Author's note:
This is a love story. Apart from changes in names, places and background in order to protect both the innocent and the guilty; what you are about to read is substantively true. There is no real end, because the story is still being acted out.
*****
Sue answered the Skype call wearing a white towelling robe, and a white towel over her hair; she had just had a shower.
"Hiya," she said, her voice and her eyes showed that she was pleased to see me.
"Going out tonight?" I asked, equally pleased to she her.
"Not really, felt a bit grubby that's all."
"Not seeing NB1?"
"No," she tutted, "you know that's Mondays only."
'NB1' was her new boyfriend: my replacement. I couldn't bring myself to say his name, so I invented a nickname. I decided that I did not want to keep inventing nicknames for her new boyfriends, so he was NB1 - New Bloke One, and when she moved on, it would be NB2 and so on.
She took the laptop to a coffee table next to a cosy armchair and sank into it, rubbing her hair with the towel as she spoke.
"Where are you calling from?" she whispered.
"Home, of course, don't you recognise my study?"
"Yeah. It's been a while; you don't normally call from home. Where is Sarah?"
"At her parents' and staying over; Alice is at her boyfriends', and Frances is sleeping over with her best friend. So I am home alone."
"God, aren't we a couple of sad cases on a Friday night. Not slipping off to Canterbury?" she grinned, disingenuously.
Canterbury was where Jayne lived. When Sue dumped me, I earnestly tried to live a monogamous life with Sarah, my wife. It lasted three months; Jayne, a work colleague, and I were on assignment away from our homes. With nothing to do in the evenings, we just naturally sought solace in each other's arms. It certainly helped dull the pain of losing Sue.
"No, I am not slipping off to Canterbury." I said, refusing to bite. Sue was openly jealous that I had found a replacement so soon after she split up with me. She knew it was unreasonable to expect anything other, but it is human nature to want to possess everything. Her honest selfishness was one of the things I loved about her.
"Do you want to make this a long chat?" she said, continuing to rub her hair.
"Don't mind."
"Then I think I'll get a glass of wine."
"I'll make a G&T," I said.
We both departed from our computers and a few minutes later, reconvened with our drinks. She chose red, and had brought the bottle.
"Hmm, that's better," she smiled warmly, after taking a long sip. I could see the strains and stresses of a long working week oozing out of her as she relaxed into her cosy chair. She put the glass down and unwrapped the towel from her head, releasing her dark brown tresses.
I thought, as I had done so for the past twenty years that she looked beautiful. During which time, I am not sure when I had fallen in love with her.
She was short, 5' 4", with a very slim, almost boyish figure. Her thick shoulder length, wavy hair was rather unmanageable, but now that it was still wet, it lankly framed her head. Her face was slim and her skin was very white, very celtic; she didn't tan well, and it contrasted strikingly with her dark hair and her beautifully warm, brown eyes. She smiled a lot (something else I liked), and 53 years of smiling had resulted in crow's feet emanating from her eyes. It was the only thing that really showed her age.
Her mouth was another strong point: her teeth were her own, white and holding up well against time; and her lips were pretty, though while not fulsome, were eminently kissable.
"You're gorgeous," I said, speaking my thoughts.
"Oh I don't know," she mused, "I feel much older than when we first met..."
*****
Nearly two decades ago, work had brought me to the West Country with Sarah, who was heavily pregnant with Alice, our first child.
I am a keen runner, and decided to join the local club. A few days later I had gathered with the seniors for a gentle 10k, and as we waited to start off, I noticed two pretty, short, dark haired girls about my age (in their early thirties) chatting to each other. I thought they were sisters, and primitive instinct kicked in such that I found myself walking up to them and introducing myself.
They looked up at me, both with welcoming smiles. Actually, more than that; both had smiles which said they were addressing potential husband material. I am athletic, tall, and attractive to women. I learned during my youth how to capture them; a winning smile, a show of confidence and seeming competence, and a deep look into their eyes and their souls.
With established ease, I engaged both of the girls with my smile and my eyes and pleasant, light hearted, non-confrontational chatter.
Sue looked the same as she did twenty years later, minus the odd straggling grey hair and the crow's feet. The mutual attraction was evident. By the end of the run, they had established that I was married. I was not interested in deceiving anyone. Janet, the other girl, left us with a look that said that I was no longer in the ball park; but Sue kept chatting, smiling, giggling, competing for me, when there was no competition and ultimately no hope of having me in the entirety.
