copyright 2011, by PostScriptor
all rights reserved
This is the first time that I have put one of my stories into a Lit. contest.. I really have to thank RachLou for her exquisite editing — she made it much a tighter, better story. (If you haven't read her stories, you ought to!) An inveterate rewriter, if new errors have crept in, rest assured, they are all mine! Although this story could be placed in the 'romance' category, it doesn't have all of the elements that I believe 'romance' stories need. Consequently, I'm putting it into the 'mature' category, which seems to be a reasonable fit.
When the doorbell rang, George Washington Harper was in the kitchen making his morning coffee. It was a ritual that George had no intention of interrupting, with only 30-seconds or so remaining in a process that would result in the perfect cup of coffee.
"Who in heaven's name would be out today, anyway?" he asked himself out loud. He looked out the back window and saw that the temperature on thermometer was still hovering below 20 degrees. Not the coldest it had ever been here in town, but plenty cold.
The whole week had been cold and snowy, and although it was warming up now, that made it worse in a way — what had been fresh, powdery snow at the beginning of the week was now a combination of a layer of icy crust laying atop a layer of slightly compressed snow, that laying above a nasty sheet of ice at the bottom. Conditions were perfect for someone to take a couple of steps, hit the slippery ice at the bottom, and fall on their 'keister', as his dad had called it. Just his luck if someone were to break a hip on his sidewalk and sue him for their own stupidity.
The doorbell rang again, only this time it wasn't letting up, as if someone was leaning on it.
A guilty feeling swept over George, as he tried to finish up the coffee. He recalled that he hadn't shoveled the snow off his walk, between the sidewalk and his porch, for days.
"Ridiculous," he said out loud again. He realized that talking to himself was a kind of mental crutch to offset the silent emptiness of the big old house that he occupied alone.
When exactly five minutes had passed, according to his timer, he pressed down the filter of his French press, trapping the grounds at the bottom of the glass enclosure, and poured the deep brown and aromatic liquid into a coffee pot. Thank goodness the bell ringer had finally let up. At least temporarily.
George wiped his hands on one of the kitchen towels, and turned, heading out towards the front door.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he hollered, hoping the intruder would hear him and not start the bell ringing again. Walking down the hall and past the living room, he suddenly heard what sounded an awful lot like handfuls of pebbles being tossed at the front window. Jeez! Whoever his visitor was, he was getting the distinct feeling that there was an angry person awaiting him. Braving the cold, walking through 8-inch deep snow and ice, abusing the doorbell, and now throwing pebbles at his window to get his attention. Definitely an angry or crazy person.
Wait a minute, he thought, where the hell are they getting the pebbles? Digging down through the snow to the driveway to find stones? He revised his estimate of the danger lurking at his front door upward. Maybe I ought to get my shotgun, came the dark thought. In the end, he decided to look first and only get the shotgun if it seemed necessary.
When George gently pulled aside the diaphanous curtains, he was taken aback, and flabbergasted at what, or rather who, he saw.
There, in the snow, in his front yard was a woman. Footsteps in the deep snow revealed that she had walked up to the door and on the porch; and that now she was walking back and forth across the front yard. She seemed to be muttering to herself, and was leaned over, her hands beneath the snow, searching around, George suspected, for more pebbles to toss at the window.
She was tall for a woman, slender, without being skinny, and most people would never guess by looking at her that she was 58 years old — the same age as George. She was not entirely dressed appropriately for the weather; she did have a heavy overcoat on, and she was wearing snow boots, but she was also wearing a skirt that, while not short, exposed her bare legs. Nice legs, at that, an unbiased observer might add.
George knew that beneath the woolen cap that she wore, covering her ears against the cold, her hair was a honey-gold color, and that if she looked at him, it would be with pale blue-gray eyes.
In other words, despite the incongruous conditions, George recognized her. He cracked open the door.
"Ah, hmmm..." he cleared his throat, "Linda?" he quietly called out.
Linda, for indeed it was she, straightened up quickly, and looked at George. A handful of pebbles fell from her hand to the ground.
It wasn't exactly a friendly look that she gave him, but rather one that hovered somewhere between angry and determined. She turned and walked back to the door. George had the impression that she was stomping, rather than walking, but since she had to lift her feet up so much to get through the snow, he really couldn't tell.
"George," she said in a firm voice, "we need to talk!"
"The hell we do," George muttered under his breath, at the same time he was nodding his head in the affirmative, not so much agreeing as surrendering to the inevitable.
Linda reached the porch, and stepped up the three steps to the door, where George looked at her expectantly.
"George, are you planning on making me stand here, or are you going to invite me in? I'm freezing out here."
