Giving 'n Getting

We spent some time in the museum: I had never been anywhere quite like it, and the building's interior with its fabulous contents, made an impression that would mean I visited it many more times over the next 40+ years.

When we left the museum it was a pleasure to walk through an area of London that would have been busy on any weekday but was quiet and tranquil on this Saturday. We found a pub and consumed some bread, cheese, tomato and beer, and set off back to Camden Road to start our next pilgrimage.

We joined the canal towpath off Kentish Town Road, and walked along one of the leafiest stretches of the canal on the north side of London Zoo and Regents Park. This is a great way to see bits of London without fighting the traffic and we sauntered along until we reached steps on the far side of the park which brought us up to road level.

Why were we going to a 1963 building designed and constructed for an elite body of doctors? At the time it was built there was precious little quality modern design being built, so the Royal College of Physicians became almost a place of pilgrimage to see what could be done. We paid homage to the simplicity, elegance and minute attention to detail of this stunning building.

Our walk now took us back almost by the route that we had come on. Climbing back up to the road from the towpath we set off up Kentish Town Road. Just before the viaduct which carries the railway over the road there's a small area known as Camden Gardens. To call it a garden is stretching a definition to its limit, but there are some small trees, shrubs and areas of ground which might sometimes be green. I found myself being pulled into this area by a determined Martha and guided into one of the tunnels of the viaduct.

"Come and stand in front of me," she said, back to the wall. I did as commanded, slightly concerned as to what was coming next. Having a pee perhaps? She took off her knickers and handed them to me to stuff in my pocket; I was hoping that she was not intent on extending our range of places to fuck, but instead she pulled down her skirt and looked up at me.

"Norwich," she said.

"What?"

"Nickers Off Ready When I Come Home."

"And there was me thinking that you were a nicely brought up young lady. I'm deeply shocked."

Suppressed laughter. "I was, but some of my girl friends were not. Taught me lots of naughties."

We returned to the footway and on up the road. Every so often she broke into a little trot and started pulling me with her. It was not much more than 5 minutes before we were in sight of the house. Now she let go of me and broke into a proper run. I saw her fumble with the key in the lock, then open the door and go in. When I got there the door was open and I went in.

"Shut the door!" she shouted from the kitchen.

I went through and got to the end of the living area from where I could see all of the kitchen. She was leaning on one of the kitchen worktops, skirt up over her back, displaying everything, with legs apart and shape of buttocks accentuated by side light.

"For pity's sake get over here and behave like the animal you know you can be!"

I was wearing what we then called track suit bottoms -- jogging pants in modern parlance. So all I had to do was push them down and kick them off. The Prince was now looking princely, and in no time at all was behaving as I hoped my lover intended. Judging by the state of Cinders I fancy that she had been thinking of country matters rather than Royal ones. The two of them took over, anyway, and a fine time was had by all concerned. There was a lot of sighing and "oh yes" and "more please" and "isn't this wonderful". Inevitably there was a conclusion, which was physically and audibly spectacular. Followed by a quiet period of recuperation.

"First time I've ever had a purely vaginal orgasm," she announced proudly. "I'd got pretty worked up by the time we actually fucked. It was very selfish of me, but I hope you didn't mind."

"I gritted my teeth." I said.

And then we had a nice cup of tea.

*

Throughout the day I'd had the feeling that Martha was slightly subdued. I had really enjoyed myself. I love walking, and the locations we had been to make London a great place to walk. It had been a joy to visit places that meant we could discuss our mutual interests, and for me to gain wisdom from Martha's knowledge and experience. Perhaps it was that being 'the commander' was beginning to pall, and she would prefer a companion who was more of an equal?

There was of course the imminent separation. But it was only going to be for three weeks, and we'd already had a two week break without much heartrending.

Then there was the rather bizarre episode that had just occurred, which seemed a bit out of character and possibly slightly desperate.

I was having these thoughts as I cooked supper. This was my promised dish of barbecued pork ribs, served with rice and sweetcorn. I had got the ingredients in Marylebone and brought them with me on Friday.

Martha was showering while I cooked, and then came down and poured us drinks, so I could sup my Cinzano Bianco, ice and lemon, while I tended the rice and corn. The ribs were cooking nicely in the oven.

She stood by me and talked.

"My parents never had what I'd call a cosy relationship like this. They didn't do domestic things together and I think my mother would probably have regarded it as an 'intrusion' into her territory if Dad had tried cooking or cleaning or laundry. I have to say that Richard was much the same, but he managed to find a male partner who was as domesticated as you are, and Richard is very competent at things like DIY and car maintenance. Happy coincidence. I suppose that you're good at those 'male' things too?"

