With one more station on his list, old Harry weighed up the exotic recall he had experienced. Wasn’t he making this train journey just for that purpose? To recall the most erotic times past. A little sad smile crossed his face—as he thought of the different tributes some of his grateful conquests had paid to his manhood, 'glorious cock', 'cucumber', 'magnificent '—a silent chuckle made his chest hurt as he thought, if only those ladies could see that shrivelled, wasted little item now.

Only one more station before he’d be at the most special reminder of all. But the intervening station could bring some intrusive memories that he would rather avoid, perhaps the most extreme of his sexual experiences.

"The next station will be Rander Street."

Ah, yes, Rander Street, and he felt a strange queasiness, as the memories started to come to life. Just turned twenty-two, out of university with a good degree in finances and business studies, he had been on the point of finding himself both a flat and a second-hand car. He had taken this one home to her flat after time in the dance hall.

On the train now, old Harry’s head shook, as though desperate to dispel unwelcome images. She had handcuffed herself to the bed and demanded that he give it to her rough, wanting to be in pain, from his bites, his hands and of course, in the way and where he drove his hard member. That wasn’t his way, and his mind refused to allow him to dwell on the disgust he felt, as he considered how weak he had been with that Sharon woman. He closed his eyes to shut it all out.

"Are you all right, mister?"

Startled, Harry opened his eyes, to see a young girl sitting opposite him. "Yes, yes. I'm fine, thank you. Just passing thoughts."

If only she knew what those thoughts had been. Probably think him a dirty old man. Well, wasn't he? Pursuing memories like these.

“The next station will be Barsea. Alight here for the beach and promenade.”

Here it came. The most precious recall, yet it could be the most hurtful. Old Harry closed his eyes. 'Just those early weeks, please.' All he wanted was one little element of it. But there were so many other joys that he didn't need to be reminded of. And there was the aching residue of memory. But unlike all of the other events, this one was leading to love.

Harry was twenty-eight and had only just opened his own financial advisory business. Things had gone very well and he had bought himself a house, and a low mileage BMW. On that chilly February day, he was having his car serviced at a garage he had used since his first car.

The garage was adjacent to a local station and Harry, being told the job would take four hours, had decided, despite the weather, or maybe because of it, to take a rare trip to the seafront. He had always loved watching a wild sea. The day could be right for that. As an afterthought seeing the leaden sky he took his umbrella from the car.

The journey to Barsea only took ten minutes, and when he left the train the sky looked even more glowering. At the seafront he was struck by the cool wind, and, pulling his anorak zip up to his neck, he decided the lower promenade might be more sheltered. Such small choices can have major effects on a life.

The wind was no less biting, but there was a superb view of the stormy sea, throwing itself on rocks and shore. The promenade was deserted, only one lone figure in the distance. No one was taking shelter in the first covered seating area. As he neared the next shelter, he had a closer view of what looked like an old woman, a hood pulled over her head, hunched over the rail, looking out at the sea. Brave lady, Harry thought.

At that moment, a large drop of rain splashed on the paving in front of him. Then another, and another. A downpour was surely imminent. Rather than struggle with the umbrella at this time, Harry made a dash for the shelter. As he ran, he saw, with some surprise that the hooded figure was also scuttling swiftly, and rather athletically to the same shelter. Hardly the movement of an old woman.

Just as he ran under the cover, the other occupant was pushing the hood from her head, and Harry's breath caught in his throat. Under the tangle of raven black hair, was, well, he'd had many encounters with the opposite sex, but this face would have stood out among any of them. High cheekbones, a generous mouth, dark eyes that, Harry thought, looked to be red-rimmed. 'Had she been crying?' That did not change his opinion that she was utterly beautiful.

Her face now looked at him with just a touch of worry. Harry could see how she could regard herself as being in a vulnerable situation, so he gave her a reassuring smile and said, "Phew, just made it."

She nodded, without replying, but she did return a weak response to his smile, before turning away. After a period of silence as the rain made its own waves along the promenade, Harry ventured, "I love seeing the sea like this, do you?"

“Yes." Nothing more than that. Clearly, the lady had no wish for conversation. Harry concentrated on the anger of the sea, while the rain continued to splash down, but it was difficult for him to dismiss that face from his mind.

After a while, the lady stood, walked to the shelter's edge, looked up and down the promenade, and glanced at her watch. The rain had eased a little but was still falling heavily.

