Is proud to present
For thirty-seven years, Max has been a devoted, loving husband. When Rosie is dying of Alzheimer's, he has been her primary care giver until he agrees to his daughter Leah's insistence that they hire a live-in nurse. Robin is not only a competent nurse, she is also beautiful and sexy and Max finds himself increasingly desiring her and feeling guilty. He doesn't want to betray his marriage vows. Robin also finds herself falling in love with Max, but she is also resisting letting anything happen. Even though, Rosie no longer recognizes Max, he remains devoted to her, but also dreads the thought of Robin leaving once his wife dies. When she dies, Robin's job as a nurse is over. She is also dreading leaving. While Max is watching her reluctantly packing, he doesn't know how to prevent the inevitable until
The shrill sound of the teakettle shattered Max’s reverie. He was remembering when he and Rosie met thirty-eight years ago. He sighed deeply, looked down at the yellow mug and remembered the vision of the two of them rowing down the Charles River that May morning. It was the night after their first date, the first of many, before shocking everyone they knew and getting married one April weekend while still in their senior year of college. He had been attending Harvard and she was at Radcliffe, a few years after the two colleges had begun sharing courses. He often remembered Rosie walking in on the first day of their Chaucer course. She had stood at the doorway and looked around the crowded room for a seat. He was immediately captivated by her pretty, oval-shaped face, high cheekbones, and the serious intensity in her eyes as she scanned the crowded room, then the delighted, almost childlike smile when she saw the empty chair next to him.
She’d asked him if he minded her sitting there and he’d turned and looked around the room. “Well, there aren’t any other seats in the room, so I guess it’s okay.”
He could still see the waly she looked with her thick, bushy brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses, an appearance so unlike most of the other women with their long straight hair, tailored clothes, aristocratic air, who looked as if they had just stepped out of an advertisement in Seventeen or Glamour. She was wearing a long flowery skirt that came below her knees and a baggy green turtleneck sweater, several rows of a beaded necklace and sandals.
He was struck by how different she looked, more bohemian than Ivy League, and when she sat down next to him, his heart leaped in a way that surprised him, having no idea at the time where that moment would lead.
Max poured the water into Rosie’s yellow mug. He glanced over at her as she sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window, her chin resting on her hand. He wondered what she could be thinking about, what she was trying to remember, now that memories were disappearing into the fog of her Alzheimer’s. Dipping the Earl Grey teabag into the mug, he watched the water turn bronze-colored, knowing how strong she liked her tea and how long the bag had to steep before it was just right. Stirring in a little honey, he heard the little ping of the toaster-oven and noticed the orange light go out then reached for the rye toast Rosie loved. He placed it on the plate with the blue lily enameled in the center. He made sure he served the rye toast on the same plate every time because of the way it made her smile.
She always said, “Ah, my favorite dish.” He liked it when she remembered little things like that. He had brought out the raspberry jam and now he spread it on the toast. This was their four o’clock ritual—tea and rye toast with raspberry jam.
“I hate packing,” she said and stood in the middle of the room holding the green tank top he liked.
Max was quiet and noticed she seemed upset. He didn't say anything and was surprised when she sat down on her bed and looked down at her lap and started to cry. She looked up at him in the doorway.
“Max. I don't want to leave.”
When he saw the tears in her eyes, he was bewildered but also unable to move.
Suddenly, she came to him and put her arms around him. He immediately held her and felt the strength of her arms and her breasts against his chest and before he knew it, they were kissing. It was all so sudden, but Max's sadness suddenly became passion and all that he had been resisting swelled and became his embrace, and his lips said more than he could have ever expressed in words.
They pulled their mouths apart with a gasp for air. They gazed into each other's eyes realizing they had crossed a threshold.
“I don't want to go,” she said through trembling lips.
“I want you to stay,” he responded. “Please stay.”
They kissed again, harder, more passionately and somehow stumbled to the bed and fell onto it. Their kissing became wilder as if unleashing unspoken feelings that had been building for months but could not be released while Rosie was still alive. Max lay between Robin's legs that were wrapped around him, pulling him against her pussy, and he wanted her like he had never wanted anything more. The last few years of Rosie's fading from his life and his growing desire for Robin had taken all of his strength to resist but now poured out of him in a torrent of passion.
When he rolled off her and pulled off his jeans and gray sweatshirt, Robin squirmed out of her yoga pants. She smiled up at Max while he reached for her white panties, pulled them down her legs then from her bare feet and tossed them over his shoulder. Realizing it had been at least two years since Robin had made love, he fell back into her arms and gently entered her, feeling her tightness but soon was thrusting deep into her warm wetness and loving the soft whimpering sounds she made as they made love for the first time. They kissed and he reveled in the feeling of their tongues and their bodies moving slowly at first then faster and harder until he felt her tensing, trembling and screaming, “Oh my God. Oh yes. Oh my God…oh, I love you. I love you. I love you.”
Her words filled Max with the urge to thrust harder and harder. His cock swelled and his legs stiffened. Her hands on his ass pulled him deeper into her and her pussy squeezed his cock and brought him to an overwhelming orgasm that erupted in gushes that filled her overflowing pussy and dripped onto her thighs. He writhed before collapsing on her, unable to budge as they both wallowed in the warm afterglow.
After a few moments, Max lifted his head and gazed into Robin's smiling eyes. No words were needed. He kissed her, then slid onto his back, gathered her into his arms and loved the smell of her hair as she laid her head on his shoulder.
“I'm happy,” she said softly.
“I am, too.”
Bio for J.E. Wiseman
J.E. Wiseman is a prolific author of erotica and romance who has lived an adventurous life as a merchant seaman, teacher, farmer and baker. He started writing poetry and stories when he was nine and is now widely published. His many books are filled with keen observations and provocative ideas that explore the hidden needs and desires of intriguing characters. After living in the woods in an off-the grid cabin for twelve years where he grew most of his own food, he is now living in a small pentagon shaped cabin overlooking a trout pond where he writes every morning beginning at four o' clock.
Asomething amazing happens that changes both of their lives.