Thanks For The Memories 4

(Note: this story is a sequel to my earlier two-part

Restarted

. However, it should more or less stand alone; anyway, it shifts the viewpoint.)

****

James saw the young woman half-way down the corridor, and hurried to catch up with her. As he pursued her, he assessed her out of sheer habit. Face not especially stunning, from what he'd seen, but perfectly pleasant; clothes blatantly chain store-purchased, painfully ordinary, but showed some sense of style; figure slim and moved well, in a way that suggested that she probably took plenty of exercise.

He suddenly realised that he didn't know whether that last was fashionable or not these days. Less than a year ago, he'd still kept track of such questions. He'd had a lot on his mind recently, but he was still surprised at himself.

"Ms Edwards?" He spoke as he caught up with her, and she stopped and looked at him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but one of the doctors suggested that I should talk to you. My name's James Molyneux."

She blinked. "There must be some mistake," she said. "I'm not on the staff here. I'm just visiting a friend..."

"No, I understand that," he replied. "The doctor seems to think that you might have some advice for me on -- well, on dealing with Restarted, I suppose."

She shrugged. "It's nice to hear that some of them trust me that much," she said. "Okay, I've got a few minutes -- let's go sit down. The coffee here isn't too bad."

He walked alongside her on the way to the hospital's tiny public coffee lounge. "Who do you know here?" she asked conversationally along the way. "I mean, which patient?"

"Helena Frankbridge."

"Don't know her, I'm afraid. What's your relationship? Is she your mother?"

"She's my wife."

That got him an interested glance, with an odd look to it, but he was fully used to that. He also noticed that she hadn't reacted to Helena's name. That was only a little surprising; once, it would have been more so.

"Forgive my asking," she said, "but how old are you?"

"I'm fifty-two."

"And how old is your wife?"

"She's seventy-three."

"Right." She took that in, but she didn't look shocked. "That's young for a patient in here. Was she an early Alzheimer's case or something?"

"No. Her memory was going a little bit, and she had a few health problems, but nothing the doctors would call serious."

Now, Ms Edwards looked puzzled. "Then how come she's been Restarted?" she asked.

They'd reached the coffee lounge by now, and James gave Ms Edwards the first chance to get something from the compact, modern machine in the corner. "I said that the doctors didn't think she had a problem," he said, "but Helena disagreed. She was... She is a very self-possessed woman. Everything that happened to her -- every ache, every forgotten name -- made her angry. She insisted that being Restarted was what she wanted."

Ms Edwards stood back from the machine to give him his chance. Out of habit, he ordered a decaffeinated espresso. "I assume that the doctors told her what the effects would be, though?"

"Oh yes. But as I said, she's very self-possessed. Very strong-willed. She was determined."

"I'm still surprised that the doctors agreed."

"She's also very rich. Very, very rich, to tell you the truth. I'm afraid that enough money can still bend a lot of rules, even in medicine. There's a table over there."

They sat down, and Ms Edwards sipped her coffee. "Okay, Mr Molyneux..."

"Please, call me James."

"Fine. I'm Delia. Anyway, how long have you been married?"

"Legally, just over a year." James smiled. "But we've been together for over thirty years. Helena wanted to be sure that there'd be no difficulties with me acting for her while she was being treated."

Ms Edwards smiled back. "Forgive me, but that's a fair age difference," she commented.

"You mean that I must have been her toy boy, back then? Don't worry, I got used to being called that."

"Oh, don't worry yourself. I've been called worse." Ms Edwards took another sip of coffee. "Which doctor pointed you towards me, by the way?"

"Doctor Easterling."

Ms Edwards smiled. "Oh, yeah -- Doc Easterling is okay. I wish she'd persuade her staff to be as polite about me when I might be in earshot, though."

"What do you mean? What do they say?"

"If you must know, they call me the Wrinkly-Fucker."

James coughed slightly and put his coffee down. Ms Edwards shrugged.

"It's bullshit, of course."

"Oh. Right."

"The Restarted must be the least wrinkly people in this entire building."

