I made sure that I was ten minutes early for my date with Suzie. I used the extra moments to buy a long-stemmed red rose from the flower stall in the station forecourt and to compose myself before meeting her. I was nervous. It was my first date since the first time I went out with Helen nearly 25 years ago.

It had taken me five years to get to this moment, years of mourning, of agonising loneliness, of shattered self-belief slowly rebuilt with the constant love and patience of those who loved me the most. Until now I had been able to distract myself from my nerves with careful preparation; shower, shave, dressing in my favourite smart going out attire of black suit, dark blue shirt and contrasting tie with scarlet pattern, checking and rechecking the route to our rendezvous. But now there was no way and nowhere to hide from my anxiety. Whatever you do, don’t mess it up, I thought to myself as I checked my watch for the dozenth time.

As the minutes crawled by I got tired of scanning every face for a hint of recognition. I took out my paperback and began to read, every now and again looking up to observe the dynamics of all the human movement and activity around me on the station concourse. Other couples met with extravagant flinging of arms and smiling shrieks, or a chaste kiss on a demurely proffered cheek, or a politely wary shaking of hands depending on the degree of prior familiarity.

As the minutes piled up into a quarter hour and then another quarter hour, I was able to observe how the stream of humanity ebbed and flowed as trains disgorged their passengers from one side of the barriers while others arrived to flow through the barriers in the opposite direction to take their places. In all this human flux there were two constants; me and, standing a few yards away, a smartly dressed young woman. Whereas I stood still, she was constantly moving; backwards and forwards, round in circles, shrugging her shoulders, folding and unfolding her arms, checking her watch again and again. Several times I smiled and shrugged my shoulders sympathetically and each time she smiled back and shook her head ruefully.

After almost three quarters of an hour of waiting, fairly confident that by this stage she wouldn’t feel threatened by my doing so, I walked over to her and said, “Stood up?”
“Tell me about it,” she grimaced, “You too?”
“It looks like it,” I smiled, “What did you have planned?”
“The new photography exhibition at the contemporary art gallery, then we were going clubbing,” she replied, then added, “Did you have something nice planned?”
“Dinner at a jazz club,” I said,
“Nice evening for it too. Too bad.”

I was about to take my leave of her when I found myself saying, “It’s seems a pity to waste it, how about making an evening of it together? I don’t fancy the clubbing bit but the photography exhibition sounds good if you’d like a bit of jazz with dinner afterwards.”
“That sounds really cool,” she said, “You’re on.”

**********

We got acquainted as we walked to the gallery. “I’m Tony,” I said as I reached across myself with my right hand to shake her hand as she walked on my left, “pleased to meet you.” “Hi, I’m Gemma, artist and illustrator extraordinaire,” she replied. Her outfit accorded with her assertion. She wore a man’s double-breasted jacket in black pinstripe over a man’s white dress shirt with turned back collars and silver cufflinks. It was teamed with beautifully cut and styled black trousers that seemed to flow and shimmer around her legs as she walked and gave brief glimpses of her feet, on which she wore over black tights black velvet ballerina pumps that looked like they had been covered in glitter. A silk scarf covered her skin behind the open neck of her shirt, and she wore a crimson cummerbund around her waist and black lace gloves that left her finger ends exposed. Her jewellery was elegant: triangular silver drop earrings and several rings including a beautiful butterfly with spread wings shimmering with glitter which spanned the length of her left middle finger.

She was slightly less than average height with slim build and small bust and slender arms and legs. Her long straight auburn hair flowed freely down her back to her waist and partly covered her ears, which stuck out slightly from the flowing stream of her tresses. She had a pretty face with dark brown eyes and a mouth that seemed to be always smiling or just about to smile. It was also covered in light brown freckles that to me enhanced her exuberantly youthful quality that was already obvious in the first few minutes I was in her company.

By the time we reached the gallery, she had told me something of her work as an artist and I had recounted some of my more way-out experiences as a secondary school teacher and latterly as a schools inspector. We spent an hour looking at the exhibition, of modern Eastern European urban photography. “Do you enjoy looking at art?” Gemma asked me at one point.
“I’ve always preferred music to visual art,” I replied, “I’ve never felt familiar with art in the way I do with music. But I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that I’m looking at a tiny moment of truth that would have been lost for all time if the artist hadn’t captured it in a picture or sculpture or whatever, and by the idea that if I or anyone else instead had somehow seen that exact grain of truth at that exact time and place, it would have been recorded completely differently.”
“I think that’s a tremendously positive approach to appreciating art,” she smiled, “It means you can still enjoy it even if you don’t know the background to it.”
Our conversation continued in similarly positive fashion and I felt myself being drawn closer to her by her youthful enthusiasm, charm and spontaneous and wholehearted pleasure in all she saw.

