"I Can't Stop Loving You," Ch. 02

* * * * *

When her mystery man wasn't there one day when she was there, perhaps he had a doctor's appointment or was ill, curious enough and nosy enough to do so, she walked over to see the name on the headstone he visited. Now so accustomed to hearing the love songs playing sweetly in the background, something she thought was weird to hear before, it was now weird not to have music in the cemetery. She stood in front of the headstone that he so lovingly guarded to look at her name. Mary, her name was Mary, and she was only 62-years-old when she died on Valentine's Day, of all the days to die. With him sitting there every day, with her dying so young and on Valentine's Day, if only she knew what happened, their love story could be the greatest love story never told.

As bad as dying on her birthday, their anniversary, Christmas, or New Year's Day, or on any given day of significance, how awful to die on the day of love? Now the day of love will forever be marred and forever be sullied by the sadness of her death. Yet, envious of Mary dying on Valentine's Day, with her death on that special day of love, she forever put that day in the mind and in the heart of her special someone. If Susan could chose a day to die, so romantic to die on the day of love, she'd chose Valentine's Day to die on too.

Curious now, maybe because she was bored and no longer had a life of her own after losing both William and then Patrick to death, with her not even knowing the woman, she wondered how Mary died. Both William and Patrick died of heart failure when she wasn't even there with them to hold them, to hug them, to comfort them, and to kiss them. She wasn't there with them to bid them her last goodbyes and to cry her tears of sadness over them when they took their last breaths. Now she wondered more about him, the man she saw at the cemetery every time she visited there than she did about William and/or about Patrick.

Who was he? With everyone having a unique story to tell, she wondered what his story was. With everyone having a sexual fantasy and with no two sexual fantasies quite the same, she wondered what his sexual fantasy was. She wondered what his name was. Not that it made much of a difference as long as the romantic connection was there, she wondered how old he was? With William 72-years-old when he died, Patrick was 73-years-old when he died. Hard to tell, she wondered if he was younger or older than William and Patrick when she met them at their respective ages of 69-years-old and 70-years-old.

With her coming to the cemetery at different times of the day and with her seeing him every time she was there, she imagined he sat there alone and lonely day after day and hour after hour. Sometimes he sat there in silence and without playing music. As if he was Mary's eternal flame, seemingly so in love with her and devoted to her, she wished she had someone in her life who loved her and who was as devoted to her.

"I Can't Stop Loving You..."

Just as she thought that, breaking the absolute silence of the cemetery, Ray Charles' song played through her mind and through the air. As if he was serenading her, romancing her, and seducing her, that man, whoever he was, was playing her song on his cassette recorder. Wishing Mary's love story was her love story, she envied the love affair he had with Mary. Obviously, there was something so very special about Mary in life as there still was in death. She wondered what it was about Mary.

She had loving affairs too. She had William, who loved her in that special way. Then, she had Patrick who loved her in that special way too. Yet, alone now, she missed the daily devotion, the attention, and their doting on her in the way they made her feel so special, so needed, so wanted, so desired, and so loved. She missed the serious conversations and the laughter they both gave her. Alas, now so alone, so lonely, so sexually frustrated, and with her having so much love to give, she had no one who couldn't stop loving her in the way that she still couldn't stop loving them.

"I Can't Stop Loving You," continued playing through the cemetery as if it was an endless echo.

Those words moved her. They haunted her. They saddened her. Wherever she went those words went with her and were in her head to inspire flashbacks of William and Patrick as if they were still there with her. In the way the song haunted her, the memories of her deceased lovers haunted her too. At least when she dies, she'll have two special friends waiting for her to arrive in Heaven.

* * * * *

She wondered about her mystery man again. Maybe with him feeling remorsefully guilty, he was somehow directly or indirectly responsible for Mary's death. Maybe, in a fit of rage, he accidentally killed her and felt so sorry for her death that he was cursed to visit her grave every day. Maybe, because she didn't give him sex, never gave him sex, getting away with murder, he deliberately killed her and hid her murder from the police.

Now, as much as she wondered about him, she wondered about Mary. Maybe she died of cancer, breast cancer, stomach cancer, brain cancer, or lung cancer. Maybe she died in a fall or in a car accident. Maybe she died in a freak accident and was electrocuted by lightning, a tree fell on her, was washed away in a flood, or killed in a fire. Maybe just her time to go, having a heart attack, she died of that or of natural causes associated with some rare disease and subsequent long-term illness.

Maybe, with the excitement too much for her, he surprised her with flowers, candy, something sexy to wear, perfume, and/or jewelry, and a romantic card on the day of love she died, Valentine's Day. Maybe, as she'd liked to believe with her romantic heart, with the both of them so in love, they made love longer and more passionately than they should have had at their age. Maybe while he was inside of her and making love to her before fucking her a little too hard, she died of a heart attack or a cerebral hemorrhage while making love on Valentine's Day. Now, the reason for his daily devotion, his daily visits, and playing love songs, she imagined he felt as guilty as he was directly or indirectly responsible for her death and untimely demise by loving her too much.

'Wow,' thought Susan to herself while swooning with the romantic albeit deadly thought of Mary dying on Valentine's Day. 'What a way to go? To die while making love on Valentine's Day, how cool is that? With her never thinking about her death and how she'd like to die, if she was given the choice, to die while making love on Valentine's Day is how she'd like to die too.'

If she had a choice of how she'd die, with Ray Charles singing "I Can't Stop Loving You," in the background, she'd want to die naked in bed and in the arms of her lover on Valentine's Day. As if she was Lady Gaga in American Horror Story Hotel, how lovingly romantic to put a loving spin on something as horribly tragic as death. Only, no doubt, her lover may not have the same romantic fantasy of her dying in his arms while having sex. Yet, combining the pleasure of love with the tragedy of death, dying while making love was now her latest sexual fantasy to have nonetheless. With her having no one in her life and with apologies to no one, she was allowed that sexual fantasy or any other sexual fantasy that she wanted to have.

Yet, rearing its ugly head with fraught to frighten her fiction and fantasy with fact, reality was always there to ruin her sexual fantasy. In fiction, as her sexual fantasy, she'd love to die in her lover's arms on Valentine's Day. In reality a deceased person loses all of their muscle control and bodily fluids. Spoiling her sexual fantasy, unless the person was into scat, shit play, golden showers, and/or pee play, she knew her fantasy of dying while making love wasn't a realistic one or even an attractive choice. Ruining the image with revulsion, dying while making love could be a very smelly experience and a disgusting proposition.

Moreover, with her dead in her lover's arms on Valentine's Day, unless the person was a necrophiliac and into necrophilia, having sex with a corpse was nasty. With her giving him too much of a dose of reality by dying while making love on the day of love, Valentine's Day, how could she leave her lover with such a mess? There's nothing worse than the mess that a postmortem body makes. With her losing much of her bodily fluids and stinking up the whole house, he'd have to fumigate and deodorize the whole house, toss out the mattress, and burn the pillows and the sheets. For sure, not something she'd like to leave her lover to remember her by, that's not an image she'd like to leave him or anyone at all.

To be continued...

Please vote. Please give me the support of your vote.