor gave me a squeeze. "You're not so bad yourself," she said and quickly added: "Whoops, hear that? It's the news at six on the radio. Hadn't you better be thinking about going?"

"Suppose so. Guess it's about 50 minutes or so from here." I sighed and stood up, releasing Gaynor's hand.

"I'll see you out," she said, bending to put on her shoes, "and then I'll see if Charlie's home."

We stood in the centre of the room, face to face. "Well, thanks for seeing me, Gaynor. I never thought it would happen."

"No? Funnily enough, I always dreamed, maybe simply hoped, that we would. After all, we are soulmates, you know."

I nodded and she opened her arms and said: "Come here, give me a hug."

And we hugged, arms wrapped tight and then tighter. Cheek to cheek, a gold hoop pressed between us. Eventually, Gaynor tapped my back with her fingers and said: "Time to go Richard, we don't want Veronica getting suspicious."

I reluctantly stepped back, leaving the warmth of her soft body. With arms outstretched, I put my hands on her bare arms. "It's been good," I said.

"Yes, it has . . . would you like to do it again?"

"Of course I would. Daft question."

"I wasn't sure. Thought maybe one time would satisfy your curiosity or something."

"Curiosity has been satisfied in that I've seen you and had a hug. But I don't want it to end there. Not just a one-off. What about you? Still scared?"

Gaynor gazed into my face. "Hmm," she murmured and reached to pat my face. "You know it's the 11th on Tuesday, the anniversary of our parting?"

"Guess it is," I said.

"Shall we make that a date? Can you get free, like you have today?"

I didn't need to think. Tuesday was a golf day. Ideal alibi. "No problem," I said, joy beating in my heart at the prospect. "Tuesday is perfect."

"Good. Send me a text or e-mail when you get home, just to let me know you've arrived safely and there's no problem. Okay?"

I nodded. "Sure. And we can fix up a time and place for Tuesday."

Gaynor nodded this time. "C'mon, time to go," she said and turned me towards the passage and the stairway exit. Going down I glanced at the small framed pictures, mostly black-and-white photographs of birds or sea views.

"Saw the pictures," I said as I went out the door.

"Yes, I noticed," she said, taking my hand and leading the way to my car. "They're my photographs."

"Yours?"


"Uh, uh," she nodded. "Hobbies of mine, photography, birds and the sea."

"I never knew," I said, surprised.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Richard," she said as we stood by my car. "I'm full of surprises."

And she kissed me. It was only a brief meeting of lips and she stood back, her eyes penetrating my eyes, seeking my soul. 

"Byee, Richard, careful how you drive," she said and made her hip-swinging way to the front of the house.

She stood at the door as I drove away and we exchanged waves. My final glimpse of her was through the rearview mirror before I turned left onto the road and headed for home. 

Tom T Hall started to sing 'I took a memory to lunch' and I smiled. In fact, I smiled most of the way home, thinking warm thoughts.



Love Never Dies Pt. 07



This story is based on personal experience. My thanks to the readers who have accompanied me this far. And special heartfelt thanks to those who have encouraged me along the way with their comments and votes.

~~~~~~~

NOW

TRAFFIC was light that Friday evening and I made good time. It was 7:01 when I parked the car in the garage and switched off the engine. I removed the phone from my pocket, preparing to text Gaynor, when it beep-beeped. The words on the screen told me: 1 message from Gaynor. I opened it and read:

Just to let you know I've sent an email xx

I hit the reply button and sent: Got here this minute. No problems. Will read mail and reply ASAP. Love R xx

In my office, I put on spectacles as the computer whirled into action. I had 15 emails in the inbox and Gaynor's was on top. I opened it immediately, eagerly.

My dear Richard

I so enjoyed our few hours together today and, to be honest, I didn't want you to leave. I only spent 10 minutes or so with Charlie after you left because, truthfully, I wanted to be on my own with my thoughts. And I wanted to send this message. Strangely, when I'm writing to you, I feel as though we're close and not separated by miles. Know what I mean?

Anyway, honey, it WAS lovely and I'm glad you persuaded me to go along with our meeting. That doesn't mean I've stopped panicking or I'm no longer a scaredy cat. I still have worries about being hurt, Richard. I'm truly not sure where we're headed but I do know there's still powerful feelings between us. I could feel it today and I know you did, too. Your eyes tell me a lot, darling.

Okay, so we've decided to meet again on Tuesday and I've had a few thoughts about that. There's a couple of nice places around here where we could eat lunch if you don't mind coming all the way to me. If not, we'll make it The Toad's Hollow again. Think about it and let me know. Make it around 11 to 11:30 if you can.

By the way, is there anyone you can trust to have my phone number? Whatever happens from now, I'd like to keep in contact and if something should happen to you I'd like someone to let me know. I've already given your mobile phone number to Charlie for the same reason. She'd ring or text you if I end up in hospital or something. Don't mean to seem morbid but we never know, do we?

Another thought just struck me: does Veronica use your computer? I mean, is it safe to send these personal messages?

Okay, I'll stop waffling now and get myself a bite to eat. Oh, that reminds me, I never said thank you for the lunch and drinks. Forgive me - and, while I'm at it, also forgive my tears. Really can't understand what came over me like that. It's years and years since I cried but I guess I was a little tired and emotional having not slept much recently. Hopefully, I'll sleep better tonight.

On that note, nite nite Richard

Love

Gaynor xx

PS: The hug was wonderful and I nearly turned the little kiss into a full-blown smacker XX

I smiled at the last line and then read the whole message again. I sat back in my chair and considered my reply. It didn't take long before I wrote:

Dear Gaynor

Yes, meeting again was wonderful and the hours just flew by. We still have so much to catch up on. I mean, we hardly got to talk about you and what's been happening with you over all these years. What I do know is that you're still extremely attractive in both looks and personality. I enjoyed being with you and I, too, found it very, very hard to leave.

Ah, the hug! God, just to feel you in my arms again, to feel your gorgeous body pressed against mine and to smell your sweet warmth . . . it was bliss and heaven rolled into one. And the kiss! I can feel and taste your lips on mine even now, although it was but a fleeting peck. Must say, I'm rather out of practice on the "full-blown smacker" skills. Perhaps you can show me how it's done!!

Right (down boy!) onward: I will drive straight to you on Tuesday and I look forward to dining out somewhere new. And don't worry about thanking me for buying lunch: it's my pleasure and I know you appreciate it, so no need for words.

Tuesday is a regular golf day for me, so I should manage to get to you before 11:30. I'm playing golf with Mick tomorrow (for real this time!) and I'll give him your phone number. I'm sure, like Charlie, he's most suited and certainly can be trusted should anything untoward happen. (God forbid anything should when we've just met again. That would be too cruel).

After today's reunion I hope you can now relax and sleep properly. Please, DON'T worry about anything (no, Veronica doesn't use my computer or phone) and I'll see you on Tuesday (wish it was tomorrow - greedy, aren't I?).

Love

Your Richard xxx

PS: This 11th will surely be a much happier day than the awful one back in my foolish youth xxx

I tapped on 'send' and then saved Gaynor's message and my own reply to the special GR folder. I scanned down the other waiting messages but there was nothing urgent or even important. 

A rumble from my stomach reminded me that I'd eaten only a sandwich for lunch. It was now 7:33. Could I rustle up some food before Veronica got home? What if she was early, what would be my excuse for eating here and not at the golf club? Oh what a tangled web . . . 

I switched off the computer, decided I could at least have another sandwich to appease my hunger, and made my way downstairs. A chunk of cheese in a bread roll and a mug of instant coffee later, I sat in the lounge and switched on the radio. 

No, I screamed in my head, it can't be. But it was: Gladys Knight and the Pips!

~~~~~~~~

I awoke, startled, in darkness. I was sprawled on the couch, the radio played in the background and I was aware of the door opening. The room flooded with blinding light and I shielded my eyes with an arm..

"Oh, hello Richard. Didn't know whether you were still up." 

Veronica had switched on the lights and now walked over and looked down at my prone figure. I blinked to focus bleary eyes and mumbled: "Hi sweetheart, what time is it?"

"Just after 11:30. Obviously you've been sleeping. Had a good day, did you?"

"Hmm, yes," I said, swinging my legs off the couch and sitting upright to stretch my spine. "Very good, thanks. And you?"

Veronica sat in an armchair opposite me, flipped off her heeled shoes and bent to rub her toes. I noticed her feet and legs were bare. Unusual for her not to wear stockings or tights. She looked up at me and smiled. "Yes, a very good day thanks."

I waited for an expansion on the comment but Veronica just leaned back into the chair, her skirt rumpled up to her naked mid-thigh. She stretched her arms towards the ceiling, yawning, and I watched her breasts perk up within her roomy sweater.

"Fancy a nightcap?" I asked. "A brandy or something?"

"Are you having one?" And before I could reply, she said: "Yes, I will thanks. Scotch and dry ginger, please. With ice."

At the drinks cabinet, I mixed Veronica's tipple, poured myself a generous brandy and went into the kitchen for ice. I plopped two cubes in each glass and carried them back into the lounge. I handed Veronica her drink, returned to my seat, sipped, and then placed the glass on the table at the side of the couch.

Veronica stood and walked over to me. She leaned to place her glass alongside mine and, hands on my knees, parted my legs and knelt between them. She settled onto her right buttock, arm resting on my left thigh, and slid her left hand up my right trouser leg, tickling my shin with her fingernails. She sighed, deep and loud, and looked up at me. Her blue eyes stared into mine. I smiled down at her and waited.

Veronica withdrew her hand from within my trouser leg, wriggled her hips into a closer position, and snuggled her head into my lap. Her left hand now settled high on my thigh, her thumb very close to my groin.

"Are you alright, Veronica?" I asked, softly.

She didn't reply, just breathed heavily. I reached for my glass and swallowed some of the fiery liquid.

"Remember what I told you about Helen?" Veronica suddenly said, raising her head and almost immediately letting it drop back into my lap before I could answer.

"Course I do. If you mean her . . . um, advances."

"Hmm," she said, nodding, her nose in close proximity to my cock. She gave my right thigh a nonchalant rub and said: "We had a good talk tonight. I thought we needed to get things out in the open. I mean, not for everybody in the world, just between us."

"I understand," I said and waited.

"Yes, of course you would." Veronica fell silent again and I assumed she was contemplating her next words. But everything went quiet.

I broke the silence. After all, I was intrigued about this relationship my wife was developing. "So, what happened? What did you say?" 

Veronica pushed away from my lap, sat up on her haunches and reached for her drink. She gulped and a dribble ran down her chin, which she brushed with a forefinger and licked it dry.

"If you don't mind, Richard, I don't want to go into any great detail." She drank some more, replaced the glass on the table and rested her hands on my knees. "In a nutshell, I don't think I'm bi-sexual. I think I might be asexual."

That had me reaching for my glass. I drank and asked: "What makes you say that?"

Veronica leant her weight on my knees and boosted herself upright. I thought I heard her knees creak. She collected her glass and walked across the room and sat in the armchair again. "Don't say anything until I've finished with what I've got to tell you. No interruptions. Okay, Richard.?"

I nodded.

Veronica rang a finger around and around the rim of her glass, clearly thinking and composing herself. She began, still looking down at her glass: "When Helen and I kissed, it was quite . . . well, different and exciting, I suppose. Nice and soft, you know." She looked up at me and quickly down again. She'd got my attention. "It was the same when she first fondled my breasts and sucked my nipples. I quite liked the feel of hers, as well. But . . . ." Veronica took a deep breath . . . "when we got naked on her bed and she started to feel me . . . oh dear . . . when she started to touch me down there, I sort of froze." She shook her head. "I didn't want her touching me there. And I didn't want to touch her, either."

Veronica looked at me now. "I think you're right Richard: I am frigid."

Silence filled the room. I didn't know what to do. Didn't really know what I was thinking. My mind was in a whirl.