She lived on the way to my home, and after a few weeks, I started picking her up and dropping her off. A few weeks more, we were having coffees and drinks, and a few weeks more, on leaving the house, I bumped into her; her upturned face was only inches from mine, and it seemed that a kiss on the lips was the natural thing to do.
She kissed back, but fought her instincts, and clumsily packed me out the door.
The following week, the goodbye kiss came naturally and briefly turned French. She still turned me out of her house, but this time with the parting comment: "well I suppose it can't hurt."
There was no attempt at pretence the week after. We looked at each other hungrily throughout the run. We showered at the club, and as I drove back to the house, she chatted endlessly about everything other than us. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" she said automatically as we entered her house.
"No," came my monosyllabic reply. I did not want to play games.
She sensed my urgency, and changed the subject.
"You've not seen my bedroom have you?" She giggled having said that: the unsubtle implication was embarrassing.
"No," I smiled back, enjoying her discomfort.
She reddened prettily, turned and went up the stairs; unbidden, I followed her. Her bedroom was a mess, clothes were strewn everywhere, nylons hung out of drawers, and girly magazines littered the floor. I was a bit disappointed she wasn't expecting me. I did not know then, as I know now, that Sue was a bit of a disorganised scatterbrain.
After moving aside some clutter, I sat on the bed.
"I'm terribly messy, I'm afraid," she said, and bending over, she gave me a pert kiss on the lips. "You'll just have to get used to it if you want to go out with me."
I pulled her to me and she looked down at my face, smiling. I revelled in the closeness of her body, her tiny frame standing in-between my legs. I raised my hands and grabbed her waist.
"Shut up and kiss me, Susie."
She bent over again and kissed me longer and harder. I patiently waited for it to evolve, but she seemed reluctant to use her tongue. I drew her down to the bed, and we lay there kissing. Like a flower in the dawn, she slowly opened up, my tongue hunted hers, but she played tag, only allowing the occasional touch and then withdrawing. Her little hands were balled up into fists; she didn't seem to be enjoying it. We broke away, sensing it wasn't working.
"I'm a bit out of practice, sorry," but for the first time she showed some real warmth, and caressed my face; "be patient, it will be worthwhile, I promise... I'm just a bit shy."
Her humility only attracted me more. She wore a shirt over a pair of old skinny jeans which hugged her figure attractively, but were not conducive to easy access. My hand wandered down to the shirt and I started to undo her buttons slowly. That made her smile, showing her teeth, and I took the opportunity to kiss her again. She responded more warmly as I slightly clumsily finished her buttons and pulled the shirt out of her jeans.
Years of practice with my school sweetheart in the music rooms had made me accomplished at undoing bras, and I found the skill was not lost as with one hand, I swiftly unclasped it.
"Wow, that was impressive," she laughed.
I shut her up with another kiss, as my right hand sought out her small, pert breasts. Her nipples are tiny and rock hard. I broke our kiss, and moved my head down to kiss, lick and nibble her left nipple. This elicited a small gasp. Encouraged, I started to suck it and take in more of her breast in my mouth, sucking it harder and harder.
"God, I love that, I've dreamt of you doing that to me."
Surprised at that comment, I stopped momentarily: "really?"
"Yes, I love having them sucked," she said, a new sultry look was on her face, her unruly locks covered her face; her smile was feminine and enticing: she looked wonderful.
"And what do you do when you dream of me sucking your tits," I asked, taking the break as an opportunity to start unbuttoning those intimidating jeans.
"You know what I do," she said, refusing to be drawn, helping me take them off; she wore little pink knickers with a bow at the front.
"No, tell me," I replied, continuing the game.
Her hand reached down into her panties, she sighed slightly, looked into my eyes and said, dirtily: "I touch myself."
Not so shy after all, I thought, turned on by her descent into a newer, hornier, dirty talking, Sue. I resumed sucking her breasts, and looked into her eyes as I did so. The combination seemed to turn her on even more. She stopped smiling and started to concentrate on masturbating as she looked at me full in the eyes. We were achieving a new level of intimacy. My hand joined hers and I eased my fingers into her sopping vagina. It was very tight, and I could only get three in.
She had started frigging herself very quickly now, any initial desire to take her time over our first act of lovemaking had evaporated.
