Love Never Dies

This story is based on fact and personal experience. Big Cock Fantasy readers will be familiar with the emerging character of Gaynor. As always, I hope you have a stimulating read. Comments are appreciated.

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NOW

OVER dinner - one of Veronica's casserole creations which pleased the taste buds but left me in the dark as to all of its ingredients - she suddenly asked: "Do you miss having sex?"

My wine glass was at my lips but I paused and looked across the dining table at my wife. Her head was slightly bowed and she seemed to be absently playing with her food, stirring it with a fork.

"That's an odd thing to ask," I said. "What's brought it on?"

Veronica didn't look up but continued to toy with her plate of food. "Nothing in particular." Then she looked up, her blue eyes briefly scanning my face, and shrugged her shoulders. "I just wondered. Curious, that's all."

The subject of sex, or making love, had not been mentioned (or tried) for many years - too many years, really - and I'd come to accept that Veronica was without physical desires. Truthfully, I thought she was frigid.

I sipped my wine, placed the glass back on the coaster and smiled: "It's not an invitation, then?"

Veronica rested her fork on the side of the plate, dabbed her mouth with a napkin and leaned back in her chair. She took a deep breath, her firm bosom rising within her silk, salmon blouse. She was still an attractive woman and subtle make-up highlighted her eyes and prominent cheek bones. Her brunette hair was glossy and flowed gracefully around her face and brushed her shoulders.

"Richard, I know that you've . . . well, been with other women during our marriage." She raised a hand, palm facing me, and I remained silent, closing my mouth without uttering a word. "I'm not blaming you and I really do understand why you sought sex elsewhere. It can't have been easy for you, not having any sex at home for all these years."

"Look," I interjected quickly. "You've been a good wife, a great friend and a good companion. Sex is only part . . ."

"Yes, only a part of married life," Veronica cut in, "but an important part. It's a physical way of demonstrating love for each other. Believe me, Richard, I wanted to do just that but . . ."

She paused, reached for her fork and resumed stirring food, eyes concentrating on the plate.

"But what?" I said softly. When she looked back up at me, I could see tears welling. "Oh, God, Veronica, what's the matter?" I said, rising from my chair.

"No, sit down, Richard," she said sharply. "I'm alright." She took a deep breath and continued: "We never really talked about this and it's my fault. I didn't know what to say, how to tell you, how to talk it through." She made a sound which mingled a snort with a laugh and sigh. "Guess I'm still struggling now, after all these years."

I was puzzled. A thought flashed through my brain: Is Veronica lesbian? But I dismissed it quickly and, instead, said gently: "It's all right, love, take your time."

Now she smiled. "You see, that's it right there. You're a very kind man. You've been a wonderful husband, caring and hard-working and you've provided me and our daughters with love and all the material things we could hope for. And what did I give you in return? Not to be crude, but I couldn't even open my legs for you and that's the least a man should expect from his wife."

Now I was stunned but I reached across and took hold of the fingers on Veronica's left hand. I ran my forefinger over her worn wedding band. "You've been good to me, sweetheart," I said. "You've always supported me, been loyal and never complained about my long working hours, or the too little time I was able to spend with the girls. You're an excellent mother and I know what they mean to you. But you never once complained or objected when I wanted to move back down here, hundreds of miles away from them."

"Oh, come on Richard," she said, putting her right hand on top of mine. "A few miles is nothing. And you know I'm always on the phone with them. The least I could do was go along with your wish to return home."

I shook my head. "But it was a big move for you. As well as the girls, you were leaving behind friends and family and coming to a strange area where you didn't know anybody."

"I knew you," she said, gazing into my eyes as a single tear ran down her cheek. I leaned and kissed it away, tasting the salt on my lips. Veronica snuffled and then hesitantly smiled again, just the corners of her mouth creasing. "I knew you really wanted to come back to your roots. I can't say I really understand why but I did know that I wanted you to be happy. It seemed the least I could do."

"What do you mean, the least? It was a big step to take."

Veronica shook her head. "No, you'd given me everything and I didn't even take you in my arms. When was the last time we cuddled in bed? No, Richard, don't even try to answer that. We kiss, a little peck goodnight or hello when you come back from the golf club or such like. And we sometimes hold hands when we're out walking. But that's it, that's all I've allowed for so many, many years. Could I have a sip of your wine?"