Veronica broke the silence. "What are you thinking?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. I'm trying to understand what's going on with you. Until recently, we hadn't had sex or even talked about it for years and years. Then, out of the blue, you came on to me and gave me a handjob, just like in the old days, and you also confessed to me how you'd had a fear of getting pregnant again. That's why you stopped making love."

Veronica nodded and I drained my glass before continuing. "Then you told me about Helen and . . . well, here we are. You think you're asexual." I shook my head. "I don't know what to make of it, Veronica, I really don't."

"Nor me," she said softly and finished her drink, chewing on the last remnants of ice. "Do you think I need help?"

I shrugged. "Why? Help for what? You've not had any problems since the girls were born, have you? You didn't miss sex, did you? For whatever reason or reasons, some people just don't need sex, Veronica. And now, after all these years . . . well, let's face it, we're both knocking on a bit. What's so different, other than you've had this strange . . . oh, I don't know what to call it . . . affair, happening, with Helen?"

Veronica nodded, thoughtfully. Eventually, she looked up at me and a thin smile creased the corners of her lipstick-free mouth. "You're a wonderful husband Richard. I'm sure not many men would have put up with me. Not for all these years. What, no sex, no hanky-panky! They'd have been off like a shot." 

It was my turn to grin. "Don't forget, I've had some fun outside the marriage bed. I didn't exactly abstain, you know."

"No, you didn't," said Veronica, standing and walking towards me. She held out her hands, palms up, and I reached to entwine our fingers. "But, come on Richard, those occasional dalliances weren't like making regular love with your wife, were they? They were just a physical, sexual release because our bed was cold. Somehow, I always knew you'd come home to me, God knows why." She paused and squeezed my fingers. "I never believed you were really looking for someone else. You never looked for a permanent replacement, did you? Am I right?"

I looked into Veronica's blue eyes and they morphed into chocolate drops, the eye-lids coated a pale blue. Her tanned skin became caramel coloured, her hair in tight black curls and the lips fuller and crimson. I smiled. "You're right, Veronica. I never looked for anyone else. C'mon, let's have one more drink and then get to sleep. I'm playing golf in the morning."

Veronica leaned down to kiss my cheek. "Thank you, Richard. You have another drink; I'm off to bed." 

She released my hands and walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

~~~~~~~~

TUESDAY morning I drove straight to Gaynor's house. No sham appearance at the golf club this time. Trusty Mick was my alibi if required but he'd raised his eyebrows when I gave him Gaynor's phone number and told him why he'd got it.

"This sounds serious, Richard," he said. "Hope you know what you're doing." I smiled.

Now I pulled up on the gravel driveway and, with my pulse rate flying, eased out of my car. I was both excited and nervous, much like a young man on his first date with the girl of his dreams. It was 11:14 and I hoped I wasn't too early. At the maroon door, I spotted a bell push and thumbed it. A tune I didn't recognise played distantly somewhere above me.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers - black again, but my sports shirt was pale blue - and I heard rapid footsteps thumping down the stairs. A fiddle with the lock and the door was swung open and there before me was . . . a petite lady with dirty blonde hair framing a pixie face. A big grin spread across her face.

"Hi Richard," she said breathlessly. Her accent was refined and she stood on tip-toes to air-kiss on either side of my face. "I'm Charlie. C'mon up, Gaynor's just had a shower."

I immediately envisaged a naked Gaynor under jets of warm water, soapy bubbles sliding over her breasts and down her tummy, between her legs and . . .

"I've heard so much about you," said Charlie, bounding up the stairs. Her rear was firm in tight blue jeans. "After all these years it's good to finally meet you. Seen photos, of course, but they're from way back, aren't they? You're still looking good, by the way."

At the top of the stairs, she turned and smiled again at me. "Go on into the lounge, down there on the right." She put a playful hand to her mouth, her eyes shining brightly. "Silly me, there I go again. Course you know where it is. Never mind me, I'm a bit of an air-head. Would you like a drink? I was just about to make coffee?"

"Yes, coffee would be fine," I said, finally getting to speak as I followed Charlie along the corridor.

"I'm in here, Richard." 

The husky tone came from the kitchen and Charlie shrugged her shoulders. "Not in the lounge then," she said and we carried on to the kitchen.

Gaynor was barefoot, her toenails painted deep crimson. A silky white wrap, belted at the waist, clung to her graceful curves. The curls on her head were damp and she looked over her shoulder, a gold hoop swinging at her cheek, and smiled. "Hi," she said and turned back to concentrate on pouring hot water into three mugs. She added milk, stirred the mixture and used a spoon to point at one of the mugs. "That's yours, Richard, no sugar."

"Thanks," I said and picked it up. The mug was decorated with a cartoon golfer and I grinned at the inscription: 'World's best golfer.'

"Gaynor bought that specially for you," said Charlie brightly. "She hasn't washed the mug you used last week, so she got this one for you. Nice, eh?"

"Charlotte!" said Gaynor, exasperation in her voice. She exhaled and shook her head. "You do let your mouth run away, don't you?"

"What? Oh . . ." Charlie raised a hand to her mouth. "About not washing . . ."

"Yes," interrupted Gaynor and she looked at me. "Don't take any notice of Charlie, she often speaks before engaging brain. C'mon, let's get comfortable."

Gaynor led the way into the lounge, where she and I sat in the chairs in the bay-window. Across the room on the left side of the doorway, Charlie perched on the edge of the large couch, elbows on knees, both hands holding her coffee mug to her lips. She blew gently on the liquid, glancing between Gaynor and me. "Do you play a lot of golf, Richard?" she asked.

"A fair amount, three or four times a week. Not so often in the winter."

"Hmm. I had a good friend, Evan, he played a lot of golf all the year round. But he spent most of the winter in Spain or America or somewhere sunny, anyway. Didn't he Gaynor?"

Gaynor nodded. "Yes, he did."

"But he was mega rich," continued Charlie. "Nice man but . . .oh, well. . ." The sentence trailed away while she drank some coffee.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow at Gaynor and she said quietly: "Evan died a couple of years back, heart attack on a golf course in Spain."

"Portugal," said Charlie quietly. "It was Portugal."

Silence descended and I broke it. "Well, I'm sorry for you, losing a friend like that."

Charlie looked at me. "Thanks, but at least he died doing something he liked doing. One of the things he liked, anyway." She smiled broadly, conspiratorially, at Gaynor before draining the last of her coffee. "Okay, I'll be off then," she declared and stood to place her empty mug on the glass-topped coffee table in the middle of the room. "I'll no doubt see you again sometime, Richard. Have a good day now. See you later, Gaynor."

"Byee," said Gaynor at the retreating back. Charlie's footsteps thundered down the stairs and the door closed with a thud. Gaynor laughed, her bosom quivering as she reclined in the chair. "That was Charlotte."

"Quite a character, isn't she? Chatty little ball of fire."

Gaynor nodded, put her mug on the small table between our chairs, and stretched out her toned legs. "You can say that again," she said as she exhaled deeply, lowered her legs and rested her heels on the carpet. "That business about the mug from last week . . . oh, okay, alright, I haven't washed it." She gently shook her head and ran fingers through her hair. "I know it's daft but I just wanted something to remind me of you being here. I could see where your lips had been. In fact, until this morning, I left it here on this table. I still haven't washed it but I will. Soon. Honest."

I reached across to hold her left hand. "I think that's lovely. I'm surprised about it, but I do think it's lovely. And this . . ." I lifted the golfer mug in the air . . . "is very nice, it really is. A nice thought."

"Thought you'd like it." Gaynor smiled, exposing the tips of her gleaming white teeth. She leaned forward, peered down into my mug and said: "Looks like you've finished with that. I've got something else you might like. Come with me."

Gaynor stood, still holding my hand, and led me out of the room, down the corridor and pushed open the door to the bedroom. It was large, airy and sumptuous with a warming thick-pile mauve carpet, fitted wardrobes and a king-size bed. The sun streamed through the bay window under which a leather couch was home to a giant blue and white teddy bear. The walls were painted off-white and dotted with black-framed pictures, more of Gaynor's work, I assumed.




Love Never Dies Pt. 07



Without speaking, Gaynor turned to face me, put her hands on my waist and looked expectantly into my eyes. She blinked and the tip of her tongue moistened her slightly-parted crimson lips. I needed no more bidding. Our lips met, meshed and melted together. Gaynor's hands glided up my back and she pulled me closer as I wrapped my arms around her, the warmth of her body radiating through the thin, silky gown. My cock stirred, coming alive, as Gaynor's tongue slipped wetly, softly, slowly between my teeth and toured my mouth. I gently sucked on it and then slithered my tongue home. We licked and flicked, poked and sucked and, unbidden, I heard myself whimper: the purr of a kitten being stroked.

Gaynor broke off the kiss, tilted her head back, and her eyes searched mine for a second or two. Quickly, fiercely, she pressed her lips back onto mine and hugged me with surprising strength. Our tongues again coiled and weaved and licked inside saliva-drenched mouths. Gaynor's tummy and thighs pressed against me and I guessed she could feel my hardening and twitching arousal. I certainly could.

This time, I ended the kiss. We both sighed, breathed heavily, and Gaynor relaxed her arms to bring her hands up to my face. Her left hand stroked my cheek, the fingertips of her right hand wiped softly across my lips. I linked my fingers at the base of her spine and pulled her into my groin.

"I didn't think you'd forgotten how to share a full-blown smacker," she said in a low, husky, sensual timbre.

"Forgot no, just out of practice."

"Really? Why's that?" Before I could reply, Gaynor said: "Sorry, no, forget that. I don't want to know."

I planted a kiss among the damp curls on the top of her head and squeezed her. "It's alright," I said. "I suppose we've been married that long we just don't smooch anymore. In fact, to be perfectly honest, we don't . . ."

I paused and Gaynor gazed up at me, her beautiful brown eyes examining my face. "You don't what?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Not now, not yet. Maybe another day, eh?"

"Okay, in your own time," she almost whispered. 

I smiled and kissed the tip of her nose. I wasn't fooled and nor was she. Instinct told me that Gaynor knew exactly what I'd been poised to relate.

Instead, she promptly switched the conversation. Hands locked at the nape of my neck, she leaned back in my arms, her groin thrusting into me, and said: "Right, I got you into my bedroom for a couple of reasons. The first mission has been accomplished: a couple of lovely smackers. So now, Richard my love, I hope you'll agree to the second part." 

She raised an eyebrow. I coughed to clear my drying throat and hoarsely muttered: "Anything you say, Gaynor."

"Anything? Wow." She chuckled throatily and released her hold on my neck, skimmed her palms over my cheeks, along my shoulders and down my arms. She reached behind her in search of my hands and I happily let her link them at our sides. "What I would like, before we go out for lunch, is to lay down with you and have a cuddle. Is that okay? You're a married man so just say if it isn't. I'll understand."

My heart thumped, mouth dried and pulse soared. I thought I'd lost the power of speech and, all the time, Gaynor's gaze probed my eyes, seeking my soul. I still hadn't managed to speak when she tugged my hands and led me three slow paces to the bedside. "I'll take that as a yes, then," she said.

We sat, side by side. "Take your shoes off, Richard."

I bent to remove my slip-ons and Gaynor stood, walked around the bed and the mattress wobbled as she climbed aboard. I stood up, turned and looked at her resting on her side, head propped on her right hand. Her mighty breasts threatened to burst through the constraints of her tight gown and the outlined curve of her hip flowed into sleek thigh and a visible, slender lower leg. The gown had fallen open above the knee, providing a tantalising glimpse of Gaynor's smooth, inner right thigh. In a come-hither move, she tapped the white duvet cover with her left hand and I scrambled into place.

I mirrored her pose, head propped on my left hand, and placed my other hand on her hip. I offered a nervous smile and Gaynor responded, eyes twinkling. No words were needed as our bodies merged. I closed my eyes and slid my hand down and round to rest on a firm buttock. Gaynor did likewise and our lips united for more whimpering, fervent, tongue-lapping kisses.

Eventually - and I'd no idea how long we'd been locked in our hungry embrace - we had to surface for air. I was sure my lips were swollen and bruised.

"There's something else now," said Gaynor, eyes again locked on mine.

"There is?"

"Mmm, yes." She licked her lips. They had to be tender, too. "I know you like country music now. What about John Denver?"

"Yes," I said, "but, as it happens, I don't have any of his CDs. Just a couple of his hit songs on compilations. That sort of thing."

Gaynor rolled away from my clutches and sat up, the now-open neckline exposing much of her chest and the glorious swell of her cleavage. "I don't know whether you've heard this one," she said, inserting a disc into a machine which sat on the night stand. The CD started to play and Gaynor adjusted the volume and said: "I'll just move it along to the right track. It's number six."

Correct track selected, Gaynor resumed her position, facing me, a hand on my shoulder. I replaced my right hand on her soft hip as an unfamiliar piano introduction tinkled into the room. I didn't know the tune. Gaynor's gaze never left my eyes, her lips pursed, as Denver's melliferous voice washed over us:





Love Never Dies Pt. 08



This story, based on personal experience, is approaching its conclusion. Thanks to the readers who have kept me company. Comments have been, and are, most welcome.

Don't give up trying to do what you really want to do. Where there is love and inspiration, I don't think you can go wrong - Ella Fitzgerald.

