At 35,000 feet over the Atlantic, my mind was so full of the reason for making this one-day trip, I knew I would not be able to avoid the other memories of the intimacies and joys of our life together.

Was Leah, my daughter, right in telling me I was crazy? “Hell, Dad, you’re eighty years old. Why would you want to go back to New York at your age?”  I knew the whole family, were thinking I was showing the first signs of dementia. Jack Spright with dementia? That was far from the truth. Alright, I could be a little forgetful at times, but I was fit enough, and fully aware of why I was heading to New York. And what the family did not know was that I’d booked this trip months earlier.

 I sipped the malt whiskey that the shapely stewardess had brought me. Enjoying the internal glow that it gave me, I put my head back, and allowed my mind to burrow into the whole panoply of the times my wife, Linda and I had spent together.

Ah, yes, easy to laugh now at how I’d handled the first night of our honeymoon. Two virgins, excited and exhausted after a full day, starting their man and wife relationship with wild kisses, and the shedding of specially purchased night attire.

“Careful, it’s silk,” Linda had sighed, as I slipped her nightgown aside to warmly caress her wonderful breasts. It wasn’t long before the contents of my emptied scrotum gleamed in white streaks across the blackness of her triangular bush, never having reached the target, and Linda’s brown eyes widened, looking shocked and frustrated at my premature release.

Those wonderful brown eyes later showed pain as she winced at my eventual entry into her special haven for my desperate cock, which, like some traitorous friend, spouted too quickly again, but at least, inside her.

It slowly got better, and by the end of the honeymoon, because I remained premature in my cumming, I had learned to squeeze my hand between our bellies to finger her clit and bring her to a climax which my anxious cock could share. “That was lovely,” she sighed, while I knew I had to do better.

And I did. Not too many months into our time together, my lips and tongue moved down from hardening her nipples, to savour the creamy muskiness of her wet crevice. Enjoying that sensation, I thrilled at the sound of her gasps and groans, telling me that she was just as ecstatic as I was, and, on entering her, our orgasm was mutual.

After that first tasting of her, as she lay with her head cushioned on my shoulder, she asked, with some wonder in her voice, “Have you been reading a book?” And we laughed together at such a ridiculous suggestion. But the truth was, I had.

A few weeks down the line, she tried to return that particular oral favour. Tentative at first, a little kiss at the tip, before her tongue ran along the length, and she looked at me with some triumph. It was a further six months before she took me between her lips.

“You won’t spill in my mouth, will you?” she asked.

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

I relished her sucking at my hardness, but in fifty-five years I kept my promise. And, really, we had sufficient joy in our lives to forego that little treat.

Despite Linda’s then, low-key sexuality, I soon learned that after just one long kiss from me, she would be moist, and ready to accept my hardness. On occasion this often precluded the need for excessive foreplay, unless ‘fooling around’ was an agreed venture. In those first years we were at each other at least three times a week, with occasional ‘specials’. Then it became twice a week, and when the children began to arrive, it had to be whenever possible

Aware of the dull drone of the aircraft that carried me over the ocean, I allowed another cherished image to play behind my eyes: Linda’s sweating face, her black hair plastered over her brow as her tired eyes indicated the cot at the foot of her bed. “Meet our little Grant.” And, within eighteen months, she had gifted me our dear daughter, Leah.

I guess we fell into a quiet family process until the kids were grown and taking holidays with their friends. That enabled us to open out and travel more ambitiously —Thailand, Egypt, South of France, were all highly enjoyable, and we took our sex lives with us.

We took in Florida, and toured the west coast of America, and given my movie-promoted vision of the city, I have wondered how it was that New York became our last holiday abroad?

As the stewardess ordered seat belts to be fastened, Cyprus came into mind, as an erotic memory. We were in our mid-forties, probably at our sexual peak and, on that holiday, we would retreat from the burning sun during the afternoon into our apartment where we would screw like rabbits, and fall asleep glued together by all the sweat and cum. Then, late evening after a few drinks, we’d return to our bed and start all over again

What a stud I must have been then! Equally, Linda, rarely the instigator of our passionate sessions, found a new level of sex drive in the relaxed holiday atmosphere of laughter and drink.

 Stepping off the plane at JFK airport, I had a sudden sense of being alone, but while I waited in the queue at passport control my mind took me to our time on Agistri, a small Greek Island. Once again our passion was ignited beyond the norm, and we indulged in much rampant coupling. One incident in particular showed the extent to which Linda had increased her sexual awareness.

