A Life Unknown Pt. 05

I asked him about art college and expressed my surprise at how things as different as engines and art could interest him.

"Well, I've always been interested in art and then I got into automobile racing by accident. My father sometimes parties with the members of Tim Birkin's Bentley Racing Team and about three years ago I was invited to a race, and it went from there. I was at Le Mans in 28 when he was fifth and last year when he won.

Art college isn't just about drawing and painting or even sculpture; It's about the history and appreciation of art, and design as well. The Bentleys they race are beautiful works of art and have to be designed with both structure and function in mind. I can paint and draw reasonably well. I wouldn't have been accepted if I couldn't, but it's not my ambition to be an artist or a designer, or a racing car driver. I want to be an art dealer.

My family is so rich I'll never need to work if I don't want to, but I don't want to spend my life sitting on my backside doing nothing. An art dealership would be interesting, lucrative, and not too much like hard work."

I didn't say anything, but he was describing my perfect job.

"Do you have any interest in art," he asked.

"I bought a couple of dozen paintings by an artist called Georgia O'Keeffe a while back. Have you heard of her?"

As I said this he nearly choked on the piece of steak he had placed in his mouth. When he had finished spluttering he spoke.

"Are you joking? She's hot property right now. I could sell any of her pieces you've got for a profit. My advice would be to hang onto them of course."

"You'll be a poor businessman," I said. "You're far too honest."

***

A little after eleven o'clock we were alone in my room. I closed the door behind us after we had entered and had put the "do not disturb" card in place, then I took Charlie by the hand and led him into the bedroom where I turned, looked into his brown eyes, and kissed him.

At first, his kiss was hesitant but soon he kissed me fiercely back and pulled me tight against his body, and for the first time I felt his hardness through the thin fabric of my dress.

That first kiss was long and deep, but eventually, we had to come up for air. When we did I placed two fingers on his lips.

"Sit and watch," I said.

He sat on the edge of the bed as I slowly stripped in front of him. I could see the hunger growing in his eyes as I removed each item of clothing. Then, when only my bra and pants were still in place, I stood legs spread wide, reached behind me and unclipped my bra. I let my bra fall to the floor and my tits swung free. Even then, at forty, they were big, round, and firm. Finally, I wriggled provocatively out of my pants and let him see my naked body, narrow-waisted, big-arsed, and ripe for fucking. I remember turning away from him and shamelessly bending down and touching the floor with my hands, to give him the best possible view of my bum cheeks and my slit.

"I'm going to have a shower," I said." Would you care to join me? I like to be clean for my men and my men to be clean for me."

Then I turned and padded into the bathroom and the glass-fronted shower cubicle before switching the water on. I had just finished soaping myself and had my back to the cubicle door when it opened, and Charlie stood close behind me. The shower was small and not designed with sex in mind, and as he put his arms around me and inexpertly held my breasts I felt his chest against my back and his erection against my lower back. I slowly turned to face him and with my tits squashed tight against his chest and his erection hard against my belly we kissed. This kiss was long and hard and much more passionate than the first.

Then I move away from him, my bum cheeks squashed against the tiles behind me, and looked down at his dick. I stared transfixed for several seconds before I looked up and realised that Charlie was watching me anxiously. I smiled at him.

"Lucky, lucky me," I said,

"I'm not too big then? At school, my nickname was Donkey, and not because I was stupid. Bertha, my fiancée took one look at it and cut our engagement. She told me she would never get me inside of her."

"Honey, you're big. But not too big. Many women would love to have a dick like yours inside of them. Come to bed and I'll show you, but let's get you clean first."

***

A few minutes later, I led him back to the bed and lay beside him.

He was big. His penis was thicker and longer than anything I had seen before. Straight and fully erect it stood at attention, and I suppose was about seven inches long, and I shivered with anticipation.

I took the foreskin between my thumb and fingers and slowly pulled it back to expose his glans. It was swollen and bulbous, a perfect pink shiny mushroom, waiting to be milked.

I took his right hand and placed his fingers against my bud.

"That's my clitoris. My little penis. Rub gently with two fingers. Small circles work best for me.

Now put your left hand under my bum cheeks and finger my crack. And remember....... Gently until a lady tells you otherwise."

