Thursday night I hardly slept. I was like a child on Christmas Eve, excited and desperate for morning to arrive so that I could open my gifts. But I wasn’t a child. I was less than a month from my fifty-eighth birthday and my special present was a meeting with Gaynor.

I lay quite still for most of the night but my mind restlessly darted from one memory to another: some from years back, others just snippets from our phone conversation and the written messages. I’d thought about Gaynor at various points in my life - but now she dominated my mind. These past weeks, she had been right there at every waking moment and, tonight, she even prevented me from sleeping.

Veronica, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all troubled by her upcoming date with Helen. From the moment her head lay on the pillow, Veronica seemed content, breathing deeply and rhythmically in her peaceful sleep. I lay there, listening and thinking. And thinking. And thinking…

I was startled when the phone alarm buzzed, buzzed at 7:30. I must have dozed off, exhausted, and now my eyes burned as I opened them. I reached to switch off the alarm and Veronica’s muffled voice inquired, “What time is it?”

Her head was half buried beneath the duvet and I said, “It’s seven-thirty. No need for you to get up yet.”

“Hmm.” Veronica didn’t stir.

I eased out of bed, donned my dressing gown and padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen, where I switched on the kettle. A mug of instant coffee was required to jolt me alive. What a weary state to be in for an important date!

Waiting for the water to boil, I made my way to the toilet and peed. Swilling my hands under the warm water, I felt the phone vibrate in my dressing gown pocket. Early for a message, I thought, and dried my hands before lifting the instrument from my pocket. I peered at the screen: 1 message from Gaynor Reid

I thumbed to bring up the message and my heart slowed as I read:

Panicking here Richard. Please ring ASAP or sooner! Need to talk urgently xx

I walked back into the kitchen in a puzzled daze. What on earth has happened? What’s the panic all about? What’s so urgent? Only one way to find out. I walked to the lounge, drew back the floor-length curtains and opened the patio doors. Outside, the paving slabs were cold to my feet and I stepped onto the lawn. The grass was still damp with morning dew and my feet were now cold and wet. A pale sun had risen but the day was still chilly as I scrolled to GR and pressed the call button.

I heard only one ring and then a breathless, husky voice, “Oh, thank God, Richard. Thanks for calling. Where are you?”

“I’m at home. I’ve just got up and… ”

“You got my text,” Gaynor cut in. “Is it safe for you to talk there? I mean, where’s Veronica?”

“She’s still in bed and I’m outside in the garden. Don’t worry about that. What’s the panic?”

“I do worry about that. I don’t want any trouble with Veronica. Anyway, I’ll make this quick.” Gaynor paused and I heard a deep breath. “I’m panicking because I’m scared, Richard.”

“Scared? Scared of what?”

“Of us, you… me. What are we doing, Richard? You’re a married man and I’m arranging to meet you. It’s a dangerous game we’re playing and I’m not sure I can go through with it.”

I switched the phone from my right ear to the left and my heart sank to my numb feet. The meeting I had so looked forward to was slipping out of reach, disappearing over a distant horizon.

“Are you still there?”

“Hmm, yes, still here,” I mumbled, my mind in a whirl. “Just trying to understand what’s happening.”

“Look, Richard, I’m sorry about this but I’ve been awake all night, worrying and wondering what on earth I’m doing. Don’t get me wrong, I would like to see you but I’m scared what it might lead to. You do understand, don’t you?”

I took a deep breath. “I guess so, in a way. I’ve been awake most of the night, too, Gaynor but for a different reason. I’ve been excited about seeing you again and, well, now…”

“Oh, Richard, please don’t make this any harder for me. I do want to see you but … oh hell, did you think about those things I asked? Why do you really want to see me? What do you expect to happen?”

I nodded as I listened and realised I had now walked to the bottom of the garden. I turned round and looked up at the house. The bedroom curtains were still closed. “Yes, Gaynor, of course I thought about all those questions. Believe me, I’d thought about them even before you asked.”

“And?”

“Truthfully, I haven’t gone too deep into the reasons other than I know in my heart that I dearly want to see you. Like I’ve told you, I’d like to at least sit with you, face to face, and talk. We had a past and I think our… well, our relationship, for want of a better word, is unfinished.”

“That’s what I mean,” Gaynor said quickly. “Unfinished business. But what does that mean? Where does that take us? How do we finish it, eh Richard?”