We had been drinking and dancing in a local bar with one or two new-found friends. One of those male friends took Linda’s hand, demanding a dance. As they swayed drunkenly around the floor, I saw Linda’s face over his shoulder, and she, eyes wide, waggled her tongue at me.

When they came back, Linda leaned close to me and whispered, “He tried to push his tiny prick through this thin skirt.” She was giggling as she went on, “I told him I’d had thicker pinkies up there.”

Leaving the sound of a vigorous Tina Turner on the disco behind us, we staggered out onto the narrow street with my arm around her, hand clutching one braless breast, when she suddenly said, “Let’s sit down. I’m bushed.” There was only the kerbside, so that’s where we ended.

Immediately, Linda began singing, “Simply the best —”

Her eyes took on a lascivious glow as her hand stroked over the ready bulge in my pants, as she went on, “better than all the rest.”

I was too drunk to protest, so happy with her in this uncharacteristic mood to stop her more vigorous probing, and she sang, “Better than anyone—”

At that moment, the dancing partner and his wife walked by, and he called out, “I think she wants to suck it.”

Without hesitation, Linda was on her feet pulling me to follow, “That’s a great idea. It’s the best prick I’ve felt all night. Something I can really get my teeth into.”

Passing the aggravated dancing man, as he struggled to find a response, Linda had me in our apartment before I could blink and had my cock in her mouth with startling eagerness. She sucked so avidly that, I recalled it was the closest I ever came to breaking my promise. Add to that, the rarity of her being the instigator.

I’d rarely heard Linda talk and behave in such a wanton manner. I could only blame the drink, and the next day when I asked her if we could take some of that wine home with us, her reply had us both laughing, “Don’t you dare. It could turn me into a harlot.”

The taxi journey into Manhattan seemed interminable. As I sat in the back seat and lay my head back, the driver, watching me through his mirror, said, “You look tired, sir. It’s a fair distance. Have yourself a little doze.”

Maybe he was right, but my thoughts now dwelt on gloomier matters. Our love life moved us into our seventies, and that had been a source of pride, not to mention our strengthened feelings for each other. Then, when I was seventy-three, everything began to fall apart.

 We were making gentle love one evening, Linda was stroking my erect cock while I let my fingers play in her moistness. As our passions rose she drew my cock to her eager entry, and a hip jerk began to slide me up.  Momentarily her internal walls tried to grip on my erection, only there was nothing to grip on. I knew I hadn’t cum, but my cock had gone completely flaccid and slid out of her,

It appeared to be a one-off that we could laugh about, as it didn’t happen again. Not until about six weeks later. As the frequency increased, so did the totality of my failure, and, at times, even our most intense stroking and touching failed to produce anything like a true hard erection. Although Linda was most understanding, and kisses and cuddling, stroking and touching remained, I felt it a mighty blow to be losing my manhood.

A visit to my doctor, a good friend, Roy Vernon, looked to be hopeful as he carried out several tests, both on my blood and in my genital area.

“Erectile disfunction is quite common in males, even some younger than you,” he told me. “There are tablets, but in your case, the blood pressure tablets you already take could have dangerous reactions.”

“So, I could take a tablet but die happy,” I tried a pathetic joke.

Dr Vernon did not laugh, and neither did Linda as she hugged me and tearfully said, “I’ll take you just as you are.” And she did just that. Her hugs, kisses, and caresses, eased a little of my dismay and guilt about being impotent. Oh, not totally at first, when Linda could get me up to semi-erect, while my fingers and tongue brought her some orgasmic joy.

As much as that action pleased me, there was always the sense that I was letting her down. Into my seventy-sixth year I was fit for my age. No paunch and good muscle tone, which I was secretly proud of. How ironic that it would be only that part of my body that malfunctioned.

On that taxi ride into Manhattan, I became anxious about how I would react in returning to the Avalon on East Thirty Second Street. The young lady at reception cast a glance at the small bag I was carrying and said, “Three-four-seven is a double room, sir. For one night?  Are you sure you want this one?”

 “I am very sure, Janice,” I told her, reading the name tag on her generous bosom. “That’s why I paid for three-four-seven specifically.”  Yes, the old libido was still active. Janice’s breasts were well worth a double take. Huh, strong libido but no lead in the pencil. That’s how it had been for too many years.

Then, standing at the door of three-four-seven, I once again questioned the sense in being there. Just what did I hope to get out of it? Tentatively, I pushed open the door to find everything exactly as I remembered. It was as though time had stood still. To confirm that, I opened my cell-phone containing the photo album of two years earlier. I hoped to follow it chronologically.

