Author's note.
Although this is a fictional story it was inspired by a true occurrence, involving an observation I made of two people while out for a drive one spring evening.
An old gentleman accompanied by a young lady out walking down a quiet country lane. Myself and my husband both noticed this 'odd' couple as we slowed down to pass them, the man having a dog on a leash, there was something about the way the girl looked up at him, and he gazed down at her, while they were deep in conversation.
I recall thinking at the time, the way they looked at each other told a story...
**
Chapter 1.
Over the exciting sound of a woman's breathless moaning another noise, subtle at first, brings panic rudely to Harry's aroused mind. This noise is the bathroom door handle being tried quickly followed by loud knocking and his name being called.
"Harry?...Harry!...what are you doing?"
Stopping the porn video he'd been watching and pulling earphones off, placing his tablet carefully down upon the toilet cistern, Harry replies to his wife's urgent enquiry.
"I'm at the toilet dear...it's alright...I'll be out in a minute."
Hearing the anxiety of being discovered within the tone of his own voice adds to the guilt currently consuming a man who suddenly feels so stupid...and angry...caught in the act again.
Stupid because he'd been so foolish in attempting to alleviate his pent up desires while she was in the house, and angry at her because she seemed to possess a sixth sense and know when he was doing it.
There's a brief moment of silence from the other side of the door before sharp, cruel, mocking words are delivered.
"Oh I see...so why do you need the door locked?...ay?...tell me that!..dirty fucker!...I know what you're doing in there..."
More bangs on the door, this time much louder reverberarte through the tiny room.
"...you dirty fucker...aren't you a bit old to be doing that!"
Harry winces at the profanity, she never used to swear, always so polite and mild mannered, a perfect lady...before the illness.
All he can do is repeat and try to placate, "I'm at the toilet... I'll be out in a minute Ann...everything's alright."
Silence again, then shuffling footsteps away from the door accompanied by quiet grumbling. Standing there for a moment over the toilet, watching his erection shrink down while a thumping heart rate slowly returns to normal.
Sighing, Harry curses himself inwardly before putting his cock back in his underparts and zipping up.
Ann was right in a way, he was too old to be doing 'this'. At 77 it came as a surprise to the retired doctor that he still had a very healthy libido and fully functioning tackle to enjoy it with, although these days it was by his own hand rather than his wife's involvement.
Gathering up the tablet and headphones Harry unlocks the bathroom door, heading out into the unknown, would she continue to scold him or would she have already forgotten the incident?...something which had happened before.
Fortunately Ann had gone back upstairs to the bedroom and no confrontation was forthcoming, the only thing that greeted Harry on exiting the bathroom was Charlie, a rather clingy red haired pomeranian with a keen sense of what time of day it was...walkies time.
"Yes yes I know...I'm on it... you little shite."
The emphasis here being on 'shite', Harry loved to swear in a common tongue when nobody was around, it pleased him immensely somehow. The son of a wealthy accountant he'd enjoyed a privileged upbringing but felt an affinity with the working classes, or 'commoners' as his father would have referred to them, during the near forty years of service with the NHS they'd made up the majority of his patients.
After getting ready to go out with Charlie, during which the tiny dog does his usual routine of running madly around his owner and barking in that shrill voice of his, Harry goes to the hallway and shouts up the staircase to his wife, "I'm taking Charlie out...won't be long dear...love you."
No reply.
In the past the old doctor would have checked on his wife's condition, his conscience not permitting him to leave until acquiring a positive reply, but nowadays he was used to Ann's lack of response.
'You get used to it', an old friend had once said...regarding the same illness with his wife...but Harry had never gotten used to it, 'it' was horrible...a living nightmare.
Ann had been diagnosed with alzheimers 2 years previously, sometimes referred to as the long goodbye, a cruel but very apt description.
The woman he'd spent over 50 years of his life with often regarded him as a stranger, or perhaps her father...or her brother. On more than one occasion he'd been an intruder in their home, Ann running screaming into the street shouting for help from passers by. The police had been called by one concerned motorist, so convinced that Ann was in real danger.
It was only a matter of time before she had to go in a care home, the unavoidable outcome. But, Harry was determined to hold onto her for as long as possible.
Closing the front door and locking it, the familiar crunch...crunch of the gravel driveway underfoot accompanies Harry to the car, a white, vintage 70's corniche he'd treated himself to upon retiring several years previously, the old rollers were the best, in Harry's opinion.
Opening the passenger door and watching with a grin as Charlie hops up and into the footwell, a comical little dog and a gift for Ann, Harry had at first not cared for him much, preferring larger breeds like labradors or alsations. But Charlie had soon wormed his way into Harry's heart, his cute features and comical manner proving too endearing.
