tagRomanceOne Last Time

One Last Time

bybumblegrum©

BEWARE -- this story may make you cry! My ever helpful editor, Hatsuda, suggested that this is a story of pathos, and I think he's right. Further, there is only one erotic episode in this story, although I believe it is important to the story as a whole.

Anyway, try it and see—and I will appreciate any feedback you may care to give.

I held her hand as she died.

I felt the slightest twitch from Stella's fine, fragile hand, and saw a faint smile as she turned her head towards me. She closed her eyes, gave a deep sigh and stopped. On the other side of the bed, her daughter, Carrie, sat with her head bowed to her chest with tears flooding down her face. I kissed Stella's silent mouth lightly in a final gesture of farewell and left the room, followed by Carrie. A nurse showed us to a quiet room and we sat looking at each other, memories flooding back, becoming almost tangible between us, but neither of us seeming to want to break the silence.

"It was only after mum told me all the details of your relationship that I agreed to contact you," Carrie told me eventually.

"Surely it would have been easier for her to get a nurse or a social worker to make the contact?" I observed.

Carrie smiled, a rather watery smile, "I think she was trying to get me to reconcile with you. She knew how I felt about you, and she didn't want it continuing after she died. Underneath all her fierce determination, mum had a very soft spot for the people she cared about."

I knew this to be true, and my mind went back to that evening six weeks ago. I was relaxing after a hard day's work; I was a clinical psychologist and the clients that day had been particularly tough. Around 6.30 pm, the phone rang and I swore mildly before answering with my number as I always did.

A quiet voice that I somehow felt I ought to recognise asked, "Peter Craven?" "That's me," I replied. "Peter, this is Carrie Temple, formerly Carrie Hemmingway."

I was astonished; this was probably the last person on god's green earth who I would have expected to hear from. "Uh well, hi Carrie, how are you?" I managed to ask. "And how's your mum?"

"I'm coping, I guess," she replied with a tight voice, "but mum ... ," she sobbed and my heart tightened inside me.

"Carrie, what's happened," I asked, my voice betraying my fear.

"Peter, I really don't want to talk about this on the phone—could we meet somewhere?"

"Sure, Carrie—if you think you can trust me, you could come round to my place." I gave her my address.

Carrie hesitated briefly, then said, "Yes, I guess that will be okay—I'm actually quite close, so I'll be there in about fifteen minutes."

Shortly after this, the doorbell rang, and I invited Carrie in. She had changed quite a lot over the past twenty years. She'd put on weight in all the wrong places, her hair was pulled back in an untidy ponytail and her finger nails were bitten to the quick. She looked the epitome of a harassed, defeated housewife.

"Thank you, Peter," she said as I offered her a drink, "white wine if I could, please." She settled into a lounge chair and I waited for the news that I secretly dreaded. And dreadful it was.

"Mum has been diagnosed with an incurable and rapidly spreading cancer," she eventually gasped, throwing the words out as if she needed to get rid of them, as if they were some form of curse. "When she was first diagnosed that rat Eddie walked out on her saying he wouldn't be able to care for her. Not that he ever had cared, really," she reflected. "When it was obvious that there wouldn't be a cure, and the doctors were evasive about how long she might live, mum became adamant that she wanted to see you again."

Carrie paused then continued, "Peter, I owe you a huge apology. I'd hated you ever since I can remember, first because I believed that you broke up my parents' marriage, then I assumed that you had walked out on mum. It's only been over the last few weeks that mum has managed to persuade me about the truth. Anyway, she was desperate for me to contact you. I objected strongly at first," Carrie looked at me with a cautious expression on her face, but I didn't bite and she continued, "then we made a deal. I would contact you if she told me the whole story, warts and all, about your relationship. She did and I did."

"I'm so glad, Carrie", I replied. "I can guess how hard it must have been for you to contact me and I don't like the idea of anyone hating me. I suppose your mum told you that I was just the catalyst for the marriage breakdown; the seeds had been there for a long time. As to walking out on her, well, yes, I guess I did, but it was the result of a monumental row after we jointly decided that we couldn't continue our relationship. We discovered that, no matter how much we loved each other we just couldn't live together."

I returned to an earlier theme. "Carrie, you must be completely devastated. I know how close you have been to your mum. How are you managing to cope?" My professional training started to kick in but I resisted the temptation to go into full psychologist mode.