"Oh, yes, of course. Please come in. I'm sorry, it's just that you shocked me, suddenly appearing at my door." He thought about what he'd said for a moment, and decided that it had sounded rather rude, and didn't really reflect his feelings anyway. "Although it is a pleasant shock, er, surprise, I assure you," he said closing the door behind her.
Once in the entryway, Linda began divesting herself of her winter garb. George, in his role of 'the good host' took her overcoat and hung it in the closet, set her wet boots onto the boot dryer/heater, and her knit cap on the hat rack.
"Oh, man! It's cold out there!" Linda exclaimed, rubbing her hands together extended out above the heater register in the floor, shivering slightly.
George looked down at her, noting her skirt, a knit sweater over a white blouse, and socks, but no shoes under her boots. He also saw the small scattering of gray hairs on her head, no real surprise at their age. He stifled the urge to reach out and touch her hair.
It struck him, that Linda and he hadn't exchanged more than a word or two in passing for more than thirty four years — since the year they had both married — and here they were acting as if they had seen each other yesterday.
He reached into the closet and offered her a pair of slippers which she gratefully accepted.
"You don't really seem dressed for the cold, to be honest," he replied after a moment of silence. Linda looked up at George, who stood about five inches taller than her.
"I was on my way to the office, when I picked up yesterday's mail from my mailbox. I found something in it that I need to talk to you about," as she looked down at herself, "I guess I was in a bit of a hurry. I should have changed into something warmer before I came here."
"Why don't we go to the kitchen and sit down, and I can pour us some coffee. Freshly made. A mild, but flavorful blend?" he smiled a little as he imitated the spiel of the young barristas working at the local coffee shops.
"Sold," she said with a smile, which reduced George's anxiety level a couple of degrees.
As they walked back to the kitchen, Linda, who had never been in George's house before, looked around with curiosity. Everything was clean and neat, not obsessively so, but with that homey feeling. The living room was a formal, even slightly feminine room, with furniture that looked comfortable, although not used much. The colors on the walls were warm, selected with care by someone with a keen eye for decorating. There were family photos on the walls, showing George and his wife and children in various locations, at various times.
"Oh," Linda gasped when they reached the kitchen, "this is wonderful!"
George smiled, "It was Betsy's pride and joy. I try to keep it as clean as Betsy did; that's not too difficult. But I can't hope to touch her cooking." A look of sadness flashed across George's face.
Linda suddenly looked very serious, and took George's hand. "I want to express my sympathy at your loss, speaking of Betsy. I was very sad when I heard that she had passed. We prayed for her and you, both,"
"I appreciate that so much. She was a good woman, a loving mother, and we all miss her terribly," he said with a tone that cut off further discussion.
George steered Linda to one of the bar stool type chairs that were at the end of the island, where the stone counter-top extended beyond the underlying cabinets, with a single support of its own, creating a sort of 'breakfast bar'. She sat while George got a set of coffee cups — mugs, really — as well as cream and a variety of sweeteners. He poured the coffee, and soon they were sipping the first piping hot mouthfuls.
Linda and George looked at each other for a moment, and George nodded at Linda to start.
Rather than speaking immediately, Linda reached into a pocket on her skirt and brought out an envelope address to her, containing a card, which she placed on the table in front of George. George didn't need to open it to know what the card was.
"George, I want you to tell me the truth. I want you to remember that you are named after George Washington, who couldn't tell a lie, and tell me that you didn't send this card to me."
"Linda, I told you years ago, that the 'George' in my name comes from my maternal grandfather, while the 'Washington' is a family name on my paternal side... and anyway, that story about the Cherry Tree was written years after he died, by..."
"George, you are trying to avoid the question. Can you tell me you didn't send me this card?"
George started to look at the stove, and the pans that were hanging from the hooks on the back wall.
"No George, don't do that either. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me. Did you or did you not send me this card!"
George drew his eyes back to Linda's — those beautiful blue-gray eyes of hers that he had never forgotten. Those eyes from which tears were falling, gently flowing down her cheeks. He knew one thing: regardless of the consequences, he couldn't lie to her any more.
"Linda, yes, I did send you that card, but..."
"And the other forty-three as well?" she said the incredulity evident in her voice, "An anonymous Valentine's card each year for the past forty-four years?"
Now he was embarrassed; for god's sake, put the way she said it, he sounded like some sort of stalker. No wonder she was throwing pebbles at his windows.
"Yes, Linda, I did. I didn't mean to make you angry, or hurt you..." his words stumbling out now, his fears finally realized as he saw the anguish in her face.
