When What To My Wondering Eyes...

Unable to accept what his eyes would have him believe, he stared at the strong and well-shaped hands. No hint of a wrinkle. Wide wrists heralded the onset of muscular arms that disappeared up beneath the arms of his old pyjamas. He had no need of a mirror, he knew his face was that of a young man. He could feel the weight of thick and luxuriant hair which even now curled almost to the nape of his neck.

He sought not to question this miracle, merely to address its purpose.

Carrying her to his bedroom later, where neither the crumpled bed linen, nor the faded and decrepit wallpaper held sway any longer, he laid Cassandra on the top sheet. Turning away from him she sat up and raised her arms. Gently he unzipped the dress and watched as she pulled it over her head. She wore nothing beneath.

Such was her beauty he could but stare. She took his hand and brought it to her breasts where he gently caressed first one and then the other while she held his gaze and murmured the sweetest of soft little sounds. He marvelled at the perfection of her curves and the effect his touch was having on her nipples as they hardened rapidly.

Her needs mirrored his own and he found himself kneeling beside her on the bed, sucking her breasts gently until she lay back, her arms above her head aroused now to the point of moaning softly and needing his full complicity in what ultimately was to follow.

For a few moments he could do no more than look at her as she lay there completely at ease with him in her nakedness. The smoothest triangle of dark curls framed her exquisitely beautiful lower lips that he permitted himself the luxury of exposing further by gently parting her legs a little. She gave the smallest cry of anticipation, showing the most arousing little expression of girlish tease as he hardly dared to push a finger inside her. Her look then of complete satisfaction as he pushed in deeper – her eyes were liquid in their need.

"Make love to me Jim," she barely whispered.

He found disrobing in front of her, an act easily effected without the slightest inhibition. He remembered then, how it was something neither he nor Cathy had ever been comfortable with. He couldn't recall ever actually seeing her fully naked – nor having the desire to!

Allowing him to spread her as far as he wished, she closed her eyes and wriggled her hips enticingly as he entered her. Making full use of his restored and youthful physique, Jim thrust hard into her – not with any semblance of distasteful force but rather, one of masculine dominance at a time a girl might understandably wish to be dominated.

As his rate and depth of entry increased, Cassandra was willing him on, raising her hips to meet his thrusts and experiencing in full, the pleasure they were so deeply sharing. He knew there was no expectation to observe any modicum of restraint on his part and this alone propelled him to greater heights. Cassandra was shaking her head from side to side now and completely given over to the forces in play.

"Make me pregnant Jim," she pleaded, the utterance of such words having anything but a passive effect on her super-heated partner. A lifetime's unfulfilled sexual needs can understandably generate an impressive seminal build-up. How lucky the recipient one might muse. Cassandra was not complaining and as he pumped that very last cubic millimeter of procreative fluid into her, she was transported way down her own Yellow Brick road courtesy of a multiply connected orgasm that to quote John C. Fogerty was a case of "Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river."

While still yet dizzy from their joint exertions, Jim pulled Cassandra up to a sitting position and kissing her, whispered to her softly. Compliantly, she turned around and getting down on all fours presented her lover with a cute little bottom of such arousing an aspect he first kissed her there several times, causing her to gasp and to wiggle her rear-end in evident pleasure. At the point he knelt behind her and took her in that same position – she was experiencing considerably more pleasure.

After their frenetic early needs subsided, Jim lay down behind her, pulled her close to him and pulled the bedclothes over them. Cassandra with her back to him, pulled his arms tightly around her breasts and lay still, listening to their respiratory rates even out and feeling his sperm deep inside her still. She didn't want to think about having to leave or about what she knew had shortly to be.

All Jim was able to think about was by whatever miracle, an angel had been delivered to his door this night. He would worry about an explanation in the morning. God willing he should never lose her again, yet somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind he knew he had experienced these thoughts some time in the past.

An old man woke Christmas morning. His cries of anguish at his loss would have melted the heart of the least compassionate of men.

"How could a dream be so real?" "How could any God be so cruel?" were just two of the questions he suspected he was never likely to be receiving an answer to. Determined however that nothing would ever undermine his love of the festive season, he decided he would first make himself a pot of tea and entering the tiny kitchen he had to grasp a hold of the door-frame to steady his nerves...if not his sanity. Sitting there on the bench was the tray, containing one dirty plate with traces still of bacon rind and a small yellowish stain.

Struggling to make sense of the non-sensical, the only rational explanation in his view was that whilst in a semi-delusional state, he had actually cooked that meal last night....and presumably eaten it. He made his pot of tea and whilst waiting for it to draw, went to the front door and opened it. Snow must have been falling all night. The front path, grass and flowerbeds were now but a uniform white blanket, the trees - icy sculptured sentinels. All around, picturesque serenity, a silent white matte-work.

Returning to the living room, he went across to the little tree – and stared! Five presents now sat in a cluster-pattern beneath those lower branches, one far smaller than the rest, slightly away to the right. The wrapping looked faded but again, somehow familiar. As he picked it up he felt a decided chill.

His fingers trembled as the little heart-shaped box was exposed. It looked quite old. Removing the lid, he saw what was inside and his world spun away. Shaking fingers opened the tiny silver locket, and with tears of passion raking his cheeks, he read what he already knew was so minutely inscribed there.

"To Cassandra from your loving husband Jim. Christmas 1832"