There Was Just Something About Mary

bySuperHeroRalph©

Treading new ground, never having been intimate with an older woman, no woman has ever voluntarily felt his cock without him having to move her hand there first. Always the one to cop a cheap feel, hoping to continue past first base on his way to second base, while running around the bases, heading for home, and hoping to score, she was already way ahead of him. Then, with no one else on the beach but them, when she fell to her knees, pulled down his bathing trunks, stroked his cock, and looked up at him, before taking his engorged prick in her mouth, he thought he'd die. An in the park, grand slam homerun, not caring what the score and who was winning the game, she was suddenly his whole ballgame. Contently excited to watch her suck him, he was her number one fan watching her play her game her way.

Afraid to touch her for fear of startling her and stopping her, he watched her suck him, as if they were long time lovers. Finally, when he was feeling the swell of sexual emotion catch up and move beyond his passion, in tune with the sound of the ocean, he stepped away, pulled up his bathing suit, and lifted her up to him. Forsaking a blowjob, wanting more than just sex and fearing that he'd be cheated out of love, he didn't want to cum. Not now and not yet. He wanted to experience more. He wanted to experience all of her.

He pulled her to him and they kissed again, this time, even more passionately than their first kiss. She had moved him now to where he needed to be to satisfy her. He reached behind her to cup and squeezed her bikini clad ass. Then, aroused with the clumsy passion of a boy of only twenty-six-years-old with a mature woman of the world, who had already experienced the love and the passion of a real man, he felt her breast through her bikini top, while she fingered his cock through his bathing suit and continued kissing him. Still the only ones on the beach, it wouldn't have mattered if there were thousands of people, for a fleeting moment, they were lost within one another.

Love at first sight, never had he seen anyone as beautiful and so sexually provocative. After they exchanged pleasantries and told one another their names, when she told him she was old enough to be his aunt or his much older sister, he didn't care. Instead, wanting to be instantly mature, removing his mind of foolish thoughts, such as surfing, and refusing to say chronological references that revealed his age, he tried to act older.

They walked the entire length of the beach, talking while walking, before she took him to her cabin and fucked him senseless, as if she was a stray dog and he was her bitch. Then, she made love to him, as if they had been intimate since forever, instead of this being their first time. He gave her what she needed with his cock and she gave him what he wanted with her body, beauty, and mouth.

That was the first day they met and now three years later, they were still going at it two dogs in heat for two different reasons. Filled with testosterone, he was ready, willing, and able to give her sexual pleasure, whenever she wanted it. Filled with sadness and grief for a love lost, the only time she didn't feel pain is when she felt pleasure. Temporarily, they were a perfect match.

"Happy anniversary, Mary."

"Happy Earth Day, Anthony."

He looked at her, as if she was a movie star and she could have been had she not married her handsome and dashing Army major and had she not lost her mind, when he died. There with his men, deep in the Cambodian jungle and in charge of his small renegade detachment of Special Forces on a CIA mission to find and return MIA's, and kill anyone trying to stop them, he died how he needed to die and she survived the only way she knew how to survive. She gave up her dreams for him and, now that he's dead, her life was over, too. The bullet that killed him, mortally wounded her. As in life and in death, his with physical and mental torture and hers by grief stricken insanity, both their deaths were slow, agonizing ones.

When prettier starlets half her age with bigger breasts, thicker hair, and perfect teeth are routinely rejected, with her career already over before it even began, she was past her prime. What chance did she have now, other than to take a younger lover and numb herself with drugs and alcohol, in the way her husband took her and immersed himself in the jungle with his men in camouflage? Maybe he knew he was going to die in the jungle that day, just as she knew she'd die on the beach one day soon, too. Just as her husband was in Cambodia with his men, she was on Cape Cod with some, young man. It was obvious by what she wrote in her journal that she didn't care who she was with, so long as he could make her forget and make her feel something, other than sadness and suffering sorrow.

"I don't want to be alone. I can't be alone. I refuse to be alone, not for another minute," she wrote. "When alone, the sounds of silence are deafening. I need someone, anyone, talking to me, grabbing at me, groping me, and fucking me. I need the affection, the attention, the adulation, and the diversion. What better lover to have than an Adonis of a beach bum? I need a warm, hard body and there he was standing in front of me, as if sent from Heaven for the occasion of my intimacy, sexual pleasure, and comfort. He was sent to help me forget and to feel without having to think and to fuck and suck without having to have conversation," is what she wrote in her journal.