But she continued, "I have a box at home with forty-three, soon to be forty-four anonymous Valentine's cards — which for going on forty-four years, I had hoped and prayed were from you. Why? Why did you lie when I asked you all of those years ago?" Linda was tearing, and George was sitting with his elbows on the counter-top, and his hands holding his head, covering his eyes at the same time. He finally looked up again.
"I was afraid. I mean, I was eighteen years old when you cornered me. How could I admit to you, that I had loved and adored you from the moment we met in Miss Pierce's home room, the first day of Ninth Grade? You were already so beautiful, and I was just another teenage guy with bad skin. I looked like a geek. I remember thinking about it. What kind of pair would we be? The Goddess and the Geek. Beauty and the Blah. Of course I denied it. But I never got over it. Sorry, I never meant..." his words just faded away.
There was a period of silence between them again. Linda, taking the initiative that George could never have taken for fear of offending her, reached over and took his hand in hers.
"George, my sweet George, 'what fools these mortals be', I think the quotation goes." Linda paused gathering her thoughts before she went on. "Can I ask another rather sensitive question that's been bothering me for years?" George squeezed her hand and nodded his head. "If you loved me, why didn't you say something to me? Why did you run off and marry Betsy?"
George sighed heavily, and followed it with a deep breath.
"When I got back from Vietnam and was discharged from the Army, I was going to find you and tell you just how I felt about you. I guess that a person who has to confront the possibility of dying, as I did in the war, loses fears about other things. I figured that the worse that could happen would be, you'd tell me you weren't interested, and I would just have to accept it and get on with my life.
"That wasn't what happened. I came home, and decided to go to the Valentine's Day dance that they used to throw in the Rec Center downtown. I was hoping I'd find you there, and I'd confess to you it was me sending you that card from your 'secret Valentine', and we would arrange a time to talk in a little more private setting.
"Best laid plans of mice and men, or Murphy's Law strikes again, or something like that, because when I arrived at the dance, you were there alright, but you were with Mark Dawson. I asked around, and a couple of the people I knew told me that you and Mark were 'an item'. So that wrapped it up for me, and I left, and went home."
Linda looked at George and shook her head, a sad look on her face.
"Oh god, George. My parents made me go out with Mark to the dance, and a couple of other times, because his parents were friends of my mom and dad. But we were never out alone, and we certainly weren't a couple. At least not then.
"I never knew that you had been at the Valentine's Day dance, or that you'd seen us there. I didn't even know that you were home until I saw an article in the paper, talking about what a hero you were, how you had a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star. I cut the article out, and I looked up your medals — I'd never known how brave you were and the danger you had been in until I read about it in a newspaper!
"I realized that you had been home for a couple of weeks, so I was going to show up at your parents house and see if I could get you to take me out. By then, though, it was too late. That very morning I read an announcement in the paper that you were going to get married to Betsy.
"George," Linda asked, after a brief pause, her voice sounding choked, "if you cared for me, how could you marry someone else?"
George stood up for a moment, letting go of Linda's hand. He picked up the pot and topped off his coffee. He looked at Linda, his eyes asking her if she wanted more, to which she shook her head no.
He sat again, and took a moment to gather his thoughts and memories from thirty-six years earlier. He looked down at the table before he started speaking.
"Betsy was a distant cousin of mine — but my folks and her parents had grown up together and had been pretty close. I had met her a couple of times, but she and I weren't close at all."
He looked up again at Linda, her face showing that she was completely focused on what he was telling her. This time, he reached over and gently took her hand.
"I can still see it in my mind: I had been out interviewing for jobs that day," he continued, "and when I got home, my parents, Betsy and her parents, were all sitting around the living room talking. It seemed that Betsy had made a big mistake, and gotten pregnant by some bastard who took off as soon as he found out about her condition, leaving her in the lurch."
He paused again.
"I'm sure you remember how it was back then, at least for us living in small-town America. An unmarried mother was pretty much considered a whore, and it left a stain on her, and her whole family. Her reputation was ruined." George shook his head slowly back and forth twice.
"Not like it is today, is it? Nobody would think twice about it today. And I'm not sure that is a completely good thing either.
"Anyway, I was depressed that you were on your way to getting married to another man; and maybe I was just mentally exhausted after leaving the Army. Suddenly I was on my own, forced to make my own choices. I don't know, maybe there were a whole lot of reasons that I was feeling down.
"So when my folks and Betsy's parents asked me to consider marrying her, so that her baby would have a father, I thought about it. Betsy was a beautiful woman, she was kind and gentle, and didn't deserve to be the object of scorn. After I considered it for a time, I said yes I would, and that was that."
He looked back at Linda again. She was shaking her head slowly, a look of anguish on her face.
