Stay Another Day

On our last evening, we walked alone on a beach as the daylight was dying, and then kissed in the salty water. As we strolled the short distance back to the cottage, I was transfixed by the sight of Cat's ass rolling as she walked. It drove me crazy. When we got inside I pulled the giggling beauty into the bedroom.

I pulled her bikini bottoms down, bent her over and stuck my tongue straight into her asshole. Cat giggled.

"I just love your ass babe. Can I fuck it?"

"Well, you can if you really want to. You can fuck it. Be my guest."

"I didn't know you had ever done this before Cat."

"Oh yes!" Josh did my butt plenty of times. I knew you would want to as well, but it's taken you longer than I thought to get round to it."

"Do you like anal sex?"

"Well, it's ok, as long as you use lube and are gentle with me. Your cock is thick."

Cat lay face down on the bed. I quickly looked around the property, but could find no lube, so I got some butter from the kitchen and coated my cock. She dropped to her hands and knees so that her firm, ripe ass was presented to me, and she wiggled in invitation. I knelt behind and got onto my knees, resting my cock between her full, golden butt-cheeks.

I moved my hands onto her hanging breasts, pinching those big, hard, dark nipples. I could smell the fine aroma of her sweet pussy juice, and I rocked my hips back and forth, spreading the butter over the entrance to her asshole.

Cat's asshole was so cute. I had to taste it again, swirling my tongue inside. Then I spread more butter on my fingers and worked first one, then two inside her, stretching the little muscular ring, widening it slightly.

She pushed her ass into me. "Please Carl, do it, I want your cock in my asshole. Fuck me," she groaned, and pushed her ass against me.

I put my hands on her butt-cheeks and spread them further apart, then placed my thumbs at the side of her glistening opening, widening it and readying it so I would easily be able to slide past the puckered ring with my hard cock.

I lined it up and began to push. There was some resistance, but Cat pushed back against me and the head of my cock soon popped in. She shuddered in some discomfort. I eased about half of the length in and kept it still for a minute, letting her adjust to it. Her ring began to relax and slacken a touch, so I fed more in very gradually, until I was buried balls deep in my young lover's ass.

Slowly, lazily almost, I began to rock my hips backward and forward. Cat moved with me, pushing back to meet my rhythm, and soon, we found a wonderful pace, fucking slowly and deeply. I pulled my cock right back out of her asshole, then pushed back into the warm, welcoming opening, several times, submerging my pole to the maximum on re-entry. I pushed her down, forcing her big breasts into the sheets, fucking her harder and faster.

Cat began to rub on her clit. I fed two fingers into her cunt, finger fucking its welcoming dampness as I rammed her asshole.

"Carl, Carl, Carl," she cried out, almost in a chant.

Her hand worked rapidly on her clit. I hammered into her, riding her hard, with as much brutal strength as I could muster.

Cat cried out, and her body shuddered and tightened. She came explosively, her wet pussy contracting tightly on my fingers, while her ass squeezed my cock. I, in turn, flooded her with cum.

When her butt had milked me dry, I pulled out. Her ass leaked a small trace of my cum. I lay beside her as she turned onto her back. She leant sideways and cuddled up to me as I eventually regained my ragged breath. My lungs felt in tatters.

"I love you Mr B, and I want to be with you always," she said, as I kissed her softly.

When we boarded the ferry for our return crossing, Cat quickly curled up and fell asleep on a soft chair. She looked peaceful and happy, and younger than ever. I felt ill. My chest was getting painful at times. I went to a canteen area and bought a tea and sandwich. It was ok, but I had no real appetite.

After I ate, I wandered outside onto the deck for a cigarette.

The sun was out, and the air was salty on the wind. My chest hurt when I drew the smoke deeply into my lungs. This was bad. I coughed harshly, almost in a spasm. I moved into the restroom and washed my face. I coughed again into the sink. There was some blood on the porcelain, and I felt slightly faint.

When I returned to where Cat was sleeping, she had disappeared. I went looking and found her in a large bar area sipping on a diet coke, deep in conversation with a heavily pregnant woman. They looked happy, smiling, like old friends sharing good times, although they must have only just met.

Cat didn't notice me, so I didn't interrupt them. I ordered a small whisky. The main topic of their conversation was obvious. The woman pointed and then held her stomach. Then she put Cat's hand there too, letting her feel a kick. Oh, the look of joy on Cat's face.

