Love Never Dies Pt. 04

This story is based on personal experience. Big Cock Fantasy readers will have met Gaynor - but not like this! As always, I hope you have a stimulating read and thanks to those who are riding all the way to the terminus. It's some distance off. Nice to have company.

Comments are appreciated.

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NOW

I COULD have cried, or at least roared out in pain and anguish. I wanted to beat my chest and bellow to the skies, roaring out my frustration. The e-mail from Gaynor stabbed at my heart, sliced me open and exposed me as a conceited, arrogant fool. At least, that's what I was, way back then.

Long ago I, realised what a huge mistake I'd made by walking away from her. I loved her but, at that time, I was too young and driven, too selfish and self-centred. Too determined to have my own way. Some of those single-minded traits helped in forging my career - but they were hugely destructive in my personal life.

By the time I came to my senses, it was too late. I knew I'd committed the biggest mistake of my life but I had to live with it and carry on the best I could. I had nobody to blame. I had made my own bed and had to lie in it.

And now . . . Gaynor's words, 32 years after I turned my back on her, confirmed my worst fears. Not only did I spite myself - but I devastated a beautiful, caring young woman. So much so, that she refused to fall in love again. She couldn't face the prospect of another heartache, another loss, another traumatic episode.

Well done, Richard, you bastard.

So, what now? My eyes fixed on Gaynor's words and found that, somehow, they were amazingly kind. Yes, she referred to "rock bottom . . . a horrible day . . . pain and heartache." But there was no accusation, no finger-pointing, no recriminations. Just a bold, painful statement about how I hurt her then - and the knock-on affect for the rest of her life. Despite all that suffering, she'd been the one to bridge the years and renew our contact. And, even now, she said she liked hearing from me. Amazing!

I shook my head and thought, yet again, about the remarkable love I had spurned. It was all so tormenting. I couldn't help but wonder what might have been. How different would our lives have been?

Hang on, Richard, here you go again. Don't feel sorry for yourself - think about Gaynor. Think about what you did to her, not what you foolishly brought upon yourself.

I stood up from my chair, picked up my empty brandy glass - and then put it down again. I walked along the corridor, peeked into the bedroom and saw Veronica was asleep. Downstairs I collected the brandy bottle and returned to my office where I poured a large measure.

I put on my spectacles and prepared to compose a reply to Gaynor. It was 10:20 on my computer clock and I wrote:

Subject: Contact

Dear Gaynor/Petal,

Of course, I don't mind you addressing me as "Dear Richard." In fact, I'm flattered and pleased that you still think of me in those terms.

I was about to write that I enjoyed receiving your e-mail but, on second thoughts, that needs some clarification. Yes, wonderful to hear from you again - but, God, what did I do to you?

I've previously told you, albeit briefly, that I came to realise what a stupid, young, arrogant fool I had been when I ended our . . . what do I call it? love affair? relationship? courtship? I don't know, but I ended it and regretted it for ever.

But, if it's possible, I regret it even more now that I know what I did to you and your life. Honestly (and I hope you can believe this) I never thought you would be so hurt, wounded and distraught. I guess I thought you would carry on, meet someone else and forget all about me. But not so simple, eh?

In one selfish way (see, still got that trait) I suppose that pleases me (my ego, anyway). But, in reality and truthfully, I'm distressed at the damage to your life and happiness that I caused 32 years ago. Believe me, Petal, if I could turn back the clock and start again, I would.

Whether we would have been together for life, no one knows - but at least we would have found out and not lived our lives always wondering "what if?" Hope that makes sense.

One other thing I must say is this: I am grateful and amazed that you can still think kindly about me, despite everything I did to you. I know I can never make up for it all but I do want you to know that I've never stopped loving you. No consolation, I know, but at least I've told you.

Oh dear, I've just read through what I've written so far and it's really a down-in-the-mouth message isn't it? It even rivals those suicidal Country songs about lost loves and dead dogs that you loved so much! Take it you're still a Country fan (I am now, believe it or not!). Nelson, Cline, Haggard, Price, Billie Jo Spears, Wynette, Tom T Hall, Don Williams, Parton et al, love 'em all.

Okay onward: I do want you to know that I'm pleased we're in contact again. I, too, get a kick when I see your name in my inbox (Nurse, nurse, my pulse rate's gone through the roof!).