"George, I really wasn't..." She stopped mid-sentence, and just shook her head again.
He nodded before he continued, "The idea was that Betsy and I would get married ASAP, before she was showing, and we would stay married long enough to give the baby a name, and a father. If anyone cared, they would count up the time between when we were married and when the baby came along, and they would wink and think to themselves, 'those two got a little jump on the baby making'. But no one would think that I was covering up for someone else — they would figure that the baby was mine and Betsy's."
Linda nodded at that as well, "I did. When I heard that you were a father, it never occurred to me that she might not be yours."
George sighed again before resuming his tale.
"So we were only supposed to be married for a year or a little longer. After the baby was born, Betsy and I would quietly divorce, for unspecified reasons. All neat and clean. Only things never work out that way.
"I remember that first night together on our honeymoon — in Niagara Falls, if you can imagine anything as corny as that — Betsy came into the room in a sexy, black negligee, and we were really alone together for the first time. She came up to me, and hugged me so hard that I could hardly breathe. Then she looked up at me with tears in her eyes, and said, 'George, you are my knight in shining armor; I know how much of a sacrifice you're making by marrying me to save my reputation. I promise you, for as long as we are married, I will do everything in my power to be the best wife to you that a man has ever had. I will do whatever I can to make you happy and content'." George smiled gently at the memory.
"And she kept her promise. She was a marvelous cook and she kept the house neat as a pin. She exercised to keep herself trim and attractive for me. She dressed well. And every night of our married life together she was prepared to make love, if I wanted to, any way that I wanted. She was a loyal wife, who I never had cause to doubt, and she was always cheerful, and her greatest happiness was just to be together with me. She was a great mother to our children, and one of the sweetest, kindest people you could ever know.
"Of course, by the time Sandy was born, the whole idea of getting a quiet divorce went out the window. Even if I could have left that little girl without her father — because by then I knew that I was her real father — a thousand other things kept me together with Betsy. There are obligations and responsibilities that develop in a marriage, and to be honest, by the time a year had passed, you were married as well, so what was there for me, outside of the marriage I was in?
"In any case, Betsy and Sandy hadn't done anything to deserve being left on their own. I would have never been able to look at myself in the mirror if I had just dumped them. I would have dishonored them; I would have dishonored myself.
George looked over at Linda, before speaking again.
"Betsy was sitting next to me on our bed one night, maybe six or eight months after Sandy was born, when she asked when I was going start the divorce proceedings. She was looking straight ahead, and I could tell she was trying not to break down in front of me.
"I put my arm around her and pulled her close, and said to her, 'Why would I do that do the woman and family I love.' She turned to me with that smile on her face, and nodded. She never asked me again.
"A couple years passed by and George Jr. was born, a couple more and our little Alice joined us. We were a family, and I think as much as anyone's, a happy family. We raised our children to be good people and responsible adults. A lot to be proud of.
"I had everything that a man could want in his marriage, except one thing: I was not passionately in love with my wife. Now, don't take me wrong — I loved Betsy. I loved her more than you would a brother or sister, or parents. I had respect and admiration for her. She was easy to be around, and I surely miss her companionship. But I never loved her with the intensity that she loved me.
"It's sad, in a way, but for me that spark that make two people into one, that makes them soul mates, was never there.
"And that's why I continued to send you a Valentine's Day card every year — hoping in my own way to let you know that there was at least one man out there, whether you knew who it was or not, who loved you beyond reason. So now you know the whole stupid story of your old friend George, who has remained stupid for all of these years. And all I can hope is that I haven't damaged your marriage with my stupidity as well."
For several minutes, two old friends sat together, finishing their cooling coffee, both silently reflecting, thinking their own thoughts.
"George," Linda started, "You don't have to worry about Mark and I. We've been divorced now for just under a year."
He cast a sharp glance in her direction, the unspoken question hanging in the air.
"No, it didn't have anything to do with your cards, either. Mark never opened any of them, and I put them away without his ever seeing them. No, our marriage didn't die a dramatic death; it just died from boredom and inattention. Plus a deficit of real love.
"We were never able to have children — we never tried to prevent them, but I never conceived, either. To be honest, it must not have been very important to either of us, because when I think about it now, I realize that we never even made the effort to discover why." She seemed a little surprised herself at the realization.
"I tried to be a good wife, but I think that Mark always knew, always felt, that there was a part of me that could never be his. He was a good husband. He was witty, charming, always a lot of fun to be around. He was a great provider. He was never cruel or abusive in any way. Our love life was fine — Mark was a considerate and attentive lover — but it was limited to having sex, not making love. At least on my part.