“As friends, loving friends,” I said and paused, hoping my words would soothe Gaynor. “As you keep saying, I am a married man and, being honest here, I have no plans to alter that fact. I have some marriage issues but Veronica has been a good partner for thirty years and I will not knowingly hurt her. I am truly sorry if you feel we shouldn’t meet up but… well, it’s your choice, your decision, really.”

“Is it? My decision?”

“Yes, Gaynor, it is. As much as I want to see you, I have no rights in this situation. I know I suggested the meeting but I never thought for one moment that it would cause you so much grief. I didn’t think you’d be worried.” 

I rubbed my free hand through my hair. I was agitated, desperately seeking the right things to say. I didn’t want our meeting aborted. 

“Okay, look… perhaps, yet again, I didn’t think it through properly. Another mistake on my part and I’m sorry. But, as I see it now, the situation is that I am married and that means I really have no right to ask you to meet me or do anything at all. You know how I feel, how much I want to see you, but I will abide by your wishes. I can’t do anything else. Okay?”

I could hear Gaynor’s heavy breathing and she finally broke the silence. “Okay Richard, here’s what I think: we’ve come so close we’ll probably be totally frustrated and left with even more questions than answers if we don’t go ahead and meet.”

“Agreed,” I said.

“I know you suggested meeting but I set the ball rolling by contacting you. And it’s my fault that I’m panicking. I can’t help being a scaredy cat.”

“I know. You’ve told me you don’t want to be hurt again and I don’t want that to happen. God forbid. I just thought that if we could meet, as old friends, we might both find some happiness… ”

“Say no more, Richard,” Gaynor cut in. “I’m convinced. Get off the phone now and don’t call me from your house ever again. It’s not safe. Sorry about the panic and I’ll see you as planned. Okay, 11:30 at The Toad’s Hollow?”

My pulse rate increased. “Yes, thank you, Gaynor. I’ll be there.”

“Good, so will I. Now get off the phone. Byeee.”

Before I could say anything more, she cut the connection. With a huge silent sigh of relief, I dropped the phone into my pocket and walked back into the house. The soles of my feet were wet and cold but I didn’t care. The meeting with Gaynor was all that concerned me and I wandered off to the kitchen to finally get my mug of coffee.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next two hours dragged. Initially, I scanned the newspaper as I munched a bowl of cereal. But I couldn’t concentrate and I decided to make tea for Veronica and take it to her in the bedroom.

She was just stirring when I placed the drink on her nightstand and then drew back the curtains. Sunlight spilled into the room and Veronica sat up, rubbing her eyes. She straightened the straps on her nightdress.

“Morning Richard. Thanks,” she said and raised the cup to her lips. She drank, a couple of sips. “Mmm, that’s good. A nice start to the day. And it looks nice out there.” She yawned. “Good day for your golf game, eh?”

“Yes, it’s very pleasant,” I agreed, removing my dressing gown. “Unless you want the bathroom, I’ll have a shower and shave.”

“No, you go ahead. I’m okay. Have you got the newspaper?”

I stopped at the entrance to our en suite bathroom and turned to face Veronica. “Sorry, I’ve left it in the kitchen. Shall I fetch it for you?”

“No, that’s alright. You get your shower and I’ll go downstairs in a minute. Go on, shoo.”

I shaved and looked at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were slightly red-veined through lack of sleep but, otherwise, I looked okay. After a lengthy shower, I was refreshed. I applied some aftershave and deodorant and had quite a spring in my step when I returned to the bedroom to dress. 

I elected to wear all black: slacks, socks, briefs, sports shirt and slip-on shoes. The whole ensemble. I once read somewhere that black was a slimming colour. Whether it was true or not I didn’t know but I looked in the full-length mirror and I didn’t look too bad. Slight paunch, maybe, but a reasonable shape for my age.

Downstairs, Veronica sat at the breakfast bar, eating toast and reading the newspaper. She looked up as I entered the kitchen. “Have you had any breakfast?”

“Yes, some cereals and coffee.”

She nodded and turned her attention back to the newspaper. “The weather forecast is good for the next few days,” she said. "Quite a decent end to the summer.”

“Hmm,” I said, “it’s been a good summer. Probably pay for it with a harsh winter.”

“Pessimist.”

