tagRomanceMargaret

Margaret

byTexas Refugee©

Copyright © 2006 Texas Refugee. All rights reserved.

Author's Note: on second thought, I don't have anything say at this point. Just start reading and I'll meet you at the end.


~~~~~ * o0o * ~~~~~

At this precise moment I am in a darkened motel room, sitting in the desk chair that I have quietly placed next to the bed watching my wife Margaret as she sleeps.

The room is not completely dark. There is just enough light that I can see the features on her face as she gently breathes in and out. She is not in a deep sleep, only lightly dozing until I slip into bed beside her. Margaret doesn't know it but I do this a lot, watch her in her sleep. She would think that I am being silly if she found out, but I love to do it. The serenity on her face as she sleeps makes my heart ache with love and I marvel at how beautiful she is.

Her hair has fallen forward, partially obscuring my view of the face that I love so much. It is a deep chestnut brown that only recently has begun to show streaks of grey, but in this light it looks almost black as it lies in contrast to the creamy paleness of her skin. My wife's skin is flawless and it is only in the harshest of light that you can see the tiny wrinkles at the corners of her eyes.

Margaret is not fashion model Hollywood celebrity beautiful. Physically she is the type of woman that when she walks down the street men will look at her and think to themselves "very, very nice," and five seconds later forget that they seen her.

For me every other woman in the world pales by comparison to her beauty.

I have known Margaret all of my life. I am just as amazed as Margaret is at how our lives have suddenly intersected. It was unplanned, unintentional, but I will get down on my knees every day and thank God for the love that Margaret and I have discovered for each other. Maybe it has always been there and we didn't realize it until now.

Margaret and I were married yesterday morning in the Methodist church where I grew up as a child. We stood before the alter in the empty sanctuary with the janitor and church secretary for official witnesses as the pastor said the words that legally joined us together and spiritually blessed our union. It was all over in ten minutes as Margaret and I exchanged rings then kissed quickly on the lips and made our good-byes.

We went home and began packing. We were ready to take this next step to continue living our lives together, forever holding on to each other.

This morning we locked the door to the house and dropped off the keys with a folder of information at the next door neighbors. Their two junior high kids will look after the house while we are gone, tending the garden, watering the plants, taking in the mail and that sort of thing. We will send a check to the kids every week until we return.

We are headed to Atlanta but we're not in a rush. We are taking all the back roads that we can find, stopping to enjoy the breath taking scenery that this country has to offer. We don't know how long we will stay in Atlanta. It may be overnight or it might be several weeks. That decision will be made after we get there. My wife and I will turn in the rental car then catch a flight to London to begin our official honeymoon. But until then Margaret and I will leisurely make our way south and every night I will watch her sleep.

I know exactly what is about to happen. It will be the same thing that happens every night.

I will quietly put the chair back where it came from. I will take my clothes off and as softly as possible I will slide under the covers to lie next to Margaret. Even this slightest disturbance is enough to wake her. She will turn over to look at me, eyelids half open, smiling and my wife will say to me, "I want you to fuck me."

I will lay on top her and her legs will separate so that my hips can fall down between her thighs. Margaret will take my cock in her hand and line it up with her opening and I will slide into her. There will not be any foreplay, there is no need. Her cunt will already be dripping in anticipation of my entry into her body.

My cock has only been inside of two women and it has been fifteen long and lonely years since my first wife explosively ended our marriage and tried to emotionally destroy me. Margaret's cunt has only held two different cocks in her lifetime. It has been so long since her husband died that her cunt couldn't remember what it felt like to grasp a cock and squeeze until it twitches and leaves a large load of sperm inside of her.