I downed the drink. I ordered a refill and rapidly lost £10 on a gambling machine, and wandered over to watch some old 'classic' boxing fights on a sports channel playing on a giant screen. 'Marvellous' Marvin Hagler was destroying Tommy 'Hitman' Hearns in a brutal war. I remembered watching the fight on television with my Dad and my younger brother Darren when it originally took place, springtime 1985. I was fifteen then. Cat was still three years away from being born.

After the fight, Darren persuaded our Dad to let him join a boys sporting club, where there was a boxing gym. Darren's skills improved quickly, and in time, he became quite good. He won a couple of trophies and medals for youth boxing, and a good few more after he joined the army. He was a tall, hard hitting middleweight, a bit like a less skilled version of Hearns.

Darren was a sergeant when he got blown to bits by a mine in Afghanistan in 2002. I had his boxing memorabilia and his military medals in a cupboard in my apartment. Like him, they deserved a better resting place.

Cat found me later, as I sat musing over my lost brother. She sensed my mood, but remained quiet. We wandered out to the open top deck to enjoy the warm day, but I still had to fight off a shiver. Her head leant into my chest and she cried as I talked to her about Darren. I dried her wet eyes with my handkerchief.

"Do you think about him much?" she asked.

"Mostly when I attend a sports event, or see someone order a bottle of lager in a pub. Every time I read in a newspaper about yet another British soldier dying in someone else's war. I remember him coming home for the first time after his basic training; tanned, fit and full of pride. He was my little brother. So, to answer you, yes, I think about him a lot."

Cat kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand tightly. There seemed nothing more to say.

A while later, her beautiful face formed into a smile as she watched a mischievous tiny boy with a grin on his face, obviously a new walker, as he tried and failed to escape the loving grasp of his mother's hand.

It made me think about what was going on inside Cat's head. Her nest building in my apartment, and the interest in the pregnant woman and the young kid spelt mother wish to me, although I may well have been wrong. She hugged me very tight and seemed excited while watching the kid's antics. Alarm bells went off in my brain. 'Oh, you lovely, silly, beautiful girl,' I thought. 'Don't waste all that love and your future on me.'

Later in that day, after we arrived home, Cat dug out Darren's military medals and a couple of good photographs of him. She told me she intended to get them framed together. She also found some of my old pencil sketches from an art club I attend. Some were of a nude female model who had posed for us there. They intrigued her.

"Draw me Mr B," she said. So I did.

She stripped and sat her magnificent body back on a chair, turning slightly to one side. I got an A3 pad and some pencils and gave it my best shot. It took about an hour before I was content with my efforts. Bless her, she sat in a perfect mode. Only her gentle breathing and the occasional glimmer of a smile permeated her composed stillness.

"All done beautiful one," I told her. She rose eagerly to see the drawing. It was probably one of the best I had ever done I thought, although with my very limited talents that is still not a particularly high recommendation.

"I love it," she said. "It's great. You can draw me like that again and even paint me. Promise me?"

"Ok, I do promise you Cat. I love that you like it, and thank you, it was a pleasure for me to have such beauty to draw."

"It was a greater pleasure for me Carl. Feel how much."

She took two fingers of my right hand, and placed them onto her pussy lips. She rubbed them there. Cat moved my fingers to my mouth, and I sucked off her delicious cream

I dropped to my knees before her. She positioned her feet farther apart and I lapped around the soft folds of her cunt lips with my tongue. I slipped it into her warm, welcoming haven and shaped it so I could drink as much of her nectar as I could. I could sense her knees trembling slightly and her breathing go ragged, and she placed her hands on my head.

I pulled my tongue out and positioned my lips in an 'O' shape over her little pearl of a clit, and sucked it long and tenderly. Her body tightened up, and Cat groaned softly before she came. I lapped up more of her sweet juice.

I picked Cat up and carried her to bed, laying her on her back.

We fucked slowly missionary style: me on top, her on her back with her legs spread. I rode her balls deep every thrust, with my hands under her ass, pulling her up to meet my movements. We hit a slow sweet rhythm. Our tongues joined together, rolling in each other's mouths. I told her she was beautiful and special, then slammed her hard and fast until I climaxed with her, shooting waves of cum deep inside her tight, wet, glove of a pussy.

