He ejaculated into me. I felt his sperm pumping into me, and he was saying over and over again, "I love you Stella, I love you so much."
It may seem ridiculous to you, but I really felt as if I was in the garden of paradise. I had the most luscious orgasm I had ever experienced, causing me to scream and sob. His loving touch - his gentleness - made me feel almost like a tender mother towards him. I wanted to give and give again, to let him sate his hunger in me – to soothe him.
I longed to respond to his words of love, to say, "I love you my darling," but even in this moment of ecstasy I dared not. It seemed too absurd, he a boy of twenty-two and I a thirty-six year old divorcee.
He gave a gasping groan and he had finished. I waited for him to withdraw like Stan, my ex-husband, who would pull out and turn away as soon as he had shot into me.
Allen stayed in me. I had thought his loving words were like those of other men at the height of their passionate hunger, to be forgotten as soon as their appetite was appeased. It was not so with Allen. He continued to speak of his love for me, his desire and, as he saw it, my beauty (I make no claim to that for myself).
As his rod slackened within me I seemed to go into one of those post-coital dream-like states. I went back over the situation that had led up to Allen and I coming together in my bed. More than that, I recalled how I had first met him, and how the years had changed both of us.
He was eight-years old when I moved into the house next door to his parents as a twenty one-year-old bride. I felt myself to be very much in love with Stan, and longed for our first child. I never had that child. It seemed almost as soon as we were married that Stan began to change. It was as if, having, as it were, won the prize, he no longer valued it.
Before our marriage he had made love with me. After our marriage, this changed. I can only describe it as "being fucked by him." He didn't seem to care about my feelings and needs. He would simply off-load his sperm, and then turn away.
No child arrived because Stan always took extreme precautions to see that I did not get pregnant. He insisted that I took the contraceptive pill, and always used a condom himself. So even when I cheated and did not take the pill, I still did not become pregnant.
Allen was a lovely boy and he soon became a regular visitor to our house. His main concern in those days was to play with my two dogs and walk them. I supplied endless biscuits, cake and soft drinks in those years, and I suppose showered on him the affection I wanted to give to a child of my own.
As he entered his teenage years, I had expected him to cease his visits. Most young people, especially boys, want to reject the adult world and its "Thou shalt nots," at that age. Never the less, his visits did not cease.
I suspected I heard a lot more of his ventures, especially those with girls, than his mother or father did. Good and kind people though they were I don't think they would have welcomed confidences about sexual experimentation.
I was able to advise Allen about safety in sexual activity – whether the girl was using any sort of contraception, and the use of condoms, and the avoidance of establishing a long-term relationship too soon.
Stan left me for an eighteen year old girl from his office when I was thirty-four, and while the marital experience had been less than a happy one, I was distressed and confused at being left like that. "No more men in my life," I resolved. Just the sort of rash decision people make when at the height of emotional turmoil.
At that time Allen was undertaking a course in computer programming at the university. I had for some time been writing short stories that were taken up by some magazines. I wrote on an old typewriter, and it was Allen who pointed out the advantages of a computer.
With his advice I purchased a machine and immediately began to curse both it and Allen. I almost wept for my lost typewriter, but instructed by Allen I eventually became a reasonably competent computer operator, and discovered its advantages over the "old banger."
Allen had grown into a good-looking, very intelligent young man, the pride and joy of his parents. Finishing his university course he went on to work for a local high-tech company. With his knowledge of computers it must have taken considerable patience to come and sort out the tangles that "the silly woman next door got into" (my words not his).
It was one of those "tangles" that caused me to telephone him one hot night to ask if he could come and sort it out for me.
I suppose I was foolish, but I was wearing my bikini. I did not think for a moment that it would affect Allen. Over the years he had seen me in it many times. But then, I had not understood what was going on in his mind during those years.
Allen arrived and, as usual, with me seated in front of the computer and he standing behind me, he told me what to do.
When we had finished I was about to ask him if he would like a drink, when he said very quietly, "You know I love you, Stella?"
We were silent, I sitting rigid before the computer. I understood very well what he meant, but I tried to dodge the issue by taking up what he said in a way I knew well that he did not mean.
I said, "Of course, darling, we've been friends for years."
"Yes we have," he responded, "but you know I'm not talking about that. I love you, and I want you like a man want's a woman."
He had flushed me out of my hiding place, and I was out in open country, and like a hunted fox I tried to make a run for it.
"Don't be silly, Allen. You can't want me like that. I'm years older than you are, and we've been almost like mother and son, or at least, older sister and brother.
