Back to Life Ch. 01

Niall McLaren watched Karen walk away from him, and after a moment of indecision, he took the half finished beer back inside, paid his tab and hurried out, hoping he would not miss her. He hustled along in the direction she had taken, and almost passed her by. She had stopped in a little boutique that sold scarves and potpourri. He waited a moment, then strolled in after her.

"I'm glad I caught you," he said from beside her. "I realize I have no way of contacting you, should I wish to, nor did I give you any way to contact me."

Karen swung her eyes to his face, a frown creasing her brow. She hadn't expected him to follow her, and was grateful she had stopped instead of going all the way to her hotel. She didn't want him knowing where she was staying, even if she WAS leaving in the morning. She was too unsettled by the whole situation to want more contact so soon.

"I'll leave you a number that you can call if you're ever in the area again...how's that?" Niall suggested, noticing her hesitation and bailing her out. He didn't want her to feel obliged to give him information she wouldn't otherwise give. He scribbled his name, and cell phone number on a piece of paper he extracted from his wallet, and handed it to her.

"I do hope you'll find a reason to use this," he said, his face and voice serious.

"Thank you." Karen smiled tentatively at him and watched him leave the shop. She waited a full ten minutes before leaving herself, after purchasing some potpourri for her room in her brother's house. Perhaps the next time she visited London she would give him a call.

By the time Karen was sitting in the bus waiting for it to leave the station, Peter had been back home for more than twelve hours, and had just got up to make himself a cup of tea. He knew it was far too early to be up on a Sunday morning, but he couldn't sleep, and thought he might as well get out of bed. He sat at the old grand piano in his living room and trailed his fingers across the keys. It had been a while since he'd played the piano, preferring to fuss with the violin sitting on the rocking chair in the corner. He was a far better pianist than he was a violinist, but he loved the instrument, and was always trying to improve his performance on it.

Now, though, he needed the certainty he felt with the ivory under his fingers. The piano was his last resort when he needed to think, and because he knew why he had had a disturbed night, he knew he needed to think. He sipped his tea, and then put the cup on the seat beside him and let his fingers go where they will. The piece he began to play was a favorite of his, one that he found very moving. The mellow sounds flowed into the room, soaring and winding their way into his troubled spirit, making him feel at peace for the first time since he and Alijd had drifted apart.

Theirs had been a good relationship, despite Alijd's reluctance to take risks, or try new things, even in the privacy of their bedroom. But the closer she got to fifty, the more reserved she became until she no longer wanted his touch. He was starved for passion, for the simple touch of a woman who wanted him. Maybe that's why Karen Mullings drew him like a moth to a flame, because he could see so clearly the passion she held inside her like a beacon. He wondered if she knew how deeply she had affected him, and decided, as he switched from the mournful tune he was playing to a song of celebration, that he would step back into the light, and let himself feel again.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the hour, and he got up, taking his cold tea with him back to the kitchen to warm it in the microwave. He sipped it slowly while he decided how to spend his day. Half-term was over, and tomorrow he began again. His classes had all finished the last unit rather successfully, even the laziest and most mediocre of the lot, and the next unit was one where he was free to use his own resources to supplement the texts and videos agreed upon in the English teachers' meeting. Maybe he should start with a writing task...perhaps a reflection on a quotation based on the next unit's theme. He would need to do a little searching, but that would not take up more than an hour of his time. He'd do that later. Right now, he felt the need to breathe in the air, and dust away the cobwebs.

After hurriedly dressing in loose sweats and a t-shirt, he stepped out to the back porch to fetch his chocolate Labrador, Scrooge, and took the happy dog for a brisk walk. The sun was just coming up when he started out, but by the time he got back, jogging the last few blocks, it had risen fully, and a sharp morning light enclosed the land. He fed and watered the dog, scratching him behind the ears before going in to shower and get ready for his day. He decided to visit his aged aunt Lammie, tucked away safely in the old folks' home ten miles away, and after lunch he'd take in the weekly chamber music matinee. It had been a few months since he'd indulged his love for music, and he felt the need for it now more than ever.

