Past Present (13 page)

oOo

“Where do you come from, Matthew?”

“Hertfordshire.”

“Have you always wanted to fly?”

“Yes,” I said. Watching her breasts rise and fall, rise and fall.

A lock of hair had come loose from the top-knot she’d tied and the shining chestnut tendril called to me. “Touch me … touch me… Push me behind her ear. Kiss her lips.”

Anxious to make a favourable impression, I answered her polite series of questions and asked a few of my own. I can’t remember them now, but I know it was then that I learned she was a widow.

“You’re too young to be a widow,” I told her. “Widows are supposed to be old ladies, dressed in dusty black, with crooked backs and walking sticks.”

She laughed then, threw her head back and laughed out loud. Already in love, I was lost. Her throat, creamy. A long column holding her beautiful head, she was as beautiful as the classic statues I had studied at school in my History of Art classes and seemed as untouchable too. I wanted her so bad, the ache in my cock spread through my body like a rampant disease. Seeking out every nerve-end, every sensor, and every tiny pore. Annie burrowed so deep into my heart within the first few hours of our meetings; I have never been able to remove her. But you, my darling, Eleanor, have prized her free. You’ve unchained me.

You already know that I have sucked and fucked my way around the world. It’s easy to get laid when you fly fast jets, and I took advantage of the RAF groupies in the towns and cities of every country we visited. Onesomes, twosomes, threesomes, group sex, my favourite anal sex, double penetration, spanking, bondage and all kinds of games. Nevertheless, nothing fulfilled me like a night in Annie’s arms and up until these past few months, I thought nothing would.

That first night in Annie’s isolated farmhouse, there was just me, her and the baby. I waited until the sounds of the house settling down had passed, opened the window and looked out into the night. The house was situated near the airfield, a bustling village, and close to the end of a long, unmade road. Hardly any traffic passed by. The silence hung in the air; so still, I could hear my own thoughts echoing. Reaching back to me, mocking me, and making me hard, making me ache; my need for sexual release far greater than it had ever been. The depth of yearning was more intense than any of my boyhood crushes, including the nurse at school. We all masturbated over her. That night, in my room, in Annie’s house, I had to rub myself off into a handkerchief. My mother always packed pressed handkerchiefs, even though I often used tissues. I was grateful for it then, in spite of the dilemma of disposal. Annoyed with myself for not thinking, it was probably the first time my cock truly ruled my head. In the end, I stuffed the soiled cloth under my pillow and eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

oOo

The smell of breakfast cooking was my alarm call. Ravenous, as only teenage boys can be, I dressed quickly, went downstairs and followed my nose to the kitchen where I discovered Annie, oh, joy of joys, she wore a dressing gown. My cock agreed that she looked stunning cooking breakfast in a gloriously, silky purple kimono, triggering my obsession with wraparound silk.

“Can I help?” I croaked, wishing my cock didn’t have a mind of his own. I hoped my fly wasn’t bulging but thought it might be. She seemed intent on the pan on the stove, so I decided I had got away with it. Her son was in his high-chair messing about with a few small toys.

“No, you’re fine, Matt. Is it okay if I call you Matt?”

“Of course. Where’s your dog?”

“Outside, he’s gone for a rummage in the grounds. He’ll be gone for ages. Your trousers are safe.”

Regretting the question which led to her reply, we both glanced at my crotch. Fuck knows why, we just did.

“Can I set the table?” I said.

“Hmm.”

She seemed distracted, and my cock did a little dance for joy. “She noticed me, she noticed me.”

“The cutlery is in that drawer,” she nodded towards the dresser
.

oOo

Our affair bloomed, and I blossomed. It may be a strange thing to say about a young man, but it was true nonetheless. Always meticulous with my appearance, it was part of my military remit; I started to take a lot more interest in my hair, the way I styled it, my aftershave, proud that I needed to shave daily. My floppy fringe was untameable, and I was supposed to keep it short when in uniform, I knew I’d be able to let it grow a little in the future. At the time, I tried to tame it. Already tall, I walked taller, and my telephone conversations and letters to my parents were littered with references to Annie.

