A Final Valentine

"It can," I signed slowly. "If the woman cums too hard and too close together. I'm sorry. I should have stopped and let you catch your breath when it happened. Would have if I had known."

"Than I'm glad you didn't," she signed, all but bouncing on her towel. "That was, by far, the best I've ever been fucked. And I'm hoping you will do it again. But, first, we need to get rid of this."

Even before Angela had died, I'd had problems shaving my face. It had bothered me some at first because I'd always been cleanly shaven. For a while, Angela had shaved my face, and neck, for me. But, when her back got worse, we had let it grow. After she died, I just hadn't cared anymore and couldn't have done anything about it if I had.

A small voice deep inside cried out it would be another betrayal to let this girl remove the beard I had grown since the woman's death but was overshadowed by the eagerness to get rid of the infernal itch that had plagued me since the last time Angela had managed to shave me. I swore if my fingernails hadn't carved grooves in my skin, it wasn't for lack of trying.

Perhaps it is just me, but it took a great deal of trust for me to sit still as Little Angela worked me over, first with scissors and then a razor, on my face and across my throat. Or perhaps it wasn't so much trust as a dim feeling that if she slit my throat with those blades she was holding, I would have deserved it.

I'm not sure if I was more surprised that she didn't slit my throat before she was finished or when she sat in my lap for a deep kiss while grinding her naked pussy against my naked cock once she was done.

"You are a very beautiful man," she signed when she pulled away to lean back against the dining table beneath the orange glow filling the room. "You don't look so old without all those white hairs."

Ridiculous. I knew damn well what I looked like. I had never been so much as ruggedly handsome, much less beautiful. And old didn't even begin to cover it. White fur on my face or no.

Hell, even if she was the eighteen she claimed, I was three times her age. Old enough to be her grandfather if I had gotten the first girl I'd fucked pregnant and that child had in turn gotten pregnant at eighteen as well. And I would have said so if the little minx hadn't distracted me by lifting her hips to slide her wetness along the bottom of my shaft from the base to almost the tip and back again.

Angela, my Angela, had driven me crazy doing that before she had lost the ability as her wet nether lips kissed my hard shaft until I would lose control and shove her roughly back to take her.

The darkness of Little Angela's eyes, the iris indistinguishable from the enlarged pupils, called to me. Sucked my very soul out to dance with hers as I shifted to press myself harder against her writhing.

It was surreal, watching her fuck me without taking me inside her as she leaned back on her elbows against the table and gazed into my eyes as her slippery heat slid along my shaft. It was a struggle to keep from pushing her up onto the table and plunging my length inside her. But, somehow, some way, I managed to sit there and let her do what she would as I looked back into her dark eyes.

She shuddered and rose from me.

"I should clean this up before we get too carried away," she signed. "Why don't you go shower and rinse any loose hair off you that I missed? I'll join you when I'm done here."

In the shower, I had a few moments to wonder just what the fuck I thought I was doing as I leaned against the cheap plastic knockoff wall protector before she slipped in behind me and gripped my hard cock with both of her small hands, her small breasts pressing against my back and all such thoughts fled.

I felt her lips press between my shoulder blades as her small hands slid along my length, making my cock twitch. The persistent nerve pain that was a constant companion faded into the background beneath the pleasure.

I wanted her. I wanted this. But,...

I pulled her hands from working my shaft and gently pushed her back as I turned.

For some reason, Little Angela had lit a candle instead of bringing her rose. It was a less harsh light, almost romantic, but enough for us to see each other by in the windowless bathroom when added to the glow coming across the short hall from the bedroom on the other side.

"I'm not sure I can do this," I signed.

"Why not?"

Why not, indeed? How could I possibly explain so that she could understand?

My right thigh chose that moment to begin quivering uncontrollably, causing my knee to buckle. I caught myself on the shower wall, but it was enough to gain her attention.

"Oh," she signed. "I'm sorry. Go ahead and go lie down. I'll be right behind you."

Not quite what I had in mind. But, it would get me out of standing there in the shower with her, with water sluicing over both our bodies.