"Someone not turned up?" Harry asked.

That lovely face turned to him, brow creased as though about to tell him to mind his own business, but she said, "No, I was wanting to get to the station. Looks like I'll have to get wet."

'A chance. A glorious chance,' Harry enthused, and he said, "I have to get to the station too. Can I offer you shelter under my trusty umbrella?"

“Oh, I couldn't."

But it didn't take much more persuasion, and soon they were dodging the puddles together, the wide umbrella over them, the lady close by his side. On the two hundred yards to the station, they exchanged names. She was Helen, and Harry found the temerity to say that he thought she'd looked upset back in the shelter.

“I was," she admitted," I was being stupid."

She offered no more on the subject at that time, but just before the train appeared, she said quietly, "You were right. I had been crying."

And her eyes met his as she added, “The man I was living with has taken off to Paris." She bit her lip, and just for a moment, Harry thought she was going to cry again. “Wants to make a fresh start," And with surprising vehemence, she added, “The bastard."

“That attitude will do you the world of good," Harry told her, giving her a smile, which he hoped was comforting. "And, may I say, he must be crazy." She rewarded him with a smile of gratitude.

Harry was happy when she chose to sit next to him on the train, and he got round to telling her about his financial advisory company and asked her what she did. She glanced out of the window,

"My stop," she said, getting to her feet, before starting to answer, and Harry heard, "I'm a farm-"

At that moment the train gave a violent jerk and a man stumbled against Helen, almost knocking her over. He apologised and moved on.

Helen turned to say her farewell, and Harry was ready. "Could I see you again, sometime?"

Her head shook as she said, “I don't think I'm in the mood for anything at the moment." A sad smile of apology as she added, “I don't think I trust men." The carriage door opened.

He already had his new business card in his hand. He held it out to her. "My home phone number is on there if you ever want to break from the norm."

She took it, and with a final thank you, she was gone. Leaving Harry wishing he had got off the train with her.

For a full week every time his phone rang, he hoped it would be her. It never was, and life went on, as usual, only her face appeared whenever he closed his eyes. Dark eyes and raven hair, had he ever been so captivated? He just couldn't imagine such a beauty working on a farm. Maybe she was a farm inspector. Her answer had been interrupted he remembered.

Six days after their meeting, Harry, having just finished his evening meal answered the phone, and his heart leapt when a gently uncertain female voice said, "It's Helen."

Even while he was dancing cartwheels in his mind, he couldn't resist a little tease, "Helen who?"

“Helen from under the umbrella. I’m taking your advice and trying to get away from the norm”

“Good choice. I'm miles from the norm." And he was delighted to hear her little laugh. Within minutes they had arranged that Harry would pick her up at seven on the following evening and they'd go for a meal.

“If only I knew where you lived," he added in a sad tone. Again, her laugh was a bonus.

He warned himself that he would need to take things very cautiously if he didn't want to scare this one away. She had obviously come through a pretty traumatic time, yet seemed keen to come out of it. 'Why should he be this bothered? She was just another woman, wasn't she?'

That first evening went as well as he might have hoped. Having only seen her in a thick winter coat, out of her coat in the restaurant he found himself looking at a lady who filled her sweater in the right proportions to her trim waist and rounded hips. She was utterly delectable. They had a few laughs in discovering that they had similar tastes in books and film.

The highlight came when he asked her about her farm work, “Do you actually own the farm?"

He hadn’t been able to think of any nearby farms.

For just a moment she looked puzzled, then once more came that tinkling laugh. "You could say I farm-assist."

Slow on the uptake, Harry asked, "You only assist."

She gave him a forgiving smile, "Harry, I am a pharmacist."

Their mutual laughter had folk at other tables looking around. When he drove her home to her door, he expected nothing, and that was all he got. She thanked him but did agree to meet again in three days time.

Harry courted Helen for three months, recognising that this was a major diversion in his usual lifestyle. His initial caution was so deliberate that it was the third week before he attempted giving her a 'goodnight' kiss. Her lips were keen, but cool on his, and when the kiss broke, her eyes had held his in an unfathomable gaze. But Harry found everything about his behaviour way out of step with his usual approach to women.

Shortly after that, kissing Helen became more prolonged and their tongues got to know each other. Yet Harry was so desperate not to bring her any hurt, he delayed pushing it any further, desperate as he was to possess every inch of her.