The double bed had the same coloured cover and faced a large TV screen on the wall. I flicked to the picture of the arch leading through to the cosy lounge area. One picture on and there she was, on the sofa, my Linda -- and I wondered whether I could continue, as my lip trembled, and the picture blurred for a moment. That treasured face turned up to view a second wall-mounted TV screen.

I lowered the cell-phone and looked at the lounge area, which seemed suddenly ordinary, without her image. By the window was the small desk where I had sat to write up the events of each day. The corner by the sofa had a tall lamp under whose light we had cuddled in the evenings.

On impulse, I flopped onto the sofa, exactly where she had sat. Crazily, I hoped for some residual warmth, but was the warmth I sought all in my mind? I began flicking through the pictures of the locations we visited. The Empire State Building, and many shots from the 86th floor observation deck, so many of them showing Linda and I happy together. Central Park with all the Sunday morning activities. The thrill of Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, set against the sad, respectful 9/11 memorial.

Once again, I closed the phone and rested my head on the back of the sofa. “All this way, and you’re avoiding it, aren’t you?” I scolded myself. I had not been in the bathroom, knowing that seeing it again would trigger the memories of that final day. Fearing my dreams might prove to be the functioning of a mind chilled by dementia, I moved to the bathroom door, as I reopened my phone at the shot that took in the twin basins set in the light marble top.

It had been the lavish bathroom and the whirlpool bath, that so intrigued and delighted Linda when we first viewed it. “I’ve never been in a whirlpool bath.” The look of girlish excitement on her smooth, ageless, lovely face had pleased me so much.

“We must try it sometime,” I said, knowing it would be a new experience for me too. Yet, up to that final day, we'd never tried it.

Now I opened the door and there it was, that so spotless bathroom, just as we had left it. My heart thumping, I turned to where the bath stood, big, wide with the double shower cubicle at the bottom end. That bath looked so empty compared with the image I was holding in my head, as well as on the cell-phone.

Drawing in a deep breath, I flicked open the album at that page, and there she was, brightly smiling up at me, her wonderfully shaped shoulders, and the subtle early smooth rise of those delectable breasts just showing above the masses of bubbles that surrounded her. When I was a younger man, if you'd told me that a woman in her mid-seventies could look so desirable, I might have laughed.

I wasn’t laughing now as the recall moistened my eyes. Although everything about that image, before and after, contained much joy and delight.  And the progress of that final day stormed into my head.

We’d had a quiet morning with our usual breakfast in the shadow of the Empire State Building. Then we walked until we came to a small market, and it was good to wander casually hand in hand among the fascinating stalls with the cheery merchants.

At one stall, Linda was drawn to a clown-shaped bottle standing among various soaps. “Oh, I’d love that, just to take home as a daft memento.”

I paid the guy before even looking to see that the contents were some kind of bubble bath. I laughed, “Now this might just encourage me to try that in the whirlpool.”

“No, you don’t,” Linda laughed with me, “I’m taking that home.”

Over a light lunch, Linda reminded me that she had an 8.30pm booking with the hair dresser just opposite the Avalon. “Just to look good when we get home,” she said lightly.

“You always look good,” I replied. Then, it being a warm day, we dressed lightly for a matinee booking we had on Broadway. The show was ‘Beautiful’, an ideal title for us on that day. The romantic Carol King songs fit well into our mood of the day. A final delicious main meal after the show at a nearby steak house seemed to match the whole mood of that day, maybe further setting us up for what was to follow.

On the walk back to the hotel, she hummed in my ear, “Will you still love me tomorrow?” The happy smile she gave me with that, had me wishing that I had the power to oblige fully. 

Reaching the entry to the hotel, Linda went directly into the hairdresser’s, and I went up to our room, where, drowsy after the filling meal and wine, I contemplated sleep, but instead I sat at the desk to write up the events of the day. It was when I wrote about the market and what we had purchased, I recalled the intention of trying the whirlpool bath.

I set the bath filling up, removed my clothes, and found where Linda had placed the clown bottle of bubble bath. Okay, she wanted it as a souvenir, but taking a small amount wasn’t going to change that. The bath seemed full enough and the water warm enough as I poured in a dollop of the creamy substance and swished it around with my hand. I viewed the pathetic skim of bubbles that rose to the surface.

Good job it was bought only as a souvenir. I poured in another drop before pressing the button to start the whirlpool system. As soon as the jets started I knew it was going to be an exhilarating experience, and how my body might have reacted in the ‘good old days’.

But, within seconds, I found masses of bubbles creeping up around me like some giant lava flow, and I had to beat at them with my hands to divert them from pouring over the edge. I just sat there, laughing at my own stupidity, as bubbles rose to just below my chin. That was when I heard the room door open. Linda was back.