~~~~~~~

NOW

THE place Gaynor selected for our late lunch was only a few minutes' drive away, a quaint country inn with thatched-roof, low beams, leaded windows and highly-polished hardwood flooring. Prints of hunting scenes, highlighting red coats and dappled dogs, adorned the walls and the stoutly-padded seats made wooden chairs surprisingly comfortable.

A few customers still lingered over their meals or drinks and some of them turned their heads as Gaynor, her tote bag bouncing at her right hip, sashayed towards a corner table. She wore black leggings and a knee-length smock-style dress, the floral pattern consisting mainly of red and purple petunia. It was sleeveless and the low-cut square neckline offered a seductive view of her cleavage.

We ordered drinks, skipped starters and, after eating a little of her chicken salad, Gaynor started moving the food around the plate with her fork.

"Something wrong with your meal?"

"Uh, uh," she said and looked up at me. "No, it's fine. Guess I'm not really that hungry after all. It's happened quite a lot recently. I often feel hungry but after a few bites I'm full." She gave me a brilliant white smile. "Maybe it's something to do with getting older, eh? I remember a lot of the old folk in hospital only pecked at their food, especially the ladies. Just like little birds, they were, peck, peck, peck."

"Maybe that was because it was hospital food."

Gaynor shook her head, still smiling, golden hoops swinging at her cheeks. "No, the food was good. I should know, I ate enough of it over the years." She placed the fork on the side of her plate and picked up her glass of white wine. "How's your steak pie?"

I nodded while I finished chewing. "It's okay, thanks. Yes, it's a nice meal, almost as nice as the company."

Gaynor snorted. "Flatterer!"

I shrugged. "If a man can't pay a lady a compliment . . ."

"Richard, feel free to pay me all the compliments you like." She sipped some wine as I continued to eat. "Fact is, that's more or less what I've been thinking about. In a strange way, I feel that you paid me a huge one about an hour ago."

"I did?"

" Mmm, yes." Another sip of wine deposited red lipstick stains on the rim of her glass. "You must have felt that I really wanted you inside me again, Richard. Yes?" She stared at me but didn't wait for an answer. "You must have, I know you did. Anyway, you showed great restraint. You didn't take advantage of my weakness."

"Your weakness? Good God, Gaynor, I don't have a clue how I managed to resist you." I put down my cutlery and leaned forward. "But, and this is the truth, I don't ever want you to think that I asked to meet you for one reason only. Oh, don't get me wrong, I've thought about the old days, how good we were together in bed, of course I have. But there's more to this than . . . well, you know. . ."

"Hmm, that's what I'm saying. You treated me - no, you treated us, what we mean to each other - with respect. It wasn't just," and she, too, leaned forward, lowering her husky tone to almost a whisper, "well, hello there, let's have a fuck for old times sake."

I smiled broadly. "Exactly, Gaynor. We mean more than that, although . . ." and I shrugged, raised my hands palms upwards and opened my eyes wide. "Who knows?"

"Cheeky, cheeky, Richard. You're a very naughty boy," she waved a reproving, metronome finger at me.

"Well, I've got to be honest, Gaynor. If the same opportunity came up again, I'm not sure what would happen. I'm not giving any guarantees about my behaviour if there's another time."

"Good." She reached across the table and we linked hands among the glasses and plates of half-eaten food. "I'd like to be a more successful temptress next time, honey."

We sat like that for some time, eyes looking into eyes, fingers squeezing, silly grins finally fading away as we released our grips and raised glasses to tender lips.

"There is one thing, of course," said Gaynor. "And a very important thing it is."

I raised my eyebrows. "And what's that?"

Again she leaned forward, pressing against the table and exposing more of the soft swell of her glorious breasts. She virtually whispered: "You're a married man. There's Veronica to think about. It would be adultery, you know." She sat back.

I downed the remnants of my wine, thinking, and then took a deep breath. "Yes, I'm very aware of everything. But, you don't know the full story and, really, this isn't the place to talk about it."

Gaynor nodded, her gaze fixed firmly on my face. "I could guess some things from what you've already hinted. But, you're right, this isn't the place." She swigged the last of her wine and lifted her bag off the floor onto her lap. "But I want to hear all about it, Richard. Look, there's a little park with a lovely duck pond just around the corner from here. We can walk there and you can tell me about Veronica and you. Okay?"

I nodded agreement, Gaynor dumped a bread roll into her bag ("For the ducks") and I paid for our meals and drinks. Hand in hand, we strolled to the park where we settled on a bench near the pond and watched the wildlife at play. 

It was there, in peace and quiet amid a background of birdsong and ducks quacking and foliage rustling in a warm breeze, that I unburdened myself. Gaynor listened, squeezed my hand at times, sighed at others and prompted me with occasional questions. 

Finally, when there was absolutely no more for me to reveal, Gaynor put her palms on either side of my face, drew me towards her and kissed me quickly but firmly on the lips. Her chocolate-drop eyes gazed into mine, the tips of our noses almost touching. "Thanks for telling me all that," she said softly, again kissed my lips, and then added: "It's quite an unusual marriage you've got there, Richard. Sex or no sex, a strong bond has kept you two together."

±±±±±±±±

THEN

I WAS concerned and wondered when things would change. When will they get back to normal? 

In my armchair, a glass of beer in hand and the television flickering in the corner of the lounge, I was deep in thought and only vaguely aware, like background music, that Veronica was upstairs settling the twins down for the night. Ah, the twins! In just over a week, it would be their first birthdays - a staggering thought. And that only served to highlight my continuing concerns and worries. Rubbing a forefinger over my chin bristles, I mused: Just when will Veronica be ready to make love again?

I took a hearty slug of beer and, once more, pondered on this strange, ongoing situation. I tried to make sense of the puzzle, reflecting on what had happened over the past year. Or not happened . . .

For six months after the birth of the twins, I had been caring, supportive and patient. I knew that Veronica had her hands full with the babies and needed all her rest and strength to cope with the demand on her time and energies. If it meant she was too exhausted for love-making, so be it. I accepted that. I could wait.

I nodded to myself: yes, those had been my initial thoughts.

Of course, I'd helped where and when I could but it was a two-way street. I, too, needed my strength to combat the stress and challenges of the business world. I frequently worked a six-day week and long hours at that. But, being in my early thirties, I was fit and blessed with a strong mind and physical stamina. No problems there. And Veronica also understood the work situation and supported me wholeheartedly.

So, I thought, everything has turned out pretty good. Everything, that is, except for this lack of sex - in fact, this total absence of sex. What's happened? How did we got to this point? We used to have a great sex life and Veronica was often the instigator, eager to experiment with new positions and other stuff, including light bondage. But now? Well, I'm still virile and hungry but Veronica is . . . I don't know, I'm not sure what she is. 

I leaned back in my chair, stared at the ceiling and recalled the various occasions over the months when I'd I tested the waters, cuddling up in bed and letting my hands wander. Without fail, I'd been rebuffed. If I touched her bra-covered breasts, she'd quickly say: "No, Richard, sorry, I'm a bit tender there." I understood that, she was feeding two hungry mouths. But when my fingers strayed down her tummy towards her pubis she'd give me a quick peck on the lips, turn her back on me and say: "G'night, the girls will want feeding soon. I need some sleep." Or something like that.

Even when we cuddled and spooned in bed, my erection pressing against her, Veronica hadn't been the least bit responsive. It was as if my cock didn't exist, as if she couldn't feel it's heat and thickness against her buttocks or thighs. Certainly she made a good job of ignoring it and ignoring me and my urges.

So, I mused, here I sit, the weeks having turned into months, still no action and I'm so, so bloody frustrated I could scream.

I swigged at my beer again. It's little wonder that I've sometimes been tetchy and spoken sharply at her when she keeps coming up with all these fucking excuses. I shook my head at my choice of phrase and smiled ironically: that should be excuses not to fuck, of course. Anyway, when I snap she becomes tearful and claims she's frazzled. "Give me time, please." I can hear her pleading now.

Whatever, I've given her time and I'm still giving her time. A lot of it. I wonder, yet again, whether it's all due to a post-natal reaction. But for this long? Is a year without sex normal? How would I know? The trouble is, men don't talk about such things, it's not a topic for discussion at work or over a drink. In fact, we married men never speak about our home sex life. It's the ultimate no-no. Privacy rules!

I finished my beer and all seemed quiet upstairs. I switched off the television and the lounge lights, took my dirty glass into the kitchen and made my way upstairs to the bathroom. I cleaned my teeth and then peed. I looked down at my urinating cock and decided that I would see if Veronica was interested in making love tonight. I took a deep breath as I zipped up my pants. Yes, tonight's the night, I've waited long enough. With this increased determination buzzing in my brain, I swilled my hands and face and walked first to the girls' room. I popped my head around their door and stood a moment watching them sleep. Two little angels bathed in a soft pink nightlight.

In our bedroom, Veronica sat against propped up pillows and leafed through a magazine. She wore a satin nightdress, a pale shade of purple with white lace trimmings. She looked enticing. "Did you look in on the girls?" she asked.

"Yes, of course. They're both out for the count, the little darlings."

I quickly undressed and climbed naked between the sheets and immediately put a hand on Veronica's nightie-clad thigh. She had good thighs, lean and smooth. She smiled down at me, put her magazine on the nightstand, adjusted her pillows and wriggled down the bed. With that movement, her nightie bunched up under my hand and she promptly reached down and tugged it back into place.

Veronica stretched out an arm to switch off her bedside lamp and I settled a hand on her left knee, eased it under her nightie and started to lightly caress and progress up her inner thigh.

"What are you doing, Richard?" she said, her left hand clamping down to stop my advance. The bedside lamp still glowed.

I looked at her frowning face and offered an encouraging corner-of-the-mouth smile. "I thought that might be obvious," I said and pressed my fingers into her cool flesh.

She shook her head. "Not tonight, Richard, if you don't mind. I've got such a lot on tomorrow."

"Not tonight?" I said, my ire suddenly rising at yet another rejection. "You always say that: 'not tonight.' What night then? Tell me, so I can put it in my diary with a bloody great gold star to mark the momentous occasion."

Clearly startled by my outburst, Veronica took a gulp of air. "Oh, don't be angry . . ."

"Don't be angry," I spat. "Angry? I'm not angry, I'm bloody frustrated, frustrated as hell, that's what I am. I just don't know what's happening with you, I really don't. I've tried to be patient - no, I have been patient - but it's more than a year since we made love. Do you realise that? Do you? More than a year . . ."