I never thought we'd be in touch again but . . . here we are, apparently just a few miles away. You may not like what I'm about to suggest and perhaps I haven't the right but, here goes: Would you like to meet up? Say, for lunch or a drink?

I realise it's a big ask, but I would like the opportunity to see you (and hear your husky tones, which I strive to "hear" when I read your messages. Nothing beats the real thing).

Please, don't feel any pressure and forgive me if I've been presumptuous. I'll understand if you'd prefer to keep our contact via cyberspace but you did mention about accidentally bumping into each other. And, yes, I told Veronica about you many, many years ago. But that's another story.

If you do want to meet, I'm putting my mobile phone number at the end of this e-mail. Don't call but send a text with a number where I can reach you. Then perhaps we can arrange a date and venue. Okay?

Of course, if you don't wish to meet . . . please keep in touch by this method.

Love

Your Richard xx

I read through one more time and doubts seeped into my mind. I wanted to meet Gaynor but was it the right thing to do? What would be the outcome? Perhaps Gaynor would discover that she'd escaped - and then, of course, she'd be even more angry about the wasted years. But, what if that old spark was just waiting to be fanned? What then? What would we do? What could we do? Does it mean someone would get hurt - again? Or am I falling into the realms of fantasy? It's a long, long time and people change. Is it possible that the attraction could still be there?

Oh, Richard, think, think, think!

I sipped at my brandy and then slugged the rest down my throat. Damnation! If Gaynor agrees to a meeting, that's okay. We can both satisfy our curiosity and where's the harm in that?

I clicked on send, transferred the message to my special GR folder, shut down the computer and made my way to the bedroom. I stripped, cleaned my teeth in the bathroom and then slid, naked, beneath the duvet. Veronica's chest rose and fell with each deep breath and I reached across her warm body to switch off the bedside lamp.

"Mmmm," she murmured as I placed my hand on her stomach. "What's the time?"

"Nearly midnight."

"G'night, Richard," she said and turned onto her right side, her back to me.

"Night," I said to the darkened room. On my back, staring through the gloom at the ceiling, my mind was too active to allow sleep. I thought about Veronica's confession, the fear of pregnancy she hadn't been able to reveal until tonight. And I thought about the handjob she had surprisingly offered and given me - and where do we go from here? Would she eventually want to make love, open up her legs, as she put it, and take me in after all these years?

And I thought about Gaynor. Oh, I thought a lot about Gaynor. Various memories of happy, loving times, the glorious sex. And wondered how she'll react to my e-mail, my suggestion of a meeting. On and on my mind worked feverishly until, finally, exhausted, sleep came.

When I awoke, Veronica was not there. The bedside clock radio read 8:52 and I stretched my arms out wide and yawned. My sore eyes were reluctant to stay open but I had to move. It was Tuesday and I had a 10:30 tee time with Mick and the gang.

I opened the curtains and looked out at another sunny morning. I shaved and showered before dressing in slacks and sports shirt.

Veronica, wearing a pink housecoat, was reading the newspaper at the kitchen breakfast bar and she looked up long enough to say: "Coffee's in the pot. Have you got time for something to eat."

"No, I'm running a little late. I'll grab some coffee and toast at the club."

"Right," she said, putting the paper aside and looking at me, her mouth a tight line.

"Are you okay" I asked.

She continued looking at my face for a few seconds before speaking. "Yes, guess so. I'm a little puzzled, though."

"Puzzled?"

"Hmmm. Puzzled."

"About what?"

"Come on, don't be thick, Richard." She got off her stool and stood in front of me, arms at her side. "Where do we go from here? After last night, I mean."

"Oh," I said and glanced at my wristwatch. It was 9:30, still ample time to get to the golf club. "Thought we agreed to take things one step at a time."

Veronica nodded, thoughtfully. Her hair was dishevelled and her face pale. "Yes, we did." She folded her arms, almost defensively. "Look, you've got to go. What time are you playing?"

"Usual, about 10:30. But that's not important if you want to talk."

Veronica laughed, almost derisively. "It can wait, Richard. Lord, there's no rush now is there? Go on, get off to your golf pals. I'll see you when you get home. And, if you've forgotten, I'm meeting Helen this evening and we'll be eating out. You'd better get something at the club."

"Okay," I said and bent to kiss her lips. It was just a routine peck, no emotion, and Veronica kept her arms folded.