**********

We took a taxi to the jazz club. The band that evening played a mixture of traditional and Dixieland jazz, which made an enjoyably upbeat backdrop to our meal and conversation. “I can’t believe that I was stood up after it took me three months to get up the courage to go out on a date after my last disaster, and then I meet you,” said Gemma as a swirl of bolognaise-coated spaghetti flopped off her fork just before it reached her mouth. “What went wrong the last time?” I asked.
“It’s a long story,” she mumbled through her second, successful attempt and I could tell by the shake of her head that she wasn’t yet in the mood to elaborate further
. “Anyway,” I continued, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d have much trouble getting a date if you wanted one.”
“Believe me,” she answered, “there really aren’t that many great guys out there. But can I ask why you’re dating and wearing a wedding ring?”

I had thought to leave it at home but had forgotten to take it off. I didn’t really feel ready to talk about her this early but now I didn’t have much choice. “I was widowed five years ago and it’s taken me until now to get myself together enough to get onto the scene again.”
“Oh Tony, I’m so sorry”, Gemma’s hand on mine was totally spontaneous and unselfconscious and she looked at me with complete sincerity of compassion, “If it helps you talk I’ll gladly listen.”

“Helen died of a very rare and very destructive cancer. One moment she seemed in perfect health. Then the pains in her back started and all of a sudden she was being given six months at the most and she was dead in less than four. She was in a hospice for her final weeks and they were wonderful. I was able to be in bed with her and hold her and stroke her hair as she was dying. That was one good thing about her having that kind of cancer; there was no point in giving her radiation therapy or chemotherapy, so she didn’t lose her hair. And she whispered, “I love you,” as she died. And hundreds of people came to her funeral and there were so many people there for me whenever I felt I couldn’t go on anymore and our children gave me far more love and support and understanding than I was able to give to them even in my best moments. And tonight I get stood up on my first date for nearly twenty-five years and instead of it being a total disaster I’m sitting here talking with you. With so much that’s good in my life I can’t go on being sad for too long.”
“She must have been a very special person to have been married to you,” said Gemma as she squeezed my hand.
“She was,” I smiled, “and I know there’s someone out there who’ll realise just how special you are.” She smiled and withdrew her hand and there was no embarrassment or uncertainty about what her gesture had meant.”

As we were about to part company back at the station I said to her, “I probably shouldn’t ask you this, you being young enough to be my daughter and me being old enough to be… well… you know, but would you like to go out again…with me?” She beamed at me, “I’ve been hoping nearly all evening that you’d ask me that. Of course I’d love to go out with you.” Then she took my hand and kissed my cheek.

**********

We grew closer together easily and naturally over several more dates. By the end of our fourth date we were openly hugging and kissing each other with deep affection. I asked her if she would come to my house for dinner and was overjoyed when she accepted. I had become a good cook and host and spared no expense. When I opened the door to her I couldn’t contain my delight as I said almost in a gasp, “Gemma, you look fabulous.” She wore a gorgeous shimmering dark blue taffeta ballerina-length ball gown with black tights patterned in shining silver swirls and the same sparkly black velvet ballerina pumps she had worn at our first meeting. She wore a black velvet choker around her neck, an elaborately patterned black lace shawl draped around her shoulders, black lace fingerless gloves that came up above her elbows and a deep crimson satin sash around her waste to give a dash of contrasting colour. Her hair was pinned up in a large bun, which gave beautiful balance to her attractive profile.

I wanted her to get to know me better so I happily let her look at and talked about the various family pictures and keepsakes displayed in the sitting room. She paid special attention to the framed order of service for Helen’s funeral, on the cover of which was a head and shoulders portrait of her smiling with ‘Helen Sutcliffe: 10th July 1961-3rd March 1999’ printed at the bottom. “She’s lovely,” she said, her expression a mixture of admiration and sadness as she squeezed my hand. I lifted her hand and kissed it, “She always was and always will be,” I smiled.

She also admired a large family photograph taken in a studio. “Are these your children?” she asked.
“Yes,” I replied, “This is Michaela. She’s the image of her Mum and she’s an artist like her as well. She’s in her final year at the College of Printing. Then there are the twins: Gareth is sports mad and he’s just started a degree in sports coaching and psychology, while Alexandra is the scientist and is doing physics with maths and computing. So hopefully they’re all hard at work while I enjoy having the house all to myself until the summer vac’.”
“You don’t fool me one bit,” she laughed and squeezed my waist, “You can’t wait for them to back can you?”
“’Course not”, I laughed.

We sat down to dinner and for a while our conversation sparkled. But as we progressed through the courses she became less talkative and more distracted until by the time we got to the coffee and after-dinner mints stage she was almost silent and looked very nervous. Finally I asked her, “You seem unhappy Gemma. Is there anything you want to tell me about?” She looked relieved at having an opportunity to unburden herself. “I’m sorry Tony. When I go to a guy’s place I always get nervous at the end of the meal because I start to worry that he’s got…expectations…of me.”

