Fairy Tales Do Come True

That peak was approaching rapidly for us both. I knew that when Ashley began to grow tense under me. It was just a little, at first. Her body arched into my slow thrust and she gasped.

"Oh God...I'm close...Oh...so close."

I did speed up then a little. I was trying to match the speed of Ashley's hips as she rocked them up into my stroke. I kept up for a while, but then she started to pant. She arched higher, then fell back to the mattress for a couple strokes, then cried out and arched her back high enough her tummy was pushing against me.

"Oh Don...don't stop."

I didn't because I didn't want to and couldn't have anyway. Ashley's body was writhing under me and putting my cock in all sorts of angles that were rapidly taking me past waiting for her. I made my strokes a little faster, and Ashley cried out again. She eased half-way down, and then screeched as the first wave raced through her body. All the motion that caused made me lose what little control I had left. As her body strained and shook with the release, I felt the blinding sensation of seed shooting through my cock and inside Ashley's rippling depths.

Ashley hung there in the air, shaking and mewing as the last of the waves of her orgasm ebbed, then pulled me down on top of her. Her mouth found mine and kissed me until I had to come up for air. Then she wrapped her arms around my back and whispered in my ear, "See, fairy tales do come true."

That all took place a little over thirty-one years ago. We celebrated

this year at that same Italian restaurant. Ashley is a little fuller in the bust and hips than then, and I'm carrying a few more pounds as well, but our celebration afterwards was better I think. Maybe it was because we've lived together for so long neither of us has to guess what the other needs.

I found out being married to an artist is a little different. Ashley is very talented, and along with that talent comes a tendency to be emotional. It's great when those emotions make her feel like cuddling on the couch. Cuddling always leads to both of us needing to feel the other shaking through the orgasms that always follow.

It's not so great when I've screwed up enough to make her mad. I try to avoid doing that, but as the old saying goes, opposites attract, so we've had our differences. We always make up afterwards. I have to admit making up afterwards is pretty fantastic and almost worth the stress of the argument.

She still paints covers for the same company, but she's also expanded into something else. A year after we were married, she decided she could write a romance novel as well as anyone, and started writing. Her first was called " From Homeless To Heaven" and was about a cop who finds a homeless woman and helps her get her life back.

It's like all the others. They both realize they're in love but don't know how to tell each other. In the last chapter, they confess to each other, have sex, and live happily ever after.

She's on her twentieth now. She won't tell me what it's about until it's finished. I'll have to read it then and tell her what I think. I don't particularly like romance novels, but she always puts in something that reminds me of us, and that makes them pretty good. Beverly thinks they're good too.

That same weird painting still hangs on our living room wall. Once in a while, I'll see her looking at it and smiling. I know what she's doing. She's remembering how it felt to go from dark and drab to bright and alive. She believed all along that fairy tale could happen to her and it did. I didn't believe, at first, but I do now.