On a couple of evenings into their second month of seeing each other, she invited him into her well set-up home, for which, he had learned, she had done most of the funding. So that when Vic, that was his name, took off, there was no question of who kept the house. On those evenings, they simply had a coffee, and Helen promised that she would invite him for a meal soon.

Those evenings also took them a step further, as he tentatively moved a hand over a bloused breast, and she did not protest, clung closer, in fact, her hands moving on his back. For Harry, those hands were like two large electrodes sending charges through his shirt. He could not believe how nervous he was about offending her by forcing the issue. This was a totally new situation. Up until this time his consideration had always been how quickly he could get his hand travelling up a girl's thigh.

Then came the evening when Helen by her words and actions, finally led Harry to make the commitment that he knew he had hidden nervously in the back of his mind for some time. Their kisses had been passionate, when Harry became aware of Helen unbuttoning her own blouse, before taking his hand and guiding it inside. An action so reminiscent of the lady on the train when he was just nineteen.

But Harry was determined that this was to be no one-off. Overjoyed to find there was no bra, his hand roamed onto the sensually curved softness which was just as he'd suspected it would be. The brown of her nipples was a surprise and he was debating whether he dare take one in his mouth when Helen broke the kiss and stared up at him with smoky eyes.

"I wanted your hand on me," she whispered. "On my skin. True intimacy. But knowing how big the hurts were with-"

Harry held a finger to her lips, "You don't have to say anything. I've understood."

Her eyes shone again as she smiled, "Your understanding has been a surprise. You haven't pushed me at all. I appreciate that so much." Her eyes were fixed on him as she asked, "How many women have you had, Harry?"

Slightly scared by her question, and where it might be heading, Harry tried to keep it light, "Millions," he said.

She laughed, “Many. Am I right?"

Harry nodded, "I have to admit it."

Helen's face took on a more serious look, "And was I to be another notch   on your bedpost?" Just as Harry had thought, that fear of being dumped had lived with her, but did it still?

Matching her serious visage, he said, “Could you ask that question in a different way? Be more direct."

“How many have you spent weeks with without trying to scr- whoops, I nearly used a naughty word there.

That was the question, and the answer was easy, "None."

Harry could tell she was pleased with his response. Her smile was sweet as she asked, "And why have I slowed you up?"

He drew a deep breath, knowing he was on the verge of making a once in a lifetime commitment, hoping to find the words that would convince her.

"Quite a few women have attracted me on first sight, but never, and I mean never, has a face, your face on that lower promenade, been so striking, that it opened something unknown inside me. The wind tossed your raven black, and did it catch my breath at the same time? No, it was your eyes, your cheeks, that smile, everything about you has lived with me, wherever I've been these recent weeks. There is a rich purity of character about you." God, where was he finding the words?

Her hands tightened over his, her face was very close, as she asked the same question that Harry was asking himself, "Are these not just the words of a practised seduction artist?"

Here it was. Time for the finale. "Helen, there is not one woman on earth has heard me talk like that. And they certainly haven't heard me say this," Now, it burst from his lips, "Helen, I love you and want to marry you."

 For a moment her jaw dropped, her eyes moistened, before she placed her head on his chest, from where she said in a tearful voice, "Oh, Harry, I can't say yes." As his heart sank, her head rose from his chest, a wide smile on her face, as she went on. "I have to yell YES!"

The following Saturday was massive. They went hand in hand to purchase a ring, which they left to have the size adjusted. Late in the afternoon, they collected it, and Helen insisted that Harry slid it onto her finger.

Not a massive diamond, but she was thrilled with it, and kept looking at it as they had a celebratory meal at a local restaurant. All day they had hugged close together, as though afraid the other would escape.

As Harry stopped the car outside her house, she said merrily, "Would you like a coffee?" Her grin was near to salacious. and Harry loved it.

“I have been asked that question before. It's a trap, isn't it?"

Holding the promise in her grin, she leaned over him, and her fingers slid up the inside of Harry's thigh. "You bet it is."

“I'm not sure if I'm experienced enough for a fast lady like you."

They were still laughing as she closed the front door behind them. Instantly they were crushed against each other. Their tongues probed and wrapped around each other like a pair of wrestling snakes. He was amazed to find that, somehow, she had already unbuttoned her blouse, and his hand slid around her back to unhook her bra. While she fiddled at the buttons on his shirt.