I knew exactly what she meant by ‘expectations’ but I wanted to give her the space to explain in her own words so I simply asked her, “What expectations of you do you think I might have?” I was grateful that she found the courage to be direct at this point. “That you want me to go to bed with you.” I thought very carefully for a moment before I spoke again. “Gemma, I’m honoured and thrilled that you chose and wanted to come to my house and have dinner with me. Anything else you could possibly want to give me is just icing on the cake as far as I’m concerned. The really important question is do you want to go to bed with me?”

She played nervously with her napkin, “Yes I do Tony, I want to sleep with you very much,” she said with an earnest look in her eyes, “But I have a problem.”
“Do you want to tell me about it,” I said as gently as I could. I was preparing myself to tell her that being HIV positive was no problem to me and I had a supply of condoms when I was caught totally off guard by what she told me next. With her eyes cast down and staring at her hands fidgeting in her lap she said in a tiny voice, “I’m still a virgin.”

**********

Again, I thought very carefully about my next words, “Helen and I were virgins when we married and we weren’t that much younger than you are now,” she had already told me was 26, “I can speak from experience that it really is worth waiting for the right person. I really admire you for wanting to wait. But are you really sure I’m the right one for you?” But the shrug of her shoulders told me immediately that my words had failed in their intent. “You don’t understand Tony,” she said, her expression now of total anguish, “I’m not a virgin because I’m at all virtuous. For years all I’ve wanted is to have a fun night out with a great guy and go back to his place for a really good bonk.”
“What’s stopping you?” I asked, totally mystified, “You’re beautiful, intelligent, fun to be with and…”
“And I’m bloody deformed!” she shouted, startling me with the vehemence of her sudden outburst. “What do you mean?” I asked, thoroughly confused and perplexed by now.
“Look at my face Tony. What’s it covered in?” “Freckles, but…” She didn’t let me continue, “That’s right Tony, freckles. And it isn’t just my face that’s covered in them. My whole body is covered in the bloody things. Have you noticed or wondered that I keep my whole body covered up even when I wear short and revealing clothes? All my life I’ve been pointed at and stared at and been told I’m a freak. Remember that guy I had the awful date with that I told you about? Do you know what he said to me when I’d screwed up the courage to take my clothes off for him? ‘No wonder you’re frigid you poxy bitch!’” She screamed his words at me and collapsed into a paroxysm of sobbing.

For ten minutes I held her silently as she sobbed as if her heart had broken beyond mending, but which I knew from long experience with my own daughters was just the necessary prelude of outpouring of dammed up emotions before calmer counsel could begin. Eventually she let me kiss her and dry her eyes and I looked into her eyes with all the tenderness I could summon and said gently to her, “Gemma, I can promise that I could never and will never despise you or reject you and I can absolutely guarantee that my word alone will be enough. But if you’ll let me, I can also show you why I can make that promise and why can share your pain.”
“What is it you want to show me Tony?” she asked in a small voice.

Without another word and breathing deeply in my own anxiety over what I was about to do, I slowly undid my shirt and pulled it open. When she saw the livid red track of my operation scar running diagonally across my body from below my left armpit to my right thigh she put her hands to her face and cried out “Oh Tony, what happened to you?”
“I needed emergency open heart surgery two years ago,” I replied as I refastened my shirt, “It was touch and go for a while but I’m fine now. You’re the only other person who’s ever seen my scar apart from my family and the hospital staff.” She hugged me tightly and covered my face with her tears as she kissed me in her deep gratitude, “I want to make love with you Tony but I’m scared it’ll hurt and that I won’t do it properly. Please will you help me not to be frightened?”

**********

“Don’t worry Darling”, I smiled, “We’re going to make your first time wonderful. Have you ever imagined on your first night undressing each other before dancing naked to romantic music, bathing together in a scented bubble bath, and massaging each other with hand warmed scented oil, and all by candlelight?”
“Oh wow, that would be fantastic”, she exclaimed, hugging herself as her face glowed and her eyes beamed with excitement.

We began by scampering all through the house scouring every room for every candle and night light we could find. We strew them around every horizontal surface we could find in the lounge, in the bathroom and in my bedroom. Then we lit all the candles in the lounge and sat down together on the sofa. I held her hands and explained what we could do to overcome her anxieties about uncovering her body, “Helen and I thought of an undressing game to help us over our first night nerves. We told each other a funny story about each bit of our clothing before we took it off each other. You can tell me a story about each of your clothes before I take it off you and vice versa.

As I removed her accessories one by one, she told me how she loved wearing retro styles and finding original and antique clothes in charity shops and flea markets all over Europe. Meanwhile, as she took off my various accoutrements, I told her about my clothes shopping on various business trips around the world as I advised the government on how other countries set and monitored standards in schools and about my particular love of Italian style.