I had to lean even more heavily against the walls, dressers, and desk on my way to the side of the bed. It wasn't until I was there I realized I'd left my smokes on the dining table in the other room. And I really wanted one. Needed one.

Little Angela really was right behind me. I almost tripped and fell on her when I tried to turn around.

She trotted off into the other room to get my smokes once I explained what I was after. Leaving me to sink down on the edge of the bed.

A quasi-battle the day before followed by a fuck-fest I hadn't been able to pull off while fully awake in about a decade? It was no wonder I was so stiff and weak. I was too old, too worn, battle-fatigued and weary for such youthful shenanigans.

When she returned, Little Angela didn't hand me my pack, but drew one out and lit it for me as she knelt down in front of me, between my legs. Once it was drawing, she turned the lit smoke around and touched the butt to my lips when I would have reached for it.

That was just... weird.

Weirder still, she knelt there with her hands on my thighs, watching me smoke. Just watching. Staring.

"What?" I signed when it became too much.

"I'm trying to decide if you are a knight or a dragon," she signed.

"Dragon," I signed back as I purposefully blew streamers of smoke from my nostrils. "Definitely dragon."

"I don't know," she signed back. "I'm no virgin. Haven't been for a long time. But, I guess you did eat me. And eat me well."

I considered again telling her that had been a mistake, but her eyes had dropped to my groin and she had taken her bottom lip between her teeth. I was pretty sure what was coming next, if not just what form it would take.

"I guess I could probably do that for you," she signed after a moment.

"You don't have to," I signed. "I did it because I like it. That's pretty important with sex. If you don't like doing something, you shouldn't have to do it. And I get the feeling you don't."

"Not really," she signed. "They usually smell even worse down there. Not always, but usually. And then they push too far and make me gag. They want to cum in my mouth pretty often, and there was only one that came in my mouth that didn't taste just awful and even he had a bitter aftertaste."

"Then, no," I signed. "Don't do that for me. Don't do anything for me you don't want to do."

There. That should fix the problem I'd fallen into with the mixup between my dream and reality.

"I don't, I really don't like it in the ass," she signed nervously. "Two did that to me and made me bleed. And it hurt really, really bad both times. And I don't like being held down. Like by my arms and stuff. I guess it makes me remember the first time. And it drys me right up."

I reached out and tilted her chin up since her gaze had dropped to the floor in some combination of memory and thought.

"I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do with me," I signed once I had her focus back. "If I did anything that you didn't like before, I'm sorry. I won't do it again."

"No, no," she signed quickly. "I liked everything you did. And I want you to do it to me again. But, I thought you couldn't. So, I was trying to think what I could do for you."

Weary, physically, mentally, emotionally, and, above all, of the conversation, I reached over and stubbed out my smoke.

"You don't owe me anything," I signed. "You don't need to do anything for me except not hurt me or my dog. And, maybe, let me lie down since I need to rest. You should probably do your exercises, don't you think? You haven't done them today."

If I had expected her to go off in the front room or anywhere else, I was in for a disappointment. As I laid back on the bed and reached out to stroke Bitty who had been lying quietly on the other side, Little Angela started doing her exercises right there in the floor where she had been kneeling.

Whatever. At least she wasn't bothering me. Physically bothering me at least.

I fell into a light doze, only to be awakened when she slithered over me, after a shower judging by the warmth of her and smell of soap, to nestle into the crook of my arm.

I wasn't sure I wanted her there. But, I was sort of enjoying the feel of her against me. And the smell of her hair. As long as she didn't start jilling off again, I guessed it would be alright.

She didn't start jilling off again.

She reached over and caressed my cock and balls instead.

I thought about stopping her. But, most of my reasons just felt silly after what we had done. After what I had done to her.

I had already broken my vow to myself not to have another lover. I had just as surely trampled all over my decision not to be just another in the long line of men who had molested her. I wasn't making her do what she was doing. Had, in fact, tried to discourage her from doing anything at all.

And it felt good. It felt really good to have her touching me like that. If she had touched me with that tentative trembling caress anywhere else, just five inches lower on my thigh or five inches higher on my stomach, it would have sent flares of pain. Even on my cock, the feather-light initial caresses were just above the threshold of pleasure over annoyance.