Helen broke the kiss to gasp, "Do you think we could make it to the bedroom upstairs?"

“It'll be a struggle," Harry whispered. "But I'm willing to try."

All the way up the stairs they were shedding clothes. She managed to get Harry's shirt off, and her own blouse fell away easily, quickly followed by the already loosened bra. Walking up the stairs backwards, with Helen a couple of steps lower, in the dim light, Harry was able to gaze down on the brown tipped beauty of her up-tilted breasts. As if that wasn't excitement enough, her fingers had unbuckled his belt and her hands pulled at his pants, Harry had to stop his backward climb to step out of them.

Helen's eyes were level with his boxer shorts, but she looked up into Harry's eyes as she reached for the waistband.

"What have you got tied up in here?" With that, she gave a sharp yank down. The boxers tumbled around his ankles, as his erect cock bounced free close to her face.

This had happened to others of his female conquests, and fortunately, Harry was ready for it, and he bent to grab Helen's shoulders as she, mouth gaping in surprise, would have stumbled back down the stairs.

Harry's action of pulling her to safety also brought his hardness briefly against her face. He immediately released his hold and mumbled his apologies.

Helen shrugged, "I suppose I'll have to get used to being attacked by that monster. I haven't seen that many, but I'm not sure whether that will fit into me. Hell, will it fit into our house?"

And her cool humour sent a wave of extra affection through him. Laughing together, he drew her up onto the landing beside him.

Helen leaned against him. The satin skin of her back was a pleasure for his hands. "You're lovely when you're naked," she whispered.

“And you are gorgeous even half-naked."

She looked down as though just realising she was still wearing her skirt. "Oh, surely you don't want all my clothes off, do you?" she giggled, and pushed her elasticated skirt down, before slipping her hands inside her panties.

Thos prompted Harry to ask, "May I have the honour?"

“I know you won't believe this, but I thought I would be shy about this" She opened her arms in an abandoned gesture, offering herself, "But I'm not. Feel free."

Harry dropped to his knees, slipping his hands inside her panty-waist as he went. Through the thin material, he could detect the blackness of her triangle. Then the panties were gone and in front of his face was a mass of lightly curled black hair through which he could just detect the start of her groove. Without even thinking about it he leaned forward, and his tongue licked through the tickling hair to touch that lustrous junction.

He felt Helen's body jerk, and not wishing to spoil his intended sequencing, he slowly rose but stood back to view the full wonder of her. From her jet hair, over her delicate shoulders, the rounded breasts, and the curvaceous thrill from breast to waist to hip. She was perfection. And she was going to be his perfection.

Harry was finding it hard to believe that from all the women he had possessed, this moment, this overpowering moment, had him more entranced, more captivated than he had ever known. And he felt an overwhelming responsibility that everything he did to this wondrous lady had to be aimed at giving her sensations that she had never known.

“Now I do feel shy,” she whispered, “just seeing the desire in your eyes.”

Harry drew her close to him, savouring the sensation of skin against skin, luxuriating proudly in feeling his sturdy cock pressed against her flat belly. He wondered how she felt about that as her hands clutched his buttocks.

As though reading his mind she murmured, "You feel so hard, so metallic."

"Warm metallic, I hope."

"Oh, yes, " she replied, and, taking his hand, she led him into a bedroom where white and peach colours fought for attention.

She scrambled across the white bedcover and pushed a peach cushion to one side. Helen stretched out on her back, as provocative a beauty as Harry could ever imagine.

Moving to join her, he placed his lips on her feet, with his hands on her legs, and kissed his way, from there, his hands always one stage ahead, up her body. Calves, thighs, inner thighs, fingers riffled her bush just before his mouth and tongue nuzzled into that area. Once again, her body trembled, but he moved on. How sweet it was to stroll with hand and mouth over that exquisite flat belly, and to reach the foothills of her breasts.

Little grunts and gasps came from her, as Harry sucked at a nipple. "That is pure rapture," she sighed, "but I'd like to be kissed."

Always willing to oblige, Harry moved up, and could have had time freeze, as he looked down at her lovely face, into those dark eyes, and at those slightly parted lips. He lowered his own lips to hers, and her tongue shot forward as though wanting to be sucked into him. Her tongue explored his inner cheeks and deeper, and his mouth was all a-tingle as his own tongue took up the challenge.