When I played sports with some of the other trainees at the weekends, I was more competitive, always imagining that she watched whether she was there or not. She often came along to the games, bringing her son in his pushchair and standing at the side-lines of rugby pitches, at the poolside when I went swimming. Later, at the close of spring, she and I went swimming together, in the river close to the house, careful to choose low tide, mindful of the current. Seeing Annie gleaming in that river is an image that I’ll carry with me for as long as I live. Although the weather wasn’t particularly warm, it wasn’t too cold either, but when we got out and sat on the bank she started shivering uncontrollably and I wrapped her in her towel and then in mine too. I held her so close to me, her head nestled under my chin that I was certain she’d be able to feel my heart hammering in my chest. I felt as if it were going to beat its way right out of my body and take flight to another planet. Higher than I’d ever flown in the fixed-wing training aircraft I was learning to fly.

I wanted to take her flying, show her the patchwork of fields that I flew over each day, but I wasn’t qualified and we’d have to wait. I was impatient to share everything with Annie. I raced home from the airfield daily, out of my mind with desire, having to squash my longing if anyone else was about or her son not yet in bed. I would count the seconds until we could be alone.

My sole aim in life was to please her. I could think of nothing I wanted more. Everything I thought said or did during those mad, obsessed days began and ended with my absorption with Annie, and my need to be deep, deep inside her. In her skin, undulating, vibrating and spilling my ever present seed into her again and again. I seemed to have boundless energy. Endless supplies of semen gathering in my aching balls. If the stars were on offer I’d have plucked them out of the sky for her, one by one and delivered them in a glowing package to her feet.

Taking a bath. The tank in a cupboard on the landing always made the most unspeakable noises. I often expected it to explode. Everyone in the household knew when the bath was being filled; the rush of water to replace that taken from the tank went on for ages and ages. Deafening. There was never any need to lock the door.

One day, washing my body, over and over like a man possessed, rummaging into every little crevice, I managed to get soap into my eyes. Groping around for the towel, the next thing I knew, it was in my hand. Squinting up, I saw her standing there, naked. The dark triangle of hair where her thighs met and her voluptuous breasts took my breath away. I forgot all about my stinging eyes and sat in the soapy water like an idiot and my cock rising to the expectation of her.

Her small waist looked impossibly tiny, and my heart contracted with love for her so intense I thought I would die. The gentle curve of her hips heralded the beginning of her slender, shapely legs. All the way down to her toes. There was no part of Annie that I didn’t find glorious - that I didn’t want to kiss. I wanted to kiss her over and over, and my cock showed her everything else I wanted to do.

Holding another towel for me, she signalled me out of the tub. I stepped onto the floor, cold, uncomfortable. The bathroom was functional and not at all luxurious; she wrapped me in the towel and pulled me towards her, my back against her breasts. We stood like that for ages, her lips nuzzling my neck, her hands under my arms clasped in front of my chest. She pressed her nakedness against the towel until I let it drop and we were skin to skin.

Her fingers snaked around to my cock, aching oh so much, just so needful of her firm grip. She turned me so that I was facing her and gently moved down my body until she was kneeling at my feet. I cannot describe the emotions she wrung out of me that day. A woman I adored had my cock in her mouth and seemed to worship it as much as I did. She took me to places that I knew must be heaven, and I never wanted to float back to earth. I just wanted to sail away on the crest of orgasm that she sucked out of me. That day, her tongue on my glans, my semen seeping, gently oozing, in no time at all, I had come.

“Oh, my god, oh, oh, I’m so sorry, Annie. Oh, god, no, don’t, I can’t do that.”

I didn’t want to come in her mouth, it didn’t feel right, I was burning with lust and hot with embarrassment, but she clamped her lips over my shaft and sucked it so deep into her throat that there was nowhere else to go. I will love her forever for that one, simple act. It changed my life.

And now, my glorious Puss, there’s you. I recognised you from your ankles up, at that memorable September Battle of Britain memorial dance. My ticket to heaven. I hope you enjoy everything Annie taught me and all I’ve learned since then because we have such a bright future together and I love you, Eleanor, with my heart and soul.