"In truth, Mark must have loved me an awful lot for our marriage to have lasted over thirty years. Then, last year, he announced that he wasn't going to put up with another cold and snowy winter. He was moving to Florida where he could golf almost any day of the year, and go deep water fishing, and not worry about shoveling snow from the driveway. I could come or stay. My choice. I don't think that he was terribly surprised when I decided to stay.
"Even at that, Mark was still kind and generous in the divorce settlement. We were both civil, and I'm financially well enough off that I really have no worries for the rest of my life. Which is not to say that I'm giving up my work any time soon," she concluded with a smile.
"Maybe if we had children, I would have felt more like a couple — like a family — but that just never happened."
Linda suddenly stood up from the chair.
"George, just wait here for a moment. Let me get something and I'll be right back."
George listened while Linda walked back down the hallway, and heard her as she opened the coat closet in the entry, rummaged around, and walked back. When she re-entered the kitchen she had a twinkle in her eye. She approached her seat, but before she sat down again, she handed George an envelope.
"Go ahead, George. Open it." She smiled at him as she waited. George took the envelope, which wasn't actually sealed, so he reached in and pulled out a Valentine's Day card. He opened it and read —
I have loved you and adored you since the first day we met, in home room in Ninth Grade. If I'm right, for forty-four years you've been sending me Valentine's Day cards, and I've decided that it was time for me to take a chance and send you a Valentine's card too. If you feel like I do, let's stop wasting time. I love you, I want to spend the rest of my life with you — I don't want to wait another year, another day, another minute.
With all of the passion of my heart and soul,
While George had been reading the card, Linda had moved behind him in his chair. Her arms snaked around him, and when he finished reading and put down the card, he swiveled towards her in the chair until he could get his arm around her waist as well. Then their mouths searched out each other's, until they were united in a kiss — a kiss with the passion and intensity that came of over forty years of self-denial.
Linda's hand stroked through his hair, as his hand caressed her back and shoulders, reaching up to her neck, then down to gently cup her ass, then caressing her back again. Linda's hands finally came to rest on George's shoulders and they finally broke apart, still in each other's arms, but close enough to see each others faces.
Their lips touched again, and George was completely taken in the warmth and moistness of Linda's. He couldn't stop himself as his tongue slipped out and began exploring her lips. Linda, for her part, began to search out his tongue with her own, until they were sharing, touching and tasting each other's mouths.
Linda groaned. "I think that we should adjourn this to the bedroom," she whispered into his ear, as she tried to seize his earlobe gently with her teeth.
"After you, my dearest love."
Suddenly Linda stopped.
"Oh George, can I use your phone for a minute?"
"Sure -- there's one over there," he answered, pointed at a portable phone in its cradle under the cabinets.
He rose to leave, but Linda came back with the phone, and took hold of his arm.
"Just calling in to let them know not to expect to see me today," she explained.
"Hope you're not going to get in trouble for playing hooky."
"I doubt it," Linda grinned, "I own the place, and the boss can play hooky when she wants to."
They stood together, while Linda gave her staff instructions for the day.
"And Sam, go ahead and lock up when you leave tonight. I won't be coming in at all today. Maybe not tomorrow either. Oh no -- nothing wrong, just some long overdue catching up to do. Fine. OK. I'll call in to check. Thanks."
She put the phone back into its cradle, and turned her face back towards George, which resulted in another deep kiss as they walked arm-in-arm back to the bedroom.
The master bedroom, like the rest of the house, reflected George's sense of order. No clothes just thrown on the floor, the bed made, everything neat and tidy despite George living alone. George saw her look of approval.
"Betsy," he stated firmly, "got me into a lot of good habits. Every morning make the bed, for one thing."
Linda chuckled at that, then watched as George folded up the bed cover, setting it off to one side before pulling the covers and sheets down. "I think I would have liked and admired Betsy too," she said. Then she went quiet.
George looked at her, standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself, suddenly seeming hesitant.
"What's wrong, love?" he asked, walking back to her and taking her into his arms,
"I'm afraid. I'm afraid that once I take my clothes off, you won't like my old woman's body." She sniffed. "I never had large breasts, but at least they used to be perky. Now they sag. And my butt, too. Oh George, you are going to hate what you see!"
He chuckled, "I hate to tell you this, Linda, but I've been worrying that you would be disappointed with me when you see that my six-pack has become more of a 'keg' over the years. And let's not even get into how insecure a man can be over the size of his penis." George gently pulled Linda further into the bedroom, and began taking her sweater off over her head. She dutifully lifted her arms as it came off.