“Maybe. Anyway, I’m off now,’ I said and bent to peck Veronica’s lips. They tasted of marmalade. “Any idea what time you’ll be home tonight?”

“Not really, no. I’m meeting Helen at the gym about five and then we’ll have a bite to eat and a drink somewhere. Probably home about nine, I should think.”

“Right,” I said, debating whether to mention Helen’s sexual advances. It didn’t appear to be in Veronica’s thoughts so I confined myself to saying, “I’ll no doubt be home first. Enjoy yourself and I’ll see you later.”

“Yes, have a good game. See you tonight.” And she resumed reading the newspaper.

When I started the car, it was only 9:58. I estimated it would take forty minutes to drive to The Toad’s Hollow but I planned to make a brief visit to the golf club, just to show my face and firm up my alibi. You’re one devious bastard, Richard, I thought and slipped the Volvo into gear.

At the club, I spent a few minutes in the professional’s shop, browsing and discussing the latest models of driver. Then I popped into the bar, ordered a coffee and sat in a chair by the window overlooking the first tee. I watched a couple of groups tee off, finished my coffee and headed back to the car park. It was now 10:37 and I was on schedule.

When I arrived at The Toad’s Hollow it was 11:22 and the car park was almost deserted. I reversed into a spot not far from the entrance and switched off the engine, leaving a Tom T Hall disc softly playing. I partially wound down my window and counted the other cars. Seven. I looked at my wristwatch, 11:24, and chastised myself: Calm down, she’ll be here soon. Don’t have a heart attack.

I gazed at the car park entrance, willing Gaynor to appear. Crikey, you don’t even know what make of car she drives. As that thought hit me, a red mini swept into the car park, swung into a space, braking sharply and, within seconds, a young girl leaped out, slammed the door and headed for the bar entrance. She walked quickly in flat shoes, a white blouse tucked in at the slim waist of her tight black skirt. Late for work, I thought, as she rushed through the door.

I hadn’t smoked for more than twenty years but I felt the urge to light a cigarette, inhale and be calmed by the nicotine hit. Stupid thought!

The harmonica and piano introduction to “Old dogs and watermelon wine” got my attention. I turned up the volume as the digital clock clicked to 11:32 and a black Vauxhall glided across my windscreen. Gaynor fluttered her fingers in greeting and I watched as she parked about four or five spaces away. She, too, reversed into her chosen spot.

I withdrew the ignition key, rudely cutting of Tom T Hall, and got out of the car. I shut the door, locked it and looked across as Gaynor emerged at the front of her vehicle.

My mouth suddenly dried. I was stunned; she was stunning. 

The curls of black hair were tighter and closer to her scalp than in years gone by but, even from a distance, the chocolate-drop eyes and the full lips, coated with a crimson lipstick, were familiar. Her caramel arms were exposed in a sleeveless, pastel lemon dress. It was the only bodily flesh on view but, in this instance, less was certainly more. 

From a demure white-trimmed collar at the base of her throat, the tight bodice dramatically accentuated the majestic swell of her breathtaking bosom. The knee-length skirt billowed from her hips, black leggings stopped inches above her trim ankles and black peep-toe sandals completed the visible outfit.

And, of course, gold hoops dangled from her ear lobes. 

The enticing package was complete when she smiled at me, revealing bright white teeth. But, as we walked to meet, she suddenly raised a hand to her mouth and said, “Oh, wait a minute,” and turned back to her car. I stood, like a statute, waiting.

Gaynor ducked inside her vehicle. Seconds later, she shut the door again and slung a leather tote bag onto her shoulder.

“Nearly forgot my bag,” she said huskily and came to a halt in front of me. “Well, here we are. How are you, Richard? Black suits you.”

How was I? Dazzled. Incredulous. Ecstatic. I could have said all of that and much more. Instead, I lamely offered, “You look well, really well. As beautiful as ever.”

Gaynor’s smile was broad, her eyes glistened. “Why, thank you. After not sleeping all night, I don’t feel very glam. More like a bag lady.” She chortled briefly, then added, “It’s good to see you Richard, it really is.”

“You too,” I said quietly, still astonished by the vision in front of me, a marvel I never thought I’d see again.

She crossed an arm to hitch the bag strap further onto her shoulder and smiled again. “Are you planning on standing here all day?”

“What? Oh no, sorry,” I blustered. “Do you want to go inside or sit out the back by the river?”