We had a long cuddle, and although my energy levels were shot to hell, I went to my refrigerator and got a cold beer for myself and a diet coke for Cat. I then went to the bathroom and started to run a bath with some herbal bubble making liquid in it.

I had a smoke, and my chest punished me for it again, but the steam rising from the bath eased it. Cat got in too, taking the end where the taps can stick in your back. 'Now that's a caring lover for you,' I thought. I hadn't shaved for two or three days and Cat commented on it.

"I don't like your face all bristly; it rubs when we kiss." She didn't mention it rubbing between her thighs when I ate her sweet cunt out, but such is life, and I let it lie. Cat got out of the bath and found a disposable razor. She got back in, spread some of the bubbles on my face like they were shaving foam, and very slowly and tenderly shaved my face. When she was satisfied, she nodded and placed a long loving kiss on my mouth.

"Well, now you can let me shave your little puss in return, seeing how you like to be smooth," I suggested.

"Hmmmph, no way," she replied, with transparently faked annoyance. "One, I did it myself yesterday, so it doesn't need doing, and two, if you think I'd trust an old Limey with a razor down there, then you are way wrong!"

I stuck my tongue out, and told her she was, "A big baby."

Leaving the bath, we dried each other thoroughly. I ordered a large pizza for home delivery. Cat ate about eighty percent of it as we watched a frantic and exhausted Jack Bauer doing his stuff on a 24 DVD. With his haunted look, tired face and dark circles under his eyes, he reminded me of the face that greeted me in a mirror earlier. I suddenly felt desperately ill now and totally dog tired, so I left her to her viewing and went to bed. I was in a deep sleep within moments.

Well, even the most beautiful of clear blue skies have clouds waiting to drift in from thousands of miles away, and the next dawn meant the day of Cat's return home to California.

I woke at eight o'clock, brewed some tea and sat drinking it as I watched her gorgeous sleeping face. My skin felt hot and clammy, and my chest hurt badly, although I hadn't even lit the first of the day's cigarettes yet. I went for a quick shower, coughing up blood and mucus crap from my lungs. 'Yup, lung cancer,' was my thought. The strange thing was that I didn't feel sad, or angry, more resigned and accepting.

I sat on a chair by the bed and looked again at the still sleeping Cat. 'It's time for you to think Carl,' I told myself. I was totally in love with Cat, feeling a greater wealth of emotion for her than I have ever known, or thought I would ever know.

What is the greater expression of love? Is it to loyally stay, body and soul, with one person for a lifetime, facing whatever happiness or pain comes your way together? Is it the totality of joy you can give and share through physical lovemaking? Or, is the greater act of love one human can have for another the act of setting them free from sadness?

She woke, rubbed her eyes, looked around, saw me and smiled.

"I'll set you free," I whispered.

"What did you say Mr B?" Cat asked me.

"Oh, nothing much babe. Come on Miss sleepy-head, get up, get washed and get dressed, we have to get you to a plane."

"Carl, there is one thing I need you to do for me."

"What's that?"

"Ok, put your hand on your heart and promise that you will see a doctor within two days."

"I do promise you that Cat."

On the long ride to the airport, my brain was spinning in confusion, but an idea had formed: 'It will be short but brutal, and I will hate myself afterwards, but I am going to set you free,' I thought. 'I will make you hate me Cat.'

We got there with enough time to go to a quiet area in the corner of a large food hall before the check-in time. Cat's eyes were misting up a bit when she brought two coffees to our table.

"I know it's only going to be three weeks Carl, but I will miss you like hell."

I feigned indifference, saying nothing yet.

"Well, I'll tell you one thing," she said. "If Dad won't help me out financially it won't matter. I'm coming back and starting on my uni course and living with you anyway."

I steeled myself to look cold. "Oh, so you expect me to pay out more money on you then, do you?"

"No Carl, I will get part-time work. You won't have to pay a cent."

"I doubt that Cat. It seems to me you have spent your whole life taking money from your Dad. That's your pattern, isn't it? You just find people to finance you?"

She was hurt. "How can you say that?" she asked, with tears in her eyes. "I know you spent money on me, but I never asked you for anything."

"You didn't need to ask. You used your looks and your sex appeal to get what you wanted. And guess what? The appeal has worn off."

Her face flushed first in anger, then in sadness. "Why are you saying these things? We love each other Mr B."

