This is my third story. I don't think that there will be many more. I have enjoyed the kind comments from everyone and the thrill of seeing some of my favourite writers on this site being positive towards me. Thank you, MattblackUK, Gamblnluck, Just-Words, Hooked1957, other2other1, Legio_Patria_Nostra and Regguy69. I'm a big fan.
The negative comments have taught me that you really can't please everyone; it's too long, it's too short, too wordy, and too rushed. I'm too harsh, not harsh enough. Everyone is bringing their own experiences to their reading in the same way that the writers do. That's OK.
This story is about Trevor. I mentioned him briefly in my first story -- The Worst Gift. I kept thinking about him and decided to tell his full story. It is a format that has been done many times before, with the older man with fading sexual powers being replaced by a younger man, whilst the wife still claims she loves only the husband. This is my take on it. I hope you like it.
One disclaimer. Please do not comment on my description of the stroke in this story. I am a stroke victim, and I will never fully recover in the way I allow Trevor to. (I'm not talking about ED -- that still works fine at the moment - but sadly, I was never able to resume my career). Trust me, I know exactly what a stroke is like, but I have chosen some artistic licence to gloss over certain facts. A more vivid description does not make a good read.
Elvis died on the toilet; everyone knows that. So did Judy Garland; bless her. Not many people know that King George 11 died on the toilet too. Well, in the water closet, to be precise. I'm a historian, so it seems appropriate that my life will end in the same way. I might not die, of course.
I seem to be having a stroke in the gents of my favourite pub by the harbour. My head is really hurting now. There could be worse ways to die, I suppose. I've just had a great meal and a pint of my favourite ale. Lots of men would be happy to meet their maker after that. It's such a shame that I had to overhear Ben Mortimer discussing how great a shag my loving wife, Mim is. How spectacular her tits are and her wonderfully responsive nipples. What a great kisser she was too and a giver of quite spectacular blowjobs. After 32 years of marriage, I knew all that, of course. I would have liked to die without knowing that someone else knew it too.
What I didn't know was how great sex was when taking her from behind, though. She had refused to do that since the early years of our marriage with me. She felt it was degrading and it hurt her knees. Apparently, she could overcome the pain if it was with a 19-year-old boy--a boy I used to teach.
Of course, I may not die; I may survive. If I do live, I'll teach Ben Mortimer a lesson he'll never forget. The little bastard.
I don't often go to the pub on my own; I'm usually with friends or with Mim. She was visiting her parents overnight, so to save cooking for myself, I decided on a pub meal. Steak and chips, if anyone is interested. I'm a history teacher at a local high school in North Yorkshire. I've been there for over 30 years. I often teach the children of children I have previously taught. I haven't taught any grandchildren yet, but it's probably not too far off.
I spotted Ben Mortimer and his mate Kieron Yates propping up the bar. I did a quick mental calculation and realised that it was about three years ago since I last taught them. They were over 18, so they were allowed to drink. After my meal, I wandered over and had a chat with them, to see what they were up to now. It turns out that they both worked at the biscuit factory like Mim. They were on the shop floor, but she worked as the managing director's secretary. Kieron giggled into his beer when I asked if they knew her. Ben said that he'd seen her a few times when he'd had to report to the boss, "She's a nice lady," he said. We had a laugh and I made sure to buy them both a drink during our chat.
I'd said my goodbyes and on the way out I decided to nip to the loo. I was just getting settled when I heard the two lads come in.
"I don't know how you could be so calm about it, Ben. Mr Moore is such a good bloke. He's just bought us both a pint. He was the best teacher I ever had. I hated history until we had him. How can you talk to him so normally when you are shagging his missus?"
"Because I think he's a brilliant bloke too. I'm not doing anything to hurt him. I really like him, I do; it's just that I like sucking Mrs Moore's big old tits more."
"I bet you do," giggled Kieron, "It's still wrong, though."
"Look, I'm doing him a favour mate. It's not my fault that he can't get it up anymore, is it? I'm just his stunt double. I'm giving her something that he can't and trust me; if it wasn't me, it would be someone else. I'm not a threat to their marriage, am I? A 53-year-old woman isn't going to want to run off with me any more than I would want to with her. Better me than with some older bloke who could be a real threat. I'm doing them both a favour. I still think he's a good guy. You want to see his collection of artefacts; he's got some really cool stuff in his mancave. You'd love it."
Suddenly Ben and Kyle were excited over my toys, just like the kids they still were and excited about my toys as well as my wife.
"The thing with Mrs Moore is sex, pure and simple. Fantastic sex at that, but that's all it is."
After a bit more talk about the delights of my wife's body, they'd gone. The tingling was getting worse now. Thankfully someone came in shortly afterwards and I managed to attract their attention. I thought I was telling them to call an ambulance. It sounded like that in my head, but not in reality. Luckily, they understood that I wasn't just a drunk, called an ambulance and now I'm in the hospital. I lay back on the pillow and thought about Mim and me.
We'd been married 32 years; we got married on Mim's 21st. We had no children. That was a disappointment to me, but not to Mim. She didn't want children. I did, but I wanted Mim more. End of story. She was enough for me, always was. I thought I was enough for her. I was, until I wasn't.
Having no children meant that we could travel and do whatever we wanted when we wanted. It gave us a sense of freedom that other couples of our age with offspring to support didn't have. It also gave us some extra income to play with. Although not wealthy, we'd kept the mortgage down and paid it off years ago. We had a nice house. Not huge, but we didn't need that much space for the two of us. In fact, we didn't even need the two spare bedrooms really. Mim had one as a dressing room. She had some lovely clothes and liked to look good. The other spare room was my mancave. I have always had a passion for history and kept my collection of, military maps and memorabilia and other artefacts and collections in there. It is not as bad as it sounds, I promise. Everything was used at some point as part of lessons at school. The tools of my trade if you like. Mim was just pleased that it was all contained and 'all my junk' didn't encroach in the rest of the house.