When she was stripped of her peripheral items and was down to her dress, tights and shoes I remarked that she had a ballerina theme going on. “I really wanted to do ballet when I was a girl,” she said sadly, “But I never did because I was afraid the other girls would make fun of me.” I held her to me and said tenderly to her, “Maybe we can make up for it somehow,” then asked her, “Shall we take your dress off now?” After she had told me how she had bought it in a charity shop in Cambridge for £5 and about how it always trumped everyone else’s charity shop stories, I lifted it off her as she screwed her eyes tight shut and raised her slender arms and I gasped with surprised delight at what I saw. Instead of wearing a bra and tights as I had assumed, she wore a gorgeous black satin strapless push-up bra, matching satin pants and her silver patterned black stockings were fixed to a black satin and lace suspender belt. She opened her eyes tentatively and then beamed as she saw the look of sheer delight and pleasure on my face and deep desire in my eyes. “Oh Tony you really do want me,” she breathed and then kissed me as she embraced me and pushed her lovely body up as close to mine, now clad only in my briefs, as she could.

I undid and removed her bra and thrilled to the feel of her bare breasts against my chest as I embraced her again. Then I picked her up and sat down on the sofa with her on my lap. As she kissed me and stroked my hair I traced the edge of her stoking tops around her thighs and stroked her legs through her stockings. I took off her shoes and fondled and kissed her feet through her stockings. Then I watched in delight as she stood up and slowly rolled each stocking in turn down and off her leg. I stood up to her and unhitched her suspender belt and finally we removed each other’s pants and were naked together at last. In the warm candlelight her freckle-covered body glowed like sugar-speckled honey. “You remind me of a delicious cream cake covered in hundreds and thousands,” I said as I held her in her nakedness. “You’re so lovely,” she sniffed through renewed tears, this time of joy.

**********
She decided she wanted us to have a bath together first to help relax her and get her in the mood. So I prepared the bath while she lit the candles. I got in first and enjoyed the wonderful sight of her beautiful bottom descending towards and past my face as she settled into the bath in front of me. I leaned back into the inflatable back cushion and delighted in the wonderful feeling of her smooth, warm, wet skin as she leaned against me, the feeling of my erection pressed up against her bottom and my legs lying submerged next to hers in the deliciously warm, soft and fragrant water.

She sighed as I massaged the remaining tension from her shoulders as I kissed her neck and cheeks. Then I squeezed warm water from a sponge onto her, which she loved, so I progressed to lathering her body with the sponge. This really excited her and I saw her nipples begin to harden and pout and she began to open up pinkly between her legs. I put down the sponge and she groaned with pleasure as I smoothed my hands over her shoulders, her breasts and her stomach before I began to approach her mound, with her pubic hair floating and swaying in the water like a forest of kelp.

“Would you like me to pleasure you?” I whispered gently in her ear.
“What do you mean?” she said and her tone of complete innocent ignorance of what I was suggesting surprised me for a second.
“Have you never masturbated?” I asked her. “No,” she replied, “I always felt it would be a sad substitute for the real thing and although I’m not a Catholic I was sent to a Catholic girls’ grammar school where we were always being warned off that sort of thing. Is it nice?”
“Well, from what I saw of Helen, it looked pretty nice to me”, I smiled.
“You mean Helen let you watch her play with herself?” she asked in amazement.
“We shared everything “, I said as I enfolded her warm waist, “Every desire, every fantasy, and every technique. We did a lot of them together too. Believe me, masturbation, whether with the one you love or on your own, is pretty wonderful. Would you like me to prove it to you now?”
“OK, I’d like that,” she smiled.

I began by carefully lifting the flap of skin over her clitoris and gently stroking her tiny swollen shaft. “Oh Tony that’s gorgeous” she gasped. “You take over now,” I coaxed her as I placed her finger tip in place of mine, “try experimenting to find what you like best.”

After trying out different rhythms and intensities of stroking, her breasts began to rise and fall with her deep gasps of pleasure as she hit on the right one for her. I said to her, “Now while you keep stroking your clitoris I’m going to slip a finger inside your vagina. Is that alright?”
“You can do whatever you want to me”, she gasped. I traced my finger end around her inner labia, which made her shudder and moan with pleasure, located her opening and slipped my finger into her warm, wet, velvety smoothness.

“You’re lovely and moist already darling,” I told her, “If we use plenty of lubrication as well I’m sure you’ll hardly feel any discomfort, if any.”
“Your penis looks so big,” she could barely whisper in her excitement as she continued to rub her clitoris and I moved my finger around within her, “will I really be able to get you inside me?”
“Why don’t you see how much you can open yourself up now?” I suggested. I placed her finger ends on each side of her entrance and helped her to pull open her labia. The relaxed state she was in thanks to the combination of warm bath and self-pleasure meant she easily opened herself up almost to the circumference of my erection. I picked up a small mirror and angled it so she could see herself better. “Fantastic!” she breathed, “How does an orgasm feel?”

“Try rubbing yourself on my leg and see what happens,” I suggested. We shifted position so my right leg was between hers and she began to hump my thigh. As she continued my skin became slick and shiny with her juices and her breathing became harder with each thrust until with an “Oh! Oohh!! Oooohhhh!!!” her whole body clenched and then sank back into me in her delight. “Congratulations on your first orgasm Darling,” I smiled as I stroked her neck and kissed her.
“That was so beautiful,” she beamed through her heavy breathing.