“Let’s find a little nook inside shall we? I don’t think there’s many here,” she said, glancing around the car park.

“Okay,” I said and turned to walk towards the entrance. Gaynor strode by my side and I pulled the door open and stood aside. “Thanks, ever the gentleman,” she said and I breathed in her fragrance as she passed by. Lilac? Lavender? Whatever, it was light and captivating.

I followed as Gaynor walked purposefully, hips swaying, to the far end of the room and plonked her bag on a corner table before sitting down on the padded bench, facing into the room. Gaynor liked corner seats and I prepared to sit opposite her, the round wood table between us.

“What would you like to drink?”

She looked up, focused on my eyes, and said, “Do you still drink beer?”

“Lager now.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her crimson-painted finger nails on the table top. “I’ll have a diet Coke please. Ice but no lemon, thanks.”

“Nothing stronger?”

“Uh, uh,” she shook her head and set the hoops swinging. “Not at the moment.”

The young girl who had made a hasty arrival a few minutes earlier, was serving at the bar. I ordered and looked around. Two other middle-aged couples occupied separate tables and a young man in jeans and T-shirt stood at the end of the bar. He had eyes only for the young bar girl.

I looked across at Gaynor. Her head was bowed and her fingers were moving swiftly over what I assumed was her phone: texting.

I paid for the drinks and as I approached, Gaynor put the phone in her bag, which she lifted off the table and placed beside her on the bench. “Cheers,” she said, raising the glass to her lips and sipping. I sat and had a swallow of lager.

“Don’t remember you drinking coke. Certainly not diet stuff.”

“You didn’t drink lager,” she said. “Anyway, I have fads. Mostly I have white wine but I don’t like to drink anything when I’m driving. Careful girl me.” She smiled broadly.

“Very commendable,” I said. “But diet drinks? You don’t need them.”

“Very nice of you to say so. But you’d be surprised, Richard. It’s very easy to pile on the pounds and I’m not into aerobics and such like. Too much like hard work. I’ve got an exercise bike and I sometimes get off my backside and go for a brisk walk. But that’s it. What about you? How have you managed to stay so slim? Not just through golf surely?”

So, black does work, I thought. “Thanks for the compliment Gaynor but I’m not really slim. I’m carrying a bit around the middle but I’ve been lucky, never had much trouble with my weight. And golf is my only exercise.”

“Are you good?”

“Good? Ah, the golf, you mean?”

Gaynor raised her eyebrows. “What else would I mean?”

I smiled. “I’m not too bad. Handicap of twelve.”

“Hmm,” she said and used a finger to draw a smiley face in the condensation on her chilled glass. She leaned back on the bench and took a deep breath, filling her lungs and expanding her delightful chest. I saw the outline of her globes battling against the constraints of her cotton dress. “Do you remember that time we played crazy golf and I beat you? You sulked like a spoilt kiddie. We never played again.”

I shook my head. “Not me, must have been someone else.”

“Bah!” she said, laughing deeply. “Even now you can’t face up to the fact that I beat you. C’mon, Richard, be a man, admit you lost.” 

“Okay, okay,” I said, smiling broadly. “I lost.”

“There,” she said, leaning across the table and placing her right hand on my cheek, “that wasn’t too painful, was it?”

It was our first physical skin-on-skin contact. Her palm was warm and soft. For the fleeting second or so that she touched my face, I was stupefied, transported into the distant past, to a time when I took her caresses for granted. Slowly, staring into my eyes, she withdrew her hand, fingertips gliding lightly across my cheek. She rested her hand back on the table and I impulsively reached out, clasped it and enfolded it between my hands. I caressed her knuckles with my thumbs, my finger ends in her palm, and she responded with a little squeeze.

“It’s been a long time,” she said softly, placing her other hand on mine.

I nodded and gulped, looking down at our entwined hands.

“Yes, it has… a very long time.” I looked into her brown eyes and the years disappeared. Here was My Gaynor. “I really am so sorry. I was such… ”

“No, Richard, don’t,” she interrupted. “No sorries, no apologies, no recriminations. It happened, it’s gone, nothing can change it. Nothing, not now, not ever.”

“Yes, I know we can’t turn back the clock but I must tell you how much I regret what happened, what a foolish pig-headed sod I was. I am so very, very sorry for hurting you the way I did.”