Taking a box of chocolates with him, because he knew his ancient relative had a sweet tooth and loved the treats he brought her, he announced himself at the front desk and was ushered into the common room where he saw his aunt sitting by herself, a book in her hands, staring out the French doors on her left. She turned her head as he approached, and the smile that lit her face warmed his heart. She was his favorite aunt, and at ninety-six, she was full of stories to occupy their time together, if she chose not to probe into his own life.

Bending down to kiss her wrinkled cheek, he hugged her gently and sat next to her, offering her his little gift.

"What a lovely surprise, dear Peter! And you brought chocolates!" she enthused, and he could hear the smile in her thin voice as much as he could see it on her face.

"It's been a while since your last treat," he said with a smile. "I knew you'd like them again!"

After helping her open the box, he settled into the seat, and asked her how she'd been since his last visit. He listened to her careful yet amusing recounting of the escapades of some of the younger members of the home, about the arrival of two new inmates, as she dubbed them, and noted the sadness as she recalled the death of one of her closest friends there. Her voice grew even more quiet as she told him how she had been the one to raise the alarm, because she had been in her friend's room at the time of her death.

Peter held his aunt's hand, feeling it tremble with emotion. He saw the tears that slipped down her cheeks, and used his handkerchief to wipe them tenderly away. He did not speak. He knew she didn't need words, and was comforted by his presence and his care of her. He didn't let her know that he worried about her health. She seemed somehow frailer to him, and though he knew her age must surely be a contributing factor, he made a mental note to ask the head nurse about her current condition. She turned to face him suddenly, a caramel-filled confection in her fingers and her eyes full of inquiry, and asked,

"When are you going to bring another woman for me to meet, Peter?" Her voice was high and sharp, and she pierced him with her bright-eyed stare, the muted sorrow of the moments just past apparently forgotten.

He smiled, wondering how best to sidestep the question. He must have hesitated too long, because she continued, "It's not good spending the rest of your life brooding, you know. Alijd wouldn't have wanted that, when she cared about you!"

That comment brought his head up sharply. What did she mean by "when Alijd cared"? What had she sensed? He had not shared any of the misery of his last years with Alijd with anyone, but he had always known that his Aunt Lammie was a very intelligent and observant woman. He decided to be vague, without making it appear so, and hoped she would cease her probing.

"I'm not really brooding, Aunt Lammie. I've just been very busy, and no one I've met has peaked my interest." He was not about to tell her about Karen Mullings.

She turned her beady eyes on him, and he felt the sharpness of their regard like a scalpel on flesh. He was more than relieved then, when a tinkling sound and a softly spoken reminder over the intercom reminded the patrons that it was time for their midmorning tea break.

"Won't you join me for elevenses, Peter?" his aunt invited him, and stood up. "We can have it on the lawn in the back garden."

He didn't mind spending an extra hour with her over delicate miniature sandwiches, scones, and Earl Grey tea. Today's sandwich offering was some sort of vegetable spread -- shredded spinach mixed with mayonnaise, spicy mustard, onions, a touch of garlic, and black pepper. Although he wasn't a lover of mayonnaise, the mixture was tangy and spicy and delicious, and he remarked silently again on how good the food was in this home. He was glad that this is where his aunt had chosen to end her days.

"Take a couple of these sandwiches with you, Peter," she urged him when he was ready to leave. "If I know you, you have more planned for today than just a visit to your old auntie, and you need to keep your strength up!"

This was the ritual she followed every time he stayed for tea, and Peter laughed at her attempts.

"I'll be fine, Auntie! Just let me hug you again, and kiss your cheek. And promise me to take care of yourself!"

She accepted his gentle goodbye hug, presented each cheek for his kisses, and said, with a twinkle, "If I am to take care of myself, then why do I need to be here?"

Peter chuckled as he led her back indoors, and then made his way to the front where he asked to speak with the head nurse.

"I'm here about Lambertine van der Meulen," he told her, when she had ushered him into her office. "How is she doing?"