Once we are joined together Margaret will kiss me along the side of my neck and across the shoulder. With my cock buried deep into her we will rub our bodies against each other, her breasts against my chest, hard rhythmic pressure of groin against groin until I pull my hips back then quickly push back into her. My wife will moan quietly in pleasure and place her hands on my hips and encourage me to push harder, faster, deeper, her face buried in the crook of my neck. Margaret's moans and cries will increase as my cock is repeatedly shoved into her over and over, faster and faster until she convulses and goes rigid. When she does this, pulse after pulse of sperm will come out of the end of my cock and fill all the remaining space in her cunt but there will not be enough room so it will be forced out to drip down onto the sheet below.

When she is able to move once again, my wife will hold my face in her hands and gently kiss me on the lips and whisper, "Please fuck me again."

I will fuck her again.

And again and again and again until we fall asleep wrapped in each other arms.

In the morning I will wake up to find Margaret lying on her side, eyes open, lips smiling. My wife will raise her leg and move over on top of me until her thighs are straddling my hips. One hand will grasp my cock and pull on it until it is pointing straight up. Her other hand will find a path through her hair to her opening. She will sit up then gently and slowly slide down my cock as it pushes its' way inside.

When I am buried as deep as I can go, Margaret will sit there in the morning sun for a moment, our eyes locked on each other, our lips holding a smile of satisfaction at the glorious feeling that we are experiencing. As my wife's hips begin to gently rock back and forth and up and down, my hands will lightly explore her breasts, the curve of her jaw, the gentle swelling of her hips.

For what will feel like hours, Margaret and I will push against each other, watching each other, gently making love until my wife's head rolls back and her eyelids flutter and she sighs and I leave behind a fresh load of sperm inside of her. My wife will lean forward and lie on my chest and whimper in pleasure as I gently stroke her back and hold her close.

After we get cleaned up and eat breakfast, Margaret and I will begin another day's drive in the general direction of Atlanta.

We share everything, every thought, every emotion, every need. We have always been comfortable around each other but now if there is silence we don't notice. We have reached the point where we are content with each other. We don't have that anxious need to fill every moment with sound. My favorite thing is to sit on the sofa as Margaret lies down, her head in my lap as she falls asleep in the quiet and I gently stroke her hair.

Sometime in the afternoon we will find a place that is out of the way, far away from where anyone can see us. Margaret will get down on her knees in front of me and take my cock into her mouth. My wife's head will bob up and down and she will suck and nurse on my cock until I shoot thick streams of my sperm into her mouth. Margaret will swallow, then lick my cock clean and stand up to hug me and whisper "thank you" into my ear.

Or I might bend her over at the waist and my wife will spread her feet apart so that I can stand behind her, between her legs and push my cock into her already dripping cunt. My hips will slap against the cheeks of Margaret's ass as I fuck her and she grunts uncontrollably. I will throw my arms around her waist and pull her hips back against me as I grunt along with her and our orgasms will come together.

My sperm will drip from Margaret's cunt but she will pull up her panties in an effort to trap it inside of her. My wife tells me that she loves the feeling of holding my sperm inside of her cunt. We will hold hands as we walk back to the car and kiss just before we get in and continue our journey to the next motel. There we will turn the lights off and get into bed. In the dark my wife will say to me, "I want you to fuck me."

The private joke that Margaret and I share is that you have practice safe sex or else you might fall off the dining room table.

Margaret and I do not use any form of birth control. If she should become pregnant we will be deliriously happy but we accept the fact that at this point in our lives it is probably not going to happen. Only one time did she share her deepest feelings about this.

Margaret was already outside standing on the back deck when I came out to join her. She was looking at something in the distance, her arms crossed and holding herself. When she heard me she slowly turned and gave me a half smile. There were tears in her eyes that had not yet begun to fall. She put out her arms and pulled me close, held me tight and whispered in my ear.

"I would give anything to have your child."

Margaret and I touch each other. We touch each other a lot. It is not just the touch of fucking. It is the uncontrollable need to feel that warmth of skin against our fingertips. It is an unconscious craving that forces my hand to delicately stroke the inside of my wife's thigh. She is driven to lovingly kiss my eyelid, or that spot on my neck just behind my earlobe.

