Pennies From Heaven

Sylvia McKay had been dreading this day for weeks, but there was no getting around it.

She was headed for the lawyer's office that day around noon in the company of her two children for the official reading of her husband's will. She and Richard had drawn up the document together, so she didn't expect any surprises, but she had her kids with her anyway, for moral support.

Sixty days had passed since her husband had finally succumbed to prostate cancer, and they had been 60 of the longest days of her life.

She had planned for that day, prepared for it, and had held up well through the funeral and burial. But once it was all over and everyone had returned to their lives, she had to face the loneliness, and it had all but paralyzed her.

It was as if her mind wasn't ready to accept that he was gone.

Richard had fought his disease with everything he had, and had turned a prognosis of six months to live into two full years.

In many respects, it was the best of times and, naturally, the worst of times.

Of course, there were the endless rounds of doctor's visits, surgery, chemotherapy and hospital stays. But they had also crammed as much living as possible into the time Richard had left.

He had taken early retirement from the company where he'd worked for over 25 years and she had retired altogether from her teaching job. They had traveled to places they had always wanted to go – to his ancestral home in Scotland, on an Alaskan cruise, to the Caribbean islands – anywhere as long as they were together.

Sylvia and Richard had met at the university; he was a junior and she was a wide-eyed freshman. They had always been friendly, but early the next school year they started dating and something clicked.

Their personalities had meshed nicely – he was a little more serious-minded and she was a little more bubbly – and they looked good together. She was a fairly petite blonde with a compact body and a healthy pair of C-cups on her chest; he was a little taller than average with a lean physique and reddish-brown hair.

But it was the sex that cemented their love. After the first time they made love together, neither one had ever seriously entertained the thought of having anyone else.

Oh, they fantasized about doing a little swinging, and they both appreciated a nice-looking specimen of the opposite gender. But they never did anything more than talk about sex with others, and they were quite willing to let the other look at the opposite sex, as long as there was no touching.

As soon as Sylvia graduated from college, they had married, and they had enjoyed 32 years together. Two children, a son named Jimmy and a daughter named Ann, were the result of their union, and they had seen both children marry and have kids of their own.

Richard and Sylvia had thought they were going to have a third child, but she miscarried at 11 weeks, and they had decided not to try again. Richard had had a vasectomy and Sylvia had had her tubes tied.

Time had not diminished their sexual appetite much at all. They both added a few pounds here and there and Richard's hair started turning silver in his mid-30s. But they kept up an active sex life until about six weeks before Richard died, when his health finally started to fade.

Sylvia honestly didn't know if she could go on without him. She moped around the house, hardly doing anything, hardly going anywhere. A few friends tried to coax her into going to lunch or dinner, and she'd turned them down, so they quit trying.

The kids had been to visit several times, but even they were getting concerned and were increasingly reluctant to come by, because it was too uncomfortable.

Sylvia knew she should try to do something, go back to work, sell the house, whatever, but she couldn't make a decision.

Sometimes she relished the thought of getting back in a classroom; sometimes the thought of dealing with 25 grade-schoolers terrified her. Sometimes she thought she should sell the house; sometimes the thought of parting with the home she'd shared with Richard, with all of its memories, was abhorrent.

She put on happy face when she saw Jim and Ann at the lawyer's office, but they could see through it. For at least the 10th or 11th time – or maybe it was the 20th, who knew? – Ann invited her mother to come stay with them for awhile. And as always, Sylvia had declined without elaborating.

The reading of the will went as expected. Richard had retired as a senior vice president in his company and had done well with some stocks, so he had plenty left to give, even considering how much they'd spent on their travels the previous two years.

Naturally, the bulk of Richard's estate went to Sylvia, but he'd also left money in a trust fund for Jim and Ann to help with their children's college education. He'd also parceled out some sentimental items to each child, and he had left $10,000 to their church.

Everything was signed and probated to everyone's satisfaction, including the government, and they were preparing to leave, when the lawyer asked to speak to Sylvia alone. She told the kids she'd meet them outside and turned back to the lawyer.