The short, buxom woman facing him across the desk smiled. "She's doing wonderfully well, in the circumstances."

Peter said nothing, only waited for her to continue. He knew his aunt had some medical issues, but he wanted to know what else was going on with her.

"She hasn't been sleeping well, lately, and the death of her very close friend Janneke van Vliet hasn't helped with that at all. Mrs. van Vliet died in her sleep, but she had been very ill for a long time before that. I think your aunt is afraid to go to sleep at night now more than ever, because she's worrying about being alone at night and dying in her sleep without anyone she loves with her."

"Is there anything to be done to help her?" he asked.

"Not more than give her sleeping aids, which we don't think she's taking. Perhaps you can...?"

"I'll see what I can do to persuade her," he said, anticipating her request. "Thank you for your time," he added, rising to leave.

"No, thank you, Mr. van der Meulen! It's always a pleasure to have you visit!"

The woman rose and extended her hand, and Peter shook it politely, wondering why it felt as though he had had to almost forcibly retrieve it from her grasp. She was looking at him in a very odd way that he could not read, but he was satisfied it had nothing to do with his aunt's condition, so he dismissed it and drove away. Only later, as he was leaving the symphony hall after enjoying a most delightful and satisfying concert, did he see that same look again. He bumped into the woman he had dated a couple of times before he decided there wasn't enough between them to continue to see her, and it was there in her eyes. This time he recognized it for what it was. Two women on the same day...that must be some kind of record, he thought with a chuckle as he drove home, and then he sobered as he wondered how he would react if Karen Mullings looked at him that way.

The rest of the day was a blur of activity. He made some plans for the next few days of classes and generally got himself ready for work, walked the dog, wrote his second letter to Karen Mullings -- wondering all the while why he was bothering -- and after a latish supper and a shower, took himself off to bed. Next morning when he awoke with a start, his bed and his body awash in cum, he wondered what had triggered the most erotic dream he could ever recall having had since he was a raw and hungry teenager. He certainly hadn't had a wet dream since his teens. He lay there panting, reliving the dream, wishing it were real...

...He was sitting at the piano, playing her a tune from one of his favorite composers, and Karen sat next to him on the stool, humming along with his playing. He could smell her perfume, and it was distracting him, as was her knee brushing his, and the soft sounds issuing from her throat as she enjoyed the music. He fought to control his need, and the lust that raged in him. His hands trembled on the keyboard, and he struggled to keep them steady.

"You play really well, Peter," she said, and smiled at him.

He shouldn't have looked at her. He knew it the minute he did, because he saw the same rioting emotions in her eyes that were rocking him to his core. He stopped playing abruptly and turned to her, taking hold of her shoulder and demanding a response from her mouth which he took almost savagely. Their tongues dueled with each other hungrily, and when she moaned, he lost what little control he had completely...

...He groaned, his cock an iron-hard reminder that he was alone in bed, with only his hand to minister to his needs. He knew he'd have to relieve himself before he went to work, but he wanted to keep the memory of the dream in his mind as he showered. He rose from the bed, stripping as he went into his bathroom, and palmed his cock as he stood under the warm spray, remembering...

...She was riding him, her big breasts swaying, her eyes closed, her mouth open in ecstasy. He sucked a nipple into his mouth as he thrust into her deepest core, loving the way her inner walls clamped around his hard cock, claiming him, owning him, taking him. She rose and fell with a feverish rhythm, as hungry for him as he was for her. He pulled her head down so he could kiss her, and they ate each other as they made love, his motion feeding hers, hers feeding his, completing the seduction. They went faster, taking each other's body, going deeper, and he felt her falling apart around him as he burst the banks of his control and shot cum into the heart of her. He could not stop his hips, and she fucked him in time to his wild plunges into her soaking center, both of them collapsing at the same time with harsh cries of completion...

...Peter's hand filled with the cum that boiled up from his tight sacs as he fell over the edge again in a hard orgasm. He leaned against the shower wall, spent, trembling, taking in deep gulps of air, needing the woman he had only met twice, but whom, it seemed, he was lusting after.