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:

'Just to look in your eyes again, just to lay in your arms'

At that opening line, I gasped and thought my heart would burst. Gaynor put a forefinger on my lips and lightly traced around them as the poignant words continued to stream around us.

'Just to long for your kisses, just to dream of your sighs'

I held my breath now, a lump in my throat. Gaynor's finger left my lips and traced a pattern up my face and smoothed along an eyebrow, her soft, warm palm resting on my cheek. The appropriate words of Denver's love song kept pouring into my astounded brain until the final lines:

'Just the words of a love song, just the beat of my heart

Just the pledge of my life, my love, for you'

At the final note, only the sound of our breathing was left. I had Gaynor's hip under my hand, her face inches from mine, a position I never imagined I would be in again. I could think of only one thing to say: "Play it again, please." She twisted her body, pushed a button and turned back as the piano introduction started.

Gaynor, hand on my shoulder, eased me on to my back and then pulled my shirt free of my trouser waist band. Head snuggled into the crook of my shoulder and neck, she wormed her left arm under my shirt and settled her hand in the middle of my chest. I hugged her close and cupped my right hand on the side of her neck, my thumb caressing her jawline.

I closed my eyes, felt Gaynor's chest undulate with every warm breath, and listened to the song. Gaynor bent her left leg at the knee and draped it across my thighs and tenderly kissed my neck.

In this embrace, a warm enfolding that I never dreamed I would experience again, a tear escaped my right eye, trickled down my cheek and at the next line . . .

'Just to wake up each morning, just to have you by my side'

. . . my breath caught in my throat and I choked and sobbed, almost without sound. Gaynor nuzzled into me and a tear dropped on my neck. Quietly we lay crying, lost in our own thoughts, united in our love.

At the song's end, Gaynor snuffled and spoke into my chest. "Lovely, eh?"

"Beautiful," I said, using the back of my hand to wipe away tears.

Gaynor used her left hand for a similar mopping up process. "So, do we now have two songs?"

I thought for a few seconds. "Gladys will always be a part of us," I said, my left hand rubbing Gaynor's spine. "But, this one . . . I don't even know what's it called."

"For You," she whispered.

"Oh, well, there you are then . . . " I swallowed, fighting my emotions. "After all these years adrift, it's just so perfect."

Gaynor lifted her head and looked up at me. "Adrift, you said, not apart?"

Inwardly I smiled. This smart girl misses nothing. "Yes, adrift," I confirmed. "We've never really been away from each other, not apart. We've always had each other in our minds and hearts. We've just been drifting, off course."

"And now? What now? We're here, in each other's arms. But, is it too late, Richard?"

±±±±±±±±

THEN

I shuffled along, head bowed, and barely avoided bumping into other pedestrians as I made my miserable way to the railway station.

It started to rain but I didn't care. My thoughts were on Gaynor, on me, on why she wouldn't join me in the north. What's wrong with her? She must know I love her!

The station concourse, dark and gloomy, loomed up ahead. How bloody typical, I thought. A miserable rainy day, a depressing railway station and the girl I love has refused yet again to move north with me. Oh fuck it! Fuck her! Fuck everything!

I approached the ticket booth and fished in my pocket for the fare. There was a short queue at the window. One lady clutched the hand of a small boy who was looking around him, a finger up his nose. She slapped his hand away, ordering: "Stop that, Timmy." He stood only as tall as her knees. She must have seemed like giant of a woman but he simply looked up at her and then back down at the offending finger.

In front of them, a young man and girl, bought their tickets and quickly turned from the window. They clutched hands and started a fast-paced walk towards their platform.

"Hurry," I heard him say. "If we miss this train we've got another two hours to wait."

"I know," she said, her head turned to look at him. "But we've got each other for company."

Her sweet breathless voice echoed through my mind: "We've got each other . . ."

Shit! Stupid bastard! I turned from the booth and hurried out into the rain and headed back towards the bar. I weaved and swerved between people under umbrellas, broke into a trot, and cursed as endless traffic rumbled along. I was marooned, hopping impatiently from foot to foot on the wrong side of the road, across from the bar where I'd stupidly left Gaynor.

Impatience got the better of me and I made a dash for it, the puddled rain water splashing up my trouser legs. I made it to the other side with one lone taxi driver yelling: "Stupid bastard," as he braked. Agreed, yes, you're right, mate! I am one stupid bastard.

I pushed open the door, virtually barged into the room, chest heaving, rainwater dripping off my hair and down my neck. I looked over to the corner table on my right. Nothing, nobody. No, dammit, she's got to be here! She must be!

I scanned the almost-deserted room, foolishly thinking and praying that she'd moved to another seat. No chance. Perhaps she's in the toilet. Desperate now, I walked towards the counter and old Arthur studied my progress and shook his head as I approached.

"She's gone, lad," he said. He carried on talking, something about how he thought I was catching a train, but I wasn't hearing too good. All I knew was that Gaynor wasn't here. I'd come back, ready to agree that we should try a long-distance relationship. We shouldn't just part. Let's try, at least.

Now, I inhaled deeply, coughed and spluttered when the dry smoke of the bar hit the back of my burning throat, and turned again for the exit. It's an omen, I told myself. I convinced myself that we weren't meant to be. I pushed through the door and turned up the jacket of my collar. I was fully aware now that it was raining and cursed under my breath and started off once more for the bleak railway station.