“Richard, no… stop it. We’ve covered that ground. I don’t want to dwell on it. Maybe we wasted our lives, I don’t know. Who knows what might have happened?” 

She placed a finger over my lips to stop me talking and shook her head, gazing into my eyes. “Listen to me… I loved you then and I never stopped loving you. The you that I knew then. Now we’re here. Okay, the circumstances are strange, not the best by any means, but let’s enjoy what we can. On the phone this morning you said you thought we could meet as friends and share some happiness.” She sighed. “Richard, it was those few words that made up my mind to come here today. I’m still a scaredy cat but I’m taking a chance.”

“Okay, I understand,” I said. “But just let me thank you for treating me so kindly. I’m amazed that you can forgive me so easily.”

“Oh Richard, Richard.” Gaynor’s eyes opened wide and her hoops swung merrily as she chuckled deep in her throat. “You still don’t get it, do you? I loved you. My thoughts over all these years have been loving ones. Yes, some sad thoughts, too. That’s obvious. But I always loved you, the memories I had were of good times.”

She leaned back into her seat, leaving just the one hand in my clutches. “So, here I am now, looking at you, a much older man. Tanned, hair thinning, a furrowed brow, hair in your ears.” She smiled. “But, for all that, you still look very much like My Richard, the young go-getting man I fell in love with.” 

I gave her hand a squeeze and reached for my drink. I took a good swallow to lubricate my arid mouth. “You are one remarkable lady,” I said, replacing my glass on the table. “I really do wish that things had been different… ” It was my turn to raise a hand, palm towards Gaynor to stop her interrupting. “But they weren’t. Now, looking at you, I can hardly see any difference. The years have been kind to your beauty, as the man sang, and I know it’s not just skin deep. I appreciate your concerns about Veronica, about my marriage and what this reunion might bring up. You have a warm, generous, big heart.”

“That’s why I have these huge lumps of fat to keep it in,” she laughed looking down at her quivering chest.

“Ah, Nurse Reid is in the house,” I smiled. “Yes, I remember the time when I was telling you how wonderful your breasts were and you said: ‘These? They’re only lumps of fat.’ Well, they’re still looking swell, literally, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Gaynor smiled and lifted her glass, swilling the liquid round and round, the remnants of the ice cubes clinking. “I think we’ve broken the ice, Richard, don’t you?”

I nodded. “Yes, I do, thank you.”

“So, what do you want to do? How long have you got?”

“I need to be home about seven or eight at the latest.”

Gaynor smiled. “Long game of golf.” Before I could say anything she added, “Shall we have a bite to eat here and then perhaps go back to my place for an hour or two? I mean, at our ages, we don’t want to be wandering around the streets like lost sheep, or lovelorn teenagers, do we?”

“Lovelorn teenagers? Good God, no,” I said, laughing and concealing my surprise and delight at her suggestion. “Yes, I think that’s an ideal plan. Thank you.”

I looked at my wristwatch. “It’s coming up for 12-30,” I said. “What would you like to eat?”

“To be honest, Richard, not a lot. My stomach’s been churning for a couple of days. I’d settle for a sandwich if that’s alright?”