We unlinked hands and I passed the glass to Veronica and watched her sip and swallow, sip and swallow.Veronica preferred dry white wine but she returned the glass to me and said: "Thanks, that's quite nice for a red wine."

"Australian shiraz," I said, as if it was important.

"Hmm," she smiled. "Anyway, here we are, married for 30 years and I haven't let you make love to me since before the twins were born. I honestly don't know how you put up with it and still stayed so kind and caring. Most men would have gone long ago."

I shook my head and then took a hearty gulp of the shiraz. "Okay, Veronica, I admit it hasn't always been easy and, yes, I have been with other women. But nothing was ever serious, I never thought about leaving you or the kids."

"And now it's too late, is it?"

"What?"

"I mean, is it too late because you're settled in your ways, you're comfortable and, maybe, couldn't be bothered with all the upheaval of change?"

I looked into Veronica's watery, inquisitive eyes. And, out of the blue, my mind switched to Gaynor. I envisaged her round chocolate-drop eyes, white teeth, tight black curls and the golden hoops dangling from her ears. I looked at Veronica's mouth but saw Gaynor's soft lips, the lips of the girl I fell in love with but, stupidly, turned away from all those years ago.

"Is that it?"

Veronica's question brought me back from my brief trance. I shook my head. "No, that's not it. Yes, I am at an age where I'm settled but, honestly Veronica, I never looked for a replacement."

My glass was empty and I poured the last of the wine from the bottle and sipped. "Want some?" I asked, offering the glass, but Veronica shook her head.

"No, thanks," she said and, after a pause, added: "Anyway, as I was saying, do you miss having sex? I mean, you haven't had it recently have you?"

I laughed. "No, I haven't had it recently. And I'm not telling you when I last had it."

Veronica grinned at me and brushed the back of a hand across her cheek, where the tear trail was drying. "I wouldn't want you to, Richard. But you still haven't answered the question."

I thought for a while, drank more wine, and thought some more. Veronica waited patiently, her gaze never leaving my face.

"It's a difficult question to answer, you know."

"Just tell me the truth."

"I suppose in a way, yes," I nodded, thinking of the rare occasions when I viewed porn on the internet and gained relief through masturbation. "But, at my age, I suppose the libido is waning, anyway. Plus, opportunity would be a fine thing."

Veronica blinked at that last statement and I hurriedly said: "I'm joking about opportunity, sweetheart." She smiled, tentatively and I said: "Anyway, I think we've strayed from the point here. You were going to tell me why you stopped having sex with me."

Now Veronica did sip a little of my wine, took a deep breath, and said: "Don't get me wrong on this: I love the girls but . . . well, I hated being pregnant, hated everything about it. Except for giving life to the girls, of course. That is magical. But the whole business of morning sickness, getting grotesquely fat, the back pains and then the actual birth . . . ugh, it was horrible, so painful Richard. I vowed then that I would never go through it again."

Veronica grabbed at my hand and tears again welled in her eyes. "I just couldn't bear the thought of being pregnant again. Do you understand?"

I nodded but said nothing, just rubbed the back of my wife's clutching hand.

Veronica sighed. "So, that's it. I decided that I couldn't risk getting pregnant again. I didn't trust any birth control to be 100 percent safe and, anyway, I wasn't keen on taking pills. So, my solution was no more sex." She suddenly giggled. "Well, that's not truthful; I've rubbed myself off quite often. Does that shock you?"

"That you masturbated? No, not really. I supposed that you must do something. I didn't think that you'd gone from being sexually active to nothing. Full stop." I paused and then continued: "But I am sad that you were not able to mention your fears of getting pregnant. We might have been able to do something about it?"

Veronica shook her head. "That's the point. I didn't think my fear was normal and I didn't want you to think I was crazy or something. I just bottled it all up. I couldn't talk about it, not to anyone, not even doctors. I didn't know anyone else like it and I thought I must be odd. So," and now Veronica's words were punctuated by sobs, "I hid it from everyone, including you, my loving husband."

I left my chair and put an arm around her shoulders. I bent and rested a cheek on top of her head as she slid an arm around my waist. I breathed in the scent of her shampoo and squeezed a shoulder as her tears flowed. "That's good, let the tears flow, darling," I said and fought to keep my own tears at bay.