That was the start of his lesson on mutual masturbation, and he proved to be an excellent student. As he worked my clitoris, it swelled under his touch, and my juices started to flow. I held his foreskin and slowly, gently, worked it up and down.

I have always loved to wank a man. My personal preference has always been an uncircumcised cock. Cut or uncut makes no difference when it is inside you, but when I give a handjob I love to see the swollen helmet appear and disappear as I draw the foreskin back and forth. I love the feeling of a hard cock, swollen and straining in my hand. I love the grunts and groans of passion that the owner of that cock utters. And I love to keep my man on edge denying him release until he can stand it no longer.

But most of all, I love the moment of release, when the rigid shaft seems to swell and pulse and streams of milky semen flow from the tip, sometimes high into the air or other times in a slow oozing puddle.

The sex I had that night was amongst the best I have ever had.

As Charlie stroked my clit he took each of my nipples in turn into his mouth and gently sucked, and I felt his hand firmly gripping my bum cheeks. As my pleasure grew I watched what I was doing to him, my dainty tiny hand sliding up and down over his massive swollen flesh. His penis head was a deep dark purple and the first drops of precum were visible in the meatus when I took my first orgasm. My legs straightened and my thighs and buttocks tightened, and I bucked violently as it hit. I moaned in ecstasy and just for a few moments I stopped stroking him and held him tight in my fist as I recovered.

"More, I whispered. I want more."

I felt his fingers start to move between my cunt lips; wet and slippery with my juices, whilst his other hand gripped my bum cheek and a finger slipped between my crack. I came long and hard, trembling writhing, and toes curling as I groaned with pleasure.

"I'm ready I said. Lie on your back and let me do the work."

"Don't I need a rubber?" he asked.

"Let me worry about that," I said.

By then I knew that my ex-husband George had been right. I couldn't have children however hard I tried.

I straddled him, reached behind me, placed his penis at my entrance, and slowly lowered myself onto it. He was inside of me, and it felt wonderful. My vagina had stretched to take him in and now I felt so full, and as I started to ride him my muscles held him tight.

As I rocked back and forth, my tits swung from side to side, and then he stretched out his arms and took them in his hands. I continued to move; slowly at first and then faster and faster. My nipples were stiff and erect under his fingers as I fucked him, intermittently moving up and down or grinding my sex against him.

If you had told me my next orgasm would be stronger than the two I had already experienced I would not have believed you, but when it came it was. It was indescribable, and I threw my head back and screamed.

This was too much for Charlie, and he groaned and wildly thrust himself against me, I felt his penis pulse and swell and push against my vaginal wall and a warm jet of cum filled my pussy. Then I slid his penis out of me, and still sitting astride him I leaned forward and kissed him, and as I did his warm goo dripped out of my pussy and down the inside of my thighs.

We lay side by side.

"That was wonderful," said Charlie. "Now I need a cigarette. Would you like one?"

"No thanks. I don't smoke."

He rolled out of the bed and crossed to the chair on which he had hung his jacket. As he retrieved a silver cigarette case and petrol lighter from an inside pocket I was able to admire his firm-muscled buttocks and broad shoulders. I watched him light a cigarette, turn, and come back to bed, his "wedding kit" swinging between his legs, and it was easy to see why he had been called Donkey.

He lay on his back smoking.

"You're a lucky young man you know? Women will be queuing up for your services. Don't believe what the Colonel Grahams of this world tell you:

Women are here for the benefit of men. Women should be subservient to men and not have minds of their own, and heaven forbid enjoy sex, when most of us do.

An inexperienced virgin like your fiancée might be frightened by the size of your prick but no experienced woman will be. When you meet your future wife and if she is a virgin just be gentle with her. Take it slow. Make sure she is well-lubricated before you enter her and listen to what she wants, and you'll be "her Donkey" and she'll love you."

He turned to me and smiled.

"Have you slept with many virgins?"

"There are two things you never ask a lady; her age and how many men, or women, she's fucked. But....you're not my first. Now finish your cigarette. I'm not finished with you yet."