“That’s fine by me,” I said. “I’ll get a menu, see what’s on offer.”

~~~~~~~~

Gaynor told me where she lived but I followed her black saloon through country lanes (“The back way is nice,” she’d said with a saucy wink). It took about fifteen minutes before she indicated a right turn at a pair of open wrought-iron gates and we drove up a gravel driveway to an impressive large house. 

The drive was an in-and-out horseshoe around a manicured lawn. A concrete statute of a peeing boy stood in the middle. Thankfully, there was no water.

“Some place for a nurse,” I said as we both exited our vehicles.

“It’s not all mine,” she answered, lugging her bag onto a shoulder and rattling a large bunch of keys. “Long story. C’mon, this way.”

I walked with her to a side of the house and she put a key into a maroon-painted wood door. It opened onto a short passage and stairway. Gaynor squatted to pick up mail before climbing the stairs. I closed the door and followed, looking up at her swaying rear.

“Shame I’m wearing leggings, isn’t it,” she said without even turning or breaking her step.

“The view’s just fine,” I said.

At the top of the stairway, she said, “Bet you didn’t notice the pictures on the walls.” 

“Got me there,” I said. “I’ll look on the way out.”

We were clearly on the top floor of the house. Doors were on either side of a long corridor. “Quick tour,” said Gaynor and set off. She pointed to each closed door, right and left, saying: “Bedroom… bathroom… utility cupboard… lounge… toilet… ” until we reached the end where a door was open. “And this is the kitchen.”

It was superbly fitted with labour-saving white machines, electric equipment, work surfaces and cupboards. The sink was to the left, beneath a large window which afforded a view over fields.

Gaynor made two mugs of coffee and we carried them into the lounge. It was a large airy room with minimal furnishing: a four-seater leather couch behind the door, a glass-topped coffee table in the centre, two armchairs in a bay window either side of a small wood table, a flat screen TV and entertainment centre. The carpet was a warm beige and various pictures adorned the white walls. My eye was drawn to a water colour of a robin, a proud red breast expanded, sitting on snow-covered tree branch.

Gaynor kicked off her shoes, put her mug on the small table and settled into an armchair with one leg bent under her. I sat in the other chair and said, “I see you’re still supple.”

At The Toad’s Hollow, Gaynor had asked most of the questions, inquiring about my daughters, the passing of my parents, why I’d taken early retirement, why I’d left the north and exactly where did I now live. It left me little time to discover anything about Gaynor’s life these past thirty-two years and, relaxing back into the chair, I thought it was now my turn. Before I could frame a question, she said, “I’ll put some music on.”

Magically, from somewhere, a remote control appeared in her hands and she clicked it in the direction of the entertainment centre. “I found a radio station that plays all the old stuff,” she said, smiling at me. “I know it’s like living in a time warp but I like it. And they don’t waste time chatting, just play the music. Course, there is the advertising but you get used to that.”

As if on cue, we were told about the best deal for new cars in the whole of the universe, or something like that. Gaynor smiled and put the remote on the table.

“Well,” she said and stopped as the advertisement segued to the introductory notes of a familiar song. She shook her head, looked at me, amazement projected from her brown eyes. “I can’t believe this, what’s the chances?”

I listened, equally astounded, as Gladys Knight started to sing.

We listened in silence, eyes locked on each other, as our song filled the room. Gaynor swallowed and snuffled at various poignant lines and I reached for her hand. We linked fingers and squeezed. I fought my emotions and teardrops leaked from the corners of Gaynor’s eyes.

I rose from my chair, dropped to one knee in front of her and kissed the backs of her hands. Her crimson nails dug into my palms and I looked up. She had slumped back, eyes closed, silently sobbing, tears rolling down her cheeks…

THEN

Gaynor’s arms wound around me and she nestled her head into the crook of my shoulder and neck. My arms hugged her close as we smooched to Gladys Knight and the Pips. The record, on a repeat loop, was on its fourth spin.

In this tiny room of Gaynor’s apartment, on a drink-fueled late night, our hips swayed and groins thrust together, my cock hard against her tummy. It wasn’t dancing, just primitive gyrating. And so sensual.

With eyes closed, my other senses were heightened. I felt her breasts squashed against me, her warm breath filtering through the open neck of my shirt and her firm buttocks yielding beneath my grasping fingers.

“Tell you something, Richard,” she slurred into my chest. “This record lasts just over three and a half minutes.”

“Does it?” I said, kissing the top of her head.

“Hmm, it does. And I’ll tell you something else.”

“What’s that?”

She lifted her head off its resting place and big, brown eyes looked up at me. “I’ll bet I can get you to cum before it ends.”