No more turning back, I thought. Too late for that.

±±±±±±±±

NOW

"Is it too late?" Denver was now singing about 'a cowboy and a lady' and I stared up at the ceiling. Gaynor's body was so warm and inviting under her thin gown. "That's a very difficult question, Petal."

Her left hand tapped once on my chest. "I know it is. And I don't expect an answer. I don't think we even know the answer. Not yet, anyway."

We lay quite still, just our chests moving with shallow breaths and my left hand gently smoothing across her back. I could have stayed like that for ever. I wanted with all my heart to stay cocooned with My Gaynor.

"You're sweating," she said, withdrawing her arm from under my shirt and sitting up She looked down at my face: "Take your shirt off."

I sat up and pulled the shirt over my head. "Oh, what the hell," said Gaynor and swung her legs off the bed and stood, facing me. She untied the belt and her gown gaped open, given me a glimpse of her toned stomach and white lace panties. She let the silky garment slip off her shoulders and slither to the floor and dazzled me with a bright white smile. "Don't stare with your mouth open. Get those trousers off, Richard. And the socks, this isn't an audition for a porn movie."

I laughed, obeyed and walked across the room to leave my clothes next to the teddy bear in the bay window. I returned to the bed and Gaynor, reclining in lacy white bra and panties, said: "Still wearing briefs, then. Not into boxers?"

"No, always briefs," I said, and removed my wristwatch and placed it on the bedside table.

"Mmm," said Gaynor as we resumed our positions. "This is much better."

We were virtually naked and the contact of flesh on flesh sent tingles down my spine. I shivered with delight as Gaynor's hand slowly roamed over my body and thighs. Her feather-light touch set my cock twitching and it twitched even more when my right hand settled on the swell of her spectacular breasts. They were barely contained in the half-cups and Gaynor sighed when my fingers found and toyed with a firm nipple.

We combined for more ardent kissing, fondling, caressing: I was in heaven. The years fell away, we were young again, cast back to a sublime time when our love knew no limits or restrictions, when our hearts beat as one and our loins were eager, sturdy and rampant.

Denver had stopped singing now and my balls were aching. I knew my cock had leaked but, seemingly with tacit agreement, we avoided the most intimate of touches. Oh, it would have been so easy to slide aside Gaynor's bit of cloth, reveal her dark bush, and delve once more into the delights of her moist sex.

And, just once, Gaynor allowed her hand to glide over the bulge in my briefs, causing her to murmur and dip her tongue furiously into my mouth.

Finally, we paused and looked into each other's eyes, our noses almost touching. I was first to speak. "I think we've got the same thought, Gaynor."

"Yes, I know what you want and I want it, too." She kissed the tip of my nose. "But let's not rush anything." She suddenly chuckled, giggled, breaking the serious mood. "Crikey, listen to that. Don't rush . . . it's been more than 32 bloody years since I held you like this." We both laughed now and her mighty bosom jiggled furiously, threatening to spill out of her bra.

As the laughter subsided, Gaynor wiped a tear from her eye. "At least this is a happy tear on the 11th," she said. I kissed her moist brow and she squeezed my waist. "Okay, my old love, I think it's time you took me to lunch, don't you?"

"Hmm, suppose so, I think you're right."

A rumble came up from her stomach. "See, indeed I am right. I need feeding as well as loving. What time is it?"

I stretched out an arm and picked up my wristwatch. I squinted at the dial and said: "It's 1:46. Is that too late to get lunch?"

Gaynor shook her head. "No, the place I'm thinking off serves meals all afternoon till about 3:30. It's not far. We'll have a quick shower and get off. Okay?"

"Sure. Who's having the first shower?"

Gaynor grinned. "The lady, of course."

"Of course, silly me."

"But first, Richard, I want one last favour from you." She rolled onto her back and spread her legs. In a soft, haltering, husky voice she said: "Just for a minute, come and lay on top of me, like you used to do."

I knelt between her legs, leaned forward, my hands either side of her head and lowered my body until my fat cock pressed against her mound. Only flimsy pieces of cloth, and our resolve, prevented the ultimate completion of our reunion. We kissed passionately again and Gaynor thrust up her hips and wrapped her arms tightly around my back.

I nuzzled into her neck, a gold hoop pressing on my temple, and whispered into her ear: "Thank you Gaynor."

"Thank you," she said and slackened her grip on me. "Now, let me up or we might go too far and I'll miss lunch." She pushed on my chest, smiling broadly and I dismounted.

Gaynor pressed play on the CD machine before walking to the door. She stopped and turned to face me. She unhooked her bra and let the straps fall off her shoulders before pulling it completely free with her right hand and waving it above her head. "Tar, rar," she sang, swaying her hips and setting her gorgeous breasts rippling. It was my turn to smile broadly.

She turned away but looked back over her shoulder. "You earned that little peep for being so restrained, Richard," she said. "Not that you haven't seen them many times before, of course."

"Not for a very, very long time, Petal. And they're still beautiful," I said.

"Petal, eh? I've told you before, butterfly wings is more like it now. Anyway, perhaps one day . . ."

And she went off for her shower, leaving me squatting on the bed, a smile on my face, love pounding in my heart and Denver singing about 'some days are diamonds.' You got that right, John!

~~~~~~~

AUTHOR'S NOTE: John Denver's song 'For You' features in many YouTube clips.