"Yes, I do know that," she interjected, her hand still clamped over mine. Only the flimsy satin nightie separated us. "But getting angry and raising your voice to me won't help. And, yes, I know how patient you've been. But, I'm sorry, Richard, I'm just not . . . well, I just don't feel up to it yet."

"Yet? Good God, Veronica, how much time do you need?" My pent up emotions, all the months of frustrating denials, had to be released. And this was the moment. I swiftly withdrew my hand and warmed to my theme. "You know, some women would be pregnant again by now, not still refusing their husband night after night, month after month."

Veronica gasped and shook her head. "Oh Richard, don't start, not now, not tonight," is all she whispered. Tears misted her eyes.

In the growing silence, my chest heaving with barely contained fury and disappointment, I continued to gaze on her pretty but sad face and a myriad of thoughts flashed through my mind. I clenched my teeth, biting down hard, and gradually became calmer. This is the woman I had married, for better for worse, in sickness and in health, and we'd shared some truly wonderful experiences, some lovely times and great years. We'd been blessed with two healthy daughters. And yes, overall, my virgin bride had turned out to be a great wife and blossomed into an enthusiastic, satisfying sexual partner. There'd been no complaints. Until this past year.

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and my rage subsided along with their drifting trickle. I used a thumb to wipe the wetness off her cheek. "Sorry, Veronica," I whispered and kissed the damp skin. "I didn't mean to upset you. I do love you but it's just . . ."

"I love you, too, very much, Richard," she cut in and her lips formed a tentative smile through the tears. " And I do know you're frustrated." She wiped the back of a hand under her slim nose and sniffed. 

"Yeah," I agreed, reaching across her for the box of tissues. "I am frustrated. But I shouldn't let it get the better of me like that."

"No, that's quite alright, it's understandable, you're a man." She used a tissue to wipe her nose and smiled at me. "And I'm mighty glad about that." 

She lifted a hand to my face and drew me in for a kiss. It wasn't the fleeting nip I anticipated. It developed into a dizzying locking of lips, her warm panting breath heralding the intrusion of her tongue into my mouth. I was stunned. The passion behind the kiss was totally unexpected but I recovered to respond, swishing my tongue inside her mouth and licking hungrily.

We came up for air and gazed into each other's eyes like long-ago lovers. My pulse rate increased. Was this indeed the moment? Was normal service about to be resumed, after all? I gently eased Veronica onto her back, ready to take advantage of the opportunity. My cock was already throbbing into a firm erection and I placed my left knee between Veronica's legs and prepared to clamber between her thighs.

"No, Richard, please don't."

I looked down into her face and continued into the missionary position. "Why not? C'mon, just do it. Relax, forget all this nonsense about being tired and not ready yet. Let's just do it."

Veronica's gaze focused somewhere over my shoulder and she shook her head. "No, I can't, I don't want to. Not now. Please, Richard, get off me." She lay still, arms at her sides.

"For God's sake, woman," I hissed, "just pull up your nightie." I boiled over with frustration. I was now in position, throbbing and palpitating, ready for penetration, but Veronica still denied me. I switched to persuasion: "C'mon, sweetheart, you must remember how you liked it. Spread your legs, please. Make love to me."

No leg movement, only her head shaking from side to side, tears coursing over her flushed cheeks. "No, no," she gasped, whispering and exhaling. "Please, if you love me, don't do this. Please, Richard."

"What do you mean, if I love you?" I didn't comprehend her reasoning. "Can't you see it's because I love you that I want us to do this?"

I didn't wait for a response but got up into a kneeling position, plucked at the hem of her nightdress and hauled it up, exposing her taut thighs and a glimpse of white panties at her crotch. Veronica put both hands to her groin, holding down her nightie. "No, Richard, don't," she said. "Stop it, now."

"I don't want to stop. I want to make love, like we used to do. Look Veronica . . . look at me, look down here. I'm hard and bursting to make love to you."

Veronica didn't look. Her eyelids closed, tears still oozing. "No, Richard, no. I'm sorry but no."

"Please, Veronica, I need you. Feel this . . ." I took her left hand and guided it towards my rigid member. Her fingers were soft on my shaft but they were motionless, reluctant. I sighed. "Please, Veronica, please. C'mon darling . . ."

She opened her eyes and withdrew her hand. "No, I'm sorry Richard. I can't." She inhaled deeply and stared up into my face and softly told me: "If you must do it, carry on . . . I won't stop you. Rape me if you must. But, please, don't come inside me. Promise me that."

Time froze, the world stopped revolving. I stared at my wife's distraught face, the tight line of her lips and the tears misting her eyes. "Rape?" I mumbled. "I would never rape you. I couldn't do that." On cue, my erection diminished. "I only want to love you."

I got from between Veronica's legs and pulled her nightie back down to her knees. I lay on my back, pulled up the bed covers and closed my eyes. What had just happened? 

±±±±±±±±

NOW

THE day before my 58th birthday, I rang the bell on Gaynor's door, heard the unknown tune from somewhere up above and waited as footsteps descended the stairs and approached on the other side of the door.

"Who is it?" asked the familiar husky voice.

"It's me, Richard."

"What's the password?"

I smiled and wracked my brain for an appropriate response. "Gentleman Caller."

"That'll do," and the door swung open. Gaynor enthusiastically pulled me into an embrace, a gold hoop pressing against my cheek. "Good to see you, Gentleman Caller," she breathed into my ear and then leaned back at arm's length. "Let me look at you, old man."

I also looked at her. She wore her nurse's uniform, starched white with green belt clinched at the waist and upside-down fob watch resting on her right breast. "Old man?" I asked. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, you. . . you're an old man. Oh, sorry, excuse me." She raised a hand to her mouth and then removed it to reveal her brilliant white teeth in a broad grin. "Silly me. I suppose I'm a day early, aren't I? You don't become old until tomorrow, do you?"

Again, this beautiful woman had stunned me. "Amazing," I said, as we linked hands. "I never thought for one moment you'd remember my birthday."

"But of course, why wouldn't I? Don't you remember mine?"

I frowned and simulated a chewing motioning on the inside of my mouth.

"What? I don't believe you." Gaynor looked at me in disbelief. "You must remember, surely."

Then I grinned. "February 6th."

"Bastard," she said, grinning. "I've a good mind to slap your bottom for that."

"Oooh, nurse . . . please, nurse," I pleaded and we fell into another hug before Gaynor turned and walked towards the stairs.




Love Never Dies Pt. 08



She looked over a shoulder and said: "Close the door and then let's see if, this time, you can have a proper look at my photographs on the walls."

"Of course," I said but the task became instantly impossible as Gaynor cheekily hitched up the skirt of her uniform. She wore flat shoes, her shapely legs were encased in black tights and, as I followed her ascent of the stairs, I was constantly distracted by flashes of the white panties which encased her swaying rear end.

At the top, she let the skirt fall back into place, turned to me and said: "Well, what d'you think? Which did you like the best?"

"Ahh, well now, let me think . . . probably the bird with long black legs and flashes of white. Think it's called a Mynah bird . . . No, wait a minute. Yes, that's right, it's called a Gaynor bird."

Gaynor mockingly clapped her hands. "Well done, Richard. Not bad at all for a nearly old man." She turned and I followed her towards the kitchen. "I'll make coffee and then get changed out of this uniform."

I feigned disappointment: "Oh, you didn't put it on specially for me, then?"

"Why," she said, filling the electric kettle with water, "are you in need of a nurse? You're surely not that ancient . . . yet."

"Okay, enough of this ageist stuff. I'll have you know I'm very fit . . ."

"For a man of your age," she interjected.

". . . ignoring that, I'm very fit and I still carry my golf clubs around the course. I don't need an electric trolley or buggy to get round."

"In that case," said Gaynor, handing me a mug of instant coffee, "you'll be able to carry this into the lounge."

We sat in the chairs in the bay window and Gaynor told me that she'd answered an urgent request to work a four-hour shift at a nearby hospice. She was on the books of a nursing agency and usually worked three or four shifts each week at various local hospitals and nursing homes.

"I will only do short hours, usually four but never more than six," she said, blowing to cool her hot drink. "At my age, and I'm nowhere near as ancient as you, it suits me. It pays quite well, gets me out of the house and, quite honestly, I still like the work. The old folk are best but it's sad to see some of the patients in the hospices. They're dying and all we can do is try to make their end as comfortable and pain-free as possible."

She drank and then looked down into her mug. We sat in silence, both apparently deep in thought until I said what I'd been thinking. "Good job you stayed on and finished your training all those years ago."

Gaynor looked up at the sound of my voice. "What? Mmm, yes, it was." She smiled across at me. "Just a pity I couldn't have the best of both worlds, eh?"

My answering grin must have been sheepish. "Never mind," said Gaynor quickly, "we might not have worked out. There's no way of knowing. Perhaps all these things happen for the best. You know, fate, karma, call it what you will."

I put my half-empty mug on the table. "Maybe," I said, "but I do know we can't do anything about the past. We can have regrets and think 'if only' but . . ."

"We've been over this before, Richard."

"Yes, but what I just want to say is, we're here now, together, and we've got a second chance to . . . well, enjoy ourselves, be loving friends, and . . ."

"Yes, you're right, I know what you mean." Gaynor looked at me but didn't smile. "I hope we can work it out, Richard. This isn't an ideal situation, far from it." She raised a hand to stop me interrupting. "I know and accept that you're married and that's it. I wouldn't want to be the cause of any rift, certainly not a divorce, and you've been frank enough to say you've no intention of hurting Veronica."

"Or leaving her," I said quietly and quickly.

"Yes, or leaving her." Gaynor nodded. "So, we know where we stand. Or think we do. But I must tell you this Richard and I promise I will never mention it again."

Now Gaynor's brown eyes burned into mine and she sat upright in her chair, placed her mug next to mine on the table, and reached out with both hands. I hitched forward in my chair and took her hands in mine. Her nails were free of varnish. A working day, of course.

"I really don't know how far we can go. By that, I suppose I really mean, how far I can go." She took a deep breath and stared at our linked hands. "I've told you before, I will not get hurt again. Once was more than enough. I'll never forget that heartbreak and I'll never go through it again. Not knowingly, anyway. It was too much pain."

"Gaynor, I know . . ."

"Please, Richard, let me finish." I nodded and she continued, her husky voice low and rich like cream. "But, as I've told you, I never forgot you and I never stopped loving that Richard, that young man I fell in love with all those 30-odd years ago. And so, driven by God knows what, I used Facebook. And, this is the point really. . ." she looked up at me, gazed steadily into my eyes ". . . since then, over these past weeks, through our emails and phone calls, and especially with our meetings, I believe I still love you. Today's Richard."

We squeezed fingers and I felt a lump gather in my throat. Before I could muster any words, Gaynor said: "We are soul mates, I believe that with all my heart. I believe that's why we are here today. But, and this is from my heart, if I ever think I'm heading for a fall, if I think I'm in danger again, I will stop seeing you. As much as that will hurt, it's far better than . . ."

Gaynor shrugged and let the sentence trail away. No more needed to be said.

Eventually, I found my voice. "I perfectly understand, Gaynor. For my part, I haven't resumed our relationship to hurt you again. I've done it because, like I've said, I think we can both get some happiness from each other. I know I have already."

I stood and, with our hands still linked, Gaynor rose from her chair. "As for Veronica and our marriage . . . I told you a lot about that the other day." Gaynor nodded. "In all but the bedroom, she has been a good partner, loyal and faithful and utterly supportive. A friend. She's also an excellent mother. So, if I walked away from her, for whatever reason, I wouldn't be the man I think I've become."

Gaynor frowned. "You've not changed that much, Richard. Older . . ." she smiled.

"Oh, but I think I have. And not just in numbers, 25 to 58 or whatever. No, I mean in my persona . . . I'm not so selfish, arrogant and pig-headed. I do think of others and their feelings."

"Aaah, the penny drops," said Gaynor. "You walked away from me but . . . oh yes, you wouldn't do the same to Veronica. I see . . ."