"Mrs. McKay, the last time I saw your husband, he gave me a key to a safety deposit box at a bank near your home," the lawyer said. "He was very clear on his instructions. He said you were to be given the key and the location after the will was read, not a day sooner. He also asked that when you go to open the box that you go alone."

Sylvia took the proffered key and thanked the lawyer for all he had done. She left his office puzzled. What in the world could Richard have left in a safe-deposit box? And why was it so sensitive that she needed to be alone?

She mulled the matter through lunch with Jim and Ann, which they had insisted on. But she only half paid attention to what was said, then it was time to leave, and she had driven home. She thought about waiting, but curiosity got the better of her, so she changed into some jeans and a plain blouse and went to the bank.

The bank employee who showed her the box left her alone to open it up, and Sylvia was glad he did when she saw what the box contained.

In spite of her grief, she had to smile, for the box contained a letter, on which was printed in Richard's familiar – though shaky – block handwriting, "For Your Eyes Only," and under the letter was a pair of her panties.

They weren't just any panties, however, but the pair of crotchless panties they'd bought at the sexy lingerie shop in London almost two years earlier.

She smiled again as she remembered the night after they'd bought them. They'd gone to a play, and she'd worn them, at his request. Richard spent the whole night with his hand up her skirt, fingering her pussy to a frothy boil, without letting her come, then he'd fucked her like a demon when they got back to their hotel.

Sylvia quickly stuffed the panties and the letter into her purse, returned the box to its slot and walked out of the bank, feeling a little better than she had since the funeral. Richard had obviously written her a letter that he'd intended for her to read after his death. It was something from him that she could grasp onto, and it seemed to soothe her soul.

It was late in the afternoon on a glorious autumn day, and Sylvia decided to take a mug of coffee out to their gazebo to read her letter. The gazebo had a wooden swing that overlooked the back of their property, which afford her a view of the valley below.

When they had first bought the house, over 20 years earlier, the valley had been mostly empty of habitation, with the city in the distant background. But, inexorably, the city had slowly spread in their direction, and now the view was mostly suburban sprawl.

Still, it was a nice place to come and relax, and she had spent a lot of time just sitting in the swing staring into space in the weeks since Richard's death.

As she listened to the coffeepot percolating, Sylvia wryly noted that she was glad she'd never been much of a drinker. If she had been, she'd likely be an alcoholic by now.

Once she had her coffee, she walked outside and sat in the swing. She sat the mug on the little stand next to the swing and stared at the letter. What was in there? What words did Richard have for her that needed to wait until he was gone for her to hear?

All sorts of dark thoughts crossed her mind as she turned the envelope over. Was he going to confess something that would break her heart?

Finally, she slid her finger under the flap and opened up the envelope and took out the letter. It was quite lengthy, six pages in all, typewritten, single-spaced. It was dated just 15 days before his death, not long before he took to his deathbed.

When the time had come, Richard had insisted that he not be hospitalized. They had gotten a hospice nurse to come in and he had died at home in familiar surroundings, with his family around him. He had been lucid almost to the very end, and he had died with a smile on his face.

Tears welled up in Sylvia's eyes as she began to read.

"My dearest, love of my life," the letter began. "If you are reading this, then it means that I have been gone now for two months. And, really, it's all right. I wish I could have had more time, wish we could have grown old together, the way we had always promised we would, but God had different plans. Such is life.

"Sweetheart, I have absolutely no regrets about anything that I have or have not done. It's been a full, rewarding life. Even this challenge that we've faced these last two years has been enlightening. I've learned more about life and love these past months with you than I ever knew before. I honor you and bless you for the strength you've shown through this ordeal.

"But as I write this, I realize that my time grows short, and I'm ready for death. I have been in a lot of pain in recent days, and I am very, very tired. So as I come to the end of my days, I feel compelled to leave you something pleasant to remember me by. Hence this letter.

