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“I Can’t Stop Loving You,” Ch. 03
A devoted husband, 68-year-old Walter, an older man, found love again with 39-year-old Susan, a much younger woman after his beloved Mary died.
Continued from Chapter 02:
She wondered about her mystery man again. Maybe with him feeling remorsefully guilty, he was somehow directly or indirectly responsible for Mary’s death. Maybe, in a fit of rage, he accidentally killed her and felt so sorry for her death that he was cursed to visit her grave every day. Maybe, because she didn’t give him sex, never gave him sex, getting away with murder, he deliberately killed her and hid her murder from the police.
Now, as much as she wondered about him, she wondered about Mary. Maybe she died of cancer, breast cancer, stomach cancer, brain cancer, or lung cancer. Maybe she died in a fall or in a car accident. Maybe she died in a freak accident and was electrocuted by lightning, a tree fell on her, was washed away in a flood, or killed in a fire. Maybe just her time to go, having a heart attack, she died of that or of natural causes associated with some rare disease and subsequent long-term illness.
Maybe, with the excitement too much for her, he surprised her with flowers, candy, something sexy to wear, perfume, and/or jewelry, and a romantic card on the day of love she died, Valentine’s Day. Maybe, as she’d liked to believe with her romantic heart, with the both of them so in love, they made love longer and more passionately than they should have had at their age. Maybe while he was inside of her and making love to her before fucking her a little too hard, she died of a heart attack or a cerebral hemorrhage while making love on Valentine’s Day. Now, the reason for his daily devotion, his daily visits, and playing love songs, she imagined he felt as guilty as he was directly or indirectly responsible for her death and untimely demise by loving her too much.
‘Wow,’ thought Susan to herself while swooning with the romantic albeit deadly thought of Mary dying on Valentine’s Day. ‘What a way to go? To die while making love on Valentine’s Day, how cool is that? With her never thinking about her death and how she’d like to die, if she was given the choice, to die while making love on Valentine’s Day is how she’d like to die too.’
If she had a choice of how she’d die, with Ray Charles singing “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” in the background, she’d want to die naked in bed and in the arms of her lover on Valentine’s Day. As if she was Lady Gaga in American Horror Story Hotel, how lovingly romantic to put a loving spin on something as horribly tragic as death. Only, no doubt, her lover may not have the same romantic fantasy of her dying in his arms while having sex. Yet, combining the pleasure of love with the tragedy of death, dying while making love was now her latest sexual fantasy to have nonetheless. With her having no one in her life and with apologies to no one, she was allowed that sexual fantasy or any other sexual fantasy that she wanted to have.
Yet, rearing its ugly head with fraught to frighten her fiction and fantasy with fact, reality was always there to ruin her sexual fantasy. In fiction, as her sexual fantasy, she’d love to die in her lover’s arms on Valentine’s Day. In reality a deceased person loses all of their muscle control and bodily fluids. Spoiling her sexual fantasy, unless the person was into scat, shit play, golden showers, and/or pee play, she knew her fantasy of dying while making love wasn’t a realistic one or even an attractive choice. Ruining the image with revulsion, dying while making love could be a very smelly experience and a disgusting proposition.
Moreover, with her dead in her lover’s arms on Valentine’s Day, unless the person was a necrophiliac and into necrophilia, having sex with a corpse was nasty. With her giving him too much of a dose of reality by dying while making love on the day of love, Valentine’s Day, how could she leave her lover with such a mess? There’s nothing worse than the mess that a postmortem body makes. With her losing much of her bodily fluids and stinking up the whole house, he’d have to fumigate and deodorize the whole house, toss out the mattress, and burn the pillows and the sheets. For sure, not something she’d like to leave her lover to remember her by, that’s not an image she’d like to leave him or anyone at all.
After hearing the sad, love songs he played over and again, “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” put her in a melancholy, albeit romantic mood. Unable to get the song out of her head, “I Can’t Stop Loving You,” stayed with her and played over and again in her head. Hearing that song before William and Patrick died always put her in a romantic mood. Now, hearing that song after their deaths made her feel sad, alone, and lonely. In the way she never felt that the song was written for her before the two loves of her illegal bahis life died, she definitely felt that the song was written for her now that they’re both dead.