I lay between his legs facing him and licked his penis shaft from base to tip and within moments he was hard again. Cupping his balls with one hand and holding the shaft with the other, I slowly pulled his foreskin back exposing his penis head and took it in my mouth. I watched him, as he gazed back at me and then I gave him the first blowjob of his life. Head bobbing and tongue gently brushing his glans I took him to the edge, and then I stopped. I turned and knelt on all fours and showed him my sex. I was so wet and so ready.

"Now, fuck me."

I felt him hard between my cunt lips, and then slowly, ever so slowly, I felt him slide inside. The fit was tight and deep. But not too deep. My big round buttocks saw to that, but nonetheless, I felt as if he had reached the heart of me.

Slowly at first, and then more quickly, he moved against me. His belly and balls slapped rhythmically as his long hard penis drove in and out of me. His rod was like a piston driving me inexorably toward my climax and I moaned with passion and, in my need, I heard myself begin to talk.

"Fuck me. Fuck me, Fuck me hard!"

"I need it! I need it! I need it so much!"

Until finally. I could wait no longer and reached down between my legs, I found my clitoris, wet and exquisitely sensitive, and jilled myself frantically whilst I drove my cunt against his penis.

When it came, my orgasm was all-consuming. Mu universe shrank to include my anus, vagina, and my clitoris, and the indescribable physical sexual bliss I was experiencing. My vagina and my arsehole pulsed and spasmed, and I know I screamed. My climax seemed to go on forever and still he drove himself in and out of me. I do not how long I continued to orgasm but had long stopped touching myself and was lying flat on my belly, a writhing, quivering, and gibbering wreck, when I could take no more, and pleaded for him to stop. It was then that I felt him slide out of me and shortly afterward he grunted, and I felt a stream of warm fluid wet my lower back.

I lay in his arms and slowly recovered. My body was slick with sweat, his sperm was sticky on my back and in my pubes.

"I need a shower," I remarked.

"Then what?" he asked.

"Oh No," I replied. "Sleep. You're still young. I'm an old lady. We'll continue your education in the morning."

And we did; in the morning, the following night, and most nights the following week. I introduced him to sixty-nine, cunnilingus, any number of positions, and the possibilities that furniture offers. He was tireless and insatiable in a way that only a very young man can be.

***

During the day Charlie went to College and I spent time sightseeing in London. I visited the museums and art galleries. In the National Gallery of British Art, I saw Millais's Ophelia and Waterhouse's Lady of Shallot and spent some time spellbound in front of JMW Turner's painting, A Disaster at Sea. At the Dulwich Picture Gallery, I viewed its large collection of paintings by Old Masters.

I went for long walks in the parks and one day I visited the Zoological Gardens in Regents Park. In the evenings I met Charlie, and we spent our nights together, either at the Ritz or at his flat in Knightsbridge.

I already knew that my days with him were numbered. He had told me that he was travelling to Le Mons on the 18^th of June where the twenty-four race was due to start two days later. Our Saturday night was the last together and we said our goodbyes on Sunday morning. One of the last things he did was hand me a slip of paper with his telephone number and address. I transcribed it into my address book with little hope that I would see him again. I imagined this had been a pleasant interlude and not much else.

In retrospect, we both learned a lot. His "education" was obvious, but I too had learned a lot from him, and he had rekindled my interest in art. We had spent some time discussing contemporary artists and I had expressed a desire to purchase some works whilst in London and he had given me advice about commercial galleries in the city and artists to consider.

"There are also some jolly good American painters too," he said. "You know about Georgia O'Keeffe, but Edward Hopper is really good, albeit rather gloomy. He'd be a good investment though. Lives in New York, I think. If he hasn't got an exhibition you can always commission him privately."

***

The evening that Charlie left I was in my room dressing for dinner when the telephone rang. It was Emily. She wasted little time in getting to the point of her call.

"Are you busy tomorrow?"

"I'm free all day," I replied.

"Can we meet for lunch? Say one o'clock at the Savoy Grill."

"Of course."

"Good. I'll make reservations. I'll see you then. Goodnight."

And with that, she was gone.

The following lunchtime we sat together in the restaurant.

