Love Never Dies

This story is based on personal experience. My thanks to the readers who have accompanied me this far. And special heartfelt thanks to those who have encouraged me along the way with their comments and votes.

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NOW

TRAFFIC was light that Friday evening and I made good time. It was 7:01 when I parked the car in the garage and switched off the engine. I removed the phone from my pocket, preparing to text Gaynor, when it beep-beeped. The words on the screen told me: 1 message from Gaynor. I opened it and read:

Just to let you know I've sent an email xx

I hit the reply button and sent: Got here this minute. No problems. Will read mail and reply ASAP. Love R xx

In my office, I put on spectacles as the computer whirled into action. I had 15 emails in the inbox and Gaynor's was on top. I opened it immediately, eagerly.

My dear Richard

I so enjoyed our few hours together today and, to be honest, I didn't want you to leave. I only spent 10 minutes or so with Charlie after you left because, truthfully, I wanted to be on my own with my thoughts. And I wanted to send this message. Strangely, when I'm writing to you, I feel as though we're close and not separated by miles. Know what I mean?

Anyway, honey, it WAS lovely and I'm glad you persuaded me to go along with our meeting. That doesn't mean I've stopped panicking or I'm no longer a scaredy cat. I still have worries about being hurt, Richard. I'm truly not sure where we're headed but I do know there's still powerful feelings between us. I could feel it today and I know you did, too. Your eyes tell me a lot, darling.

Okay, so we've decided to meet again on Tuesday and I've had a few thoughts about that. There's a couple of nice places around here where we could eat lunch if you don't mind coming all the way to me. If not, we'll make it The Toad's Hollow again. Think about it and let me know. Make it around 11 to 11:30 if you can.

By the way, is there anyone you can trust to have my phone number? Whatever happens from now, I'd like to keep in contact and if something should happen to you I'd like someone to let me know. I've already given your mobile phone number to Charlie for the same reason. She'd ring or text you if I end up in hospital or something. Don't mean to seem morbid but we never know, do we?

Another thought just struck me: does Veronica use your computer? I mean, is it safe to send these personal messages?

Okay, I'll stop waffling now and get myself a bite to eat. Oh, that reminds me, I never said thank you for the lunch and drinks. Forgive me - and, while I'm at it, also forgive my tears. Really can't understand what came over me like that. It's years and years since I cried but I guess I was a little tired and emotional having not slept much recently. Hopefully, I'll sleep better tonight.

On that note, nite nite Richard

Love

Gaynor xx

PS: The hug was wonderful and I nearly turned the little kiss into a full-blown smacker XX

I smiled at the last line and then read the whole message again. I sat back in my chair and considered my reply. It didn't take long before I wrote:

Dear Gaynor

Yes, meeting again was wonderful and the hours just flew by. We still have so much to catch up on. I mean, we hardly got to talk about you and what's been happening with you over all these years. What I do know is that you're still extremely attractive in both looks and personality. I enjoyed being with you and I, too, found it very, very hard to leave.

Ah, the hug! God, just to feel you in my arms again, to feel your gorgeous body pressed against mine and to smell your sweet warmth . . . it was bliss and heaven rolled into one. And the kiss! I can feel and taste your lips on mine even now, although it was but a fleeting peck. Must say, I'm rather out of practice on the "full-blown smacker" skills. Perhaps you can show me how it's done!!

Right (down boy!) onward: I will drive straight to you on Tuesday and I look forward to dining out somewhere new. And don't worry about thanking me for buying lunch: it's my pleasure and I know you appreciate it, so no need for words.

Tuesday is a regular golf day for me, so I should manage to get to you before 11:30. I'm playing golf with Mick tomorrow (for real this time!) and I'll give him your phone number. I'm sure, like Charlie, he's most suited and certainly can be trusted should anything untoward happen. (God forbid anything should when we've just met again. That would be too cruel).

After today's reunion I hope you can now relax and sleep properly. Please, DON'T worry about anything (no, Veronica doesn't use my computer or phone) and I'll see you on Tuesday (wish it was tomorrow - greedy, aren't I?).

Love

Your Richard xxx

PS: This 11th will surely be a much happier day than the awful one back in my foolish youth xxx

I tapped on 'send' and then saved Gaynor's message and my own reply to the special GR folder. I scanned down the other waiting messages but there was nothing urgent or even important.