"Only just, Peter; I know she doesn't have too much longer—six weeks seems to be the maximum estimate but it could be less."

"SIX WEEKS," I shouted, regretting my outburst as soon as it was out seeing the pain in Carrie's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Carrie, I was just astonished at how little time there is left. When can I see her ... please?" I begged.

"Mum hoped that you would be prepared to see her again after all this time, but I'd better warn you, the disease and the treatment have knocked her around quite badly. She won't be the same person you used to know." Carrie warned.

"Mmm, I actually think she will—the externals may be different but I doubt whether her spirit will have dimmed," I was more hopeful than convincing.

"Okay, Peter, she's at the Central Palliative Care Unit in town. I'm there every day, and mum is usually at her best just after lunch. If you could call in tomorrow around, say, 2.00 pm, I think she'd be happy to see you."

At two o'clock on the dot the following day, Carrie took me into Stella's room. She was asleep as I walked in and Carrie put her fingers to her lips and turned, indicating that we should leave. However, I walked to Stella's bedside and looked down at the woman I had loved so passionately twenty years ago.

Carrie was right. Stella had shrunk, her skin looked fine and fragile and she had lost a great deal of weight, the bones showing through her hands, and probably other parts of her body. Her head was covered in a scarf, the legacy of hair loss through chemotherapy. I bent and kissed her forehead as lightly as I could, but she woke from her sleep.

"Boy?" she queried after opening her eyes; her pet name for me as I was seven years younger than her. "Oh my god, I thought I was dreaming. You're really here, it's really you?"

"Yes, Stella, I'm really here, thanks to Carrie's generosity and powers of persuasion. Now what on earth have you been doing to yourself?"

"Well, I managed to develop a very aggressive, very fast moving form of cancer, and I'm afraid it will kill me within a few weeks. When I heard about it, and particularly after Eddie abandoned me, I knew I needed to see you again. I had a bit of a battle to persuade Carrie to contact you, but I told her our sad story and she agreed to do so. Now here you are," and she favoured me with a brilliant smile.

"Oh Stella ...," I started, but my voice choked up and I was unable to go any further.

Stella looked at me with an expression of great love and compassion and whispered, "Come here, you silly boy and let me comfort you." So saying, she pulled my hands down causing me to bend forward so that my head nestled into her shoulder.

She stroked my hair and made soothing noises until I straightened up saying, "My darling Stella, I'm the one that should be comforting you, not the other way round."

"You just being here is comfort enough for me, Peter. It's my last wish come true."

Carrie had been silent this whole time, but when I looked at her I could see tears streaming down her face. "Poor Carrie," Stella whispered, "this is so much harder for her than it is for me. Peter," she continued, her voice now firm but insistent, "please don't reject Carrie. She needs all the support she can get, and I'm afraid her husband, Benny is rather a weak reed."

"Stella, I can imagine how hard it must have been for her to approach me in the first place. I don't bear her any malice at all, and I will do anything I can to help her," I reassured her.

"Thank you my darling Boy," she smiled, and beckoning me to her, gave me a soft but very sweet kiss.

"Stella, I don't want to cause you too much stress—it must have been a big shock for you to see me standing there, totally unexpectedly."

"Yes, but it was a lovely shock; I hadn't expected it, just hoped with all my heart that it might happen," she smiled again.

"Okay, my beautiful Stella, I shall visit you every day; I think we have a lot to talk about, and I have some things I want to say to you, all of them, I hope, will be gentle and loving."

I bent and kissed Stella once again, then turned and left so that she couldn't see the tears in my eyes.

I settled into a pattern of regular daily visits, somewhat neglecting my practice, but that was the least of my worries. I could see that the disease was taking its toll on Stella's limited reserves of strength and resilience, and one day after about two weeks of visits, she said to me, "Peter, can you call in tomorrow around two o'clock. Carrie won't be here; I've managed to persuade her to let me spend some time alone with you, although I think she will still worry about me. Is that alright with you, my dear?"

"It's more than alright, Stella, I don't know how I will get through those hours before I see you again."

"Silly boy," she teased, but again gave me her brilliant smile that seemed to compress all her love and tenderness into that one gesture.