**********

When her excitement had subsided sufficiently we got out of the bath, dried each other with large, fluffy towels and went hand in hand to my bedroom. After lighting all the candles we embraced and kissed in the vibrant living glow which made her look more beautiful and desirable than ever. Until now she had kept her hair up to keep it dry in the bath but now she stood back, removed the various hair slides and clips and shook her head to let her glorious auburn tresses cascade down her shoulders and back. “You’re so beautiful,” I whispered and took her into my arms again and took great handfuls of her hair to kiss. She kissed me back and whispered, “How do you want to have me? Shall I lie on my back?”
“I don’t think that would be a very comfortable position for you for your first time,” I decided, “I’ll lie semi-reclining and you can straddle me. Then you can take me into you as slowly or quickly as you want so you can get used to having me inside you.”
“Will you need to wear a condom?” she asked, “I am on the pill so it would be nicer if you didn’t have to.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I replied, “But as our combined total of previous sexual partners amounts to precisely one, I don’t think we’ll need to worry about that,” I smiled.

I propped myself up with pillows and got into position and then she knelt up above me with her legs on either side of me, a glowing vision of total loveliness with her gorgeous shining hair, her dark eyes glistening with love and passion, the fresh, natural beauty of her face and her slim and slender body vibrant with youthful feminine grace and power. Her breasts and nipples were swollen with desire and the flower of her womanhood between her legs was wide open and waiting longingly to be pollinated. I handed her a tube of lubricant and said to her, “Now smear a good amount of this around and inside yourself and then if you want to you can put plenty on me as well. But please be quick because you’re turning me on so much I can hardly control myself any longer.”

I delighted in the view of her preparing herself and then gasped with pleasure at every touch of her fingers on the hypersensitively stretched skin of my penis, sending warm waves rippling through my whole being. Preparations completed, I then said to her, “Now you can take hold of me and place my head on your entrance. You can rub me on your lips if you like to give you more stimulation. I grimaced with pleasure as she took hold of my penis just behind my head and felt the smooth softness of her labia rubbing on my sensitive swollen bulb. “That feels lovely,” she gasped, “I’ll try and get you into me now.”
“Take as long as you need Darling,” I encouraged her.

She carefully began to lower herself onto me, biting her lip with intense concentration as she did so, until she had got my head halfway in. Then she stopped and started to look nervous and to breathe too quickly. “It’s OK, darling,” I coaxed her,” You’re doing really well. Just take a moment to relax and breathe more slowly. You’ve already done the hardest bit.”
After a moment she smiled and lowered herself down a little more onto me. Before she knew it she had slid down the full length of my shaft. I felt a momentary slight resistance as I slid right into her and she exclaimed, “Oh! What was that I just felt?”
“That was me breaking your hymen Darling. Now you really have given me your virginity and you are now a fertile flower My Love. Poetically speaking that is. Congratulations.” I lifted myself up to hold her and kiss her. I had never seen her smile as beautifully as she did then.

“How are you feeling Darling?” I asked as I held her close to me.
“I feel wonderful,” she enthused, “I have such a fabulous opened up feeling and it’s lovely to feel you filling me up, big and firm, inside me.
“Have a better look,” I smiled, angling the mirror for her again.
“Oh man, that looks fantastic!” she gasped in delighted amazement as she saw the pink ring of her labia tightly encircling the dark wine coloured base of my shaft as it disappeared into her.
“Let’s make it feel even nicer for you,” I said. With my fingertips I traced around the sensitive circle of her labia and she closed her eyes and moaned “Ooohh Tony, that’s sooo gorgeous.”
“You can make it feel nicer for me too if you exercise your pelvic muscles,” I hinted. Then it was my turn to moan, “That’s sooo good,” as she tightened and released herself on me.

After a moment I said to her, “Do you want to try some movement up and down now?”
“Yes please,” she beamed.
“OK, take it as slowly as you like”, I encouraged her again. She began gingerly to lift herself up.
“It feels a little bit sore but it doesn’t hurt,” she said.
“The more you do it the more you’ll lubricate yourself and it’ll just keep getting easier,” I encouraged her. And it did. She was soon lifting and lowering herself on me with ease and it was lovely to watch her tense up as her orgasm approached. As she cried out in her ecstasy I pulled her forward onto me and with several deep thrusts completed my own delight.

We kissed and stroked each other long and lovingly in our afterglow. Then we lit more candles in the lounge and danced to a compilation of well-known love songs. To begin with we were light hearted and I swept her almost to the floor in mock tango style. Then our eyes locked onto each other’s and we swayed gently together and kissed long and passionately. After the last and longest kiss she whispered to me, “Please make love to me again.”