After playing golf, one of my worst rounds for some time, I had fresh salmon and Mick, predictably, ate steak and jacket potato. "You need to watch your waistline," I told him as he flopped back in his seat. "You look eight months pregnant."

"Humph," he said. "It's cost me a lot of money to get a figure like this."

I shook my head and smiled at him. "Just saying, at our ages we need to look after our health."

"Don't worry about me, pal, I'm okay. It's you I'm worried about."

"Me?"

Mick took a gulp of beer and then nodded. "Yep, you. You've been rather quiet these past few weeks. And out there on the course today, you didn't seem quite with it. Worst game I've seen you play. Is something bothering you? Something wrong?"

I shook my head. "No, nothing wrong." I thought for a moment. Mick was my oldest friend and totally reliable, trustworthy and certainly not a blabbermouth. "I've just had a few things on my mind that's all."

Mick looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain. I debated whether to continue and how much to tell him. Truthfully, I wanted to speak to someone and Mick was as good as anyone. I could confide in him.

"You'll probably find this strange," I began and Mick frowned. "Do you remember Gaynor?"

Mick's frown deepened. "Gaynor? Gaynor?" he mused. The penny dropped. "The nurse? Oh yes, I remember her," and he rolled both hands in front of his chest. "Big boobs, enormous. You and her went out for a while, didn't you? Before you moved. Yes, you did," he answered his own question. Then: "Why? What's happened?"

I took a swallow of beer and began the story of Gaynor contacting me and our subsequent messaging, ending with my offer to meet.

"Good Lord," said Mick, rising from his seat. "I'm gonna get another couple of drinks."

I was home by 7:15 and made straight for my office and the computer. I was anxious, desperately hoping that Gaynor had sent a reply. I was like a lovesick teenager not a man heading towards his 60s.

The page seemed to take ages to load and I impatiently tapped my fingers on the desk, muttering "C'mon, c'mon." I had 16 new messages and I scrolled down the index looking for her name. No, not there. I scrolled back up, slower this time in case I had missed it. No, nothing. I was deflated but started to read and delete the messages in the inbox. Then I slaughtered the spam.

I removed my spectacles and hovered the curser on "shut down." Another e-mail popped up: Gaynor Reid. Yes! Thank you, Gaynor! I smiled broadly and then, pessimistically, worried that her message would convey bad news.

I told myself to calm down and decided I needed to go downstairs and get myself a brandy. But the bottle and glass was still standing on my desktop, left there from last night.

I poured a generous measure, composed myself, settled into my chair and put my spectacles back on. Then I opened the e-mail and read: -

Subject: Meeting up

Dear Richard,

Wow and wow again. That's some message, Richard. I must admit that it gives me a lot of satisfaction to know that you now recognise the hurt you inflicted on me. Yes, I believe you when you say that your youth and your single-minded drive to succeed in a career, stopped you from properly considering what you were doing to us.

That's the dreadfully sad bit in our story, isn't it?

Yes, we don't know how we would have turned out (think that was a point I made to you at the time: my security). But I firmly believe we could have enjoyed a good life together. Fact is, Richard, I think we are soulmates. We had so much in common, our likes and dislikes - and, look at you, a Country music fan now!!

I, too, never thought our paths would ever cross again. But something possessed me to look you up on Facebook. I didn't make contact immediately. I waited a few days, nearly a week!! Honestly, I didn't know what to say and that's why I blurted out that bit about looking ill in your pic. I mean, come on, what person in their right mind would post a picture of themselves looking ill? But, it really wasn't a very flattering picture: much too stern with no sparkle in the eyes. Not how I remember My Richard, at all.

So, happily, you responded and now, here we are, in touch again. Can't believe it, really. And now you suggest meeting.

My heart immediately said yes - but, is it the right thing to do? You are a married man and, tell me if I'm wrong, I don't suppose you've told Veronica about our cyberspace contact. (You gave me your mobile number but said text, not call. Big give away, Richard!)

So, soulmate, what to do? I've been chewing this over ever since I read your message and I didn't sleep too well last night. Partly, I'm excited, of course, but I'm also worried and concerned. I think the chemistry we had is still there. At least, it is for me and, judging by your written words, it looks like it's still within you. I suppose, really, we've got unfinished business and it's this not knowing that still binds us.

But, think about it, Richard, that was 32 years ago and we were young and vibrant. A lot has happened since then. Are we the same people? Doubt it and hope not. It appears to me that you've mellowed with age. Right?