I called out, “Linda! Save me!”

Beautiful, with her hair neatly set, and anxiety showing on her face, she rushed in, took one look and burst into howls of laughter.

“Oh, Jack, how much did you use?”

“Too much obviously,” I said, then on a sudden whim, I added, “Care to join me?”

There was only a moment’s hesitation, before she said, “Try to stop me.” And her fingers worked frantically at the buttons on her dress, which was quickly discarded, to be followed by her bra. Lying there, basking in bubbles, being pummelled gently by water jets I could only marvel at the way her breasts had only a slight droop. Those brown nipples that I had savoured on my tongue so often, could still harden so readily

That curve between thigh, hip and waist was surely stolen from some younger woman. As she removed her panties and sensuously flounced towards me, I had to curse the gods who had removed my fun-giver but left me with a wild libido.

“Are you ready for this?” she said, stepping over the edge of the bath as I reached out a hand to her thigh to guide her. She gave a little “Ooh,” sound as she settled among the suds. And a second one as she lowered herself onto my hand which had been on her thigh. Ah, into that long-lost paradise!

Linda wriggled her body so that her back was against my chest. As she did that, she turned to share a warm kiss with me. Our tongues played together in gentle harmony, until she turned away to settle comfortably. My hands wrapped around her to clutch each of those adored breasts. I was sure they had to be the envy of all over-sixties. Her legs were parted over mine, which I had stretched out together.

Linda sighed, “Why couldn’t we have had a whirlpool bath years ago?”

“We’d have lived in it.” I told her. “And we’d be madly wrinkled.”

“Like now?”

I slid my hands down one to each inner thigh, as I said, “You have always had, and still have, the smoothest skin.” And my hands stroked up and down her thighs. “Especially down there.”

“Mmm,” Linda murmured, as she wriggled her buttocks into the softness of my groin. God, if only I had something there to meet her.

How long did we lounge there, stroking and kissing? I know I had to add hot water a couple of times, and as the suds died I added a touch more from the clown bottle and set the whirlpool going until we were up to the neck once more.

Shortly after that, on impulse, I struggled up, easing Linda to sit back, as I stepped out. “Must catch this,” I told her, as I moved to my phone.

Linda laughed and pointed at the suds that clung to my body, “Mr Bubbly.”

That laughing face. “Oh, hold that,” I said, pointing the phone camera. “Want to show more bosom?”

“No, I don’t,” she said, still laughing, and I pressed the flash. Now that image is in my phone album, and forever in my heart.

I helped her out of the bath, deliberately stroking the suds that hid her breasts. “Hey, I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Just making sure they’re still there.”

Our drying of each other was coolly deliberate with the towels, but as the towels were dropped, our hands went on caressing, backs and buttocks mainly. As well as maintaining her smooth skin, Linda had the gentlest of subtle touches, and her hands held me against her so that we were belly to belly.  

Looking down into her face which I could read so well, I could tell by her shadowed eyes that her passion was rising. I took a deep wavering breath as I asked, “Would you like me to finger you?”

“But you—”

And I knew what she was going to say. We were in familiar territory, in which she was reluctant to succumb to her own lusts when I could not get a full release.

She kissed me, and whispered, “Could we just lie on the bed like this, skin to skin?”

“Sounds good,” I told her, kissing her on the nose, before adding, “but I can’t guarantee my fingers won’t stray into hidden depths.”

She gave me a scolding glance, took my hand, and said, “Oh, come on.”

I watched, with some wonder, as she clambered up onto the bed. So slender, so desirable in her movements, at her age? Was it possible?

She turned onto her back and lay there, legs slightly parted, her brow slightly furrowed as she looked up at me. “Come on,” she urged, “skin on skin, you said.”

“No, you said that,” I told her, as I crawled alongside her. “God, you’re as lovely as ever. Or is it the New York air?”

She placed her arm around my neck and drew me down, “You never mention my faults.”

We kissed briefly before I added, “Because you don’t have any.”

“You’ve stopped looking at them. I dye my hair, don’t I?”

“Since you’ve always had black hair, how could I tell?” I raked my fingers through her bush. “Except for here.”

“Not quite the bush it was,” she said, as I lowered my head to kiss her again while leaving my hand where it had rested, but allowing a finger to drift into her cleft, an action which brought a surprised gasp from her.

Our kiss deepened, our tongues became more active, and my fingers detected the swelling along the rim of her labia. The excitement in her was undoubted, and I knew my fingers would need to be very active to give her anywhere near the full satisfaction she deserved.