He pulled her over to the bed, where he sat down in front of her and began unbuttoning her blouse. When he had taken it off, he began to kiss and lick her where her abdomen was exposed. Reaching behind her, he found the clasp that held her bra in place. A quick squeeze of the two sides, and the hooks slipped out of the eyes, and her bra was loose. Linda shrugged her shoulders, and the straps dropped down to her elbows, when George, considerate as ever, removed the bra and placed it on the bed next to her blouse. He didn't resume his adoration of her body; instead he looked up at her to reassure her.
"Linda, your breasts are lovely -- they are everything I could wish for."
He lowered his head down to her breast and took a nipple into his mouth, and began sucking it, pressing it, and rolling it between his lips. Linda moaned again,
"George, let me undo that," and she reached to the side of her skirt, and lowered the skirt down to the floor and stepped out of it. She stood there, for a moment, for George to see, in just her panties.
"This is completely unfair," she observed, "I'm almost nude, and you're still dressed. My turn to undress you!" she said, with a mischievous look on her face.
Linda bent over and untied George's shoes, and took them off, as well as his socks. Then she took his hands and pulled him to his feet a few feet from the bed. She stood back for a minute, as if truly seeing him for the first time.
"Hmmm... nice broad shoulders," she said, reaching out and caressing them. She unbuttoned his shirt, and George took it off the rest of the way. She was running her hands over and around him.
"You lied to me about your stomach. No big pot belly there -- just a tiny bit extra. Pretty damn good for an old guy!" she said, laughing, her fingers combing through the hair on his chest that ran down the front of his body. To George's surprise, Linda came closer to him, and he found her taking his nipple into her mouth, sucking on it. It was new and different, and kind of exciting.
"I've never done that before; I don't understand why I did it now..." she whispered.
"It's OK. No one has ever done that to me before, either."
Meanwhile, Linda had started using her hand to stroke the front of George's pants. His suddenly revitalized sexual urge was making itself apparent.
"Oh boy," Linda seemed pleased to announce, "I don't think that I will have any complaints in the size department either!" She was feverishly working on removing George's belt, and opening the top of his trousers. When they were loose, Linda knelt down lowered his pants, and helped him step out one leg at a time. But at this point, she had given up on orderliness. She tossed his pants on the chair, and turned back to his remaining piece of clothing -- his underwear, from which his cock was struggling to escape. It was with a quick motion that she had those down, and George stepped out of them, fully naked with Linda in front of him, her face about level with his penis.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed, looking up into George's face, "You've got a nice one!" She returned her attention to his cock, which she examined as if she had never seen one before. Linda gently cupped his balls in her fingers, gently massaging them with her fingers, letting her fingernails lightly stroke the skin. George, who hadn't been this hard for years, closed his eyes from the shear sensuality of the moment and leaned his head back, so he didn't see Linda's tongue snaking out, taking the first tentative licks of his glans.
"George, he's beautiful -- so smooth and the skin is so soft!" she whispered, just before she took him into her mouth. Now it was time for George's knees to almost buckle at the pleasure that Linda was giving him with her mouth, moving up and down, covering his shaft, her lips tight but gentle, while her tongue continued to move on the underside of his cock.
After a short time, George looked back down at Linda.
"Dearest, you are going to have to stop that for now, because otherwise I'm going to explode in your mouth, and after all of these years waiting, I want to be inside you our first time." He reached down and helped Linda up to her feet, where they embraced and began kissing again -- mouths, faces, necks, shoulders, exploring the long desired but forbidden flesh.
George gently laid Linda back onto the bed, where he leaned over her and began lightly kissing her stomach while his hands caressed her sides, her breasts and gradually moved lower following his lips. Soon he was at the top of her panties. His fingers curled over the elastic, and he began pulling them off. Linda lifted herself off the bed to allow them to pass beneath her ass. George slid them off over her feet and tossed them onto the floor not far from his own briefs.
A true blond, Linda had never had a lot of hair, either on her legs or her pubic triangle. She didn't shave or have it waxed, but she did keep it trimmed. And when George's mouth moved on her triangle, and down further between her legs, it was Linda's turn to close her eyes, and focus on the pleasure that she was receiving, and anticipate what was yet to come.
When two older people make love there is a different balance for them than for younger people. It takes a man longer to recover before he can be sexually ready again; women often don't naturally lubricate as well as they did. But there are advantages as well. Both men and women can be more experienced; men are more patient and willing to work at satisfying their partner; women, freed from the fear of pregnancy and long past worries about reputations, can give themselves more freely, and allow their passions to run wild. And, perhaps most of all, both older men and woman are willing to share their needs with their partners. They can talk to each other, letting their partner know what they want and how they want it.