Once I began to lengthen and fill, her grip firmed and felt much better. Much, much better.

With my Angela, I'd had a hard time lying back and letting her work on me when she wanted to. And it had been a struggle every time we'd managed. Even without her injuries, I doubt we would have managed for her to ride me any more than the few times we had. I just wasn't built for passivity.

But, with Little Angela, it wasn't as much of a problem through some concatenation of not wanting to push her and still paying the price for so much physical effort the day before. And, perhaps, some final tatters of the feeling I was somehow being unfaithful to Angela that faded to wisps carried away by the West Texas wind I could hear picking up outside beneath Little Angela's assault.

A handjob by a girl nestled up to my side while I looked at the cracks in the ceiling was one thing. Even if her crotch had started grinding at my hip. Having her throw her leg over my hips and rise above me into my field of view was something else and my misgivings came surging back even as the head of my cock surged at the gentle kiss of her pussy on the tip.

I wasn't sure. Maybe if Little Angela grew her hair back out instead of that butchered hack job someone had given her and took a class in make-up or something, she would be lovely. And a little meat on her bones couldn't hurt at all. But, I just didn't see her ever reaching that breathtaking beauty that was a prerequisite for Hollywood. Not even the B-movies since she didn't have enough boob to bounce noticeably as she ran away from the monster/alien/killer.

Porn, though. Porn she would probably be a hit. With a certain crowd.

Little Angela balanced herself with her hands on my chest as she lifted her hips and twisted and pressed against me until my hard cock shifted just right to press past her swollen, dripping labia. The pressure behind her hands on my chest was enough to keep the pain a gentler caress would have caused. But, I winced and flinched as her foot grazed my left leg.

"What?" Her hands lifted to ask.

"Firm, hard touch is okay," I signed back at her. "The harder and firmer, the better. Light touch, like your foot against my leg just then, hurts me."

Naturally, she twisted to look behind her and grazed my leg with her foot again, causing me to flinch away again.

"Sorry," she signed. "Here, is this better?"

Her small hands grabbed as much of my pectorals as she could manage and her fingertips dug in as her pussy ground back hard on my crotch.

I nodded that it was.

My old resistance to passivity rose up enough to make me lift my own hands to her body. Unlike her hands that were pressing, clutching and kneading at my chest, I used mine to gently caress each inch of her I could easily reach.

Maybe it was the light. Or maybe it was the feel of her pussy sheathing and soaking my cock as she rocked through several shuddering orgasms. Or maybe it was the way she turned her head into my hand once I had trailed my fingers up her arms to cup her face, and her bottom lip caught and bent as she sighed after kissing my lightly caressing hand. But, in that moment, Little Angela was so beautiful it made my heart ache.

Sooner than I would have liked, she fell forward to breathe heavily into my chest and her hips ground to a halt. I wrapped my arms around her and kissed the crown of her head as I gently ran my nails between her shoulder blades.

My cock wasn't done and pressed just as hard against the pulsating walls of her pussy as it had when she'd first climbed aboard. That didn't matter though. That didn't matter at all.

Once her breathing slowed, she pressed herself back up and lifted her hands to sign. "I'm sorry. My legs are tired."

"It's okay. Lie down and stretch them out."

"But, you're still hard."

"Yes," I signed. "And I will be as long as you are astride me with me inside you and I can look at you. Get off and lie beside me so I can't see you and it will go away on its own. At least as long as you leave it alone."

Little Angela flopped over to my side to lie on her back, making Bitty grumble and shift over in the process. After a brief pat for Bitty, Little Angela's hands came up again in the air over us.

"I thought that when guys got hard they couldn't help themselves. They had to cum or it hurt."

"I've heard that too," I signed. "I think they are either lying or just stupid. Or maybe hope girls are stupid. When I was your age, I would get hard when the wind blew. Which since this is West Texas was pretty well all the time. Well, I didn't have a girlfriend when I was fourteen. Ow!"

"Eighteen!" Little Angela said as she drew her arm back from the punch she had landed on my shoulder. "Say it. Eighteen."

