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.