But at the moment, Linda was perfectly content with what George was doing, as he spread her legs. His kisses, love bites and licks were coming closer to the center of her sensations. She was so aroused, her senses so heightened, and here was George making her wait.
"George, oh George, please!" she gasped, "Now, put it in me now!"
She heard his chuckle from between her legs.
"No. Not yet. I'm busy down here, and there are a few more places I need to inspect." She immediately felt a gentle love bite on the inside of her thigh, and he was moving lower, lifting the lower half of her leg, which had been hanging over the side of the bed.
"No fair, you, you..." she couldn't think of an adjective to properly express what an unfair man he was. "You made me stop and I did. Now you have to put it in me."
Linda realized that George had her foot in his hands, and was kissing and licking it, on the top, the side, and the arch. It was an entirely new sensation to her, almost too much. "No one has ever done that before," she thought, right before she felt George's mouth cover her big toe. He began sucking, which was so intense that her whole body stiffened.
"ARRGH," she gasped at the feeling, unable to form any words. Then she felt George's mouth release her toe before she became completely incoherent, only to feel his tongue licking her other toes as well.
George was actually feeling pretty pleased with himself at having surprised her like that; Linda's legs were so sensitive now, she had goosebumps up and down their entire length.
He moved back up Linda's other leg, spending time licking the inside of her knee, and finally kissing up her thigh, back up to her vaginal entry. The moans and small noises that Linda was making told George that he was on the right track.
George shifted Linda's body so that she was lying lengthwise on the bed, and spread her legs open a little wider to give himself better access. Without additional teasing, put his face down and began to lave her around her entryway, flicking on her clitoris, then down one side of her labia, then licking with a little more pressure, his tongue circling in the sensitive flesh between her vagina and anal opening. He finally inserted his tongue into her vagina, circling around the opening, and entering in as far as his tongue could reach. The odor intoxicated him -- the smell and taste of a woman in her state of sexual ecstasy.
Linda was moaning out loud, her body moving, unable to be still. "Oh, right there, George. Yes! Yes! Just a little harder! Oh god, lover, that's wonderful."
George began to focus on her clitoris, his tongue softly, quickly flicking up and down, moving the small hood out of the way with the fingers on his one hand. Then to complete the act, he inserted a finger, pad up, behind her pubic bone, finding and pressing on her g-spot. Almost instantly, her climax started, and she began breathing in gasps, between loud moans.
Without removing his finger from her g-spot, he moved up to place his cock into his lover at long last. He removed his finger, and replaced it with his cock, into Linda's body, already in spasms from her climax. She was warm, she was wet, and George entered her in a single stroke, thrusting himself in as deeply as he could, and held himself there for a moment.
Linda exhaled a loud "AH" when he thrust in, and George found himself completely entangled, as Linda's arms circled his waist, and her legs wrapped themselves around his upper thighs, trying to force him in as far as he could go.
George began to pull out, almost all of the way, before thrusting himself back in deeply each time. Each thrust was accompanied by a now loud response from Linda, some words, "Yes! Oh yes! Again! More!" or just ecstatic, primal screams.
When George finally came, it felt as if his balls were being forcefully drained of all of their fluid. It was one of those sensations that was so pleasurable, it was almost painful. The walls of Linda's vagina had been squeezing and releasing his cock, and her entire body was moving, her legs pushing them up off the bed, her head rocking back and forth. Her breath was coming in gasps. When she felt the warmth of his seed shooting inside her, and he suddenly stiffened, it was if their bodies had both been struck rigid.
With their orgasm past, their bodies relaxed. George started to move off of Linda, but she wouldn't let him.
"Just lie there, George, I want to feel your weight on me."
So he stayed, until his erection had faded. He rolled over and onto his side of the bed, gazing at Linda, who looked for all intents and purposes as if she had fainted.
"Linda? Are you OK?" he gently asked.
"No," she responded without even bothering to open her eyes, "I'm not OK. I'm fantastic. I'm beyond my wildest dreams. Now I know what it means to have a man make love to me." She stopped talking, too exhausted to continue.
George pulled up the covers over their bodies, moved close to Linda, and slipped his arms around her, and held her. Her arms came up to hold his arms where they crossed her body. Eyes closed, she remained on her back, but now with a contented smile. And together, Linda and George lay there, in quiet companionship.
Perhaps forty five minutes or an hour passed. George knew that he must have dropped off for a time. But now he needed to pee. He moved over to the side of the bed, and swung his legs over the side, hoping not to wake Linda. But that was not to be.
"Where do you think you are sneaking off to?" asked Linda, with a giggle. "Just like a man -- give a woman the orgasm of her life, have your way with her, and then exit, stage right!"