"I'm so glad we could meet before you go back to America. Henry's had to go to Caterall in Yorkshire for a few days, so I have some time for myself. I wanted to see you so that I could apologise. I'm so sorry about Saturday night."

"Emily, you don't need to apologise for his behaviour. I'm sorry I made a bit of a scene. But I couldn't help myself. He reminded me so much of my husband George. He was a bully and took the dog whip to me on several occasions. After that, I vowed I would allow no man to abuse me again."

"Henry wasn't always like that. He's changed since we married. I think he took an instant dislike to you. He doesn't like strong. Independent women."

I looked across the table and saw a timid, tired woman. I was about to say something when I thought better of it and bit my lip.

"Whatever you are thinking, you are right," she said. "It's my fault. I should have stood up to him."

"Don't say that. It's not your fault that he's a cad and a bully."

"Well, it's too late now. I'm married to him, and I've got no grounds for divorce. If I gave him grounds for divorce he might refuse to divorce me anyway. If he did, he could try to take custody of Thomas and David and I couldn't stand that. I made my bed and now I'll have to sleep in it."

"Does he ever beat you?"

"Emily didn't answer and looked away."

"Well, what would you do?" she asked.

See him dead, I thought to myself, but I said nothing.

***

I had arranged to sail from Liverpool on the 29^th of May in eleven days and I had time to kill. I suggested that Emily stay in London for a few days and not return home to Ripley, and she booked herself into the Ritz for the next three nights. We spent the next days catching up, although by necessity there was a lot that I did not tell my sister about my "business enterprises" and my lovers.

During the next couple of days, she accompanied me as I toured the commercial art galleries looking for suitable pieces to purchase. On Tuesday evening, we attended a performance of Hiawatha by the Royal Choral Society at The Royal Albert Hall and the evening afterward we saw the new MGM film, The Hollywood Review, at the Empire Cinema in Leicester Square.

On Wednesday evening she telephoned her home and spoke to Morton. The Colonel had rung the house and was due back the following evening, and so, the following morning she returned to Ripley.

That day I visited the Leicester Galleries and purchased three Paul Nash paintings. They were landscapes depicting scenes of the trenches in the Great War. They were so powerful and evocative, and when I looked at them I was reminded of Edward and my brothers and the horrors so many lived through, and so many didn't.

***

I still had one more thing to do before I started my Journey home. It was something I needed to do alone, and by necessity, I left it until the day before I left London.

Early in the morning, I took the train to Guildford. There, I purchased a bunch of bright red roses and took a cab to Ripley and asked the driver to wait. In the small cemetery behind the Church of St Mary Magdalen, I found my parent's grave. It was well kept, and fresh white carnations had recently been left, I assumed, by Emily. I knew the inscription on the headstone, but still, I read it again.

In Sacred Memory of Alfred White born 3 ^rd February 1851 died 4 ^th September 1886 aged 35 years old and of his wife Emma White born 2 ^nd December 1865 died 25 ^th July 1916 aged 50 years old. United in eternity.

A second stone had been erected since I had last visited the graveyard. It was set with its back to the first and I walked around the grave to read it.

In loving memory of their sons who died for King and Country.

James White born 1 ^st August 1888 died Ypres, Belgium 23 ^rd April 1915 aged 26 years old,

David White born 16 ^th July 1887 died Thiepval, France, 1 ^st July 1916 aged 28 years old.

Rest in peace.

I said a quiet prayer for my family, laid the flowers on the grave, and walked back to the waiting cab.

The visit to the cemetery made me conscious of my own mortality. I was still young but only my mother had lived longer than me and she still died young, her heart broken. My brothers lay buried in foreign soil, close to where they died in a futile war, "doing their duty."

I was a survivor... so far, but even survivors eventually die. I resolved to continue to live my life my way....To the full.

***

I returned to Boston via Halifax Nova Scotia on the RMS Scythia. It was an uneventful crossing and we berthed in Boston at the beginning of the second week in June. I spent no time in Boston, but that morning took the Lake Shore Limited overnight sleeper train to Chicago via Albany, Buffalo, and Cleveland. I arrived at LaSalle Street Station just over twenty-four hours later where Lionel was waiting for me on the platform.

No sooner had I stepped down off the train, than he embraced me and held me tight.