"Yes, and it's still largely unfair on you. The lesson I learned benefits Veronica but . . .well, the love of my life, still suffers. That bit's not fair."

"And you, too, Richard. Don't forget, you too have suffered. Maybe you still are suffering."

I pulled Gaynor into a hug, kissed her cheek and whispered into her ear: "But we're here now."

"Indeed we are, Richard . . . and you're crushing me."

"Oh, sorry," I said and relaxed my arms.

Gaynor stood back and took a deep breath. "Good God, you squashed my tits there, Richard. Reckon I'm only 32A now," and she chortled, brushing her hands over mighty bosom. She quickly kissed my lips. "I'm glad we've had that little chat. Now we've both definitely got our eyes open so, whatever happens from now on, no recriminations, eh? We're not in the hurting game, okay?"

I nodded. "Loving friends . . . even if one of us is old."

"Ah, so true. But this nurse will look after you." She smiled. "Speaking of which, I need to get this uniform in the washer. Can you help by unzipping me?"

"Sure," I said, 'turn around."

Gaynor laughed as she unbuckled her green belt. "Bloody hell, Richard, look here . . .the zip's at the front. Oh, never mind, you've missed your chance."

"Nooo, stand still." I reached for the zipper and drew it down to her waist. The starched material didn't flop open and Gaynor poked her tongue at me.

"Thought you'd get a sneaky peek, didn't you, naughty boy? That's two slaps on the bottom now."

"Oh yeah, you're all promises, you are. Just a tease."

"Is that so, Mr Johnson?" She started to leave the room but stopped at the doorway. "A tease, am I?" With her back to me, she used her right hand to ease the uniform off her left shoulder, exposing the soft caramel flesh. "We'll see about that," and she wiggled her behind and walked off towards the kitchen, leaving me with mouth open and racing pulse.

I sat back in the chair and sipped lukewarm coffee. And waited. Shortly, I heard what I believed to be the washing machine portal being closed and the subsequent hiss of flowing water. I didn't hear Gaynor return but suddenly, gloriously, there she stood in the doorway, hands on hips, staring directly at me. She was naked except for white frilly briefs. And a pair of gold hoops.

"Oh. My. God."

Gaynor smiled. "Goddess, maybe?"

"Oh yes, Goddess Gaynor. You are beautiful."

She walked towards me, her proud breasts bobbing, and asked: "You approve then? Not too bad for a girl in her mid-fifties?"

"Amazing, absolutely stunning," I said, wrapping my arms around her and sharing a kiss that would probably arouse a eunuch. Our tongues poked, prodded, danced and lapped. Our lips meshed fiercely, moans and sighs drifted out of salivating mouths. Our hands roamed, mine tingling from the feel of soft, warm, silky skin.

But, however much we tried, we couldn't maintain the kiss for ever. "Hmm," said Gaynor, licking her tongue over lipstick-free lips. "If you'd like to use the bathroom first, I'll meet you in the bedroom. Okay?"

I nodded, dumbly, and reluctantly stepped away.

In the bathroom, I unzipped my pants and wrestled my fattening penis out of my briefs and peed. I knew, without any doubt, where this cock of mine was headed. And I thanked the Lord that, although I'm nearly an Old Man, it was still in good working order. Well, let's be honest, it hadn't exactly been over-used.

Hands swilled under warm water and dried, I headed for the bedroom. The door was ajar and I pushed it open to find . . .

Gaynor was in bed, facing me, head propped on her right hand and the duvet pulled up and tucked into her left armpit. The duvet cover and sheets were black but the pillows were white. The curtains at the bay window were closed, shutting out the pale sunlight, and bedside lamps cast a pink, shadowy glow over the room.

"Not too decadent is it?" Her voice was low, husky and contained a hint of laughter. It was oh so sexy.

"Said the spider to the fly," I replied and walked towards the bed. I bent and removed shoes and socks. I peeled off sports shirt and jumper, unbuckled my belt and stepped out of my fallen trousers. I could sense Gaynor's eyes on me as I placed my clothes on a nearby chair.

I lifted the edge of the duvet, ready to climb into bed. Gaynor looked at my briefs, raised her eyebrows, and said: "Really? Why do you need those, Richard?"

"Ah, silly me," I managed, although my tongue was clinging to my dry mouth. I turned my back, removed the briefs and then slid into bed. Gaynor immediately draped her left arm across my chest and rested her head into the crook of my shoulder and neck. Her scent wafted warmly from beneath the covers.

I kissed her forehead and her left hand found my growing stiffness. I grew even more as my right hand latched on to the firm but pliable orb which was her left breast. My fingers found the nipple firm and erect and I knew I must suck it.

Gaynor released her hold on my cock and rolled on to her back as I slid down the bed to suck on her right nipple. With my right hand, I kneaded and rubbed her left breast. Gaynor sighed as I raised my right leg, bent at the knee, across her abdomen. My erection compressed against her hip and I felt the first seepage of pre-cum.

With Gaynor's right arm draped down my back, her fingers playing at the base of my spine, I stopped fondling and sucking her generous tits and moved down her torso, leaving a trail of wet kisses and finger-tip trails over her chest, stomach and belly until I reached a curly, pubic garland. I stopped breathing, elated by the softness of her hairy mound and the expectancy of the delights that awaited below.

Gaynor shuffled her feet, kicking the duvet down the bed. I assisted and the cover fell away, allowing me to freely get between her legs. I rested my head on her undulating, squishy belly and resumed shallow breathing. Both hands were on her firm, long thighs but I couldn't resist any more: I needed to see, touch and kiss Petal.

Gaynor drew her feet up the mattress, spreading her knees and thighs, and I eased down to look upon her pussy. Below the curls, was a glistening pink slit, barely open, and I lapped along it from bottom to top. I savoured the sweet juices and more pre-cum exited my throbbing tube. I gently rubbed a finger along the moist opening, teasing at the outer labia, watching and waiting for the flower to bloom. I licked and lapped, eased a finger inside, rotated a thumb on the clit hood, and reached heaven's gates when Gaynor's thighs spread wide and the petals appeared.

"Oh my," I muttered and tenderly kissed her flower, drinking in the nectar. Her intense, feminine odour assailed and filled my nostrils as I again buried my tongue deep between her petals, licking and lapping, kissing and sucking. Gaynor moaned, rocked and rolled her hips, and placed both hands on my head, holding it firmly against her thrusting groin. With a great gasp she surged and squirmed, thrust and trembled, and more juice coated my probing tongue.

She finally stretched out her legs, released her grasp on my head and tapped me gently on the shoulders. "Come up here, my darling," she said and I clambered along the black sheet to lay facing her. My hot cock pressed against her tummy as I kissed her mouth.

"Hmm, I can taste me," she whispered, and wiped the back of a hand across her lips. "And I think you've been telling me lies."

"What?"

"Yes, all these years you say you haven't had sex," she said, brown eyes twinkling, "but you set me off in minutes. Come on, honey, tell me the truth."

I smiled. "It is the truth. But you always did come quickly when I got down there."

"True," she said, kissing the tip of my nose, "and you haven't lost the art. You're still like that expensive drink, a real top-class liquor."

I grinned at the old joke. "And you're still my Petal."

"You're too kind. But I know I'm not as dainty or delicate anymore. A little bit larger and more like butterfly wings." She smiled. "But, enough of that," and she reached down between us and circled her fingers around my rigid meat, "I think we've got unfinished business to attend to here."

She pushed me onto my back and straddled my waist, her glorious globes swaying and bobbing. "It's your turn to lie back and enjoy."

Her boobs came tantalisingly close to my face as she leaned forward, reached down between her legs and presented my fat dome to her wet slit. She worked the head between her lips and I gasped, held my breath and delighted in the sensation of disappearing into her dark, soft, mysterious tunnel. My whole length was swallowed in one easy movement and I reached up to hold both tits during her ride up and down.

Gaynor smiled down at me and then closed her eyes as my cock bulged, alerting us both to the impending climax. I shared the rhythm, thrusting as she sat on me, and I grunted loudly when my balls tightened and pumped my seed in spurt after streaming spurt. 

"Oh, God, yes," muttered Gaynor, still maintaining her glide on my shaft. "Loads and loads of cum." Again she smiled at me, my chest heaving in the after-glow of our wonderful union. "Loads for a nearly Old Man, that is."

I reached round to playfully slap her buttocks in response.

"Aaah, that reminds me. I owe you a couple of spankings, don't I?" She raised a forefinger to her lips and cocked her head from one side to the other. "Weeeell," she elongated the word, "you've been a very good boy since, so I think I'll excuse you. Just this once, mind" and she bent to briefly kiss my lips.

I wasn't fully limp when Gaynor dismounted, releasing our mixed fluids, and snuggled down besides me, our hands linked at our chests. "Thank you," I said.

She smiled. "Thank you, my birthday boy. Let's have a few minutes rest and then we can get up and have a shower. Okay."

I nodded. "Ladies first, of course."

