Sunday Scholarship

"Ssshhh...darlin'. Don't move. Just let me do it," she mewled, as once again she locked her lips to mine. I was fully embedded in her now, and she was clasping and unclasping her inner muscles around my thickness. Neither of us moved. Instead, she milked me tirelessly for several minutes until I was driven nearly to the point of madness, whimpering like a small child at her phenomenal control, as her tongue ceaselessly probed at the top of my throat while murmuring, "Mmm-hmmm...mmm-hmmm...mmm-hmmm."

Finally, neither of us could restrain ourselves, as we abandoned ourselves to the instinctive rutting movements of fucking. By this time Rosemary's pussy was drooling a constant stream of juice as she tucked her feet backward and dropped to her knees. Our loins then began to crash against one another in a mutual quest for release. With my grunts and groans, and her moans and mewls, the vocal chorus we provided was deafening. With my hands on her alabaster hips, trying to impale her ever deeper, she threw her head back and screamed, "Aaagghh, Gawwd, Glen...bite me!" as her nails dug into my shoulders. Her full, pert, breasts, tipped with half-inch, pink, corky nipples, bounced in front of my face as I lay back against the headboard. "Yessss!" she growled as my mouth and teeth closed on one tit, sucking for all I was worth. "Yessss!" she cried again, as I switched to capture the other. "Gawwd! Fuck meee! Yeeaah! Fuck...me! Oh! Ohh! Ohhh! Glen!...Glen!...Glen!...I'm...Glenn!...Glennn!...Glennnn!"

Our orgasm was one for the ages. As Rosemary began to cum, the numb flashes began at my toes and migrated north to my balls to end with me spilling what felt like two years worth of seed into her boiling womb. We thrashed against one another until I was fearful that I'd perforate her insides yet, at exactly the right moment, we both froze as our glands played out their sympathetic cycles and we remained locked together, trembling, gasping and desperately clutching at one another, trying to prolong our climactic joy. Soon, nothing could be heard save the rasping sound of our lungs sucking in air. In a moment we collapsed against one another and took a needed nap.

"What's the scar from?" I asked, after we'd awakened.

"What scar? Oh, this?" she responded with wide, innocent eyes, pointing to the small, pinkish surgical blemish. "Nothing, really. I, uhh...had an ovary removed."

"Why?"

She looked at me and slowly shook her head, her mouth trying to form words. Her blue eyes misted up and my heart froze at the very idea of Rosemary weeping. But weep she did. In fact, she cried. After pulling me to herself, the tears rolled down her face and dropped onto me as she told me the sad story.

"Oh, honey...that last month before you left...I got pregnant. I'd always had one bad ovary and the doctor told me I was barren. That was before I found out that my husband, Ralph, had had a vasectomy. All the time I thought it'd just been me!"

"So the baby was mine? What happened?"

"I wassohappy! I mean, I was gonna haveyourbaby! I was going to have it and maybe tell you when you got back...maybe not. And, if you didn't come back, I would've had some part of you. Can you understand that?"

"Well...yeah. But, what happened?"

"I miscarried in my fourth month. At the very end, the doctor said I had endometriosis, and the good ovary should be removed." At that she broke down and sobbed in my arms for an hour or more. I knew about the cellular growth that damaged fallopian tubes and ovaries, but this was an emotional condition for which Psychology classes in my pre-med program hadn't prepared me. But, after all the duplicities of my earlier life, including the military, it certainly alerted me to the fact that Rosemary had been deadly serious about me for a very long time.

Epilogue

Toward the end of our two-week romantic idyll, during which Rosemary and I engaged in the most sublime sex play imaginable, she pledged her whole-hearted support to my medical education.

We'd just finished a late evening snack after making love and she was looking for a tube of lubricating jelly in her dresser as she confessed, "My mom died last year and left me a ton of money. I could retire now and move to the east coast with you, but I'm a realist. I'm 37, and by the time you're finished with med school, specialty training and your residency, I'll be in my late forties. A young, handsome doctor doesn't need an older woman as an anchor on his life."

"That's a bit severe," I opined.

"Honey, with that great body of yours, and your sensitivity, there'll be tons of horny girls after you."

"Maybe, but can't I see you every now and then?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I'll insist on it," she said. "Whenever you get a week or more off, I'll expect to see you at the airport, primed and ready to go. Don't worry, I'll buy the plane tickets, and while you're in school I'll pay your rent and tuition. With your GI Bill check, you can buy your own food...and Scotch. Let's just call it an extension of your scholarship," she said, producing the tube she was looking for and squeezing out a dollop with a flourish to lube her rectum. "Now c'mere and thank your benefactor," she said, wiggling her now very familiar, ivory, pear-shaped ass at me.

My boss took good care of me all those years, and I was very attentive to her. Though I eventually married another woman, had two children, and divorced, Rosie and I made love regularly until she was well into her sixties. Her gorgeous black hair eventually turned an attractive salt-and pepper color...but, of course, so did mine. I was stricken by her death last year from a massive stroke and, at night, I still have visions of her visiting spirit. Now that she's gone, there's a void in my life that will never be filled.

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