"Before you continue reading, however, I want you to do something for me, to get yourself in the mood for what follows. I want you to get up, from wherever you are, go upstairs to our bathroom and draw a nice, hot bath. Put some bath oil in to make yourself feel and smell sexy. Sit back in the tub, relax and let all of the stress flow out of you. Put all of the sadness and bad thoughts out of your mind, and remember the good times. Lord knows, there were plenty of them. Go on, just do it. You'll be glad you did.

"Then, when you finish your bath, put on the panties that I've left with this letter, get in the bed and make yourself comfortable. I have some things I need to say to you, and I want you in bed when you read what I have to say."

Sylvia chuckled through her tears as she did what the letter said. That was Richard. He had risen to a high place in the corporate world because of his ability to command others, but it wasn't the kind of command of threats, coercion and bluster. It was more the way he could persuade, cajole, maneuver and flatter others into doing his bidding.

Her mother had always said Richard McKay could charm the horns off a billy goat, and Sylvia had always come back with the remark that he'd sure charmed the pants off of her.

Sylvia decided to wait a little while before continuing. She had another cup of coffee as she puttered around the house and watched the news. Then she fixed a little bit of dinner and ate, even though she had little appetite.

As darkness descended, she could wait no longer. For the first time since Richard's death, she was eager to do something. Her body was tingling with the first signs of arousal she'd felt in months, and she quickly stripped naked and started the bath.

As she looked up, she happened to see herself in the mirror, and she actually shuddered. How had she let herself go like that? Her face was thin and she had lost weight, but not from any diet. Worst was the haggard look in her eyes, the subtle shading that bespoke of weariness and pain.

Of course, she had not gotten a full night's sleep since weeks before Richard's death, and she hadn't been eating well at all. As she stared at the stranger in the mirror, Sylvia came to the dawning realization that she was killing herself, slowly but surely, that somewhere in her deep subconscious she wanted to join Richard.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she jerked away from the mirror and tended to her bath. Then, with a determined set to her jaw, she picked up the bottle of bath oil – lavender, Richard's favorite – that had sat unused for months. She poured the remnants of the bottle in the tub, shut off the water and climbed in.

Even as she felt the warm water caress her body, she thought about Richard and how much she missed him. It would be so easy to just take some pills, slip into the water and drift away.

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she saw her husband's face in her mind's eye, and she didn't like the look that was on it. It was as if he was there and knew what she was thinking. With effort, she turned away from thoughts of suicide and started to recall the good times.

As Richard had said, there had been plenty, and even as she worked her way through the memories, she felt that tingle in her groin again, as she started to replay some of their sexual antics.

God, they had been uninhibited! There was nothing she wouldn't do for her husband, and he never demanded anything she wasn't willing to do.

Sylvia ran her slick hands over her body, caressed her swollen nipples as she thought about the many times they had fucked right there in the bathtub. Hesitantly, her fingers delved between her legs and she felt a shock of lust as she slid a finger between her labia and over her throbbing clit.

Suddenly, she felt a compelling urge to finish her bath and read the rest of Richard's letter. He'd written it for a specific purpose, and she felt there was something profound in there that she needed to see.

She got out of the tub, dropped the lever for the drain and dried herself with a big, fluffy towel. She ran a hand through her stylishly short blonde hair and headed for the bedroom. She saw the panties lying on the bed where she'd left them and felt a rush as she slid them up her silky smooth legs.

Her body was coated in a light oily sheen and the aroma of lavender teased her nose. She could feel the nakedness of her labia through the opening in the panties and she felt a flood of moisture well up inside of her pussy.

Sylvia pulled the covers down on the bed, propped up her reading pillow, put on her reading glasses, switched on the bedside lamp and settled in to read the rest of her husband's letter.

Again, it was as if he was standing right there chatting with her. The tone of the letter was so conversational.