"Nah, not today. We'll have it together. Saves water," she chortled.

~~~~~~~

Much later, back home in my office, 10:42 showing on the clock in the corner of my computer screen and Veronica asleep in bed, I took a small package from my pocket. When the time had approached for me to reluctantly leave, Gaynor had produced it and pressed it into my palm.

"Just a little something from me," she said. "Take it as a birthday present or just as a gift from Your Petal. It's up to you." Then she'd kissed me, stared into my eyes and said: "It's not a big thing and I know you'll make sure Veronica doesn't find it. That's why I haven't got you a birthday card. Not safe is it? Anyway, I thought you could stash this little thing in your car. Probably out of sight in the glove compartment until you need to use it. Okay?"

"Right," I said, unable to figure out what it might be. "Shall I open it now."

"No." Shakes of her head set the gold hoops rocking. "When you get home, perhaps in your car. Anyway, hope you like it. Now be off with you. Send me a message when you've arrived safely. I'll be up quite late tonight."

When I'd parked the Volvo in the garage, I'd sent a text to confirm I was safe and that I would e-mail later tonight. Now I removed the wrapping paper to reveal a small white cardboard box. I lifted the lid and a sheet of paper slightly unfolded. I opened it and read the neatly-written penned note:

"I got this some days ago and I wrapped it up before your visit today. If all has gone according to plan, you will know and appreciate what it means. When you've looked at it, there is another note in the bottom of the box. Love xx"

A wad of cotton wool was next and I removed it and found . . . a keyring and key. But it wasn't just any old keyring. This, I could see at first glance, was special. I took it out of the box between thumb and forefinger, used my other hand to poke my spectacles up to the bridge of my nose, and closely examined the gift. It was metallic and superbly crafted. The flower, and I didn't have a clue what sort it was, had pale pink petals and a Red Admiral butterfly, it's wings partially spread, had settled on it. Petals and butterfly wings! Brilliant! I didn't know whether to laugh or weep. 

Instead, I removed a second piece of cotton wool, unfurled the next note and read:

"Hope you like it. And they key? It's to my heart. Also, more practically, it opens my door (it will save me running up and down the blessed stairs to let you in and out!) Love and kisses xx Happy birthday, Old Man xx"

I returned the notes to the bottom of the box and covered them with the cotton wool. The keyring I rested on top, leaving the lid off, and placed the box next to my computer. I had an email to compose and send. It was now 10:50 and when the page loaded, I had only seven messages. The top one was from Gaynor Reid. I opened it immediately:

My darling Richard,

I know you're planning to write tonight but I just had to send this. It's from my heart, Richard.

I had a hard time letting you go today. I really, really didn't want you to leave. I wanted you to stay here with me. But you can't stay and so I waved you away. I felt sick to my stomach and, for an hour or so, I did nothing but cry and sob. That's not like me, Richard, it really isn't. Other than the other day when we listened to our songs, I can't remember the last time I wept. And certainly not like I've done today.




Love Never Dies Pt. 08



Truthfully, I became quite a hardened bitch in the years after you left me. You don't know that side of me (you wouldn't want to, eh?). Fact is, you may probably not know the real me anyway. Or perhaps this is the real me. Who bloody knows?

Anyway, I know I put a brave face on and saw you off with a kiss and smile, sending you back to Veronica. But, and I've decided it's no good lying or pretending otherwise, you've got to know the truth. I was breaking up inside. I honestly don't know if all this is good for me. Don't get me wrong, I've absolutely loved seeing you and, even in this brief time and under strange circumstances, it's been great having you back in my life. But where's it leading to, Richard? More heartbreak for me?

What happened between us today was simply wonderful. Perhaps that's the trouble. I'm just not used to feeling loved and wanted. I've been closed off to deep affection for such a long, long time. I honestly didn't expect to feel like it ever again. But now. Oh, I don't know. 

I think it's best if I stop now. I think you'll understand what I'm saying. Hope so anyway (then you can explain it to me, he he!).

I look forward to getting your message. I won't be going to sleep anytime soon but I will get into bed with my laptop and smell you on the sheets and pillows. Grrr!

Love

Gaynor x x x

I looked at the message filling the screen, glanced at my new special keyring, and then at my keyboard. I knew I had to respond but I was in a whirl with conflicting emotions battling for my attention. Much like Gaynor must feel. I read her words again and her torment struck me like a hammer blow, or a knife to the heart.

I leaned back in my swivel chair and gripped the arms so tight that my knuckles stretched the skin, the white patches prominent against my golfer's suntanned hands. This wouldn't be an easy message to write.



Love Never Dies Pt. 09



This is the concluding part of Love Never Dies. Apologies for the delay and thanks for your patience.





Love Never Dies Pt. 09



"But . . ."

Gaynor cut me short, wrapping a hand over my mouth. 

"No! Be honest with yourself Richard, it's not normal." She withdrew her hand. "I can't go out with you, not really go out with you. I can't go to your golf club, to dinners and dances, can't meet your friends or your kids, go on holiday, exchange Christmas and birthday presents. All the normal things. Don't you see that? Don't you see how it all makes me desperately unhappy?"

I scratched at my right temple. Gaynor's arguments had a powerful basis. But I couldn't let her go, not lose her yet again.

"Richard," she said softly, "you have family and a safe marriage, a wife who loves you, whether you have sex or not. You are committed to her and I think that's right, that's what marriage is about. 

"But you can't give me that and there is no way I will come between you two. So . . ." a huge intake of breath lifted her mighty bosom . . . "we must stop meeting. No, make that I must stop seeing you. I need to get healthy again, to get back to my hobbies and my friends. Sorry, Richard, there's only one way to do this."

I felt my heart splinter. My head was pounding, my pulse racing and sweat bubbled in my armpits. I couldn't speak. The lumps in my throat almost prevented me from breathing. Is this how Gaynor felt all those years ago when I walked away, leaving her sitting in the corner of a dismal bar?

Gaynor's hand settled on my thigh. "I will always love you, Richard and I'm glad in many ways that we met up again. You're a good man but you must go back and live your life. I know we'll never forget each other but, obviously, soul mates or not, we weren't meant to be together."

I clutched at her hand and squeezed. Was this really the last time we'd meet? Here, on a wet November lunchtime in a car park? I looked into those beautiful chocolate-drop eyes and battled to fight off my tears.

"I can tell you've made up your mind. I guess it's been bubbling along for some time. I was actually afraid this would happen." I took a deep breath. "But, and you know I mean this, if you should ever change your mind . . ."

"Yes, I know where you are and how to get in touch. And, by the way, please make sure your pal Mick phones me if something does happen to you. Okay? I would want to know, Richard. Truly I would."

I nodded. "Sure." I forced a grin. "It's a bit dramatic though, isn't it? Hollywood movie stuff?"

Gaynor reacted with a flash of white teeth. "Perhaps, but I mean it. I would like to know. And Charlie will contact you, if you still want to know, that is."

"Of course. Yes, tell her." My gaze lingered on her troubled, sad face. "Bloody hell, Gaynor, this is horrible, so fucking horrible. Come here, give me a hug."

We squirmed round in our seats and leaned in to each other, arms hugging and a golden hoop made an imprint on our cheeks. Her fragrance filled my nostrils, her body yielding within my arms. We kissed briefly before Gaynor pulled away.

"Okay, go now," she said. "I don't like long goodbyes."

Reluctantly and slowly, I opened the door and started to get out. The drizzle had stopped. "Oh, I'll get your house door key," I said. What the hell made me think about that at such a lamentable time? "It's in my car."

"No, you keep it, Richard. I don't need it. Keep it as a memento of my love along with the keyring. But, please, don't think about using it. Don't be a stalker. And, please, don't phone or send messages, either. I've got to make a clean break. It's the only way for me."

I stood up and then leaned back into the car. "I wont be a stalker or contact you in any way, if that's your wish. I'd like to keep in touch but, if that's not possible, I'll respect your wishes."

"Thank you, Richard. Cold turkey's the only way. Sorry"

I nodded and stored the image of her sad features and slumped posture. "Okay, that's it then. But, as I said, you know where I am." I forced another weak smile and said: "Take care, Petal . . . and, always remember, I love you."

"Love you, too," she said, almost to herself, and looked at me as she turned the key in the ignition. The engine fired and I closed the door. Gaynor drove slowly towards the exit, indicating a left turn. Through her rear window, I watched a raised arm waving a final farewell.

I plodded to my car and dropped into the driver's seat. I let my head slump, my brow resting on my arms which I'd draped along the top of the steering wheel. 

Christ, I thought, this car park is where we met up again. And now she's gone. Back in the day, that old dingy bar had been the venue for our beginning and end. Deja bloody vu.

And then I started to sob and heave, uncontrollable tears cascaded down my cold cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

SOMEHOW, I managed to compose myself and, that evening over dinner, I made a concerted effort to listen attentively to Veronica's ramblings about her luncheon at some society or club of which she's a member. Knitting or book reading or something, I don't know: much as I tried I didn't really take it in, just feigned interest. 

My thoughts were all focused on Gaynor and the trauma of our break up. No getting away from it, I was feeling sorry for myself. But I also knew, deep down, that the parting was best for Gaynor. If our situation really was making her ill, then I simply had to step back and release her. True love isn't selfish and so I had to let her go.

But, I couldn't help thinking that the hand I'd been dealt was cruel and perverse. Twice I'd said goodbye to the real love of my life. Bloody hell!

After our meal, Veronica was her usual contented self, watching television, but I couldn't relax, couldn't concentrate.

"I'm going up to my office," I declared and Veronica just smiled and nodded her head.

Morosely, I read through all the messages in my special GR folder. It didn't help, I just became even more entrenched in misery. At one point, the question flickered through my mind: Why don't you leave Veronica and set up with Gaynor? 

But I couldn't do that. Not to the woman who'd borne my children, who loved me and had been a great supportive companion and friend for so many years. We'd shared so much and, at this time in our lives, the devastation to her was unthinkable. And, of course, I loved her. Not all-consuming and fiercely passionate like it was with Gaynor. But it was love, a deep caring. 

I pondered for a few moments. What is love? Surely our love for people varies: parents, siblings, offspring, friends, all a different shade of love and affection. Isn't that also the case with lovers? Different degrees, different reasons.

I shook my head and clicked the mouse to close the GR file. Gaynor and I were no longer an item - again.

When I entered the bedroom, a nightstand light glowed and Veronica was asleep. I undressed, switched off the light and clambered into bed. And there I lay, on my back, turning to one side and then the other. Restless doesn't begin to describe my tortured state. I just couldn't empty my mind, free it of thoughts.

At 6:45 I gave up the quest for sleep, shrugged into my dressing gown and padded down the stairs to make coffee in the kitchen. I carried a mug into the lounge and leaned back in my armchair, staring at the ceiling. Any solutions up there? I was startled by my phone trilling in my pocket. An incoming call this early!

Hastily I pressed the receive button and said: "Hello."

"If you can't talk," said Charlie in a hushed tone, "just say I must have the wrong number and call me back as soon as you can."

I rose from my chair and said: "No, I'm okay to talk." I closed the lounge door and returned to my seat, asking: "What's the problem?"

"Problem," she echoed, "you know the problem, it's Gaynor. Damn, Richard, the woman's in bits. I knew things weren't right but this is just too crazy for words."

"Crazy? What d'you mean, Charlie? What's happened?"

"Yesterday . . . that's what's happened. Blimey, Richard, I can't believe this is happening all over again. Why did you let her do it?"

I explained quickly what Gaynor had decided, the reasons she'd given and how, as a married man, I was powerless to offer alternatives. "I had to go along with her wishes," I said. "Her mind was made up and, to tell the truth, she didn't seem that upset."

"Not upset," Charlie exploded. "Good God, Richard, I spent hours with her crying on my shoulder last night. She may have put on a brave face with you but, believe me, she's in a lot of pain. Her heart's broken . . . well, what's left of it."

I was momentarily speechless. "Oh dear," I eventually uttered. "I know she's strong-willed but she surpassed herself yesterday. I hadn't a clue she was that upset. In fact, I honestly thought she was relieved to call it a day so that she could move on and stop feeling so wretched. She said something about getting her life back again."

"Sod that! You're her life," spat Charlie. "Look, sorry Richard, I know it's not your fault. But you can't just let her go. C'mon man, be a knight in shining armour and get on your white horse or whatever you need to do."

"It's not that simple," I said. "She made me promise not to . . ."

"Oh no, shit," I heard Charlie mumble, interrupting my explanation.

"Charlie . . . Charlie . . . are you still there?" I took the phone from my ear and looked at the screen. I was still connected and so I replaced it. "Charlie, are you there?"
I waited, listening to muffled sounds. Then came a breathless, "Sorry Richard, you still there?"

"Yes, did you hear what I was saying?"

"Never mind that. I'm sorry but Gaynor's here. I didn't know she'd come in the room. She's mad at me for ringing you."

"Can I talk to her?"

"Hang on."