Only, all that she tried so hard to forget and couldn't, forty years later, as tortured as she was then, Anthony still remembered her now. In the way she mourned her husband, he still mourned the loss of her. Still tortured by the love of a dead woman, as she was tortured by the love of a dead man, his divided feelings that he still held for Mary wasn't fair to his wife and his family.

Only, he never told his wife about Mary. He couldn't without revealing the love he still had for her. Sparing her the hurt, he couldn't tell her about Mary for fear she'd be mad, jealous, and just wouldn't understand. Never able to actually put his finger on it, other than the usual attributes of her being blonde and beautiful, there was just something about Mary that he was unable to forget.

Raymond had already been gone from her for eleven months, when he died. Foolishly, she was eagerly celebrating his return and now that he's dead her life is over. So strong, so powerful, and so all encompassing, she never thought he'd be killed. She figured he'd return home safely and they'd finally be together forever living life in their dream cottage that was a stone's throw from the ocean.

He promised he'd return and he always kept his promises. Conflicted by the love of his woman and torn in his sworn duty of never leaving anyone behind, he reclaimed his men, prisoners of war, but he made the ultimate sacrifice and paid the final price. Trading one for the other, he left her behind, instead. Never lying to her before, now that he's dead, he's such a liar now.

They were supposed to have children. Only, he asked her to wait, until he did this one last mission and retired from service, as a Lieutenant Colonel. She wished she had not listened to him and not waited. She'd have something more to live for, if she had his child, a handsome boy named Raymond, Jr. or a beautiful girl named Rayleen.

Now, temporarily injected with Anthony's enthusiasm and the spirit of this young man, together, they'd make a new life for however long it lasted. Refusing to die with her husband, yet, as if a fragile, albeit beautiful butterfly emerging from a cocoon, she was temporarily born again. Even with Anthony in her life, a sad excuse for Raymond, she still sometimes teetered on the precipice of death with one foot over the side. Even though she was now with Anthony, she still loved and yearned for Raymond. So long as she was still alive, he was, too.

Anthony was just a boy. Raymond was a man. Refusing to allow herself the pain and to grieve the loss of her husband, she hid her sorrow in sex, laughter, drugs, and alcohol, until the surge of her misery exploded her sorrow in such a suffering sadness that no drug, no alcohol, and no hard, beautiful boy of a man could ease her pain and lessen her misery.

"Earth Day is the day that we pause to think of the planet, silly," she said with a smile and another tickle.

"Okay," he said. "To be honest, I never thought much about the planet, just the sea, the surf, the sand, and the sun. Actually, in that regard, I guess I do think a lot about the planet," he said with a laugh.

When she was his world, the only world he knew and wanted to know, he looked at her with eyes filled with love that had no room for the Earth or for Earth Day. Not wanting to share her with anyone or anything, he was suddenly jealous of the joy, albeit feigned joy, she showed for the Earth and had for Earth Day.

"Here," she said. "It's in today's newspaper. Today is Earth Day. The third Earth Day. Today is the day that inspires awareness and when we all pause to appreciate the Earth's natural environment, while all striving to protect and preserve it."

Only, she had false pretenses. Just as Earth Day didn't matter to him, Earth Day didn't matter to her either. Earth Day then didn't nearly hold the same meaning 40 years ago, as it does today. All he knew was that he was happy and she was sometimes sad. Instead of mourning the loss of her husband and getting on with her life, it was obvious to him that she couldn't.

Unable to admit it, deep down inside, he knew she was using him for sex and using him to forget whatever it was she needed to forget. He hoped that when she healed, once she awakened from her grief and misery that she'd see him and want him in the way she had loved her husband. When she awakened from her denial, he wanted to be there for her. Only, she never awakened. Just as he never got over her, she never got over her grief for the love of another man.

He didn't know how much she still loved the major, not then, and not right away. Slowly, as if pulling teeth, never really confronting it, and talking about it without much emotion, she gradually shared the intimate details of her prior life to him much later. Even then, he wouldn't discover all the details of her life, until he read her journal. He didn't know that without him in her life, she would have died of grief with the death of her husband. Helping her to survive, he was her temporary world, just as he hoped she'd be his permanent one. Yet, when the newness of him wore off, when even a drunken or drug induced high couldn't help make her forget and deliver her from the low place she was in, gone from his bed, she was dead already.