"Fine. So, I didn't have time for a girlfriend when I was thirteen," I was ready for her that time and raised my shoulder to meet her punch. The slap her other hand followed it with actually hurt a tad more than her knuckles thanks to my fucked up nerves. "Fine, fine. So, when I was seventeen and eleven-twelfths, I didn't have time for a girlfriend since I was too busy. And my dick always went down on its own. And the few times it got to the point my balls ached, I shot a load on Miss September's stapled navel and called it good if I couldn't find a split-tail wet, willing, and able."

"That's awful! Is that what I am? A 'split-tail?'"

"Not to me," I signed. "You are a wonderful young woman I would have been privileged just to know without the sex. Seriously, Little Angel. You didn't have to. And you don't have to do anything else. But, I thank you for what you did for me."

"I don't feel like I did anything for you. I feel like I just blunted my own edge and left you hanging."

"Seriously. It's fine. If you want to do something for me, I would like it if you would let me hold you for a bit while I get some rest. If that would be alright."

"I think I would like that, Daddy."

"And stop calling me, 'Daddy!'"

"How old am I, 'Daddy?'"

I sighed and reached for the giggling young woman who came willingly to rest her chin and hand on my chest.

--Interlude the Sixth--

If there is a redhead with the coloring to cry and look beautiful while doing it, I'd either never met her or forgotten. It damn sure wasn't my wife.

"What's wrong, Angela?"

"Nothing," she said, as she dashed tears from her blotchy cheeks. "I'm happy."

Nope. No matter how many the rest of my days number, I have long given up any hope of understanding a woman. Maybe after I'm dead...

"I really am, Aaron," Angela said. "I know you loved me and still do. But, because I love you just as much, if not more, it was hurting me to see how much pain you were in. She can help you with the pain loving me has given you, although she will cause you more. And you can help her with the pain of her life, although loving you will cause her more as well. You two need each other. And I am happy that you finally realized it and lowered the drawbridge for her to cross."

I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm a man. Or maybe it's because I hadn't yet sloughed off the meat bag my soul was doomed to shuffle around in for a little longer. But, I was more than a little bit uncomfortable. And more than a whole lot guilty.

"Seriously, Aaron. I am a ghost. A memory. I can never again be more. And I know that you will always love me, always carry memories of me wherever you go. But, you need more than a memory to live as anything but a ghost yourself. And I don't want you to continue as you have."

I took a seat beside the shadow of the woman I had loved and always would, no matter what she said. I didn't reach out to her. It felt wrong to try. Instead, I just sat and looked out at nothing as I grappled with what she had said. With whether it could be real or not.

Eventually, I asked the question that had haunted me, but I'd been too afraid to ask.

"Did you choose to leave me?"

"Yes. And no."

"Well, thanks for clearing that up," I sighed.

"I probably should have let go before I did," Angela said. "You know how much pain I was in there at the end. It hurt to sit up or stand. It hurt to lay there. It hurt so much for you to touch me. And, God, the headaches. But, I fought to stay with you, to be near you. Being with you was, I thought, a foretaste of what heaven should be like. And I was selfish enough I didn't want to let go of the familiar and slip into the unknown.

"And I knew I was no longer the wife, the woman you needed. You never said anything, never let it show. But, I knew. I knew we had made love for the last time already. I knew that you were struggling to take care of me when you needed me to take care of you and I couldn't anymore.

"And I remember thinking that every living thing has to die eventually. I didn't want to force memories of me with tubes and machines to shove the memories you had aside. I didn't want to draw my last breath, probably even more pain wracked than I already was, in a sterile hospital. And I remember looking at your handsome face on your pillow as you slept with your hand on my hip and thinking that there would be worse ways to go than closing my eyes with the last sight they would see the man that I loved so much, lying in his bed that we'd shared, with him touching me.

"Did I choose it? Or did I just relax the grip I'd held on so tightly with for just long enough?" Angela shook her head. "I'm sorry. But, I don't know. All I can tell you is that I closed my eyes while watching you sleep. And when I opened them, I was somewhere else and the pain was gone."

"Where?" I asked. "Here?"

"You aren't ready to know. None of those living are. When you are ready, you will discover it for yourself. And that is going to be too much longer for you to spend it wrapped around your pain and trying to relive memories."