"Well, I hope you feel better now that you've bathed and relaxed," the letter continued. "Sylvia, my darling, I know I told you this many times, but I'll say it again here in black and white. I loved you from the first time I saw you and I've never wavered in that love. I know it took a little time for you to fall in love with me, and I waited because you were so young and I wanted you to experience college without trying to balance school with a serious relationship.

"But when you started going out on some dates, I knew I'd better move quickly. I'll never forget the look on your face the first time I asked you out. You were surprised and delighted."

More like, what took you so long, buster, Sylvia thought with an amused snort. He was right that it had taken a little longer for her to fall in love with him, but not much longer. She had begun to wonder if she'd totally misread her intuition about his feelings for her when he finally got around to asking her for a date.

"You looked so good that first date, and I knew we had 'it,'" Richard continued. "But that was nothing compared to the first time we made love. Remember?"

Remember? How could she ever forget? It had been on a Saturday night after a home football game. They'd spent the game on their feet with their arms wrapped around each other, both because it was a little chilly and the game had been exciting, a down-to-the-wire contest that their team had won.

She and Richard had been dating about a month, and they'd been getting more and more intimate. They had gone back to the apartment Richard shared with his younger brother and two other guys for a little victory party.

But when the others wanted to go out to hit a few bars to celebrate, they had declined.

"I can still see you as we walked casually up to my room," Richard wrote. "We kissed deeply, wantonly, and I knew that was going to be the night. I slowly pulled your sweater off, then turned you around and unhooked your bra. I reached around your chest and squeezed your tits, caressing your nipples with my fingers. I'm sure I told you a million times, but I'll say it again for posterity: you have the most magnificent breasts of any woman I've ever seen.

"I backed away to pull my shirt off, and you stood there twirling your nipples with your fingers, giving me 'that look' that told me you were ready for me to do anything I wanted to you. Then you reached over and pulled my T-shirt off and it was your turn to play with my nipples. You knew I had sensitive nips and you exploited that knowledge by licking and teasing them. That got me about as hard as I could possibly get.

"'I want you so badly, Sylvia. Please, I want to love you.' And you just melted in my arms. 'I want you, too, baby.' At that point, we simply needed to be naked, and we didn't mess around with any more seductive stripping. We got our pants off – and our socks – and tumbled into my bed.

"We were kissing, touching and feeling each other as our passion swelled to a white-hot intensity. We had waited long enough. I needed to be in you and you needed me to be in you, and we didn't mess around. You rolled onto your back, with your legs spread, and I have that sight burned into my memory: your pretty pink pussy, open and wet for me, your eyes pleading with me to put my throbbing dick in and fuck you. I rubbed the head between your lips a few times, to prime the pump, so to speak, then slowly slid my cock in."

Sylvia was suddenly aware that her right hand was between her legs and she was stroking her clit as she read Richard's description of their first time. She hadn't been a virgin, but she hadn't had many lovers before Richard, and none of them had ever come close to making her feel what she felt that night.

She worked her pussy with more purpose as she continued reading. She was beginning to become dimly aware of what her husband was doing, and she felt her love for him swell, if that was possible.

"We stared into each other's eyes as I methodically worked my cock back and forth in your cunt. You were so tight, but you took me in with relative ease," he wrote.

And that was true. Richard's cock had been the perfect size for her small frame. She'd once put the tape measure to it and it came to slightly under 7 inches and about 1¾ inches in diameter. It wasn't too big and it wasn't too small.

"I could tell that we weren't going to last too long, and I wanted you to climax either before me, or with me, and I began to rotate the base of my cock around your clit every time I bottomed out," Richard wrote. "I don't know if I ever told you this, but I had a very skilled teacher in the art of making love when I was a sophomore. She was a senior and we dated off and on for several months. She was just enough of a slut that I knew I didn't want a steady relationship with her, but she taught me things that few men ever learn, and you were the beneficiary of those lessons."

No, she hadn't known that, but she had always figured somebody had taught him well, because he never, ever left her unsatisfied. If, for some reason, he couldn't please her with his cock, he did it with his fingers or his mouth.