"Actually, my beloved, I was just going to pee, take a Viagra, and prepare for round two!" George answered laughing.
"Maybe you could bring a warm washcloth and a towel. I'm kind of yucky. Or wait a minute, I'll come in with you." Linda jumped out of bed.
When they returned, she stood there looking down at the bed, shaking her head.
"Let me guess who's supposed to sleep in the wet spot?" she smiled and didn't sound too upset. George came up behind her, and put his arms around her, and kissed the back of her neck.
"I guess the next time, we can use my half of the bed. That way, at least, we'll both have a wet spot."
At that moment the doorbell rang. Linda and George looked at each other. George was clearly surprised.
"You don't have any other long-lost loves who you sent Valentine's to, do you?" asked Linda, albeit with a grin. In their small town she knew that if George had any other women around, she would know about them.
"I don't remember any," he replied with a grin, "but who the heck could that be, in the middle of the day? Don't they know it's freezing out there?"
He threw a bathrobe on.
"Do you mind staying here for a moment? I'll get rid of them, whoever it is." He turned and left the room. Linda, having no intention of leaving or being chased out, crawled back into bed and pulled up the covers.
Linda was becoming somewhat worried and upset, as the minutes ticked by, and George didn't reappear. She could hear voices, but couldn't hear the words, and finally she heard a woman's laugh. But it was only a little after hearing the woman's laughter that George returned to the bedroom.
He came in, still in his bathrobe and sat next to Linda on the bed. He smiled at her, and reached out to take her hand in his.
"So, do you want the good news or the bad news first?"
Linda looked at him, a little suspiciously.
"The bad news, I guess."
George nodded, "Our visitor was my daughter Sandy, who came by to check up on me and see how I was doing. I took her into the living room to talk. It wasn't hard for her to make an educated guess, when I answered the door in my robe, and there wasn't anyone else who she could see. She more-or-less figured out that there was some hanky-panky going on in the bedroom!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Really, the kids were going to have to know sooner or later, although knowing within the hour may be sooner than absolutely necessary."
A smiling Linda pulled their intertwined hands together, and started kissing them.
"Oh, it gets worse," George told her. "I told her that an old friend, who I'd known since my high school days was with me in the house, and you know what? She asked me if it was you."
"Me?" Linda squeaked, her eyes opening wide.
"Not by name, of course. But she asked if it was you." George's eyes filled with tears as he explained.
"Before Betsy died, she must have taken Sandy aside sometime when they were alone together. Betsy told her that I had been in love with another woman before we got married, and that she was pretty certain that I'd never really gotten over her.
"She told Sandy that it was a good thing that I had so much love in my heart, that I still had enough left over to share with her, and we were able to have a loving family together. She told her that," George's voice began to choke up, "I'd been the best husband a woman could have, and that she had been happier with me than she could have ever thought possible. That, even though she was dying, she was grateful for every moment that we'd had together." The tears began to flow in earnest, and Linda put her arms around George to hold and comfort him.
When he could speak again, he wiped the tears from his eyes and continued.
"She told Sandy that she hoped that after she was gone, that I would be able to find happiness again, perhaps with the other woman I'd loved. So Sandy asked me, if it was you — the woman I had loved, who I was with. I told her yes."
Linda looked at George curiously.
"If that's the bad news, then what is the good news?"
"She told me that she, George Jr. and Alice have all been hoping that I would find that special someone who could make me happy again. And Sandy thought that it was really funny that she'd caught us messing around. Sandy claims it's only justice for the times I almost caught her with her boyfriend. She says that she's calling her siblings as soon as she gets home to spread the word.
"Plus, we are going to have to attend a family dinner next weekend. You'll have to meet the children, the grandkids, all of that sort of thing. Probably just the first of many. Does that work for you?"
"George, I look forward to it. I can hardly wait," Linda agreed, before she lowered her eyelids, batted her eye lashes in his direction and gave him her best sultry look and asked, "So how long does that Viagra take before we can...you know... do it again?"
That evening as Linda and George ate their first meal together as a couple, Linda did put her foot down.
"George, there is one thing that I need to make clear is an absolute precondition for our relationship going forward from here!"
George sat waiting with a certain trepidation. What was she going on about? Sex? Money? The kids? The house?
"From now on, NO MORE ANONYMOUS VALENTINE'S. You can sign it as 'your lover', 'your man', hopefully as 'your husband', but you WILL sign it!"
With that, he took her hand in his, and they laughed together. and snatched a quick kiss before George replied, knowing better than to argue about this request,
"Whatever you say, dearest."
Feb 1, 2018 in romance