"Don't call me Mr B, that's so immature. Look, I've been thinking about things. You were fun Cat, but in the end, you are just a nice piece of young ass. We had great sex, yes, but don't confuse that with love."

She started crying now, with big tears rolling down her beautiful face. "Just stop this, I KNOW you love me Carl."

"I don't love you. Guess what? That's what I say to hot young meat to keep them sweet. You are just one in a long line, you stupid kid. I'm glad you are going back to America now, as I'm getting bored with you. Take my advice, don't come back. There is nothing for you here. It's time I found some fresh pussy anyway. You were fun to be around for a while, but there is no future in it."

"NO!" She was shouting now, and people were staring at us. "You are a liar. I KNOW you love me as much as I love you!"

"You are one deluded, silly, immature little girl. All you were was a fuck, even someone as naïve as you must realise that? Why the hell would I want to be with you? You are nothing more than an embarrassment, you stupid kid. Now fuck off and check in for your flight, and don't contact me again, ever! Do you understand, you mongrel piece of shit?"

Cat almost totally collapsed then. Her head fell onto the table and her body shuddered with hysterical sobs.

I stood up and walked off. I felt as though some good part of my body had just died inside of me. 'It's kinder for her in the end, Carl,' I tried to convince myself, but I still felt terrible. I pulled the sim card from my mobile, snapped it and threw it and the mobile in a garbage bin in case she tried to phone me.

Like a rat, I slunk around a corner. I didn't leave then; I wanted to see if she made her check in. She was a smart girl, and I feared she might see through my behaviour and read it for what it was.

Eventually she rose, dried her tears and took her meagre baggage to the check-in point. I walked slowly back to the motorbike, rubbing some wetness from my eyes before putting on my helmet. I don't remember much of the trip home. I was in a devastated daze, hating myself each and every second.

After I made my way home, I smoked some cigarettes as I sat watching boats return to the quay as the evening light died. I decided I couldn't face food and coughed up more blood. I looked in a mirror and saw a man with a thousand yard stare, then went out to seek a form of punishment.

I started in a few bars in Bedford Place, getting drunk and angry. I was looking to pick a fight with someone who would punish me badly, but failed, so I moved on, ending up in an area called St Mary's. There are two pubs close together there, the Kingsland Tavern and the Plume of Feathers. I was too drunk to remember which I was in when I found what I wanted.

There was a tough looking man drinking alone at the bar. He had a brooding and angry demeanour. When he ordered vodka, he did so in a harsh Northern Irish accent. He looked like he had walked in from a construction site. He wasn't tall, but he was very powerful. There was plenty of muscle packed around his shoulders, and his hands were huge. I walked up to him.

"Mate, I want to ask you a question. I'm going to build a monster for the sequel to the 'Lord of the Rings' films. You are one ugly looking cunt. Can I use your face for a mould?"

"Fuck off," he replied.

"Seriously, I'll pay you £50 for it. Then you can buy a train and ferry ticket, and fuck off back to your shit hole tenement in Belfast."

This brought no verbal response, although he shifted on his bar stool, as though he was readying himself to rise to his feet.

I threw my drink over him and jabbed him in the face. I got my punishment then. He rose, and after delivering several massive punches to my face, he finally dropped me. He must have been a gentleman, as he didn't stick the boot in.

Somehow, I stumbled home. I looked into the mirror. I wasn't as drunk or hurt as I'd hoped. I just had a puffy eye blackening up, a split lip and some red swelling around my left ear. I coughed a little more blood, and felt tired almost to the point of collapse, so I had a good swig on a whisky bottle and slumped asleep on the bed fully clothed.

I woke in the morning with my head pumping pain, so I downed some codeine. I made an appointment with a taciturn doctor. He had old-fashioned square glasses, thinning grey hair and a full beard. He looked old and drained, like he should be retired. He raised a world-weary eyebrow when I told him I'd been losing weight and coughing blood. He put his stethoscope to my chest, nodded and mumbled to himself, and then made a couple of phone calls, making me an appointment at a hospital, for later that same day.

"If you got me a slot that quickly, then I must be a bad state," I said.

"It's probably not what you think it is," was his only comment.

After a mind numbing array of x-rays, blood tests, and scans, I found that I was lucky. It seemed that it wasn't the great unspoken cancer, it was tuberculosis. I was admitted to the busy, grey hospital for three weeks.