Again I heard muffled voices. I waited and waited until . . . that husky tone: "Richard, this shouldn't have happened."

"Gaynor, I . . ."

"No, Richard, we said it all yesterday." I could hear a sob in her shaky voice. "Charlotte is out of order, she shouldn't have phoned you. I'm sorry. Please, let it be, let me go, or I'm gonna go mad. I can't take much more of this trauma. Sorry."

"Okay, okay," I said urgently. "Please, take care and don't be mad at Charlie. She was only being a friend . . ."

"Maybe. Anyway, I'm going now. Bye."

And she went. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ENDING a loving relationship, particularly for the second time, is more complicated than disconnecting a phone call. Over the previous 30-plus years, memories of Gaynor had frequently popped into my mind. Something or somewhere - a smell, a sight, a song - triggered recollections. But now, this second time around, I couldn't get through even one single day without thinking about her.

Maybe it was because it was all too fresh, that it had just happened. I tried recollecting whether it was like that in the early days after our first parting. I suppose I hurt back then but I couldn't feel that pain, not like now. I was listless, didn't have the energy or inclination to do anything. I went on to automatic pilot, drifting aimlessly and pointlessly through days and nights. Quite pathetic for a man of 58 years!

Perhaps the torment was greater this time because I knew Gaynor was only a few miles distant, a phone call or text or e-mail away. I knew where she lived, where she sat and slept. But she eluded my fingertips and my eyes and ears. Physically, she had gone but, mentally, she was still very much inside me. Every day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

CHRISTMAS is a time for family and ours was only small. Neither Veronica nor I had surviving parents and we were the only offspring. So, our family "invaders" this year, were our twin daughters and their husbands. A gathering of six adults to enjoy the festive cheer.

Veronica was always in her element as a mother-hen and hostess and, by mid-December, everything had been planned down to the last walnut.

We decorated the house with gold, purple, red, green and silver trimmings. The tree was resplendent with baubles and lights and brightly-wrapped parcels surrounded its base. Happy families, indeed.

Our daughters arrived late morning on Christmas Eve and our eldest (by all of two minutes!) surprised Veronica and I with one of our best Yuletide gifts: the news that she was pregnant. Our first grandchild was on the way! That lifted my spirits and confirmed my place in the universe as a family man. Perhaps I'm not typical of the species, I thought, but, hey, I'm still here in the nest. 

In the build up to the season of love and goodwill, I had posted a Christmas card to Gaynor. Why not? And, on Christmas morning, I even sneaked into the seclusion of my office and sent a "Happy Christmas" text to her.

I didn't get a response. A card I didn't expect but I hoped, deep down, that she might respond with a text message. I was disappointed. Okay, I'd agreed not to be a stalker - but sending a card and text at Christmas . . . come on, where's the harm?

On December 28, the girls and their husbands departed after lunch for their homes in the north. The date is burned in my memory because I also received a text that afternoon. It was from Gaynor and simply said:

Hi Richard, have sent e-mail x x

My old heart skipped a beat. Gaynor was in touch again. Weeks of silence had been broken and I was suddenly invigorated, bounding up the stairs and fairly racing into my office to boot up the computer.

Fortunately, Veronica was answering a call of nature in the bathroom and I didn't need to explain my sudden burst of energy. When she emerged, she wouldn't be surprised to discover that I was ensconced in my office.

My fingers tapped impatiently on the desk top, willing my home page to appear. When it did I clicked on my inbox and saw I had 37 messages and Gaynor's name was at the top of the menu. Putting on my spectacles, I opened it and read:

Subject: Us

Hi Richard (no, sod it) Dear Richard

You'll probably be wondering why on earth I'm writing this after saying we should end all contact. Well, I must admit that I half-expected you would send a Christmas card. In fact, I would have been upset if you hadn't sent one (yep, I know, silly, contrary cow!).

Anyway, thank you and you'll see I've put an attachment here. It's my attempt at a Christmas card. Late I know, but I wasn't sure what was happening with you. I guessed you'd be with family, either here or with your daughters someplace. Shit, I'm rambling already. Nerves you know.

Right, to the reason for this message (reasons actually). First I want to clarify my need to call a halt to our meetings. I told you I didn't want any more trauma and that, of course, referred to our past. I thought we'd put it behind us but, I'm sorry, I suppose I carry the scars and they're very deep. Not your fault really. It's just how I am.

Let me say I am glad we met again (after all, I started the ball rolling) and the things you said meant a lot to me. It goes without saying that I enjoyed the intimacy but I just felt that, if we carried on, we would cause a storm that we couldn't control.

Truthfully Richard, I am too old to go through major upheavals and the possibility of wrecking your marriage and family life was too much. I decided it was better we stopped before someone got hurt. And that includes me. In fact, mostly me.

Which brings me to my next point. This Cold Turkey business is fucked up. The times I've gone to send you a text or e-mail, well you wouldn't believe me. God knows how, but I resisted. Then I started thinking, where's the harm in a few written messages or the odd phone call?

I'm not going to ask you what you think because I know how much you wanted to maintain some contact. It was my choice to sever all contact and, being honest here, as hard as it's been, it might still be the best option. 

I'm not sure that any renewed contact could remain platonic and at a distance. Honestly, Richard, do you? Think about it before you carry on reading.

(I diverted my eyes from the screen and thought for a few seconds. I decided that some contact would be far better than this ball-aching nothingness. But would it stop there? Could I talk on the phone and not want to hold her, look into her eyes, make love to her, feel those petals parting for my tongue, my fingers and thick erection? To smell her fragrance, sit with her, walk by the river and . . . oh, bloody hell. I looked back to the screen and continued reading)

I'm guessing that your answer is that something's better than nothing but, deep down inside, perhaps not even that deep, you know it wouldn't be enough. You see, Richard, I'd thought about all that before I met you for the last time. Hence, Cold Turkey. It's worked, up to a point. But only to a point. I do miss you and instead of getting to feel better over this past month or so, I've got worse. I can't eat, I've been vomiting on a regular basis and I look like a bag of shit. I feel like a bag of shit.

Okay, it got so bad, Charlie went behind my back (she does that, you know!) and arranged a doctor's appointment. She even drove me to it (I don't think I could have driven, I feel so rotten. It was the first time I'd been out of the house for ages).

Oh my, this is taking for ever to tell you, isn't it? Well, the upshot is, the doc reckons I might have gall bladder problems. Next step is the hospital for tests and all that stuff. I have an appointment on January 4 at 10am. Charlie has said she will take me but, here's the crunch bit, I'd prefer it if you would come with me. Charlie's great, we've been best friends for ever and, of course, we're both nurses (once a nurse, always a nurse. No such thing as an ex nurse).

Anyway, I know it's asking a lot and I'll understand if you decline (posh word for telling me to get lost). Oh, so why am I asking you? The reason is quite simple. I feel safe with you, protected and warm. I know you love me and I'll need all the love I can get at the hospital. I am a scaredy cat and yours is the best hand I can hold. Okay?

So, I've made contact. Please don't think it's only because I want your help to the hospital. Charlie is quite capable of taking me and you would never have known, would you? Really, I suppose I'm reaching out to my soul mate one more time.

Either way, please let me know what you decide by this cyber space stuff or the phone.

Love,

Petal (okay, you win, no butterfly wings this time)

xxx

I removed my spectacles, rubbed my eyes (was that a tear trapped in the corner?) and reclined in my chair. I sighed heavily. I replaced my spectacles and reached for the keyboard. No! I looked at my phone laying on the desk next to the computer.

I rose from my chair, walked along the landing to the bathroom and had a pee. After washing and drying my hands, I went downstairs where Veronica was in the lounge watching a film on the television. She glanced at me as I walked into the room but quickly went back to the small-screen entertainment.

"I'm getting myself a coffee. Do you want anything?"

"Uh, uh, no thanks. I've got a glass of wine here," she said and lifted the glass as if to show me she was telling the truth.

I left the lounge, firmly closed the door, made a mug of instant coffee in the kitchen and returned to my office. Door closed, I settled back in the chair, picked up my phone and scrolled to GR on my contacts.

After three beeps, I heard: "Hello, Richard, thanks for calling."

"I thought it would be quicker than e-mail," I said. "How are you?"

"Not good. I'm scared, my stomach's all knotted and I'm living on liquids. Fruit juices and yoghourts and piss-weak tea. Can't even drink coffee, I bring it straight back."

"That sounds terrible. How long have you been like it?"

Gaynor yawned in my ear. "Oh, sorry about that. I'm also bloody tired all the time. I keep falling asleep, just nodding off for ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Then, at night, I can't sleep at all. And my attention span's up the spout. I can barely watch the TV, definitely can't read a book and the only thing left is the radio or CDs for some background noise. . . Oh dear, I've forgotten, what did you ask me?"




Love Never Dies Pt. 09



"How long have you been ill?"

"Oh, yes," she said and then sighed. "A long time, months. It started not long after we began meeting. I told you I wasn't feeling too good and was off my food. Remember, I'd be hungry and then couldn't each much."

"I remember, yes."

"Well, like I told you in my e-mail, instead of improving after our split, it's got worse. At first, I thought it was because I was still all knotted up inside, not about our meetings any more but this time about breaking up. I mean, I was distraught about it, you know. Anyway, Charlie convinced me that there might be something physically wrong, not just nerves or worry."

"Right, I see," I said. "So the doctor thinks you've got gall bladder problems? Will that mean an operation?"

"I don't know. Most likely. But that's why I'm booked in at the hospital for tests and scans, whatever they want to do with me. Quite honestly, I hate hospitals."

I couldn't help laughing.

"It's true, Richard," she said, a little chuckle in her husky voice. "I suppose it's knowing what goes on behind the scenes that does it. And we nurses are very critical, you know." She paused briefly, then asked in a quiet tone, "Will you take me to the hospital, Richard?"

"Sure. You say your appointment is for ten. That means I'll need to make an early start."

"Oh shit," said Gaynor. "I didn't think. Will that be a problem? I mean, with Veronica."

"Don't worry about that, I'll think of something. I'll get to your house by nine. That should be okay, yes?"

"Mmm, fine," she said. "Thanks Richard. I feel better already."

"Wish it was that easy."

"Yeah, well. . . anyway," her voice suddenly lifted, "what did you think of your Christmas card. I've never done anything like it before."

I realised I hadn't opened the attachment and I reached for the mouse. "Tell you the truth, Gaynor I haven't looked yet. I read your message and then phoned straight away. But I'll look now."

"What? Are you phoning from home? I told you never to do that."

"Whoa, slow down. It's okay, Veronica's out," I lied and clicked to open the attachment. The picture was of a snowman with a robin perched on a shoulder. "That's lovely, thank you," I said. 

"It's an old picture I painted years ago."

"You painted?"

"Yep, told you there was lots you didn't know about me. Anyway, you've got it. I didn't add any words in case someone else saw it. Can't be too careful."

"Okay," I said and was aware of the lounge door opening. "I'd better go, I think Veronica's just coming up the drive."

"Okay, Richard. Thanks and I'll see you on the fourth. Love you, byee."

"Bye, Petal."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

GOLF and Mick came to my rescue again. The fourth was a Tuesday and, being winter, we usually teed-off early. Veronica had no reason to suspect anything. If only the rest of the day had gone as smoothly.

At Gaynor's house, I let myself in and found her sitting in a chair in the bay window. She wore black leggings, black knee-length skirt and a white long-sleeved blouse, buttoned up to the neck. A winter coat was draped over the arm of her chair, her tote bag and another valise-style case at her feet. At first glance, she didn't appear ill at all.

She looked at me and smiled, dazzling white teeth lighting up the room. "Hi," she said softly as I crossed the room.

"Hi," I said and bent to kiss her lush lips. It was an appropriate greeting kiss, nothing amorous. "Why the case?"

"Ah, I didn't mention I might be kept in. Sorry Richard. I was told to be prepared for an overnight stay. Hope not but . . ." she shrugged, raising her magnificent bosom.

"Right, I see. Are you ready?"

"In a minute, there's something else." She pointed to the vacant chair. "Sit down."

I sat and she reached to hold my right hand in her left, squeezing lightly. "I wanted to tell you this face-to-face." She looked into my eyes. "I didn't tell you everything on the phone but . . . well, when I went to the doctor he gave me a thorough examination, pushing and poking and he came up with this gall bladder prognosis." She paused. "Then I told him that I've got a lump in my left breast. Had it for some time. Well, he had a feel and that's when he started talking about detailed tests and scans. To be quite honest, Richard, I tuned him out. I didn't really listen because I have my ideas about what's wrong with me."

I was shocked, couldn't speak. My mind couldn't absorb the possible seriousness of what Gaynor had just related. Gall bladder removal is one thing but lumps in her breast? Cancer? In her beautiful, magnificent mounds? No, not possible. I shook my head slowly, hoping some bits of sense and understanding would fall into place.

"Don't be alarmed, Richard," she said. "We've got to wait and see what they find at the hospital. They'll sort me out."