“It’s nearly finished,” I said.

“Mmm, I know. I mean when it starts again.”

I thought about it, not for long. I was already aroused. “Okay, you’re on,” I said. “Let’s do it.”

“Attaboy,” said Gaynor, a hoarse chuckle rising from her throat as she detached herself from our smooch.

Gladys reached the final “yoooou” and Gaynor reached under her flouncy mini-skirt and pulled down her panties. She stepped out of them, a little unsteadily, and reached for my belt buckle. I heard the arm of the record player click and a hiss as the needle landed on the edge of the disc. 

At the opening notes, my trousers and briefs were at my ankles and my cock pointed straight out from my pubis. Gaynor dropped to her knees and eagerly sucked my dome while her hands roamed over my buttocks and thighs and tickled my balls. Gladys was hardly into her stride when Gaynor stood, turned her back on me, bent over and flipped up the back of her tiny skirt. Her pussy awaited. She opened her legs, rested her forearms on the back of a chair and said, “C’mon, lover, put that big thing in me.”

I ran a finger along her open, wet slit and parted the soft folds to permit my engorged helmet to burrow home. With my hands on Gaynor’s hips, I thrust and entered deeply.

She stifled a yelp and wiggled, pushing back into my groin.

“Give it to me, Richard… pound my pussy. Do it now… yes, that’s it… oooh, yes, Richard.”

Gaynor was right. I looked down at my thick penis sliding smoothly and rapidly up and down her soaking tunnel, her lovely petals clinging to my girth. It was all too much, too good, too arousing. I couldn’t last. I surrendered to my carnal instincts and discharged my semen in thunderous streams, still pumping as the fluid squelched out and ran down Gaynor’s inner thighs. After one last fierce thrust, I sagged forward and rested my head on her back, panting and quivering.

And I heard Gladys starting the last line: Gaynor had won the bet. “You win,” I gasped and straightened up, my cock slipping from her sopping hole.

Gaynor turned and put her hands either side of my face and kissed me fiercely, her tongue exploring and wriggling. I joined in eagerly, bringing my hands up beneath her top to fondle her naked tits. She broke away from the kiss, looked into my eyes, and said: “That, my sexy, randy man, makes the song even more special for me.”

“And me,” I said as Gladys finished with a “whooa… wu… hu.”

NOW

I stood, still holding Gaynor’s hands and her eyes opened. She pulled her right hand free and, with the pad of her thumb, wiped her eyes. Smeared mascara gave her a Panda look. She sniffled, put a forefinger under her nose and asked me for a tissue from the box on the coffee table.

She blotted her tears, looked at the black stains, and then blew her nose. She screwed the tissue into a ball and edged forward on the chair. “Sorry about that, honey,” she breathed. “Gosh, I must look a sight,” she added, stood up and walked out of the room.

Another door opened and closed, the bathroom I assumed, and I sat and waited. I drank cool coffee, discarded it, and thought: Just how delicate is this situation? How vulnerable is Gaynor? My heart pounded and I linked my fingers, arms resting on my thighs. The song, our song, had upset her mightily. I took a deep breath, aware that I, too, was close to tears.

I heard a cistern flush, running water, and seconds later Gaynor was back. “Well, what can I say, Richard?” She sat again in her chair, this time with both feet on the carpet. “I’m sorry. Don’t know what came over me.”

“Don’t you? I think you do. That was our song… no, still is our song.”

Gaynor’s mouth opened into a huge grin. Her whole demeanour changed and she wagged a finger at me. “You naughty, naughty boy,” she said. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

“What?” I said, feigning innocence.

“You don’t fool me. I can see you haven’t changed.”

I said nothing but looked into her beautiful brown eyes, no signs now of tears. Just a familiar pale blue shade of eyelid make-up.

“Admit it, you’ve been thinking about that drunken night when you took me from behind.”

“I took you! No, you seduced me. You were the temptress.”

She chortled, husky and oh so sexy. “See, told you, I knew what you’d been thinking. You haven’t changed… except you’re older and, perhaps, wiser. Are you wiser, Richard?”

I pondered the question. Does sitting here with an old flame make me wiser? “I like to think I am,” I said. “But I’m not the best judge, am I? I’m biased.”

“Hmm,” she said as if reading my mind. “Would you be here if you’re a wise man?”

We stared at each other for a while, both minds active. I eventually shrugged my shoulders, raised my hands palm upwards and broke the silence. “I don’t think anybody can answer that one, Petal. I wanted to see you again, even if it was for one last time. You seemed willing to meet - until this morning’s panic, that is - and I’m glad it’s happened.”

Gaynor wasn’t smiling now. “You just called me Petal,” she said slowly and quietly.

“Did I? Well, that’s how I think of you: Petal, Gaynor, My Love… take your pick, it’s what I called you.”