A rumble from my stomach reminded me that I'd eaten only a sandwich for lunch. It was now 7:33. Could I rustle up some food before Veronica got home? What if she was early, what would be my excuse for eating here and not at the golf club? Oh what a tangled web . . .

I switched off the computer, decided I could at least have another sandwich to appease my hunger, and made my way downstairs. A chunk of cheese in a bread roll and a mug of instant coffee later, I sat in the lounge and switched on the radio.

No, I screamed in my head, it can't be. But it was: Gladys Knight and the Pips!

~~~~~~~~

I awoke, startled, in darkness. I was sprawled on the couch, the radio played in the background and I was aware of the door opening. The room flooded with blinding light and I shielded my eyes with an arm..

"Oh, hello Richard. Didn't know whether you were still up."

Veronica had switched on the lights and now walked over and looked down at my prone figure. I blinked to focus bleary eyes and mumbled: "Hi sweetheart, what time is it?"

"Just after 11:30. Obviously you've been sleeping. Had a good day, did you?"

"Hmm, yes," I said, swinging my legs off the couch and sitting upright to stretch my spine. "Very good, thanks. And you?"

Veronica sat in an armchair opposite me, flipped off her heeled shoes and bent to rub her toes. I noticed her feet and legs were bare. Unusual for her not to wear stockings or tights. She looked up at me and smiled. "Yes, a very good day thanks."

I waited for an expansion on the comment but Veronica just leaned back into the chair, her skirt rumpled up to her naked mid-thigh. She stretched her arms towards the ceiling, yawning, and I watched her breasts perk up within her roomy sweater.

"Fancy a nightcap?" I asked. "A brandy or something?"

"Are you having one?" And before I could reply, she said: "Yes, I will thanks. Scotch and dry ginger, please. With ice."

At the drinks cabinet, I mixed Veronica's tipple, poured myself a generous brandy and went into the kitchen for ice. I plopped two cubes in each glass and carried them back into the lounge. I handed Veronica her drink, returned to my seat, sipped, and then placed the glass on the table at the side of the couch.

Veronica stood and walked over to me. She leaned to place her glass alongside mine and, hands on my knees, parted my legs and knelt between them. She settled onto her right buttock, arm resting on my left thigh, and slid her left hand up my right trouser leg, tickling my shin with her fingernails. She sighed, deep and loud, and looked up at me. Her blue eyes stared into mine. I smiled down at her and waited.

Veronica withdrew her hand from within my trouser leg, wriggled her hips into a closer position, and snuggled her head into my lap. Her left hand now settled high on my thigh, her thumb very close to my groin.

"Are you alright, Veronica?" I asked, softly.

She didn't reply, just breathed heavily. I reached for my glass and swallowed some of the fiery liquid.

"Remember what I told you about Helen?" Veronica suddenly said, raising her head and almost immediately letting it drop back into my lap before I could answer.

"Course I do. If you mean her . . . um, advances."

"Hmm," she said, nodding, her nose in close proximity to my cock. She gave my right thigh a nonchalant rub and said: "We had a good talk tonight. I thought we needed to get things out in the open. I mean, not for everybody in the world, just between us."

"I understand," I said and waited.

"Yes, of course you would." Veronica fell silent again and I assumed she was contemplating her next words. But everything went quiet.

I broke the silence. After all, I was intrigued about this relationship my wife was developing. "So, what happened? What did you say?"

Veronica pushed away from my lap, sat up on her haunches and reached for her drink. She gulped and a dribble ran down her chin, which she brushed with a forefinger and licked it dry.

"If you don't mind, Richard, I don't want to go into any great detail." She drank some more, replaced the glass on the table and rested her hands on my knees. "In a nutshell, I don't think I'm bi-sexual. I think I might be asexual."

That had me reaching for my glass. I drank and asked: "What makes you say that?"

Veronica leant her weight on my knees and boosted herself upright. I thought I heard her knees creak. She collected her glass and walked across the room and sat in the armchair again. "Don't say anything until I've finished with what I've got to tell you. No interruptions. Okay, Richard.?"

I nodded.

Veronica rang a finger around and around the rim of her glass, clearly thinking and composing herself. She began, still looking down at her glass: "When Helen and I kissed, it was quite . . . well, different and exciting, I suppose. Nice and soft, you know." She looked up at me and quickly down again. She'd got my attention. "It was the same when she first fondled my breasts and sucked my nipples. I quite liked the feel of hers, as well. But . . . ." Veronica took a deep breath . . . "when we got naked on her bed and she started to feel me . . . oh dear . . . when she started to touch me down there, I sort of froze." She shook her head. "I didn't want her touching me there. And I didn't want to touch her, either."

Veronica looked at me now. "I think you're right Richard: I am frigid."

Silence filled the room. I didn't know what to do. Didn't really know what I was thinking. My mind was in a whirl.

Veronica broke the silence. "What are you thinking?"

I shook my head. "I'm not sure. I'm trying to understand what's going on with you. Until recently, we hadn't had sex or even talked about it for years and years. Then, out of the blue, you came on to me and gave me a handjob, just like in the old days, and you also confessed to me how you'd had a fear of getting pregnant again. That's why you stopped making love."

Veronica nodded and I drained my glass before continuing. "Then you told me about Helen and . . . well, here we are. You think you're asexual." I shook my head. "I don't know what to make of it, Veronica, I really don't."

"Nor me," she said softly and finished her drink, chewing on the last remnants of ice. "Do you think I need help?"

I shrugged. "Why? Help for what? You've not had any problems since the girls were born, have you? You didn't miss sex, did you? For whatever reason or reasons, some people just don't need sex, Veronica. And now, after all these years . . . well, let's face it, we're both knocking on a bit. What's so different, other than you've had this strange . . . oh, I don't know what to call it . . . affair, happening, with Helen?"

Veronica nodded, thoughtfully. Eventually, she looked up at me and a thin smile creased the corners of her lipstick-free mouth. "You're a wonderful husband Richard. I'm sure not many men would have put up with me. Not for all these years. What, no sex, no hanky-panky! They'd have been off like a shot."

It was my turn to grin. "Don't forget, I've had some fun outside the marriage bed. I didn't exactly abstain, you know."

"No, you didn't," said Veronica, standing and walking towards me. She held out her hands, palms up, and I reached to entwine our fingers. "But, come on Richard, those occasional dalliances weren't like making regular love with your wife, were they? They were just a physical, sexual release because our bed was cold. Somehow, I always knew you'd come home to me, God knows why." She paused and squeezed my fingers. "I never believed you were really looking for someone else. You never looked for a permanent replacement, did you? Am I right?"

I looked into Veronica's blue eyes and they morphed into chocolate drops, the eye-lids coated a pale blue. Her tanned skin became caramel coloured, her hair in tight black curls and the lips fuller and crimson. I smiled. "You're right, Veronica. I never looked for anyone else. C'mon, let's have one more drink and then get to sleep. I'm playing golf in the morning."

Veronica leaned down to kiss my cheek. "Thank you, Richard. You have another drink; I'm off to bed."

She released my hands and walked out of the room, leaving the door open.