*********

I lifted her into my arms and gently laid her on my bed. She opened her legs and bent her knees a little, rested her hands each side of her head on the pillow, put her head slightly down to one side, her lovely hair spreading out on either side of her and looked straight at me open mouthed and with eyes that entreated me to come to her. Inflamed by her expression and attitude of total surrender to me, which I knew fully well was her intention, I carefully lay myself on top of her and as I united myself with her with total ease she wrapped her legs around me and I thrilled to the squeeze of her soft, warm thighs around my waist as, now more confident in her technique, she tightened the warm, wet, velvet embrace of her vagina around my quivering manhood.

I began to rock myself slowly and strongly over her and as our bodies became attuned to each other I adjusted the speed and intensity of my thrusting in response to her moans and sighs. As her orgasm cascaded through her she kneaded my scalp and cried out, “Oooh! Oooh! Oooh!” with each spasm of my delight. Several more deep thrusts and I came in my turn. As my physical release poured into her I poured out the deepest libations released from my heart before the sacred altar of her eyes, closed in her passion, as I dug my fingers into the pillow and gasped, “Oh Darling! Oh Darling! Oh Darling!” in ecstatic incantation with every tremor that ran through me. She didn’t answer me but I felt the warm wetness of her tears on my cheek as she kissed and nuzzled my neck.

After a few minutes of gently affectionate cuddling, kissing and stroking I said to her, “You can lie there while I wash you if you like.”
“That would be lovely,” she sighed and stretched her legs in anticipation of the pleasure. After I had cleaned myself in the bathroom I took a basin of warm water, flannel, soap and a soft towel on a tray to her and, after laying the towel underneath her, gently lathered, rinsed and dried her between her outspread legs while she sighed with deep contentment. “Won’t I need to have your stuff washed out from me?” she asked.
“Your vagina can clean itself,” I responded as I gently stroked the warm, soft woolliness of her freshly washed mound, “Douching you would just interfere with your vagina’s natural cleansing.” I ended this most special labour of love by planting a long and loving kiss on her still-open labia.

“Now how about a body massage with some special oil I’ve got,” I suggested. “It sounds wonderful, but won’t I have to wash it off afterwards?” she asked.
“No, this is wonderful stuff,” I told her as I began to warm some in my palms, “Your body will absorb it while you sleep and when you wake up your body feels great and your skin feels fantastic.”
She lay back and she moaned and sighed with delight as I smoothed my hands over her shoulders and caressed her breasts, gently kneaded her stomach and, with almost the same love as a potter for his medium, virtually moulded and formed her flesh above and around her womanhood and between her legs. She turned on her front and I glistened her shoulders and the smooth escarpments of her shoulder blades. Then I enjoyed the gorgeous sensation of smoothing down the length of her back as her hair caressed the backs of my hands and the equally gorgeous feeling of smoothing and kneading her bottom, thighs and calves.

I opened a bottle of champagne to celebrate her entry into knowing womanhood and we drank a couple of glasses in bed before settling down together for the night. As I lay on my back with her lying next to me on her side, my arm around her and my other hand holding hers as it rested on my chest, she looked lovingly into my eyes and whispered, “Am I really, really beautiful?” I kissed her between her eyes and looked into them deeply while I said with all the love I could invest in my words, “I thought I would never again see anything as beautiful as you are, My Love. You are truly beautiful.” Her smile was radiant as we kissed for the last time before we snuggled down to sleep.

Next morning as I got us breakfast she slobbed around in one of Michaela’s oversize tee shirts and a pair of her white Converse-style canvas trainers. I suggested going for a river walk and having a Sunday roast at a favourite riverside pub. “I’ll be a bit overdressed for a country walk,” she said, indicating her ball gown still resting on a chair. “You can borrow some of Michaela’s stuff”, I said, “She always leaves loads of gear when she’s at college. You’re bound to find something.” A few minutes later she skipped down the stairs in a grey hooded sweatshirt top, a full skirt with a bright floral pattern that came to just above her knees, black tights and a pair of pink canvas Converse trainers. She had tied her hair into a long plait with several ribbons tied in bows and she looked fabulous. We spent a wonderful day enjoying all the pleasures that nature, good food and wine and rewarding conversation with an engaging companion can give. Then I drove her back to her flat still wearing Michaela’s clothes with her things on the back seat so she could change and I could take my daughter’s gear home.

**********

I could never have dreamed beforehand of the happiness I experienced with Gemma during the next few weeks. We shared our love for music, art, theatre and dance. We enjoyed discovering special places for eating out and shopping for special gifts. I bought her a beautiful pearl necklace to wear with her ball gown and made her promise never to cover her neck when she wore it. She bought me a silver St Christopher medal on a fine silver chain and I promised to wear it without a shirt on when the weather was warm.

We even went swimming together to show our mutual liberation to the world. She looked lovely in her little white bikini and with her hair heavy with water streaming down her shoulders and down her back and she was very nice about my appearance in plain blue Bermuda-style swimming shorts. Some people stared but we gave each other so much confidence we simply assumed they were jealous. We went to a party given by some of her friends and it was a wonderful experience to be accepted as a couple by them and to be told more than once how happy we looked together and how much happier she was in herself since meeting me. I began to think that maybe, just maybe, we might have a future together.