I smiled; well, my lips twitched. "Yes, of course they will. But, lumps in your breast, that's a shock, Gaynor."

"Lump not lumps," she said with a smile. "Come on, don't worry. Let's get going."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It took an age to go through the hospital paperwork and I noted that Gaynor gave Charlie as her next of kin. When asked, she referred to me as her best friend and gave my phone number as an alternative should Charlie be unavailable. 

We waited for what seemed hours before Gaynor was called to the X-ray department. And then we waited some more, holding hands and talking about nothing in particular. To be honest, I felt lost. I just couldn't understand what was happening.

By early afternoon, we'd been shuttled to various departments, Gaynor had spoken to and been examined by different white-coated staff while I sat in corridors or ante-rooms. Then came the dreaded words: oncologist team.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gaynor had a myriad of tests, X-rays and scans on the second day. On the phone in the evening, I was patched through to Gaynor's ward and someone at the nurses station told me that she was comfortable but tired. She was awaiting results and would be spending a further night in hospital. I asked them to tell her that I'd called.

Minutes later I received a text from Gaynor: Bloody exhausted. Charlie's been and my head's spinning now! Will text tomorrow. Love xx

Gaynor didn't text. In mid-morning she phoned. "Just say it's a wrong number if you can't talk. Can you come at two this afternoon?"

Veronica was actually shopping at the supermarket. "It's okay on both counts. Yes I can talk and yes I will come to you. How are you now?"

"Much the same. Where's Veronica?"

"It's okay, don't panic, she's out shopping. When do you get the results of the tests?"

"Some time this morning. If you can get here for visiting time at two, I might be ready to go home. I hope you'll be able to take me."

"Sure, of course," I said. 

"Thanks. I'd better go. My battery is low and I didn't bring a phone charger. Okay, honey, see you later. Byee."

"Bye Petal."

When I arrived at Gaynor's ward, I was told I had to wait. She was, apparently, in discussion with the oncologist team. I could see into the ward and the curtains had been drawn around a bed. I assumed Gaynor was there.

From a vending machine, I bought a boiling coffee in a styrofoam cup. My fingers burned holding the cup and the taste, when the liquid had cooled enough not to singe my tongue, was foul.

A nurse, passing by, spotted me curling my lip after taking a sip. She smiled and said: "Awful isn't it? Best just to have the cold water. And that's free."

"Thanks," I said. "Think I'll do that. I couldn't possibly drink this muck."

She carried on walking away as I left the unwanted coffee on a table. I got a cup of cold water and, swilling some around my mouth to get rid of the coffee taste, I saw three white-coats emerge from Gaynor's curtained cubicle. I drained the cup as the trio approached the nurses station. One of them leaned across the counter and relayed information to a blue-dressed member of staff. She nodded, tapped something on a computer screen, and the oncologist team went on their way.

The lady in blue looked across at me and said: "You can see Miss Reid now. Bed four along on the left."

I nodded, said "Thank you," tossed the empty cup into a bin and headed for bed four. There was a small gap in the curtains and I entered. Gaynor was propped up on masses of pillows. Her nightie was a lavender colour but, what struck me first, was the absence of gold hoops. From the day I bought them, I couldn't remember seeing Gaynor without them dangling from her ears. Obviously, there was a ban on wearing such jewelry in hospital.

"Hi Richard, thanks for coming," she said.

"Hi," I said and kissed her lips before sitting in the plastic chair at the side of her bed.

"Your timing's good. I've been waiting for the results all morning but they've only just been to see me."

"Yes, I know. I've been here a little while and I saw them leave. So," I clasped both my hands around her left hand, "what's the verdict?"

We looked into each other's eyes. Hers, not surprisingly, lacked the normal sparkle. "Not good, I'm afraid."

"Oh." I waited, fearing the worst.

"Seems these mounds of fat have let me down, Richard."

"Oh no," I blurted. 

She withdrew her hand from my clasp and placed it on my shoulder. "Yep, 'fraid so, it's cancer."

I was astounded that Gaynor could be so unbelievably cool in the face of this awful news. I certainly didn't feel at all composed. "They can treat it right? Chemo or whatever?"

She shook her head. "It's not going to happen, Richard."

"What? Why not?"

"It's not just my breasts." She paused and licked her lips. I watched in stupified silence as she reached for a beaker of water on the bedside cabinet and drank a little. "They've found another tumour in my liver and my oesophagus, my bowel . . . it's everywhere, honey."

I looked at her, my gaze roaming over her lovely face, down over the magnificent swell of her breasts and to her hands resting in her lap on top of the blankets. The red nail-varnish was unusually chipped. Everything's gone to hell.

"Surely," I said in desperation, "in this day and age, they can do something."

"I've been over this with the oncologists, Richard. Yes, they can give me some treatment . . ."

"Oh, thank God for that," I chimed in.

"No, listen, Richard." She paused and placed her hand on the back of mine. "There's no point. They can treat me, perhaps give me some extra months to live but they can't cure me. Richard, understand me, I don't want that debilitating treatment just to live for a few months more. What sort of life is that, anyway?"

I opened my mouth to answer but Gaynor applied pressure to my hand. "No, don't say anything. I've seen a lot of cancer patients in my time, believe me. Many of them have been incredibly brave. But, I always said that unless I had a chance of surviving for a few years, I would rather let nature takes its course."

I bowed my head and lifted her hand to my lips. I kissed the back of it, the knuckles one by one, and turned it over to kiss her palm. She then placed her palm on my cheek and said: "Thank you, Richard, you're so sweet. I know I can rely on to help me get through this to the end."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So much and yet so little happened from that moment. In sequence it was something like this:

Gaynor was prescribed drugs, pain-killers I suppose, and was released from hospital. At home, she had daily nursing visits and it didn't seem long before she became bed-ridden. She didn't eat solids, surviving on liquid drinks and drips. Even then, she regularly vomited bile into a hand held cardboard spittoon.

A week after Gaynor left hospital, I told Veronica I had something important to tell her. I sat in my armchair in the lounge and faced Veronica, sitting on the couch, and told her that Gaynor, my old flame from way back, was dying of cancer. I didn't go into details about the background of our reunion and subsequent split other than to say Gaynor had originally contacted me via Facebook months ago, that she had never married, lived quite locally, and worked part-time as a nurse.

When I mentioned that I had originally taken her into hospital, Veronica said: "Why did she ask you, she must have friends?"

"Yes, she has friends," I agreed. "But she was very nervous about the hospital visit, and with great justification as it turns out. All she actually said was she would feel safer if I was there. Anyway, I took her."

Veronica nodded and didn't speak another word while I brought her up to date with Gaynor's condition. "I hope you understand," I concluded, "that I've told you all this because I intend to keep visiting her. I hope you don't have any objections."

Veronica stood from the couch and came over to sit in my lap, an arm around the nape of my neck. She kissed the top of my head and said: "I never met her, but the poor woman's dying. I know you were lovers way back and I understand how you must be feeling. So, if you need it, you have my blessing Richard. And, if there's anything you want me to do, just ask."

I hugged Veronica's waist and this wonderful, caring wife of mine rested her head on my shoulder.

So, I regularly drove to see Gaynor, sometimes bumping into Charlie and other visitors who were either nursing colleagues or from the photographic and painters clubs. 

Gaynor slept a lot but, one day she was quite alert and asked me to lay on the bed and hug her. I did so, but gently, and she quietly said: "Who'd have thought it, all the love and romance comes down to this, eh Richard?"

On February 4, two days before her birthday, Gaynor was transported by ambulance to the hospice where she used to work. I followed in my Volvo and spent time with her as she was settled into a private room. The effort of the move was extremely tiring for her. By now, she was losing weight rapidly. Her hands looked huge on the end of long, thin arms. Her feet and legs, too, were reducing to bone. Yet, her chest remained fleshy and large. How could that be?

For her birthday, I made a card on my computer. I used a copy of her painting of the snowman and robin on the front (ironically, it snowed that day) and wrote these words inside:

My dear Gaynor,

Recently, you poignantly said "All the love and romance comes down to this." 

Sadly, yes it does. But, for what it's worth, I want you to know that the love is still there and always will be, Come What May, as the song goes.

Finding a suitable card to mark your 55th birthday has been nigh impossible. It seems ridiculous and inane to wish "Happy birthday" etc but I do hope you make the best of it as you can - and the days that follow.

As we've said many times, the fates dealt us a strange hand and it's rather ironic that this reunion of ours all started with my "thin and ill" Facebook picture. Devastating as your situation is, I must tell you that I'm pleased that we were brought together again.

Our too brief reunion provided me with many memories to add to all those from earlier years. For that - and for the day I first met you, my Petal - I shall always be grateful.

I went every day to the hospice. Sometimes, Gaynor never woke at all and I just sat looking at her for an hour or so. Nurses popped in and fed me cups of coffee. She was one of their own and, I'm not suggesting she had favourable treatment, but they were extremely attentive.

Towards the end, she was a sad sight, a shell of the real vibrant Gaynor I knew and loved. One day, she mumbled to me: "This is taking too long, Richard."

It was another twelve days after that when Gaynor finally left us. I wasn't there but when my phone trilled at 4:05 in the morning, I knew what had happened.

I sat up in bed to answer the phone. "She's gone, hasn't she, Charlie?" I said.

"Yes, Richard. She went peacefully in her sleep about six minutes ago. God bless her," and I heard a loud sob as she abruptly disconnected the call.

Veronica turned over and looked up at me. "Bad news?"

I looked at the phone in my hands and then at Veronica. "In some way, but not really. Yes, she's gone, but there's no more pain now."

My wife wriggled up into a sitting position and linked her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek before resting her brow on my shoulder. We said nothing for quite a few minutes. Finally, I said: "Thank you, sweetheart. I'm okay, let's get back to sleep."

Strangely, I hadn't shed a single tear. If I felt anything, it was relief that all Gaynor's suffering was over. Also, if the truth be known, I was totally numb.

The funeral was a small affair. Veronica asked if I wanted her to accompany me but I declined. "Thanks, but no, it's best I go alone," I said and she nodded.

From Gaynor's house, I went in the black limousine following the hearse. For company I had Charlie, the lady secretary of the camera club and an old nursing colleague. The gathering at the service numbered a little over twenty and I couldn't take my eyes off the coffin where a framed picture of Gaynor, in nursing uniform, stood on top.

I sat with Charlie and we held hands, listening to the clergyman talking in quiet and respectful tones about my soul mate. I was composed right until it was announced that Gaynor had chosen one song for a particular good friend. "Richard is here with us today," said the clergyman, "and this is for him."

I steeled myself, waiting for Gladys Knight's voice to resound in the tiny chapel. Instead, tinkling piano notes floated overhead, followed by "Just to look in your eyes again. . ." I gulped and felt Charlie squeeze my hand. Somehow, and I don't know how, my eyes remained dry; not a single tear.

Charlie had organised snacks and drinks at her place and I stayed for just a brief time. Other than Charlie, and the occasional few minutes I'd spent with a few other visitors at the hospice, I didn't really know anyone. I didn't want to linger, listening to snippets of what Gaynor meant to other people. I knew what she meant to me and that's all that mattered. 

When I'd said my polite goodbyes, Charlie came to my car with me and, as I was opening the door, she suddenly declared`: "Oh shit, wait there, don't go," and raced back into the house. When she returned, she air-kissed both my cheeks and then handed me a small gift-wrapped parcel. "Stupid me, I nearly forget this. It's for you from Gaynor. She said I've got to give it to you after the funeral. She wants you to open it in private."

Charlie suddenly burst into tears. "I said wants," she blubbered. "I mean wanted, she's not here anymore, is she?" and she fell into my arms. Quite possibly, we had been Gaynor's two best friends, and we hugged, sharing a mutual unspoken grief.

Veronica met me on the doorstep, stood aside to let me enter our house and asked: "How did it go?"

"Good," I said. "A nice turnout."

"And you?" she asked, putting her arms around my waist and looking up into my eyes. "How are you?"

I kissed her brow and then the point of her nose. "I'm okay, thanks. A little sad but, hey, that's to be expected, isn't it."

Veronica squeezed me and then broke away. "Okay, Richard, but don't be afraid to talk, you know. Don't bottle things up. I know all about that." She smiled, just a small lift in the corners of her mouth. "Anyway, I'm not standing here in the hall all day."

"Okay," I said. "I'll get changed and be down in a few minutes."

Before I changed from my formal attire, I took Gaynor's parcel out of my suit pocket and placed it on the bed. Now dressed in pants and sports shirt, I picked it up and decided to open it in my office. After all the hours I had spent sending e-mails from that room to Gaynor, it seemed the appropriate place.

The parcel was not large, the size of a CD case but a little deeper. I sat in my chair and carefully removed the wrapping, revealing a white cardboard box. My mind wandered to the time I opened another of Gaynor's boxes, the one containing a butterfly keyring.