I arrived at precisely two o'clock as summoned. Stella was sitting up in her bed, dressed in a lacy bedjacket with what looked like a silky slip underneath. She had put on light but effective makeup; lipstick, light eye shadow and some moisturiser. She had painted her nails the same colour that she always wore when we were together.

"Well, hi handsome," she greeted me, "what brings you here?"

"Listen, you cheeky wench, I'm here at your command, ready to do all or any of your bidding," I batted her mischief back to her.

Stella couldn't maintain her badinage, however, and tears gathered in her eyes. "Oh god, Peter, Boy, please, my darling, love me. Love me like you used to; love me just one last time. Please!"

"Stella, my dear, sweet, wonderful, gorgeous Stella—are you absolutely sure? I don't want to hurt you or make your situation worse than it already is."

"Peter," she was firm and quite certain. "You couldn't damage me any more than I've already been damaged. Of course, if my condition repels you, I quite understand, and ..."

"No, Stella, no, no, no," I was equally firm. "Repulsion is the last thing on my mind, and if you don't believe me ...," and with that I swept my hand up and removed the scarf from her head.

Stella was startled; "No, Peter, please ...," she begged, but I bent and kissed the top of her head, powdered with the lightest dusting of hair regrowing after the chemotherapy.

"Right at the moment I can't think of anything I want more than to make love to you. I just want to be sure that you won't be harmed; after all, as I remember, we used to get quite enthusiastic." I stated my case with a conviction based firmly on the truth.

"Mmm, I want you, too—so much that it almost hurts. Only now, please be gentle with me, my love and I'm sure we can find a special place for both of us to treasure for ever." Once again her tone changed, now back to playful. "So stop dithering, Boy and get your clothes off. I want to see what I've been missing for the past twenty years!"

"Your wish is my command, mistress," I joked and in no time at all I was in front of her clothed in nothing but a wide grin."

"Mmm yes, very impressive equipment, even for an old man! Now come closer, I want to make a proper inspection."

"An improper inspection, you mean don't you, you wanton hussy?" I laughed as I went to stand by her bedside.

Stella giggled. "Yes, of course, Boy." And she reached out and took my cock in her hand. She was soft and warm in spite of seeming to be so fragile, and she stroked me into the beginnings of a very functional erection.

"Mmm, ooh Peter, kiss me," she murmured, and I sat on one hip on the bed and held her with my arms around her slim shoulders. I kissed her, running my tongue along her lips and gently pushing into her mouth as she opened it. Our kiss was long and sweet and tender, and Stella hummed and made soft mewling noises as we embraced.

We broke the kiss at last, and I looked at Stella and was mildly surprised to see mischief in her eyes, the sort of mischief that had used to make my heart do cartwheels.

"Now kiss me again, Boy," she demanded and I moved back towards her. "No, not there," she giggled, "Kiss my pussy."

"Your body may be betraying you, but inside you're still the same hot-blooded little minx that I've always loved." I countered.

"You know your problem, Boy," she tried to sound stern but failed conspicuously, "You talk too much. Oh, and by the way, I hope you've got some protection—I wouldn't want you to get me pregnant!" Stella giggled, and then continued, "Now are you going to kiss my poor neglected pussy or do I have to get rough with you?"

I laughed out loud, but replied as I had before, "Your wish is my command, mistress." I threw back the covers and she spread her legs as wide as she comfortably could. I scooted down the bed and worked my way up bearing all my weight on my elbows. I was soon in position and my tongue stroked lightly over her sex, now with only the "peach fuzz" regrowth.

Using plenty of saliva, I worked my tongue between her outer lips and penetrated a short distance into her pussy. Stella gasped and whimpered as I moved up and down deliberately avoiding her clit. I held her hips in my hands and then with absolute gentleness, started nibbling on her clit.

This had an immediate effect on Stella. She writhed and cried, "Oh god, Oh Peter, Oh Boy, don't stop, this is so good, please, more, ... so wonderful ... so beautiful. I didn't think I'd ever ... Ooh, ooh, ooh, Peter I don't think I can take too much more of this bliss, and I so want you to love me. Please, my love, please make love to me."

"Hold me and tell me if I'm ready, you temptress," I laughed, "but are you sure you are lubricated enough?"