I prided myself on being a good teacher. I was aware that my love of history was not shared by many to the same degree. It is considered a dry subject to teach by those without that passion. It was my mission to make it as exciting and relevant to the kids in my classes as I could. I think I achieved that to a certain extent. I tried to make it fun and interesting. Not to brag but my popularity with the kids sometimes caused a little professional jealousy, but I could cope with that. If the kids sometimes liked me more than the subject, I was OK with that. They were still learning.
I was an average-looking bloke. I did keep myself fit and trim, but Mim was always beautiful to me. She was an ordinary-looking young woman, but she'd aged very well. She's always had large breasts. When we first met, she complimented me on always looking her in the eye. Most blokes spoke to her chest. I didn't like to admit that I was just very adept at looking at them every time she glanced away. Every time. Her breasts had fascinated me since we first met 34 years ago. I revered them and to hear them laughed about as "big old tits" in a pub toilet made me angrier than I could say.
I better take some deep breaths; they're trying to keep my blood pressure stable. Mim and I had never been with anyone else. Well, I still hadn't--virgins when we met. We had always had a very good sex life. Unlike most couples, we kept up the same pace as we entered our thirties and then forties. We both had high sex drives and without the distractions of children, we just carried on as we had in the early years of our marriage. We never got bored, we experimented and spiced things up--a bit of role-playing here and a lot of oral.
That was how it was until Mim hit her late forties and menopause struck. It hit her very badly. She really was quite poorly with it. At this point in our life, our love life stopped entirely. I wasn't even allowed to touch her. If I went for a cuddle, "I was only after one thing", I was "an unfeeling bastard" if I ever suggested making love. "Didn't I have any idea how she felt?" Well, no, I didn't, but as a loving husband, I tried my best to support her. So, we went from having a very full sex life to a dead bedroom. No sex for two years. I suggested that I put a bed in my mancave so I could leave her in peace. I honestly thought that she might be pleased. She could get the bedroom at the right temperature for her and wouldn't be worried that I might pounce at any second.
Selfishly I found it hard (literally) to be in the same room as her. Not only was it the visual stimulation of seeing her dress and undress, but it was also her scent as I lay next to her. It was torture for me; added to this was the fact that I was bloody freezing as well as she kept the window wide open in the depths of winter as she was so hot all the time.
When I suggested a temporary move, I was evil personified. I was rejecting her. I didn't care. I was cruel. Well, let's just say that I never moved out of our bedroom. No, I stayed -- freezing cold, frustrated but content that I was being a supportive husband, in my own useless way.
Suddenly like a spring flower awakening at 52, things settled again for Mim. The menopause fairy had flown off to find her next victim. She had left Miriam with a few extra curves that really suited her. Unlike some ladies, the menopause fairy had also left Mim with a renewed sex drive.
Sadly, in the intervening years, I seemed to have lost my erection, if not my desire. At first, I just thought that it was lack of use, but no, it was erectile dysfunction. My doctor at the time was young and completely unsympathetic. He did not reassure me or help in any way to ease my mortification. He obviously thought that this 'old bloke' shouldn't be worrying about such things. He explained that it was a side effect of my blood pressure meds and that it was something that I had to live with. He was very matter-of-fact about it. I was mortified. I felt embarrassed and belittled. It was difficult enough to go and ask for help.
I decided to look at it strategically. I could either shy away entirely from lovemaking or embrace a new way of making love to my wife. My pleasure was her pleasure. I still had hands and a tongue in my head, didn't I? I had missed the closeness and intimacy with Mim for so long. I wasn't going to lose it again. We continued making love but in a different way. Don't they say that the biggest sexual organ is the brain? We made love two or three times a week. She continued to have lots of orgasms. It wasn't all about her, however. I regained some confidence and pride in the fact that I could still give her so much pleasure. As far as more penetrative sex, I was more than happy to use toys with her to fulfil that need. My only bit of male pride was that the toys I used on her were only to be used when she was with me. Silly, I know, but I needed to feel that they were an extension of me. She had other toys that she could use on her own if she felt the need.
So, we were happy, I thought. I was still keeping her satisfied. As for me, I rediscovered the joy of being held, caressed, and kissed. I was being cherished and Mim was still being desired. I thought that was enough. I was wrong.
At the hospital, they soon discovered that my stroke was ischemic, so a combination of medications was soon prescribed. Time was of the essence to prevent further damage and another stroke. Thankfully I had found my voice again, though finding the right words initially would be a problem for me. A lovely nurse called Louise told me that they had contacted Mim, though she was still a couple of hours away. I managed to tell her that I didn't want to see her under any circumstances. I think Louise thought that this was part of my confusion until she saw my blood pressure begin to rise dramatically. I asked her to call my sister to come. She was local and I knew that she'd get here much quicker than Mim anyway.
My big sister would help me; she was my big sister too. Our Margaret was a big lass, 6-foot-1 inch in her stocking feet (size 9, incidentally). She'd protected me as a kid and I knew that she'd be there for me. It seemed like only minutes since they called and she appeared. Nurse Louise asked if she'd flown.
"Only on my bike love. It's a Kawasaki, it flies when I need it to."
With that, she enveloped me in the biggest hug and wiped a tear off her cheek.
"You big daft bugger. You've made me cry now. Scaring me like that. Don't you dare do that to me again? If you die on me, I'll bloody kill you."
We all laughed at that, even Nurse Louise.
I told our Margaret what had happened, what I'd heard. I didn't mind Louise hearing it either.