“I know,” she said, even quieter, almost reflective. “And I brought it up in our e-mails. But it’s just odd to hear it spoken again after all these years.” She paused and a buzz, buzz came from across the room. “My phone, a text message,” she said, nodding at the tote bag in the corner of the couch.

“Are you going to see who it is?”

“No, not yet,” she said. “I think it’ll be my friend, Charlie.”

“Charlie?”

Gaynor laughed. “Yes, Charlie. Don’t tell me there’s a jealous green giant in the room, Richard.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I never thought about another man, that’s all.”

Gaynor reached across. “Give me your hand,” she ordered and grasped it firmly. “There isn’t another man in my life. Charlie lives downstairs, the other half of the house. And she’s Charlotte, a friend who goes way, way back. In fact, when I first met you that night in the bar, she was with me then.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage.

“At the time we were student nurses together. We went out occasionally for a drink after work but we didn’t become real friends until much later. Long after you and I split up, in fact.”

“Right. Don’t you want to see what she wants?”

Gaynor shook her head, hoops oscillating. “Not necessary. She’ll only want to know what happened between us.” She reacted to my raised eyebrows. “Don’t be surprised. Course I told her. She’s my best friend and knows all about our past. She’s even seen our photos.”

“Photos? Didn’t know you had any photos.”

“Kept them all, Richard. I don’t expect you have any, after all you moved on and got married, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes… ”

“No bother, I’m not attacking you. Maybe one day we’ll look at them together.”

“Hmm, I’d like that. I’d like to see how we really looked back then. Or perhaps not, eh?”
“Might be a shock for you. My hair was more Three Degrees or a young Michael Jackson then,” she said, patting her tight girls. “Not close-cropped like this.”

I smiled. “You’re still gorgeous.”

I still held one of her hands and Gaynor gave me a squeeze. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she said and quickly added, “Whoops, hear that? It’s the news at six on the radio. Hadn’t you better be thinking about going?”

“Suppose so. Guess it’s about fifty minutes or so from here.” I sighed and stood, releasing Gaynor’s hand.

“I’ll see you out,” she said, bending to put on her shoes, “and then I’ll see if Charlie’s home.”

We stood in the centre of the room, face to face. “Well, thanks for seeing me, Gaynor. I never thought it would happen.”

“No? Funnily enough, I always dreamed, maybe simply hoped, that we would. After all, we are soulmates, you know.”

I nodded and she opened her arms. “Come here, give me a hug.”

And we hugged, arms wrapped tight and then tighter. Cheek to cheek, a gold hoop pressed between us. Eventually, Gaynor tapped my back with her fingers and said, “Time to go Richard, we don’t want Veronica getting suspicious.”

I reluctantly stepped back, leaving the warmth of her soft body. With arms outstretched, I put my hands on her bare arms. “It’s been good,” I said.

“Yes, it has.” She stared into my eyes and then raised her eyebrows. “Would you like to do it again?”

“Of course I would. Daft question.”

“I wasn’t sure. Thought maybe one time would satisfy your curiosity or something.”

“Curiosity has been satisfied in that I’ve seen you and had a hug. But I don’t want it to end there. Not just a one-off. What about you? Still scared?”

Gaynor was quiet for a few seconds. “Hmm,” she murmured thoughtfully and reached to pat my face. “You know it’s the eleventh on Tuesday, the anniversary of our parting?”

“Guess it is,” I said.

“Shall we make that a date? Can you get free, like you have today?”

I didn’t need to think. Tuesday was a golf day. Ideal alibi. “No problem,” I said, joy beating in my heart at the prospect. “Tuesday is perfect.”

“Good. Send me a text or e-mail when you get home, just to let me know you’ve arrived safely and there’s no problem. Okay?”

I nodded. “Sure. And we can fix up a time and place for Tuesday.”

Gaynor nodded this time. “C’mon, time to go,” she said and turned me towards the passage and the stairway exit. Going down I glanced at the small framed pictures, mostly black-and-white photographs of birds or sea views.

“Saw the pictures,” I said as I went out the door.

“Yes, I noticed,” she said, taking my hand and leading the way to my car. “They’re my photographs.”

“Yours?”

“Uh, uh,” she nodded. “Hobbies of mine, photography, birds and the sea.”

“I never knew,” I said, surprised.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Richard,” she said as we stood by my car. “I’m full of surprises.”

And she kissed me. It was only a brief meeting of lips and she stood back, her eyes penetrating my eyes, seeking my soul. 

“Byee, Richard, careful how you drive,” she said and made her hip-swinging way to the front of the house.

She stood at the door as I drove away and we exchanged waves. My final glimpse of her was through the rearview mirror before I turned left onto the road and headed for home. 

Tom T Hall started to sing about taking a memory to lunch and I smiled. In fact, I smiled most of the way home, thinking warm thoughts.