Stella laughed in reply. "Doesn't matter. I blackmailed one of my favourite nurses to get this," and she produced a large tube of KY jelly from under her pillow.

"Okay," I said, "I think side by side is the safest way," and I laid down beside her, lifting one of her legs over mine. Then, to enhance her excitement, I slid one hand up under her slip feeling for her breast. The disease had caused her body to become emaciated. Her breast had shrunk, but the nipple, although small, was quite hard. I pinched it gently and Stella squealed and kissed me, murmuring, "Oh yes, Boy, just right. I'd forgotten how good that feels. Mmm do it some more," which I did, getting the same response.

Then she gasped and told me, "That is so good, but what I really need is to feel you inside me. Please, darling, don't make me wait any longer."

I worked a liberal amount of KY into her pussy and onto my cock. "Ready, lover?" I enquired, and was rewarded by a long drawn out hum of desire and longing.

I positioned my now rigid cock at her entrance, pushing forward, gently at first. There was some resistance but I didn't want to hurt her, so I took it very slowly in spite of a gathering desire to plunge into her beautiful body that I had enjoyed so much all those years ago.

"Now listen, Boy, I may be sick, even sick unto death, but I won't break. Do me like you used to and make me happier than I ever thought I'd feel again."

I took Stella at her word, and pushing harder, slid firmly but slowly into her, until she was full of me. She clearly thought this was wonderful as she cried out in her ecstasy, moaning, whimpering and demanding.

"Fuck me, Boy, fuck me and make me scream. Give me your seed as a parting gift. Make me cum, you beautiful man. Oh god, I want you so much—I love you so much."

She moved beside me, seeming to force me even deeper into her and I could feel her silky muscles gripping me lightly as I slid in and out. While those muscles were quite weak, her enthusiasm and the satiny heat easily made up for that. I continued feeding myself into her as my own orgasm rose inside me, an indescribable blend of excitement, sensory overload and pure, unadulterated lust.

Stella's cries of passion rose in a crescendo ending in a wailing scream as she clasped my back, digging her nails into me with surprising strength. Eros must have been watching over us for we came together in blissful orgasms. We both stayed holding each other and whispering words of love until my spent cock exited Stella's body.

"One more thing, please my darling Boy, but you will have to help me," she begged.

"Anything, sweet Stella," I replied.

"Just scoot up so that I can clean you with my tongue," she was quite positive, and I did as she asked. Stella's soft, rather hesitant tongue worked its way up and down and around me, until I knew what I needed to do. I moved down again and kissed her, my mouth open and my tongue searching for hers as we shared our combined juices in a KY cocktail.

"Oh Peter, Peter, my darling, oh god that was the best ever. You are a magician; I've been dreaming about this for so long but I feared it would never happen. Thank you so much, my love."

"Stella," I started but then hesitated. "Stella, there are no words to describe how I feel right now. 'I love you' will have to suffice, but I want to wrap you in my love and hold it to me for the rest of my life. You may have to leave me physically, but you will never leave my heart."

She looked at me with tears in her eyes, but her expression changed and she seemed to withdraw from our togetherness.

"Peter, darling, I am so tired. That little workout has drained me and I must sleep."

"Oh Stella, I am so sorry; if I'd known that you would react that way, I would never ...," I started, but a little of her fire returned.

"No, Boy, I wanted you, I needed you and you were wonderful. I would never have missed this and I don't care about any aftermath."

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" I was still unconvinced, but she smiled a sleepy smile. "Go home and dream of me and know that I will be dreaming of you."

I kissed her once and left, walking on air, knowing that this had repaired the damage done over the past twenty years.

I visited Stella every day after our coming together, but she was often sleeping and our conversations such as they were, were usually quite desultory. This pattern continued for around two weeks, then one day I entered her room to find Stella sitting in her lounge chair, something I hadn't seen before.

"Hi sweetheart," I enthused, "so you're able to get around a bit, now?"

Stella looked at me with determination blended with strain. "Almost, Boy, but I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to do it face-to-face."

"Mmm, tell you what—can you stand by yourself?" I asked.

"Yes, I think so, but what did you have in mind?"

"Let me sit there, then you can sit on my lap and cuddle up to me and whisper sweet nothings in my ear," I suggested.

"Oh yes, that would be wonderful," Stella replied, and in a short time she was snuggling her head into my shoulder.

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