James looked at her, and she held a bland expression for a second before she smiled. "Sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to shock you. If you really want to know, I've only been to bed with three of the Restarted, and I did that because I liked and wanted them as people, not out of any weird obsession with screwing ninety-year-olds. Well, I guess that the third was a bit of a charity fuck..."

"Uh-huh."

Ms Edwards took the neutral response as a prompt to say more. "That was Vaughn," she explained. "The poor bastard really was an Alzheimer's case. He completely lost ten years of his life -- wiped out, worse than most -- and then, when he came out from the treatment, he not only found a world that he didn't understand, he discovered that most of his family were dead. He was completely lost."

"So you..."

"I was sorry for him from the start, of course, and I spent some time talking to him. But I decided, in an amateur sort of way, that he needed some kind of new start -- something to make him feel that life was worth living. And I did -- do -- like him, and honestly, all the Restarted do look great. So I took him home."

****

Vaughn still looked lost as ever as Delia led him into her bedroom, but he responded a little as she kissed him on the mouth. Then she stood back half a pace, smiled at him reassuringly, and began to unfasten his belt. He looked stunned for a moment, then hastily finished the job, so she began to unbutton his shirt as he quickly removed his pants.

Suddenly, he was all haste, stripping naked quickly and clumsily. She put her hands on his arms in a reassuring gesture, then stepped back and began to remove her own clothes -- but he seemed frantic with desire, embracing her when she was down to bra and panties. So she led him to her bed and lay down beside him, putting a hand on his swelling erection. He plunged his face into her cleavage, dampening her breasts with furious kisses while he moaned softly in the back of his throat, and at the same time, he scrabbled at her panties, pushing them down her thighs.

So she stopped trying to slow him down, and finished removing them for him. He looked at her, still with that confused and lost expression mixed with the raw desire, so she smiled at him again, spread her thighs, and murmured a soft "c'mon."

He obeyed instantly, clambering into position, and she put one hand on his chest to slow him for a moment, then used the other to take hold of his erection and guide it to the lips of her cunt. He pushed into her instantly, without being prompted, and she gasped at his frenzy as he pounded inside her.

"Easy, lover..." she tried to say, but within moments, he came explosively with a cry of release. Then he collapsed on top of her, and his cock began quickly to shrink.

"Wow," she murmured, then repeated "wow" as he rolled off her. She sat up, feeling his semen trickling onto her thighs, and finally removed her bra before she lay down to hold him again. "That was fun," she said, "but let's..."

But then she noticed that he was weeping softly. "Easy," she said to him, "easy..."

But he didn't seem to want to talk, instead merely curling up in her arms. So she held him gently and caressed his brow, saying nothing but smiling when he looked at her. It was a warm afternoon, and they eventually dozed a little.

But an hour or two later, Delia was awoken by the feeling of lips on her nipples, and she found Vaughn kissing her, much more carefully than before. She looked down at him with a soft murmur of pleasure, and he looked back at her.

"I think that I used to be quite good at this," he said.

"You're doing fine," she agreed. He returned to her nipples, then moved down, over her belly to her groin. He nuzzled at her pussy, and she spread her thighs for him. His tongue began to trace over her clitoris, and she realised that he was indeed doing fine. "Yes," she said, "you're remembering, aren't you?"

He took his time, and she went along with that, slowly building to a soft, shuddering orgasm. Only then did he move his mouth up her body again, pausing briefly at belly and nipples before he kissed her full on the lips, the faint taste of her cunt-juices adding spice to the warmth of his mouth. She was pleased to feel that he was hard again, so she guided him into herself, and they lay for a moment, rocking gently with him pressing against and hard inside her. He supported himself on his hands and looked down at her with a smile that was only a little bit sad.

"You're pretty good," she said.

"I had a good teacher," he replied.

"Okay..." she murmured.

"But she's been dead for seven years now."

"Oh. Sorry."

"So am I," he said, "but... I suppose it has been seven years. So I guess I'd better get on with my life."

"I guess you had," Delia said, locking her legs round his and moving a little more vigorously. His smile became dreamy and detached, but Delia realised that he wasn't ignoring her; she suspected that he was distracting himself, holding back until she came again with a cry of pleasure. Only then did he allow himself to let go, squirming frenziedly against her, groin to groin, until he gave a groan and she felt his cock pulsing and throbbing deep inside her.