Notwithstanding all of the forgettable sex that happens behind the silver screen, she thought of all of the great romances that happened in Hollywood. Greater than the love affair of Kathryn Hepburn and Spencer Tracy, she thought of Humphrey Bogart with Lauren Bacall, and Elizabeth Taylor with Richard Burton. Greater than the love affair of Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward, she thought of George Burns with Gracie Allen, and Jerry Stiller with Anne Meara. Greater than the love affair of Johnny Cash and June Carter, she thought of Mel Brooks with Anne Bancroft, and Annette Benning with Warren Beatty.
Greater than the love affair of Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson, she thought of John Travolta with Kelly Preston, and Kevin Bacon with Kyra Sedgwick. Greater than the love affair of Angelina Jolie with Brad Pitt, she thought of Beyoncé with Jay Z, and Ossie Davis with Ruby Dee. Greater than the love affair of Ric Ocasic and Paulina Porizkova, she thought of Faith Hill with Tim McGraw, and Ozzy with Sharon Osbourne. Greater than the love affair of Michael J. Fox with Tracy Pollan, she thought of Mark Harmon with Pam Dauber, and Danny DeVito with Rhea Perlman. Greater than the love affair of Will Smith and Jada Pinkett, and Denzel Washington with Pauletta, she thought of Lucille Ball with Desi Arnaz, Roy Rogers with Dale Evens, and Ozzie with Harriet Nelson.
She thought of all the great love story movies such as Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight, The Graduate, and Jerry Maguire. Greater than Love Story, Ghost, and the Titanic, she thought of Lost in Translation, The Notebook, Pretty Woman, Brokeback Mountain, The Wedding Singer, Pride & Prejudice, Gone Girl, Dirty Dancing, The Theory of Everything, and American Beauty. She recalled Silver Linings Playbook, You’ve Got Mail, The Phantom of the Opera, Beauty and the Beast, Amelie, Midnight in Paris, Love Actually, Sweet Home Alabama, The Sound of Music, Gone with the Wind, Moulin Rouge, and Casablanca.
Too many romantic movies to even remember, she remembered, Bridget Jones Diary, Bull Durham, Groundhog Day, When Harry Met Sally, The Illusionist, and Message in a Bottle. Then, there was Slumdog Millionaire, Dracula, Up in the Air, As Good as it Gets, and Breakfast at Tiffany’s. How could she not include Lolita, Walk the Line, West Side Story, The Artist, and The Crying Game. Included in her list of great love movies was The Bridges of Madison County, Roman Holiday, A Room with a View, Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, Hannah and her Sisters, and The Apartment.
Then, not stopping there, she thought of all of the great romances in literature. Greater than Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler, Jane Eyre and Rochester, Catherine and Heathcliff, Elizabeth Bennett and Darcy, William Smith and Pocahontas, Jay Gatsby and Daisy Buchanan, she imagined the greatest love stories in literature. Continuing with her thoughts of great romances, she thought of all of the great romances in history. Greater than Paris and Helen, Cleopatra and Mark Antony, Lancelot and Guinevere, Napoleon and Josephine, Prince Edward and Wallis Simpson, Bonnie and Clyde, she imagined the greatest love stories in History.
Then, still not stopping there, she imagined the greatest love story of all. She imagined Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. Of all the love stories ever told, there was only one that stayed with her forever, the one that encompassed love with death. In the way she so loved William and Patrick, both of her lovers died. Both of her lovers are dead.
Now with the two loves of her life gone and buried, she was alone, so alone and so lonely. When William and Patrick died, all of her fair weather friends died with them. No wife, girlfriend, or significant other woman wanted a beautiful, unattached woman around their husband, boyfriend, of significant other man. Falling back on her fantasy of fictional characters, as if she was in the audience at the Globe Theatre with William Shakespeare backstage, she imagined Romeo and Juliet performing live.
“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”
Suddenly, as if the story was true instead of fiction, she found herself standing there as if she was witnessing all that was happening. Surprised by the sight of her motionless body as much as by the smell of her, she imagined Romeo finding Juliet dead. With him so accustomed to people dying so young and littering the landscape in the 16th century, when there wasn’t a foul stench in the air, he should have known that his beloved Juliet wasn’t dead but asleep. Only, with him thinking that she was dead after she drank a potion that made her appear dead, he didn’t know she was just sleeping.