"I get by in most things but I'm not actually particularly good at anything."

"You are well on the way to becoming an unusually good lover."

"Mistress' self-congratulation?" I teased. "If that really did happen it might be a game-changer."

"You do lack a bit of self-confidence, which is a handicap. I think that having one or two successful sexual relationships could improve that, as well as make life more enjoyable for you."

Clearly she was thinking about me graduating from her particular school and moving on. I didn't really want to think about that. Coward.

We enjoyed our meal. I'd got a ripe pineapple and cut a slice and chopped it into smaller pieces which went well with barbecue sauce, and then we ate more slices for dessert, with whipped cream and little shortbread biscuits.

We cleared up together, then put on an LP of Menuhin playing Mozart violin concertos with the Bath Festival Orchestra. As before she lay against me with her head on my shoulder, which made me feel more protective and less dependent. We listened in silence.

"Mozart: moments of the sublime, and bits of banality," I said pompously at the end.

"Sweeping judgement with an element of truth," she said.

"I suppose I agree, but I'm not a music critic and I was just encapsulating the fact that when you sing Mozart you do realise that the man was desperate to churn stuff out to avoid starvation. So there are bits which you can sing for the first time and know pretty well what the next phrase is before you get there."

We nattered on for while in this vein. Then she asked:

"Have I been too bossy?"

"No. You've been remarkably restrained. I have occasionally felt like an ignorant schoolboy, but that's because I sometimes am pretty ignorant. It's not just book knowledge that I lack, but experience of how the world works. You have helped me gain a tiny bit more wisdom."

"The motivation for this relationship was blatantly sexual, as I've confessed. I can't ask if it has worked for you, because you had no idea what was coming. As far as I am concerned I can barely remember what my hang-ups were. I think I had some idea that there was a sex life out there that I had missed out on. Now I know that was true. Past tense."

"Is it just the sex that has worked for you?"

"Good heavens no. At the risk of being repetitive I have said that I adore you, and that means all of you: the quirky bits, the childish and the adult bits, the funny bits, the beautiful and the plain. You are a whole and an admirable human being... and of course will get even better!"

We went to bed that night in quite a serious mood. We cuddled for a long time and eventually came together quietly in the position that I have described as half-and-half, each with one leg over and one under. There was a lot of stroking and clasping, and on my part at least, wonderment at the sense of completeness.

It took a long time for either of us to come to a climax. As Martha came to orgasm, aided by my manipulations, there was a sort of whimpering and her hands dug into my shoulders. My own climax was not explosive at all: more like the offering of a gift than a detonation.

***

We woke next morning quite stiff -- our muscles I mean. We had slept conjoined in our interlocked position; added to our extensive walking the previous day it meant that a few minutes stretching were needed.

"Good morning darling. Thank you for your beautiful gift last night." She stroked my face. We need to talk now that you are going away."

"It's only for three weeks, and I hope that you can count on me being faithful."

"That isn't a problem because this will be the last time. Maybe the last time we will ever see each other. I'm going to ask you not to try to see me again, and I'll try to explain why."

She paused and drew a deep breath, "I think we have been extraordinarily lucky to enjoy this brief period when we have got to know each other and help each other to slay some of our personal dragons.

We have got closer than I think either of us could have expected. In fact I think a romantic novelist would probably say that we have fallen in love: but I think you know how little significance I place on that expression. The question is: does the relationship have a future?

I have just been offered my dream job. I will be looking after some of the most important historic buildings in the country. I will be travelling a lot and working odd hours. You will be trying to complete your course and find a job. We have no knowledge of our respective groups of friends, and it's a bit much to expect them easily to absorb someone with a twenty year age difference into their midst and I'm afraid I just can't imagine myself in a group of students socially. I have established myself here and am content to stay here. I'd be only too willing to have you as a tenant, but I doubt if it would suit you for long. You'll want to be doing your own homebuilding.

Perhaps most important of all you want a family, and I'm so selfish now that I definitely don't want to upset my life for the sake of a dependent small person.

Because it has been so good these last few weeks I want it to end now, not wait until these things force us apart. It will be easier for us both if we say goodbye and agree not to contact each other at all."

I looked her straight in the eyes. I saw the tears forming, and I knew that for her this was as hard a decision to make as it was for me to accept. But it was her decision, and I had to respect it because I owed her so much.

I buried my head between her 'twin peaks'. I may have sobbed -- I can't remember, but it seems quite likely, and I wouldn't be ashamed if I did. Eventually I looked up.