Gradually, Veronica calmed. Her sobs and tears stopped and I pulled out a handkerchief and offered it to her. She wiped her eyes and cheeks, smearing mascara on the linen, and then, daintily, blew her nose. She looked up, eyes reddened, and said: "I can't have children anymore, you know that. But I'm not sure I can have sex, either. No, shush," she said, reaching up to put a forefinger on my open lips. "But, what I would like, if it's okay with you, I would like to lie naked on our bed and let me . . . well, let me take care of you. I'd like to feel you in my hand. Would that be okay?"

My mind was swirling. This whole conversation, Veronica's confession, and now her request to give me a handjob was overwhelming, simply staggering. My cock involuntary twitched at the idea of being held by Veronica. After all these years. My God!

"Whenever you say, sweetheart."

Veronica kissed the back of my hand and then held it against her heaving chest. "Right now, please. Take me upstairs, darling."

I followed my wife up the stairs, studying the natural sway of her hips and bottom within her cotton skirt. In the bedroom, she turned and draped her arms over my shoulders, hands linked behind my neck. We kissed, a few seconds, and then broke off, looking into each other's eyes. My cock grew as Veronica's groin and belly pressed against me. We kissed again, this time opening our lips, allowing tongues the access to explore and lick. Veronica whimpered and I responded with some low grunts.

"Let's get undressed," I said, our foreheads pressed against each other, warm breath wafting on our faces.

We parted from the embrace and I drew my shirt over my head, too impatient to undo buttons. Veronica noticed and followed suit with her blouse. I unbuckled and unzipped my trousers at the same time as she wriggled out of her skirt and kicked it to one side.

Veronica sat on the bed to remove slippers and roll down her pantyhose. I sat alongside and took off my slippers and socks, finally tossing aside my pants. Veronica's bosom heaved in the confines of her white bra and I bent to kiss the soft mounds, relishing the cool, silky softness on my lips and the sweet scent drifting up from her delightful cleavage. She unclasped her bra, drew the straps down her arms and let it drop on the carpet. Her rose-red nipples were hard and proud, waiting for my mouth. I obliged, sucking gently at first and flicking my tongue over the buds.

Veronica moaned and sighed and reached down towards my briefs. Her hand settled on my bulge and she lightly rubbed her palm along its length. I felt pre-cum drizzling out and she tugged at my waistband.

"Wait," I said and stood up to face her. I put my thumbs in the waistband and drew my briefs slowly down. Veronica's eyes focused on my swelling and they widened when my boner sprang free. She immediately scooted backwards on the bed, lay full length on her left side propped up on her elbow, and patted the duvet next to her.

I clambered onto the bed and lay on my back, my erection warm on my stomach. Veronica quickly tickled her fingers over my heavy balls and then closed them around my throbbing tube. Slowly, she stroked and stared at my stiff shaft which was pulsating within her light grip. I reached my arm across to massage her right tit with my left hand, pressing my palm against the rigid nipple.

Veronica shifted her position to rest her head in the crook of my arm and shoulder. She looked along my palpitating chest, watching herself masturbate me. "You've got a lovely dick, Richard," she whispered.

I grinned. "That's what you used to say."

"Yes," she said, "Richard the Dickhead," and laughed softly in remembrance. "Am I doing this okay?"

I tweaked her nipple in response and she, in turn, tightened her grip, rubbing up and down the length of my thick shaft and caressing the head. "Uh, uh," I said, "it's coming."

Sperm jetted violently, splashing my chest and arm. I gasped and bucked my hips as three, four spurts arced skywards. Veronica continued her steady stroke until my balls were empty and the last drops seeped from the one-eye onto her curled fingers.

I lay back, breathing heavily, and Veronica released my cock and ran her fingers feather-light among my spilled seed. "I'll get some tissues to clean up," she whispered.

"No, don't bother. I'll have a shower in a minute," I said.

"No," she said quickly. "We'll have a shower. Together," and kissed my cheek.

Our walk-in en-suite shower is a to-die-for luxury. Various heads are set at different heights and angles and the water temperature is set to our liking.

