The Journeys End

I had been a bit of a workaholic, but, not so completely to the exclusion of a fulfilled home life, we had a full and varied sex life, my wife, Jacque, had a career of her own, and was very successful in her own right, there was never any jealously, we recognized each others strengths and weaknesses, but, unfortunately, this idilic existence did not last, cervical cancer took her away from me, I tried to continue living my life without her, for a time buried myself in my work, but it became apparent that self pity and morning, was taking a toll, on all those around me.

We were always waiting for the correct time to have children, having none, meant their was nothing, to keep me here, I wanted to gave up my job, but was offered a sabbatical, which I took, perhaps a bit over the top, I had the house professionally cleared, and sold the home, to me, it was never a house, it contained so many warm memories.

Gathering some meager belongs, some books, clothes, and a tin whistle, the whistle, was something I had struggled with, without success, why I choose to pack it, I can not imaging.

I set off, with no planned itinerary, I zig-zag on a journey up through England into Scotland. As I traveled North, the lengthening days, were so noticeable. But, I could include in this narrative, all the small adventures I experienced, but, it is really about the journey's end.

I crossed numerous seas, explored various highland isles, before I came across this one, as with most of the islands, it had a hilly west coast, the island flattening out towards its eastern shore line.

If I counted a dozen crofts, I think I was being generous, there is a village of sorts, a pub, a shop come post office, and a couple of cottages, the island was large enough to cycle around it in about a couple of hours, I had traveled much, and was beginning to feel weary, so about mid-afternoon, I cycled into the village.

In the Post Office, I enquired, about renting some accommodation, I thought I could stay here for at least a couple of months, the Post Office was empty when I entered, but soon filled, with inquisitive chattering locals, when I made my enquiry. it transpired that a cottage was available, owned by a widow who's husband was lost while fishing, on a not uncommon stormy night.

I was given directions, and told to make myself at home, I asked about payment, but all I got was a wave of the hand, and how shall I get in, get in, what do you mean, you just open the door and enter, they chorused, but, I stammered, is not locked, that just produced a blank stare.

I bought some basic, food stuffs, but, was told that there will something there already, it was as if the whole island knew of my arrival, and intention to stay, as it happened, there was food, I had indeed, over stocked.

The cottage seen from the outside appeared a rough affair, the low walls, the small windows, the only door, which has a small diamond glass insert, at one end a chimney stack had it seemed been added, and looking up, the roof, appeared to be thick turf, with grass and some wild flowers growing there.

But I was tired, and on entering the cottage, I found it was made up of one room, a kitchen diner bedroom, perhaps could best describe it, there is a table and a couple of chairs, a fireplace, which, if my eyes did not deceive me, has an alcove above, where a bed, ready made existed. the other end of the room, was the kitchen area, an earthenware sink, with a single tap, a bottle gas cooker.

One more item caught my eye, a well padded rocking chair, this, was still gently rocking, as if someone had just got up out of it. I felt the cushions, and they were still warm, well, there was no one around, but, a note left on the table, partly explained, the situation, the owner had been, to make sure it was ready for me.

I found the kettle, and made myself a mug of strong sweet tea, settled in the rocking chair, and thought how this rude simple place had everything I needed, the warmth of the tea, relaxed me, and I slept for about an hour.

I entered into the life of islanders, for evening entertainment, I found time to learn to play the tin whistle, I learnt, not by reading music scores, but by following others who played the fiddle and an accordion, I played the instrument instinctively, not knowing the names of the notes, or registering what fingers should go where, but, by sounding a note that complimented and was in harmony with the rest of the players.

There was work for me to do, nothing like what I had been use to, I was willing to do what ever I could, I never thought about being paid, and was always rewarded by the generosity of the people I helped, I would find food on the kitchen table, fuel, peat logs stacked by the fire. I lived, simply, it enabled my savings to provide for any luxuries, which really only extended only to a bottle of single malt, I learnt to appreciate the smoky peat taste, and the medicinal warmth of that amber liquor.

Shivering, and feeling feverish one day, I struggled to climb into bed, the blankets, I wrapped around me the best I could in the circumstances, and tried to get to sleep.

I next thing I vaguely remember, was her undressed, and had climbed into bed, lying back to back, her warmth was immediately restorative, like a balm it flowed through my body, I was soon sound asleep.

In the morning she was up and dressed, I felt a little better, I was keen to show my appreciation, but, she silenced me, touching my lips with her fingers.

She feed me, and again I was soon asleep, but, not before she said that she would look in on me later, twice again that day, I received a visit from her, and eagerly took nourishment she offered, and slept. I was not yet completely well, and so for another night we slept back to back.

In a tight knit community, such as this, even the smallest things, on this island, get noticed, when it was known that I had not been up and about, people got concerned.

In the week that followed, she looked after me, kept me warm at night, fed me during the day, when I felt well enough I got up, dressed and went outside, and sat on a bench, the sun was very high and warming, the view, was of a bay, a small boat was out, picking up lobster pots, I could not see if the fisherman was having any success, but, as I watched intently, I was surprised, the figure, turned out to be a woman, a woman alone in the boat, I knew who it was, and confirmation came, when she stood up, and waved, with raised spirits I stood, a bit unsteady, and acknowledged with a wave.

That evening, was different, it started with me facing the wall as usual, but, instead of bare back to back, she spooned me, for nearly a year, I had not felt any urges, but, now, I could not hide a growth an erection, I stiffened, I am sure she sensed this, as her arms encircled me, her breasts pressing against my back, her hips exploring my buttocks, her kiss on the nape of my neck, to which I held myself rigid, her kissing became more insistent, my breathing became labored, my pulse rate increased, slowly gently, she moved her hand to my shoulder, and motioned me to turn over and face her, I did as I was bid, and became intoxicated with her scent, I had her allow me to put an arm under her head, so that her head rested in hollow of my shoulder, I smelt the sea clean freshness in her hair, she reached down and held gently my cock, I had to murmur, asking if she knew what she was doing, the reply was a kiss on the lips, and the opening of her thighs, the maneuvering of my cock into the entrance of her vagina, someone was giving me love, unasked for by me, gently, eagerly, my cock slid easily into her moist cavern.

I was determine not to thrust, yet I felt my cock swell, and go hard, every time she thrusted, I was able to reached her end stop, it was then that I believed in reincarnation, I was once again making love to Jacque, my wife, my whole body was enveloped in a warm cloak of love, then I ejaculated, just when she gave that gentle moaning shudder.

With arms, and legs entwined we slept.

Next morning I made arrangements at the Post Office to have my mail redirected, and to fill in forms to register with the local authorities, have the cottage as my place of residence, and got told how doctor McGregger, comes across to the isle once a month, the dentist, never. I wrote to my old employer, resigned, I got a letter soon afterwards, wishing me well, and if I want to work freelance, they have suitable projects.

We spent more time together, I learnt how to set lobster pots, I held her hand, while lifting her out of or into the boat, eating meals together, the light from the peat burning open fire danced in her eyes, her smile, a smile that erased concerns that I may have had about the future, love making after that was different, it was mutual, both giving and taking, engaged in the supreme pleasure of the act.

The inevitable happened. a month later, to my joy, she was pregnant, and nine month later, I was holding my son, its frail venerable body nestling protectively in my arms. I had been accepted by the islanders, and so found peace, the journey's end.

Often, when I am about to fall asleep, haven pleasured and been pleasured, my wife, Jacque, visit me in dreamland, I see her well and in good health, and smiling at me, and she is so close that I sense her fingers, combing through my hair, and kissing my lips.