Then he slowed down and gently lowered himself onto her. A few moments later, his cock had deflated, and he rolled off her and lay beside her with that soft smile again.

"Thanks," he said.

"Welcome back," she replied.

****

Delia took another sip of coffee. "Anyway," she said, "I assume that Doc Easterling didn't send you to me to discuss my private life. What is it that she thinks I can help you with?"

James paused, choosing his words. "You're obviously close to some of the Restarted," he said.

"I guess that's the popular polite term round here. Sorry, I'm sounding irritated now -- I shouldn't let a couple of bad jokes from the nursing staff get on my nerves. Yeah, anyway, I've made a few friends here."

"Yes, well. Helena's now Restarted too -- she's up and talking again, and very healthy indeed. But I have this problem dealing with that. I mean, my wife is -- was -- twenty years older than me. She was a dignified, mature woman. Always was. The woman in that hospital room is..."

He paused. "Let me guess," Delia said across the silence, "so far as you can see, she's a skinny, flawless twenty-something with the bounciness of a teenager."

"Something like that."

"How's her memory from before? Does she remember you properly?"

"Fairly well, I think, but she missing quite a few bits."

"That's normal."

"Yes, they did warn us. But she doesn't quite seem to know what to make of me."

"Oh, they all get a bit confused about everything. They're having to remake themselves almost from scratch." Delia stared at James. "Hmm. Doc Easterling sent you to me, and even she knows me first and foremost as the woman who's screwed three of her patients. Is this about sex?"

"Partly. Helena's made a few jokes about ... she seems quite, well, positive on the subject."

"Like I said, the bounciness of a teenager. Look, the best advice I can give you on that subject is to get hold of some Viagra before they send her home with you. No offence, but keeping up with her may be your only real problem."

James scowled at her. "You assume that I'm happy with that," he snapped.

"You aren't? Wow. Very something of you, I guess. But look, she

is

your wife..."

"Is she? She's not the woman I met years ago, let alone the one I lived with for all that time."

"She is and she isn't. They call it Restarted for a reason." Delia finished her coffee. "Forgive me for asking, but how was your sex life before she came in here?"

"It was fine. It doesn't stop at fifty, you know, or at seventy."

"No, I'm sure it doesn't. For that matter, excuse my putting it this way, but if you

were

some kind of toy boy, I assume that it was always pretty good for somebody."

"I guess that you could say that..."

****

They'd met briefly a few times, at fashion shows and industry events, but the big party for the London design house's spring collection was the first time that they'd exchanged more than a dozen words. She seemed interested in him, asking him about his career plans and swapping business gossip, but then, when they found themselves alone in a quiet corner, she stared wordlessly at him for a couple of seconds, then nodded. "Come on," she said.

"Where?" he asked, puzzled.

"To the bathroom. Actually, let's make it the one at the back on the second floor. You come along in two minutes. I'll be there."

And with that, without waiting for a reply, she slipped away. He paused, staring at his drink, unsure what he was being offered. Drugs, very likely, he thought, and he was unhappy, because that wasn't really his style -- but he had the definite feeling that Helena Frankbridge wasn't somebody he wanted to annoy, not if he was serious about the modelling career.

However, as soon as he reached the bathroom and slipped inside, it became extremely obvious that he'd guessed wrong. The much-admired, cool and clever Ms Frankbridge grabbed him as soon as he was through the door, and pressed her mouth against his -- although he did notice that she deftly locked the door behind him at the same time. Then she pulled away from him, and while looking him in the eye, did something that involving pulling up the complex, colourful synthetic-fabric skirt she was wearing. Glancing down, he realised that she had raised it well up, and that what looked like an expensive lace thong was slipping down her thighs to the floor.

He met her gaze again, smiled, and lowered himself to his knees. She made a questioning noise in her throat, and then backed up a foot or two until she reached a nearby counter surface. He followed her, and then grasped her hips gently with both hands and lifted her just enough, so that she was half-sitting on the counter. Her complicated, lightweight skirt ended up draped over his head as he buried his face in her pussy, which he found was neatly waxed, leaving just a tuft of hair.