~~~~~~~~

TUESDAY morning I drove straight to Gaynor's house. No sham appearance at the golf club this time. Trusty Mick was my alibi if required but he'd raised his eyebrows when I gave him Gaynor's phone number and told him why he'd got it.

"This sounds serious, Richard," he said. "Hope you know what you're doing." I smiled.

Now I pulled up on the gravel driveway and, with my pulse rate flying, eased out of my car. I was both excited and nervous, much like a young man on his first date with the girl of his dreams. It was 11:14 and I hoped I wasn't too early. At the maroon door, I spotted a bell push and thumbed it. A tune I didn't recognise played distantly somewhere above me.

I wiped my sweaty palms on my trousers - black again, but my sports shirt was pale blue - and I heard rapid footsteps thumping down the stairs. A fiddle with the lock and the door was swung open and there before me was . . . a petite lady with dirty blonde hair framing a pixie face. A big grin spread across her face.

"Hi Richard," she said breathlessly. Her accent was refined and she stood on tip-toes to air-kiss on either side of my face. "I'm Charlie. C'mon up, Gaynor's just had a shower."

I immediately envisaged a naked Gaynor under jets of warm water, soapy bubbles sliding over her breasts and down her tummy, between her legs and . . .

"I've heard so much about you," said Charlie, bounding up the stairs. Her rear was firm in tight blue jeans. "After all these years it's good to finally meet you. Seen photos, of course, but they're from way back, aren't they? You're still looking good, by the way."