Helen's hand reached down, and her fingers trailed with tantalising gentility along and around his length, before hefting his balls in her hand. Mouths still locked in near desperate union, Harry moved his hand over her belly, circling his open palm there, intent on teasing. Then he ran his fingers through the curling hair, which caught at his fingers, before he moved his hand back to her belly. He reached beyond her mound, sensing her thighs parting, and he was stroking, gently stroking, that fantastic smooth skin of her inner thigh, as she began to pull at his hardness.

She broke their kiss and gasped, "I want you inside me, Harry. I know I've wanted it for some time."

Harry gave her a loving smile and said, "And you never told me. How cruel you women can be."

He would have happily gone ahead with her request. In fact, his throbbing cock was longing to lance its way up inside her. But patience would bring its own reward. His hand, being on her inner thigh, had only a short journey to stroke the length of her lower lips. Her breath quickened.

Harry moved his head down to kiss around her breasts, over her belly, until he was licking around her belly button, probing it with his tongue.  His fingers found her clit, and it was out and erect, easily located. Harry hoped it would always be that way. He raised his head, as his thumbs parted her lower lips and held them apart, revealing the moist petals.

“God, Harry, what are you doing? Please, hurry." Her choking appeal was almost plaintive.

“I'm just inspecting. Making sure everything is there." And he was staring into the desirable pinkness of her folds, seeing the mysterious hole, open and waiting for him. Then he swooped his head down into the cream and musk of her, along her whole wet valley, his tongue finally flicking on her clit

He listened to her breathing. It was heavier and with just a note of panic. Any more and he would be cruel. Gently he suckled her clit once more.

"Harry, I'm going to-Oh, Harry!" And her hips began thrusting into his face.

Quickly, he moved his body and positioned his hardness at her entry intending a slow, deliberate glide. But his judgement had been totally wrong. Helen's head was tossing from side to side, covering her face in strands of her black hair, and the heaving of her hips made entry difficult.

But entry was made, and Harry found that the passage up into his lovely Helen was so smooth, so vibrant, so mutually exquisite that he hoped the moment would never end, as Helen's keening cry of delight mingled with his own moaning grunts. With only four major thrusts needed, he had flooded her with his juices to mingle with her own. A triumph.

Regaining her breath as she lay under him, Helen whispered, “Oh, Harry, say it will always be like that."

Old Harry felt his eyes moisten. It wasn't always like that. As year followed year, as they came to know each other's body, knew well how to please each other, it just got better, through fifty-five years of shared loving. There was a trembling in his chest as he realised he could not now close down the memories. But most of them were good. Why fear them?

They were married in the August, and Harry had easy recall of their honeymoon in Cornwall, where each night they made love as though they would never see each other again.

Their first daughter, Holly, was born the following February, and, both wondered if she might be a product of that very first night together.

A second daughter, Jenny, a year later, was a further joy. Ah, these pleasant memories. Harry could take those full rich years together. If they were in love at the start, those subsequent years, with all the highs and lows, only strengthened their bond. The success of their respective businesses, the marriage of their daughters—and always there was the continuous delight of their physical union.

Right into their seventies, they could still make it, but it became more hugs, cuddles with the occasional surprise. Just one year ago having a good night cuddle, Harry had an unexpected erection. As had always been her nature, Helen accepted him into her gladly. Surprised at rising to the occasion, with both reaching an amorous peak,

Harry had gasped in the after-glow, "I hope I can afford that."

To which Helen replied, "Oh, I'm sure you'll keep something in the bank."

Old Harry felt his insides churn and his chest ache, as the memory he didn't want would not be denied. That evil brain aneurysm, suddenly, cruelly fast, mercifully quick, Helen was no longer there beside him. Not physically anyway, but for Harry, she was, and would always be everywhere about him, in his head, in his heart, in his every breath. Wherever he went she would go too. Oh, yes.

“City terminus. All passengers leave the train please."

A young girl sitting opposite, thought the old man looked very pale, with his eyes closed. "Mister, excuse me. End of the line."

Harry wasn't hearing, he wasn't moving, he wasn't breathing. The heart that he had given to Helen was no longer beating. He looked so calm. Harry had reached his own end of the line, but one thing was sure, Helen would be making this journey with him.