Most of the time we don't even know that we are touching. We sit next to each other in the pew every Sunday morning, our fingers intertwined and hidden by our thighs that are pressing against each other. Every evening we prepare dinner together and always end up standing next to each other, our shoulders touching as we work. If we go out to a restaurant we always sit on the same of the table. When we watch TV we will sit on the sofa with my arms around my wife's shoulders. Margaret will rest her head on my chest and her hand will drift down until it slides into my pants and gently cradle my balls.

I love to lie behind Margaret just before drifting off to sleep. My cheek will be pressed against the back of her neck with one arm around her waist, holding her close to me. My other hand is lower, cupping her mound, my fingers caught in the tangle of her hair.

I had come back to this town to find something, but I didn't know what. I wasn't even sure if that was the real reason, or if I was deluding myself about my life at that point. But I am dead certain about the reason I stayed.

My plan was to take Margaret to dinner and then go back to the hotel because I was exhausted from the long drive. But she scolded me for spending good money on a hotel when she was rattling around in that empty house all by herself. I could stay in her son's old room and she would have someone to share a pot of coffee with in the morning. I did go back to the hotel that night but the next morning I called and said if the offer was still good, I was on my way.

I never left her home.

I did the things I wanted each day and Margaret had her own full schedule but we still found ways to spend time together. Margaret would take me out and show me the sights and I was both pleased and dismayed at how our small hometown had changed over the years. Most of my friends had moved away for college and never looked back, just like myself, only returning for family events. Birthdays, weddings, fiftieth anniversaries and finally the funerals.

I did find one of our old gang. He was married and living in the next town down the highway, a twenty minute drive. I took him and his wife to dinner and we entertained her with stories of all the stupid things we had done together. She was laughing when she said that we were lucky to still be alive. It was fun to reminisce about our youth but in the end we were both painfully aware that we no longer had anything in common.

I began to spend more time with Margaret and less time trying to find my childhood. Margaret slowly cut things out of her schedule until we were spending almost every moment of the day with each other.

Contentment was something I had never experienced in my life. The comfort I felt came not from Margaret's home and its' furnishings, but from Margaret herself. Inch by inch, moment by moment, Margaret was becoming an important...the most important...part of my life.

Margaret would give me a quick kiss on the check each night before going to her bedroom and closing the door. Each morning I saw her face light up with smiles when I would stumble into the kitchen and she handed me that first cup of coffee for the day. When she had something to do that day that didn't include me, I felt extreme disappointment. Soon Margaret was giving me her little cheek kisses for no reason at all.

Our feelings for each other came spilling out on my birthday.

Birthdays have never been important to me. From living alone, most years I had forgotten mine until months after the fact. Margaret was adamant. As long as I lived under her roof, we would celebrate birthdays. Her plan was to take me out to an elegant restaurant for dinner and then go someplace to see if we could still remember how to dance.

She was surprised when I told her what I really wanted for my birthday but said that with some modifications she would make it happen.

The morning of my birthday, Margaret said that she needed to get a few things at the store. The weather was nice and the things to pick up were small so we decided to walk the ten blocks to the grocery store. On our way back I had noticed a teenaged couple that was walking behind us. Even with our backs to them it was obvious that they deeply in love with each other. We stopped at the corner, waiting for the traffic to clear when I heard the boy whisper to his girlfriend.

"I'm going to hold your hand just like that for the rest of our lives."

I glanced down and was startled to discover that Margaret and I were holding hands. I looked up to Margaret's face. Either she hadn't heard the comment or chose not to acknowledge it. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye with a smile and gently squeezed my hand when it was time to cross the street.

At lunch I protested that birthdays were simply not worth the effort, especially mine. In all the years that I have known her, this was the only time I ever have seen Margaret become even remotely angry with me. The thought that I might upset Margaret caused me great distress and I gave in.