"Here, let me wash your chest," said Veronica, standing before me and lathering up a bar of soap. I put my hands on her shoulders as she washed my torso, water cascading down her back. "Turn around," she ordered and I obeyed, allowing her to wash my back and, cheekily, sweep swiftly over my rear end. "All done," she said, and, with even more cheek, slapped my right buttock.

I took the soap from her and began washing her shoulders, working down over her chest, proud breasts, rib cage and tummy. As I pondered going further down, to her bush and underneath, Veronica appeared to be a mind reader. "Not yet, if you don't mind, Richard. I'll wash between my legs and you can see to him." She nodded at my cock which wasn't quite limp.

I smiled, a little disappointed but content in the knowledge that we'd taken a giant leap this evening. "Okay," I said. "One step at a time, yes?"

Veronica nodded. "I enjoyed holding you again, Richard, and it was good to please you. I'd quite forgotten what sex smelt like, let alone have all that stuff flying about."

"What about you? Didn't you get wet?"

"Course I did. And I loved you playing with my breasts again. And kissing you properly."

She wrapped her arms around my waist, pulled our wet, soapy bodies together and raised her face for a kiss. I bent my neck and we paired open lips, tongues urgent in their searches. After so many barren years, this was heady stuff but Veronica broke away and looked into my eyes. "I think I'm done here for now. Thank you, Richard but, please, still be patient with me. I'm not sure how far I can go."

We stood apart, I turned off the water and we toweled in silence. I sneaked glances at my wife, particularly when she bent to dry her lower legs and fleetingly exposed her vulva. I don't think it was accidental.

I pulled on my bathrobe but Veronica strode naked back into the bedroom and shrugged into a knee-length nightdress. "I know it's early," she said, "but I'm ready for sleep."

"Okay," I said and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I'm not tired yet. Have a good sleep. And thank you."

She smiled but said nothing and buried herself beneath the duvet. "Night, Richard."

I went downstairs, poured myself a large brandy and settled back into the leather couch. And thought. Thought a lot. I was happy that Veronica had opened up to me, happy that she'd broken a barrier. But I was deeply concerned that she'd been unable to express her fears to me when they originated. And I wondered whether she'd fully recover. After all, this had been a long time problem and she still didn't want me to touch her down there. A psychiatrist or psychologist (one of those psys, anyway) would probably have a field day with her. She'd asked me to be patient. Now I grinned, widely. Bloody hell, what have I been for the past 30 years and more?

I switched on the TV and flicked through the channels menu. Nothing attracted me, so I turned it off. I drained the brandy, poured another generous measure and looked at the clock. It was 9:35 and I decided to spend some time in my office, perhaps play a few computer games.

I could hear Veronica's heavy breathing, not quite snoring, as I made my way along the landing to my office. Inside, I closed the door and started my computer. It was programmed to open up with my e-mail service. I had 14 messages in my inbox and another seven in the spam folder.

The spam I deleted wholesale without looking at a message. I scrolled my inbox for anything that might be urgent or at least interesting - and took a sharp breath when I saw the name: Gaynor Reid.

Each time I saw her name, I reacted the same: so excited that my pulse rate increased. Lord knows what happened to my heart beat!

To calm myself, almost masochistically, I worked through the other 13 messages. I replied to some and deleted others until, finally, I was left with just the one. I clicked on it and, after using a finger to poke my spectacles back up on to the bridge of my nose, I read:

Subject: You're the best thing. . .

Dear Richard,

Hope you don't mind me addressing you in such a familiar way but that's how I feel, especially after reading your e-mail to me.

Perhaps you don't wish to hear this but I must confess that I shed a few tears after what you said about not forgetting me. As you will have guessed by now, I never forgot you either, Richard.

Bloody hell, why would I have contacted you from my Facebook page if I didn't still think about you? By the way, I'm no longer on there. Another story for another time.

"You're the best thing that happened to me" - that was definitely a song for us, wasn't it? Funnily enough, even though we split up and went on to lead separate lives, I still believe those sentiments are true (oh yes, even though there was pain and not so much glory).

Of course, I knew that you got married to Veronica (it was in the local paper at the time) but I didn't know you'd had children. I did think you would. So, how old are they? Are you a grandfather yet?

I think I told you previously, that I never married. Could have done, had offers, but I was never smitten - after you, that is. Being honest here, Richard, the pain of seeing you walk away from me was hard to take and I've never wanted to go through that heartache ever again.