And the sex was wonderful. She had seemed to blossom overnight into a confident, imaginative and supremely responsive sexual partner. I could hardly believe that I was able to enjoy sex again that was so full of passion and the delight of shared inquiry and discovery. We pleasured each other with all kinds of techniques and all kinds of positions and shared some fantastic experiences. One night she learned how to deep throat me and then I tasted her for the first time. Another time we indulged in some gentle bondage play. She loved being blindfolded and her wrists tied with silk scarves, either to the bedposts or behind her back, as we made love. Once I tied her ankles as well and she loved the feeling of my entrance with her legs tight together instead of wide apart.

Once we took it in turns to have sex doggy style. I loved it this way because as I pushed my pelvis up against her beautiful bottom as I thrust into her vagina from behind I could immerse my hands in the flowing stream of her hair flowing down her back and cup and caress her beautifully firm and round breasts as they hung down like ripe fruit ready to be plucked from her body.

When it was my turn she gave me anal sex using a dildo and at the same time, with her other hand, smoothed the length my penis with lubricant and masturbated me. The double pleasure I got was so intense I soaked the towel beneath me with the force and volume of my coming. Then she wanted to have anal sex too. So once again I had the deeply rewarding experience of coaxing her open for the first time and sharing her delight as I slid easily up deep into her fundament and I shall never forget her scream of delight when I encouraged her to masturbate as I gently moved up and down inside her and she felt my penis through the wall of her vagina.

Afterwards she insisted I give her a douche and an enema. She lay and knelt in the bath and moaned with pleasure as I gently cleansed her vagina and then her back passage with warm water and then I enjoyed the sensation of warm water swirling deep within me.

To fulfil my promise to her about making up for her not doing ballet as a child I took her to visit my old friend June Ellison, once a professional dancer and now a leading dance photographer, at her studio. “Hello Gemma, it’s lovely to meet you,” she smiled as they kissed, “How would you like to be a ballerina for the day?” I had kept this as a surprise from her and she could only gasp, “Yes please!” in her delight.

She put on the first of several costumes, that were all in white and looked lovely against her golden-freckled skin, and after June had showed her how to pose in the basic ballet positions and the best ways to present herself in front of the camera, shot off dozens of the most beautiful pictures I had ever seen of a girl. The costumes were lovely and very sexy. There was a long romantic tutu that draped her legs down to her knees. My favourite was the short classic tutu that beautifully showed the lovely line of her legs. There was also a very sexy sleeveless leotard that moulded against her breasts and had little straps that criss-crossed her bare back. With each costume she wore white tights for some shots for a classic ballet look, in other shots she had bare legs to make her look more girlish and for a more sexy glamorous look she wore white stay-up stockings with a band of patterned lace around the tops. She wore the loveliest shiny white satin ballet shoes with ribbons tied neatly around her gorgeously shapely ankles.

When all the pictures were taken and June projected the digital images on a screen, Gemma gasped with delight at every one. “I never knew I could look so beautiful,” she whispered to me as she kissed me. To June she said, “Thank you for making me look so beautiful.” June hugged her and replied, “I didn’t make you look beautiful. All I did was to show the beauty you always had. It’s me who should thank you for the pleasure.” As a special favour she only charged me for her time, she gave the ballet shoes to Gemma, which delighted us both and she gave us each a DVD with all the photos on it for us to look at and print from as we wished. Could life get any better than this? I wondered that evening. I was to find out soon enough.

**********

On that day, I had arranged to meet her at our favourite riverside pub. I had been away for a fortnight on another business trip and I could hardly wait to see her. I phoned her beforehand to ask if she could bring a particular book she had offered to lend me and to my consternation she sounded strained and distant. “Are you alright Darling?” I asked.
“I’m sorry Tony, I’ve got a bad headache,” she sounded almost vacant. “You don’t have to come to the pub if you don’t feel up to it. I’ll come over to your place instead,” I suggested, feeling very worried about her.
“It’s OK Tony,” she drawled, “I’ve taken some strong painkillers. I’ll see you there.”

I couldn’t stop fretting until she finally arrived twenty minutes late but her appearance did nothing to dispel my anxieties. She was dressed very plainly in a white shirt, pale blue jeans and brown leather sandals, which would have looked nice except for the fact that she had not brushed her hair and her face, although composed, showed very obviously that she had been doing an awful lot of crying.