"I accept all that you say, because it is you who has said it. I would dismiss it out of hand were it anyone else. When I walk away from here I will feel that I have been pulled apart, and an element torn off. But I guess that I will heal, and undoubtedly be the better for all of it. You have been so generous in every way. I'd love to have the opportunity of repaying some of it, but I guess it is not to be. So all I can say is a very inadequate 'thank you'."

Martha took my head in her hands and almost whispered, "Of course I would never have expected you to forget your 'thank you'. You were a very well-brought-up little boy. But I don't feel depleted by what I have given, only thankful for the opportunity to do it. Don't ever underestimate what you have given in return. Thank you."

"Please will you do something for me?" I asked.

"Of course, if I can."

" First confirm that you really did mean 'no communication'. Then stay here in bed and let me dress and have a quick wash, get my things and leave? I promise to make sure the door is closed."

"If that's what you want then yes. And I did mean 'no communication'."

So that's what I did.

***

(Martha's letter contd.)

"...I need to go back to the end of that last week and explain how I felt. I'd told you how fond of you I had got. I was really frightened that we would become so wrapped up in each other that we would lose sight of the reasons for our coming together, and that our relationship could become an obsession that would be impossibly difficult to tear away from. The moment of your going away and having countless distractions on your holiday seemed too good an opportunity to pass by.

But I felt oh so guilty. I'd started this indulgence, and here I was unilaterally bringing it to a grinding halt. That was in addition to the fact that I had to come to terms with a bereavement, because that was what it was. There had been nothing in my life to compare with what I experienced with you, and now I had lost it. And we'd had so much fun!

I thought that I would feel liberated, and in a way I did: I approached men with my previous subservience gone. I was entirely my own person: take me or leave me just as I am, and I'm doing nothing that I don't want to do. It felt as though this should make it easier to establish ground rules and make them obvious.

There was one problem: every time I thought about sex with someone -- which wasn't very often -- I immediately thought about you and I could never imagine that this new bloke would be a partner in the way that we were partners. The result was that I remained celibate.

I wasn't that worried. I had means of satisfying the occasional need to remind myself what an orgasm felt like, stimulated by my memories of what we got up to. And I gained a number of good male friends who seemed as relieved as I was to be free of the tyranny of sexual expectation.

I also had my dream job, which was entirely fulfilling, both of time and interest.

In fact I did join forces with another man, but it took another twenty years. Aged 60 I got married for the second time and retired from work. I won't say much about my second marriage, except to say that for both Christopher and me it provided companionship and affection at a time in life when we needed it. We did try having sex a few times but decided that it was surplus to either of our needs. I continued with my memories and my fingers and my toys. Much to the amusement of the staff here at the home -- at least those that I let into the secret -- I still have an occasional dream and play. They know about it because I need a certain amount of co-operation from them. Enough!

Christopher died nine years ago, and I came here a few years later.

So the purpose of this letter is primarily to find out that you are still alive and that we share memories, but also to give you my profoundest apologies for what must have seemed a cruel act.

Ever yours

Martha

PS Cinderella is incommunicado these days, but I'm sure would want to send loving thoughts!"

I replied of course.

I told her that it was wonderful to hear from her, but that I had understood we were not to communicate? Did she want to re-start our relationship? I felt sure we could test each other, probably to destruction...

I gave her a brief run-down of my own life in the 50 intervening years.

I went on: "Going back to our parting of the ways your expectations of my response are largely accurate. I was stunned to start with, but then I thought carefully about all that happened in such a short space of time and I felt so grateful that any resentment soon evaporated. You were right about the holiday: it was so busy in every way that my opportunities for being miserable were extremely limited. When I did stop to think about it I just felt how joyful it had all been, and how my luck had changed the day that you decided to 'take me in hand'. No need for any guilt: you are absolved.

I think there is a strong case to be made that those weeks affected my relationships for good. The increase in self-confidence that you predicted was real and important. I was able to say 'yes' and 'no',' please' and 'thank you' when it came to sexual relationships, so there was a greater certainty about what was going on. You made a difference, dear Martha, and I hope you can now feel justifiably pleased and proud. Most important of all, perhaps, is that for those special weeks we were happy and had a whole lot of fun!

Thank you.

James

PS I'm not sure of the current status of the Prince, but if he isn't also incommunicado he will be the first to bless dear Cinders.

I soon received a reply. It just said: "No more need be said. Thank you."

Two months later I received a letter from the home where she had been for her last days. It said simply that they were sad to pass on the news of the death of a favourite resident, whom I would know as Martha Jameson. Enclosed was a small envelope addressed to me in Martha's own hand. In it was a mounted black and white photograph of two people standing hand-in-hand in front of the steps to Coventry Cathedral. On the back was written, again in her own hand: AS ALWAYS -- MARTHA.