Later that afternoon I told Margaret I had some errands to run and would be back later. When I had picked up what I needed, I went to the neighbor's house. I had secretly made arrangements the day before. After I told them what I needed, they slowly smiled and said they would be glad to help. I hung out with them for a couple of hours and got to know them a little better. I used their guest bathroom to take a shower and make myself presentable. For the first time in months, I put on a suit and tie. At the appropriate time the neighbors wished me luck and I walked back to Margaret's house.

I stood on the porch in front of her door with a bottle of wine in one hand and a small bouquet of flowers in the other. Margaret had been very vague about the details of what she had planned and this left me with no idea of what to expect. After minutes of nerve wracking indecision, I finally decided to follow Lady Macbeth's advice to "screw your courage to the sticking-place," and rang the doorbell before I ran away in panic.

I knew that Margaret was an attractive woman but I was not prepared for the vision that opened the door for me. It literally took my breath away.

Margaret was wearing her little black dress. It was velvet and stopped well above her knees. For the first time I became painfully aware of how nice her legs are. A small single strand of pearls circled her neck. Her relaxed smile was one of total comfort.

There was music in her voice when she said, "Good, my date is finally here," and stepped aside to let me in. Before I could hand her the wine and flowers, she slipped her arms around my waist and gently pulled me close. Instead of the usual peck on the check, Margaret gave me a slow, lingering kiss on the lips.

She took the things out of my hands and pointed to the living room.

"Why don't you pick out some music, dinner will be ready in just a minute."

I was captivated by the rhythmic movement of Margaret's hips and ass as she walked out of the room and into the kitchen. Less than a minute later she returned and said, "Dinner is served."

She hooked her arm into mine and led me into the dinning room. Once again I was stunned. The dining table was set with white linen and gleaming sliver and crystal that I had not seen before. The table is actually large enough to seat eight comfortably, but the place settings were at the corner of one end where we would be close to each other. The lights were off and there were at least two dozen candles of various shapes and sizes that were lit and spread around the room.

The dinner was delicious...I think...I'm not sure. I was so enthralled by Margaret that I honestly don't remember eating. After dinner she wouldn't let me help clear the table, she gestured toward to the living room and said, "You're not getting off that easy. I said I wanted dancing and by God, there will be dancing. Go in there and get some music ready."

I didn't trust my ability to move in time with the music and not make a fool of myself so I selected several albums of very slow and soft music. When Margaret came into the room she lit several candles and turned off the lamps. She came to me and put one arm around my waist. She held the other one out to the side and we began to dance. After several numbers we were no longer dancing. We were standing wrapped in each other's arms, swaying to the music that we could barely hear.

Margaret raised her head and kissed me. Long and slow, it seemed that the kiss lasted for hours and left me wanting more. She let go of me and stepped back. She held her hands clasped together in front of her, looking down at the floor. She took a deep breath then let it out and looked up at me. Her smile was full of hope when she said, "I am in love with you."

Robert is my best friend. It seems inadequate to describe him in those terms, he so much more than that. I have also known Robert all of my life. We were next door neighbors as children and did everything together. We were both the "only child" so we became the brothers that our parents couldn't give us. We laughed and played and got into trouble together. We built a tree house in my backyard under the watchful eye of my grandfather. We painted Robert's bedroom bright red when his parents were out for the day. We each kept a toothbrush at the other ones' house.

I am two years older than Robert but that has never been a factor in our relationship. We have always been equals. I went away to college and two years later Robert joined me on campus as a freshman.

Three months after school started I found Robert late one night as he was coming out of the fraternity house. I drug him into the bushes around back and literally kicked the shit out of him. I brought him back from the emergency room after getting his two cracked ribs tapped up and took him with me to my dorm room.

When my roommate began yelling, "I don't want that drunken asshole coming around here any more," I went to his closet and began throwing his clothes out of the window. I told him that if he was still standing there when I was done, he was going out the window after them.

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byTexas Refugee© 46 comments/ 67941 views/ 16 favorites

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