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The sun was touching the horizon casting a scarlet glow across the expanse of the Atlantic. I was lost in pleasuring my wife. She was eager to be pleasured pushing her body up against mine, her mound brushing against my abs, the tuff of hair blanketing it soft and ticklish. Her hands were in my hair, playing with the curls, toying with them as I continued to tease her breasts moving from one to the other then to her neck, suckling onside further bringing sweet joyous cries from her throat. I whispered in her ear, “I want you.” “Take me!” She purred. “Take me now.” I moved down between the valley of her breasts and stomach trailing the way with my tongue. She arched her back to greet its arrival at her mound the closely cropped carpet of her pubic hair brushing against my tongue. Using my fingers I parted her lips and sought out her clit with my tongue. I pulled back and for a moment admired the sight. Her chocolate complexion, accentuated the rouge of her clit and inside the sweet. She was lovely, dressed in her bed gown, a soft smile still on her face. She had aged in the past 35 years, since I met her. But beautiful she still was. To me she would always be.She lay there in our bed, as she had many a night. It was a full four poster, it had belonged to my grandmother when she was a child. Just like this house. Just like these night tables, just like the persian carpet, aged but still sound. The house had been built for her father, my great-grandfather, a well-to-do merchant. Of Brownstone construction, this doublewide Manhattan townhouse had been in my possession since she died, over 45 years ago. And I loved it.The room was still, not a single sound to be heard. She was still. Too still.Clutching my cane by its solid gold handle, the round sapphire pressing into my hand, I walked from the room, leaning on it, as I had been doing increasingly for ten years now. I closed the solid Gumwood door with finality, releasing the brass doorknob on the mortise latch. I.
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