Me? Not sure. I think, basically, I'm still much the same in my 50s as I was when we met. But that's not for me to judge, is it?

One thing, I am happy with my looks. I've been blessed in that area and, though I've put on a few pounds and gained some wrinkles here and there, I can still turn a few heads when I dress up. (Lord, that sounds conceited, doesn't it? Not meant to be. It's just fact).

Oh dear, I'm waffling. I do that when I'm in a quandary (is that the right spelling?)

I've just taken a break to calm myself down and try to think clearly. I want you to get this message as soon as possible but I know how important the next step could be. Don't want to say something in haste and then repent (sound familiar, honey?)

Okay, in a nutshell, I want to meet. Where's the harm?

When I send this, I'll also text you. Of course, we don't know how far apart we are (in miles, not thoughts) and we'll need to sort out a meeting place.

Hope we're doing the right thing, Richard. Oh, shit, who can bloody tell?

That's it. Till I hear from you,

Love Petal (butterfly wings) xx

As I finished reading, my phone beep-beeped in my pocket. I fished it out and brought up the message.

"Hi Richard, you now have my number. Call tomorrow if you can. Anytime after 9:00. Night, night xx"

I saved the number to my contacts and then switched off my computer and made my way downstairs, taking the brandy and my glass. I settled into a chair and scanned the newspaper headlines but couldn't concentrate. At some stage tomorrow, I needed to create time and opportunity for the call to Gaynor. How could I do that? Risky to do it in the house, although my office is a possibility, depending where Veronica is at the time. Pop to the garage for petrol? Hmm, that's possible.

"Hi, Richard," and the front door banged shut. I was so engrossed in my thoughts I hadn't heard Veronica drive up and enter the house. It was a wake up call: if I was going to indulge in clandestine phone calls and meetings, I'd got to keep my wits about me. No slacking, stay aware of all around me. God, what was I getting into?

"Hi, sweetheart," I said as Veronica came into the room. She looked flushed. "Had a good time?"

"Hmm," she said and slumped onto the couch. She wiped the back of her left hand across her brow and then used the same hand to tug down the hem of her skirt. "We had a bit too much wine with dinner so Helen suggested we get a taxi home. Seemed a sensible idea." Her words were slightly slurred. Unusual for Veronica. "I'll pick my car up sometime tomorrow. Perhaps you can drive me to it. You okay?"

"Yes," I said, folding the newspaper. "Just been looking at the headlines. Not a lot happening. Well, nothing new, anyway."

"Isn't there? Ah well, perhaps no news is good news."

I smiled as Veronica leaned on the couch arm and pushed herself upright. "If you don't mind, I'm going for an early night. Sleep some of this wine off. Good night, Richard," she said and bent to kiss my brow.

"Night, sleep well," I said, watching her cautiously stepping out of the room. "Where did you leave the car?"

She stopped, hand on the door handle and looked over her shoulder. "In the car park at the restaurant. Mario said it would be safe. Okay?"

"Course. We'll collect it in the morning," I said, thinking that everything was falling conveniently into place. Take Veronica to her car and then call Gaynor. Perfect.

"Right, thanks. You're a treasure, Richard. G'night again." And she tottered off towards the stairs, leaving the door slightly ajar.

I got up, went to close the door but listened as Veronica clomped up the stairs and along the landing. Yep, she'd certainly had a glass or three. Wonder why? Anything to do with last night's sexual activities? Her outpourings? I closed the door and went to pour myself a final brandy for the night. A good measure.

Sitting back in my chair, I tried to remember the last time Veronica had been under the influence of drink. Had to be years and years ago. I could remember one famous occasion when Gaynor enjoyed herself at a party. But my thoughts were more concentrated on that night's journey home . . .

±±±±±±±±

THEN

GAYNOR giggled and slumped her head on my shoulder. I turned my head briefly to kiss the mass of curls on the top of her head and returned my gaze to the road. The night sky was clear, a bright full moon and stars twinkling. My headlights flooded the narrow country road, sweeping over the hedgerow.

Gaynor gave one of her majestic heaving-bosom sighs and slipped a hand on to my crotch and playfully squeezed. "That was one hell of a good party, wasn't it?"

"Sure was," I said, squirming in my seat as Gaynor began to glide her hand along my trousers: top of my thigh, crotch, inner thigh, crotch . . .