At the top of the stairs, she turned and smiled again at me. "Go on into the lounge, down there on the right." She put a playful hand to her mouth, her eyes shining brightly. "Silly me, there I go again. Course you know where it is. Never mind me, I'm a bit of an air-head. Would you like a drink? I was just about to make coffee?"

"Yes, coffee would be fine," I said, finally getting to speak as I followed Charlie along the corridor.

"I'm in here, Richard."

The husky tone came from the kitchen and Charlie shrugged her shoulders. "Not in the lounge then," she said and we carried on to the kitchen.

Gaynor was barefoot, her toenails painted deep crimson. A silky white wrap, belted at the waist, clung to her graceful curves. The curls on her head were damp and she looked over her shoulder, a gold hoop swinging at her cheek, and smiled. "Hi," she said and turned back to concentrate on pouring hot water into three mugs. She added milk, stirred the mixture and used a spoon to point at one of the mugs. "That's yours, Richard, no sugar."

"Thanks," I said and picked it up. The mug was decorated with a cartoon golfer and I grinned at the inscription: 'World's best golfer.'

"Gaynor bought that specially for you," said Charlie brightly. "She hasn't washed the mug you used last week, so she got this one for you. Nice, eh?"

"Charlotte!" said Gaynor, exasperation in her voice. She exhaled and shook her head. "You do let your mouth run away, don't you?"

"What? Oh . . ." Charlie raised a hand to her mouth. "About not washing . . ."

"Yes," interrupted Gaynor and she looked at me. "Don't take any notice of Charlie, she often speaks before engaging brain. C'mon, let's get comfortable."

Gaynor led the way into the lounge, where she and I sat in the chairs in the bay-window. Across the room on the left side of the doorway, Charlie perched on the edge of the large couch, elbows on knees, both hands holding her coffee mug to her lips. She blew gently on the liquid, glancing between Gaynor and me. "Do you play a lot of golf, Richard?" she asked.

"A fair amount, three or four times a week. Not so often in the winter."

"Hmm. I had a good friend, Evan, he played a lot of golf all the year round. But he spent most of the winter in Spain or America or somewhere sunny, anyway. Didn't he Gaynor?"

Gaynor nodded. "Yes, he did."

"But he was mega rich," continued Charlie. "Nice man but . . .oh, well. . ." The sentence trailed away while she drank some coffee.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow at Gaynor and she said quietly: "Evan died a couple of years back, heart attack on a golf course in Spain."

"Portugal," said Charlie quietly. "It was Portugal."

Silence descended and I broke it. "Well, I'm sorry for you, losing a friend like that."

Charlie looked at me. "Thanks, but at least he died doing something he liked doing. One of the things he liked, anyway." She smiled broadly, conspiratorially, at Gaynor before draining the last of her coffee. "Okay, I'll be off then," she declared and stood to place her empty mug on the glass-topped coffee table in the middle of the room. "I'll no doubt see you again sometime, Richard. Have a good day now. See you later, Gaynor."

"Byee," said Gaynor at the retreating back. Charlie's footsteps thundered down the stairs and the door closed with a thud. Gaynor laughed, her bosom quivering as she reclined in the chair. "That was Charlotte."

"Quite a character, isn't she? Chatty little ball of fire."

Gaynor nodded, put her mug on the small table between our chairs, and stretched out her toned legs. "You can say that again," she said as she exhaled deeply, lowered her legs and rested her heels on the carpet. "That business about the mug from last week . . . oh, okay, alright, I haven't washed it." She gently shook her head and ran fingers through her hair. "I know it's daft but I just wanted something to remind me of you being here. I could see where your lips had been. In fact, until this morning, I left it here on this table. I still haven't washed it but I will. Soon. Honest."

I reached across to hold her left hand. "I think that's lovely. I'm surprised about it, but I do think it's lovely. And this . . ." I lifted the golfer mug in the air . . . "is very nice, it really is. A nice thought."

"Thought you'd like it." Gaynor smiled, exposing the tips of her gleaming white teeth. She leaned forward, peered down into my mug and said: "Looks like you've finished with that. I've got something else you might like. Come with me."

Gaynor stood, still holding my hand, and led me out of the room, down the corridor and pushed open the door to the bedroom. It was large, airy and sumptuous with a warming thick-pile mauve carpet, fitted wardrobes and a king-size bed. The sun streamed through the bay window under which a leather couch was home to a giant blue and white teddy bear. The walls were painted off-white and dotted with black-framed pictures, more of Gaynor's work, I assumed.