Parting her outer cunt lips with his tongue, he explored her until he found her clitoris, and then set to work. She gasped, once briefly and once at greater length, and then began murmuring softly as he stimulated her. He didn't rush it, but he pushed her to gasping orgasm soon enough, then emerged from under her skirt with a grin.

"God," she murmured, "that's above and beyond..."

"I hoped that you'd like it."

"You certainly try harder than most young men offered a quick bathroom screw."

Actually, he'd assumed that he was expected to put a special effort in for Ms Helena Frankbridge. But he didn't think that it would be tactful to say that, so he simply smiled and unfastened his pants, then pushed them and his briefs half-way down his thighs as she looked at him with a thoughtful smile. He had a condom in his wallet, but before he could extract that, she was offering him one that had emerged from her expensive-looking purse, and he carefully fitted it to his ready erection.

He moved forward a few inches to put his cock in position, and she immediately took hold of it, putting it exactly in place. He pushed up as she half-slipped off the counter, and they both gasped as he found himself deep inside her. Then, after the briefest pause, he began thrusting regularly as she moved her hips in a small circular action.

He was still trying to hold back, to make sure that he pleased her, but actually this was pretty damn good, especially when she began murmuring "Yeah, yeah, fuck me, fuck me..." in his ear, and soon his thrusts became harder and faster. He came with a gasp, then paused, but he saw that her eyes were closed and her head was thrown back, and he began moving again as she murmured "Don't stop!" This achieved the desired result; a few seconds later, she gave a soft, significant moan.

He gently lowered her so that she was leaning against the counter, then withdrew his softening cock from her completely. As he went to dispose of the condom, she pulled a handful of tissues from a dispenser on the counter to mop herself up a little. But then he saw that she was smiling at him, with less of a calculating look than before.

"Pretty good," she said.

"It was for me too," he replied.

"I'm glad to hear it. Actually..."

She paused, and he looked at her.

"There's no need for this to be just a one-off screw, you know. If you'd like to do it again some time."

"Sounds good," he said, and he realised that he meant it.

****

"Right," Delia said, "she

is

your wife, you know, and I'll guess she's still recognisably the same woman, really. So she's acting like a bouncy teenager, and if she's recently Restarted, she'll be looking pretty good. And do remember that you're not being unfaithful to anyone. Why not stop worrying and just enjoy it, if she decides to jump you?"

James scowled. "She

is

a seventy-three-year-old woman," he said. "The way she's acting now is just so ...

undignified."

Delia frowned thoughtfully. "Let me show you something," she said, and reached into her bag. She extracted a pad, and turned it on, and the screen sprang to life. "I had to go away for a few days last week," she continued as she tinkered with the controls, "and a friend of mine, Ann, asked to borrow my apartment while I was away. Now, Ann is Restarted, and while she's getting the hang of the modern world pretty well, she hasn't really taken on board just how many gadgets have built-in cameras these days. So anyway, one evening I thought that I ought to check that my apartment was okay, so I connected to my cameras over the Web, and this is what I saw."

She had been tinkering with the pad as she spoke, and now she turned it and handed it to James. He glanced down and saw that it was playing a video recording, full screen; then he gasped quietly. The screen showed the bedroom of what was doubtless a small apartment, with the bed in the middle of the screen. A man and a woman were both on it, and both naked, and there was little doubt what they were doing. The woman, whose rangy figure and silver-steel hair (in a neat bob) marked her as Restarted, was on her hands and knees; the man -- young, youthful even, with short dark hair -- was kneeling behind her, thrusting his hips, doubtless deep inside her.

Then another man, also naked, came into view, and clambered onto the bed, kneeling in front of the woman. She raised one hand, first sweeping her hair back from her face where it had fallen, then taking hold of his swelling cock. She looked at it for a moment, then raised it to her mouth and engulfed the first third of its length. Its owner paused for a moment, looking down at her, then began moving his hips carefully. The first man was staring at all this, and was evidently turned on; he began to move faster and harder. The threesome swayed for a moment, then found a working rhythm, the woman's hips grinding against the first man as she worked on the second's cock with mouth and hand...