She moved her body closer against mine, squirming as she muttered, “Ah, yes, Jack, skin on skin.” I wriggled my thigh against hers as I began to enjoy the whole process of bringing her on. Her breathing was already heavier, and from the first, that breathing had always been my chief signal of how far on she was.

I had slid my fingers deeper into the delicious wetness of her, when she suddenly broke the kiss, looked up at me with wide impassioned eyes, that showed some surprise. “Jack, something’s pushing into my thigh.” As she said that she was raising her head to look down our bodies, so I looked down too, already becoming aware of an almost forgotten stirring in my groin.

It was like meeting a long-lost friend. The purple head of my cock was pointing along her thigh. Not fully roused, but further on than it had been for too long. “Jack, your hardening.” The delight and surprise in Linda’s voice was pleasing enough as her hand reached down towards it.

My mind was in a turmoil. Shouldn’t I be delighted? Phoenix rising from the ashes? More likely to crumble into dust if its last rise was anything to go on. Should I let Linda touch? Would that only speed the old failure?

By the time that thought had blossomed her delicate fingers were trailing along the length. She made a small appreciative sound in the back of her throat, as I was aware of the blood beginning to pound in my veins, with my erect cock lifting and twitching under Linda’s more active fingers.

As our eyes met, I could read what she was thinking, even before she groaned, “I’m ready for it, Jack. Do you want to try?”

Did that sound like a stupid question? She must remember what had happened on those other attempts. But, deep down, I was telling myself that this could be a last chance, so I asked Linda, “You willing to risk disappointment?”

She gave me a brief frown and said, “If you think negative, you’ll get negative.” Then a cheeky grin changed her expression, as her fingers tightened on my cock. “Oh, it is harder. Want to feel?” Her own question made her giggle.

“I think I know what my own cock feels like,” I told her, and unexpectedly joined in her giggling. And it was on that tide of levity that I rolled between her parted thighs and as I withdrew my fingers from her wetness, she spread wider, to guide my erect cock to her entry.

Her eyes met mine, and there was a wrinkle of worry around them as she said, “I’ll let you choose when to push into me.” Then that much-loved smile crossed her face as she told me, “I think you’ll find my whole lift-shaft is desperate for a lift.”

I hesitated, terribly aware that this was the moment. Ecstasy or deflation? If my hardness could get beyond this point, enter this so familiar channel, then something special beckoned.

“And I do mean ‘desperate’,” Linda’s breathless voice came to me, making me realise that this was for her pleasure as much as mine. This would allow her to give fervently to me, as she had all our time together. How selfish was I being in dwelling on my own worries?

With that thought uppermost, I poked the head of my cock into that sweet soft entry. Was it going to be all right?  Linda’s almost immediate gasp had me easing my solid cock carefully, up and along her eagerly grasping passage. Linda’s body squirmed beneath me, and I tried to kiss her lips, but found her head tossing wildly.

“Jack — oh, Jack — you’re filling me. Immense.  Do it — give me —” Her strained voice trailed away in a whining cry of delight. Had she orgasmed? Surely, yes. But as my hardness drew back to thrust again, her hips heaved up to boost my progress into the very core of her. There was sheer sensuous delight in that thrust. She cried out again, almost a cry of anguish.

And I knew this was the big one for her, and that very knowledge had me spurting up into her depths, as she gave another low moan which mingled with my gasping and groaning release. My cock seemed to pulse out load after load, surely too much for someone of my age, and Linda’s hip thrusts aided me all the way.

On the last pulse I felt my cock instantly shrink, as though it was saying, “That’s your lot.”

As I slithered out of her, Linda asked quietly, “Good?

I leaned over her, loving her sweated brow, the near exhaustion on her face with those wonderful brown eyes looking up at me, as they had on so many occasions over our active years. All I could gasp in reply was, “I hope I can afford that.”

We chuckled together, and she said with some wonder in her voice, “Jack, I came twice. How do you think—?”

I knew what she was going to ask, but I could only give her a range of suggestions. That erection had something to do with the relaxed week we’d spent together, or maybe it was just the joy engendered by that bubble bath, or simply the magic of New York. Whatever it was, it would never happen again.

Within two months of returning home, a cruel aneurysm took Linda from me. No, not true. Sitting there on the sofa in that lonely hotel room, although tears now streaked my cheeks, I was so glad I had made this trip. I knew she couldn’t ever be taken from me. In my heart and in my head, she would be with me, helping relive a thousand loving incidents, giving me a million fond smiles, and if I ever lost any of that, I would always be grateful to recall that last chance granted us in New York.