a) Rose
A couple of times a week I would go and spend at least three hours, but usually the night, with Rose. She was, at that time, still sensitive to her own loss. But it was as if she really felt his presence in me. She did say that there were many things in which we were alike: - something we found funny, for example; or something we liked the taste of, or disliked the taste of; types of telly programmes we liked, or disliked; our tones of voice; or tilt of the head. Things that could either be genetic, or 'learned'.
However, she was passionate, and appeared to love me, the way I loved her. She could always find a combination of clothes and styling that would have me fixated on her all evening, whether in bar, club, or restaurant, as if I was still in my teens. She would tease me in some wicked way, that I would take revenge for when we were back in her bed (usually by withholding an orgasm when she felt desperate for one). I believe that I fell into the same pattern of relationships with my two lovers that my father ... enjoyed.
With my mother, sex was more making love, energetic at times, but mainly emotional, and 'loving' (if that makes any sense), but still mainly penetrative.
With Rose, almost anything 'went'. Anything penetrative tended to be more in the 'fucking' end of the spectrum; hard, heavy, and often verging on the violent, especially after an evening of her teasing. There were times that she felt deprived if she could walk into work, 'the morning after'. If she arrived at work 'mincing', limping, or 'shuffling' as she 'nursed an abused cervix' or hips or thighs, she felt fulfilled.
*
This was the 'standard' state of my affaires for the five-odd weeks after Rose 'seduced me'.
Three weeks into this, Mum got a bit dreamy from time to time, and would jump, if I said, or approached her unexpectedly. She denied that there was any problem, so I just put it down to her grief undergoing a change; or whether she had started to regret our sex life. I had no qualms about our love. That seemed not to have changed.
Then one evening, after I had rung Rose's bell (door bell, that is. I was hoping to ring all the others later), her door whipped open, and her arm snaked away from her naked body, dragged me inside by my belt as she slammed the door closed, dragged me as fast as she could to the sofa, thrust me down on it, whipped open my flies, flipped out 'Mr Less-Floppy', engulfed him and gave him some hefty sucks and pumps.
At the time, the best I had been able to utter were such inanities as: - "Whoa!"; "What the..."; "Careful!"; "Wow!"; or squeak, "Oh shit!"
She lifted off me, releasing him with a pop, and sucked in her loose spit, gave me a piercing look, and said, "You - have been a
very-bad-boy[!]
, so you don't get to fuck me tonight! What have you got to say for yourself?"
"Ohh, Rose! What'd I do?" I groaned in surrender, already missing the opportunity of ringing all those other bells.
"What. Did. You. Do?" she mimicked in a scandalised tone.
"You have done exactly the very worst thing that you could EVER do to me! That's what!"
"Oh God!" I groaned. I knew that that was IT; sort of - it was over!
???
Over? Hang on!
How can it be over? She had dragged me in here, while she was naked; and immediately started blowing me!
"OK! I give up! What did I do, that was so momentous that I don't get to fuck you, but still get a blow-job?"
"You can't fuck me tonight, you'll probably try to be your usual deliciously rough self, and try to give me a breast augmentation by poking my cervix up behind my tits."
Then she continued in a simpery-affronted Victorian maiden's voice, "And
that
won't be allowable in my present
delicate
condition."
"What? You're about to start your period? Is that what you are trying to tell me in this round-about way?"
"Just for your information, Mister Clever Dick," and here she used a tone of voice that was far from 'a simpery-affronted Victorian maiden's voice'; and then paused to give my Dick another taste of what it will be missing - apparently. "I have ceased having periods for a while."
I looked at her blankly.
"You've stopped having periods? How? Why? For how long?"
"Well... roughly ... eight months."
"Eight months?"
I looked at her blankly, again.
She looked 'up' at me, expectantly from her down-tilted head, from under her raised eyebrows.
" ... ... ... Gu-esss?"
"Well, eight months is like..."