Last night was the last time they made love. She knew it, no doubt, and he could feel it. This time was different. Their kisses were longer, the hugs were tighter, and their embraces were more desperate. He knew there was something up but she wasn't talking. She seldom talked to him about such things anyway.

He rolled over to her and touched her, felt her, and groped her, before tugging at her nightgown. In one quick pull it was off and she was naked. He touched her, as if touching her for the first time. The warmth and the softness of her skin excited him in a way he's never been excited by any other woman before. Even though she was already wet, she was always somewhere else, some place she went to be with Raymond, no doubt. Even though she was there physically, she was never there mentally.

Able to feel the distance she kept, she was even more distant this time and, even though he refused to believe it, somehow, he knew this would be their last time together. Definitely, in the way she looked through him and looked away from him, always avoiding eye contact, she seemed more distant than usual. In the way she touched him was ethereal. Nonetheless, as if possessed by her soon to be ghostly spirit, hoping to reach her and bring her back to life, before it was too late, he attacked her with such passion as he hasn't had since the first time they made love.

He gave her an orgasm with his fingers, another with his mouth, and a final one with his cock. Each time he gave her orgasmic pleasure, just before kissing her, he looked at her to see if she was feeling more than the physical pleasure of him that he gave her. Only able to reach her sexually and at the surface, he tried his best to touch her deeper. It was his hope to inject her with more than just his cum. He wanted to inject her with his love and with the passion that he not only had for her but that he had for life. He needed her to love him, but he suspected that she didn't and she couldn't. He wanted a baby, but she wouldn't. Not now and not with him. When her husband's eyes closed for the last time, her time for babies and diapers had long since past.

When he saw her familiar sadness in her eyes return, it was as if a curtain fell across a stage that told the audience the show was over. Even after all the sexual pleasure he had given her, withdrawing even deeper this time, he saw that she was hopelessly lost within herself. He didn't have to have a college education to know that their relationship was doomed and now tragically and painfully over.

"Blow me," he said. "Suck my cock. I need to cum in your mouth."

In a final moment of selfish pleasure for himself, somehow he knew this would be his last blowjob from her and as if she had already gone to Heaven, to Hell, or to wherever she was going, he wanted her to take something of his with her for the journey, if even only his sperm.

"Suck it! Suck me, Mary," he said pulling her hair with one hand, while pushing her head forward with the other, all the while impaling her mouth deeper and humping her face harder.

He was hoping she'd feel something, even if it was only pain. Only, she showed nothing because, obviously, she felt nothing. Besides, he couldn't hurt her. He loved her. After he exploded all that he had to give in her mouth and she swallowed, he lifted her up to him. They kissed for the last time. Then, while holding one another and spooning later, they slept like that through the night, with him unable to let her go to wherever it was she needed to be.

That next morning, on the third anniversary and on their third Earth Day that they were together, when he was in the bathroom taking a shower, she was swallowing a bottle of sleeping pills. She was gone from the cottage and from him in the early morning to watch the sunrise, she said. He knew the day was coming, but he didn't figure that day would be today, not after last night, when he gave her such sexual pleasure and not after this morning, when she had so much joy in watching the sunrise, but sadly for the last time.

Besides, today was Earth Day, their third anniversary and he had made reservations at her favorite restaurant. Even though he thought she was happy, she was sad. He could never understand her moods.

Not so unusual, as she was an early riser and loved walking the beach alone to be with her thoughts. After a while, when she didn't return, he went out looking for her. As if she was in bed sleeping, curled up in a fetal position, and as if cold from the cool chill of the morning, he found her dead on the beach, up behind the sand dunes, holding a photo of her deceased husband handsomely resplendent in his medal covered uniform.

She left Anthony a note that he didn't see, until he returned to the cottage later that night. Her wish was to be cremated with her ashes scattered every Earth Day. Even though what she did in killing herself was a selfish act of desperation, even though she never reciprocated the love he had for her, he still loved her enough to honor her wishes. Besides, honoring her wish was his way to never forget her.

He lied when told his wife that the ashes was of his best friend who drowned in a surfing accident. Every Earth Day, Anthony celebrated her death by driving to Cape Cod and scattering some of her ashes in front of the cottage where they lived and made love. Forty years later, even though he's married with children and living in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, a long way from the ocean he so loved, he still thinks about her, and just as she did with Raymond, he still wonders what could have been with Mary. From the first day that he met her, there was just something about Mary.

*

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