And we’re at the hotel, my dream, now, yours too and about to be realised. A new project all ready for our New Year’s Eve opening dance, and in between, here we are on Christmas Eve, the entire staff away home and just the two of us. Cocooned in our apartments, with views to the cliffs, surrounded by lush gardens and on to the sea, the ever changing seascape, the ocean where we roll in blue. I love the way that this part of Falconworth juts out a little and allows views to east and west, it’s almost panoramic. The centre of this room dominated by our canopied four-poster bed with classic drapes and deep frills, the curtains tied back at all the windows match. Everything else is cool and cream. Stamped with your touch, Eleanor. You didn’t overrule the interior designer in any other part of the manor, only in our apartments, where you had your say and had your way…

oOo

Hand aching from writing, Matthew places the pen across the paper and walks through to the bathroom, admiring the pristine tiles and sparkling tub, a whirlpool, large enough for two or more…He turns on the taps and fills the tub.

“Fancy a bath?” he returns to whisper in her ear.

Immediately fully awake, she pulls him to her, parted lips meet, and familiar tongues joust in welcome.

“Eleanor, let me bathe first, read the letter I’ve written you. It’s on the desk and after you’ve read, will you bring me a towel?”

“Yes, darling.”

Eleanor’s eyes travel Matthew’s distinctive hand as she reads the words he’s written. His haste is clear in the letter; the sure sweep of words is a little less defined than usual. She sits and reads, engrossed. Finally, laying the papers to one side, she walks naked to the bathroom where he is waiting. Echoes of his letter instruct, she goes to him and hands him a towel. He takes it and stands, small waves lap back and forth as he steps out of the tub. She wraps him and pulls him close, tenderly drying him as a mother with a child. Seeking out his secret places to drive out the moisture.

The room is steamy, and apart from their hushed breath, and a dripping tap is silent. She allows the rhythm of the small splashes of water to beat a pattern in her head as she slowly makes progress down her lover’s torso, taking the towel with her; she drops it to the floor and kneels at his feet.

His cock is erect, the deep red of the head glistens. She licks her lips and looks up through her fringe to gauge his emotion. His head is back, and his eyes are closed, she wonders if he is thinking of Annie as she takes his erection into the soft, warm tissues of her mouth. Carefully covering her teeth with her lips, she moves slowly along his shaft, aiding her tongue with light, yet firm strokes of her fingers, her other hand seeks his anus. His penchant for anal will be indulged today. He’s a little tighter than usual; the soapy bath has driven natural moisture away. She puts her fingers into her mouth alongside her tongue and wets them thoroughly before creeping back snurgling into his snug passage, simultaneously taking his shaft, deep, deep into her throat.

“Oh, my god, oh, oh, Eleanor, I’m going to come.”

She didn’t miss a beat but reflected on the words describing his first blowjob, the deep-throat that Annie provided, which changed his life. Heat gathered at the core of her, and she burrowed a finger deep into his rectum. Clamping her lips over his shaft, she sucked it so deep into her throat that there was nowhere else to go. Using her other hand to meet him, she times her own orgasm to receive the pulse of semen and breakfast.

oOo

Dawn on Christmas Day, aching from sex, and lack of sleep, I look down from our first storey bedroom. The garden below the window will soon throng with birds seeking winter sustenance. An ornamental pond sits in one corner and a tree of some sort that I still cannot identify stands central, circumnavigated by a bench seat. The sky is soft and pink, blossoming, a little as I did under Annie’s tutelage, the faintest blush slowing fades as white light intensifies.
Red sky in the morning, shepherd’s warning.
I silently recite the old saying as I watch the beginning day, slowly creeping forwards Falconworth is quiet, even the birds seem less vocal, and the usual, ever-present, distant hum of the motorway is absent on the one day of the year when modernity recedes and makes way for ancient tradition. I already know that the day will sit well at Falconworth. The manor is at peace with its surroundings, and there’s nothing left to do except look forward to the masked ball that Eleanor has planned for New Year’s Eve.

I look at her neat form barely taking up any space in our bed. Her wraparound silk drapes one of the chairs and my mind travels to the task I set on the day she bought it. Her seamless metamorphosis as she carried out my tasks was, and still is, a joy to me. She immersed herself in the game, committing everything to record in the diary room. The perfect system, custom built into one of Falconworth’s priest holes.