My heart was knotted with anguish but I knew I had to make this as easy for her as possible. “What do you need to tell me Darling?” I asked her as gently as my distress would allow. She took a deep breath and said, clearly but straining to hold back her deep emotion, “I’ve thought about nothing else but us all the time you’ve been away and I’ve decided I can’t commit myself to you and because I can’t commit myself to you I want to end it now because to do anything else would be so unfair to you and to me. Your children have already gone through so much. How will they feel when they come home to find you with me? Michaela is only about five years younger than me. How could I be a mother to someone who’s the same age as my younger sister? And you’re a generation older than me, Tony. And I can’t bear the idea of being in my 60’s and facing the last twenty or thirty years of my life alone and missing you terribly when you’re gone. I’m doing this for your children, for you and for me.” Then as her tears began to flow again she sobbed, “I’m so sorry Tony.”

I touched her hand and she drew it way. I knew than that all hope was gone. “Gemma,” I said with all the love for her I could muster, “There’s nothing to forgive you for. All you ever did was bring love and beauty and delight and joy into my life when I had no right or reason to expect that I would ever experience them again. I can’t and I won’t ask you for anything more than that. I love you with all my heart and I’d do anything to make you stay if I believed it right but I know I have to let you go.”

“I’ll make it up to you Tony, somehow,” she said with desperate yearning in her eyes.
“You don’t have to do anything or say anything like that,” I managed to smile; “You don’t know the fraction of what you’ve given me already.”
“I mean it Tony,” she asserted, “I will make it up to you. I promise.”
“Alright”, I smiled again; “You do whatever your heart tells you.” She smiled at me for a moment and then said, “I think I’d better go now.” “I think it will be best”, I agreed. “Bye-bye Tony,” she said as she walked away.
“Bye-bye Love,” I whispered. I felt like a fugitive prisoner who had spent weeks on the run fearing recapture at any second and had been apprehended at the very moment when he began to feel that there was just the beginning of a chance that he might make it home and dry. I went home and finally gave way to my overwhelming need to grieve unobserved.

**********

Three weeks later I checked my emails after arriving home and was amazed to see in the subject column a message entitled ‘Hello from Monica (friend of Gemma). I was even more amazed to read the contents:

“Hello Tony, I’m Monica and I’ve been friends with Gemma’s mother since we met at antenatal classes after my son was born. So I’ve known Gemma almost from when she was born. For the last three weeks she has been pestering me to get in touch with you because she is sure we would get on and now she has informed me that she will not let me out of this room until I have written and sent this message to you.”

“I have been a widow for three years. Unfortunately my husband was in the World Trade Center North Tower on 9/11. For the last few months I have been trying to date again but so far I have been unable to find a man with the same degree of loving acceptance as my husband. The reason for which should become clearer when you view the attached pictures of me, which Gemma took a few minutes ago. It is also why she is so keen for me to meet you. I would very much like to meet you too, because of what Gemma has told me about you and because of the wonderful effect the time she spent with you has had on her.”

“For the reason already alluded to, I have learned that there is very little in life that we need to be embarrassed about, age least of all. I am 48 and Gemma reliably tells me that you would be the perfect Toy Boy.”

“But in spite of the apparent directness of my language, I am in fact writing this in uncertain hope and with much fear and trepidation about your likely response. Please have the compassion to reply soon and put me out of my misery.”

“Yours with hope in your kindness and that now I have sent this message, Gemma will release me from my confinement and permit me to pour myself a large brandy and go to the loo.”

“Monica Davenport.”

The first three images were a triptych of her face. She had very attractive straight, shoulder length, sandy blonde hair. A long, slender nose linked an attractively wide forehead to an equally attractively generous mouth. Her jaw line and chin were strong yet femininely dimpled. Bit what was immediately noticeable was that most of one side of her face was covered in a large birth mark, not livid pink or red, but an almost fawny-chocolate colour which made her face look like it had been formed from milk and white chocolate mixed together.

The next image was a half-length picture of her naked, taken from the front, with her right side angled towards the camera, with just a hint of her sandy blonde pubic hair above the bottom frame. She was naked and her right arm was crossed over her body under her breasts, which were beautifully round and firm, while her left hand was raised to tease a strand of her hair. Her expression was that of a woman relaxed and confident in her body yet with a hint of yearning to feel a loving touch upon her. The pattern of birthmarks continued down her body. One shoulder and one breast in chocolate, the others white.

The final image was a full-length nude study of her taken from behind as she looked invitingly over her shoulder. It showed her lovely hourglass figure, with shapely shoulders and beautifully rounded bottom that topped her long and shapely legs, to perfection. Her birthmarks rippled down the whole length of her.

I was captivated by her. She was pushing fifty and was four years older than me yet she had the body of a young girl. But it was her eyes that held me most of all. They were noble and bright and spoke eloquently of a generous, strong and beautiful spirit tried and tested by the common and uncommon experiences of life and had come through, wiser and gentler. I couldn’t type my reply fast enough:

“Dear Monica. Isn’t it wonderful that we share such a special friend as Gemma. I can’t tell you how happy your message has made me and how much I want to meet you. I will follow this up very soon with a longer message and some photos.

“Yours with all affection and anticipation, “

“Tony.”

I sent the message on its way. Set up my camera, tripod and flash, and took off my clothes.