Then, unable to live his life without her, seemingly not knowing enough to check her pulse, listen to her heart, or hold a illegal bahis siteleri mirror to her nose to see her breath, believing she was dead, he drank poison and died. Then, when Juliet awakened, with her unable to live her life without him, she stabbed herself to death with her dagger. Still, even when removing all of the romance and replacing it with the reality of death, the lost bodily fluids, the stench, and the decomposition, their tragic love story of love and death was still one of the greatest love stories ever told.
* * * * *
Now consumed with curiosity, Susan wondered more about Mary. What about Mary? There must have been something so very special about her for him to love her as much and park himself in front of her tombstone every day for hours at a time. She wondered what it was that made Mary so special. Curious to know who she was and what she was like in life, she wondered again how she died.
Maybe she had a terrible accident, a car accident or she slipped, fell, and hit her head. Maybe she was ill for a long time and finally succumbed to her illness. With scenarios of her death dancing in her head, she wondered how long they were married, if even they were married. Perhaps Mary, the love of his life, was his mistress, his sister, or cousin with whom he was having an incestuous affair.
With their love story not so dissimilar to the tragic love story of Romeo and Juliet, Mary’s love story included life, love, and now death. In the way that Romeo pined over the loss of his precious Juliet, Susan’s mystery man pined over the loss of his precious Mary by standing watch over her gravesite while playing love songs. How devastatingly romantic is that? There untold love story could be the new movie of the week.
Imagining her as sexy and pretty, Susan wondered what Mary looked like. She wondered if Mary was short, tall, thin, average, or obese. Being that he was tall, she imagine Mary being tall too. She wondered about her personality, if she was happy, sad, funny, or shy. She wondered if she was an average looking woman or if she was pretty, or perhaps strikingly beautiful. She wondered if he had a preference for beautiful women. She wondered about her hair color and if she was a blonde, brunette, or a redhead.
Hoping he did, she wondered if he preferred blondes. She wonder about her eye color. Again, hoping he did, she wondered if he preferred blue eyes. She wondered about Mary’s breast size and if she was flat, average, or busty. Still hoping he did, she wondered if he preferred tall, beautiful, blue-eyed, blondes, with big tits in the way that she was a tall, beautiful, and a blue-eyed, blonde with big tits.
Maybe she was his girlfriend, his lover, his significant other, his special friend, and not his wife. Maybe she died of a broken heart when he left her. Maybe, after he left her, she died of guilt when his wife discovered their extramarital affair. Maybe his wife killed Mary and is in prison serving time for her murder. Maybe after he left her and with him out of her life, with her feeling so distraught and rejected, she committed suicide. Maybe, indeed, a real love story, one that happens every day to millions of people, with them married for decades, she was his wife and he was her devoted husband.
With her not there every day in the way he was seemingly there every day, she was there sporadically, less now that her beloved Patrick had been dead for more than a year and her beloved William was dead much longer than that. In the good weather, he sat there for hours in his lawn chair and talked to her as if she was still alive and was still there with him. Never without the cassette recorder that he carried with him, as if he was at the beach or on a picnic instead of at the cemetery, he always played music. He always played those nine, love songs. As if the musical background accompanied their love story, the music from their love songs filled the air.
Sometimes, not caring if he was alone of if there were people around him who could see him and could hear him, he even sang along with the songs he played as if serenading her with his version of a love song. With everyone today using their iPhones and iPads to record and play music, she wondered if they even made cassettes and cassette players anymore. Nonetheless, seemingly committed and content to do so, he listened to and shared his music with Mary and with Susan every day she saw him there.
Maybe they weren’t her favorite love songs but his favorite love songs. Prolonging her visit for the sake of listening to his romantic music, Susan enjoyed listening to his playlist whenever she was there at the cemetery too. Living vicariously through his musical arrangement of love songs, pathetic and lonely enough to do so, she imagined him playing his love songs for her.
As if trying to raise Mary’s spirit from the dead with a love song, he played the same nine, love songs over and again. He played Ray canlı bahis siteleri Charles’ “I Can’t Stop Loving You”, the song that stayed with her every time she heard it. He played Etta James’ “At Last”, Joe Cocker’s “You Are So Beautiful”, and Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You”. He played Frank Sinatra’s “Someone To Watch Over Me”, the Righteous Brother’s “Unchained Melody”, and the Temptations “My Girl”. He played the Beatles “Something” and the “Beach Boys God Only Knows”.
With him playing nine, beautiful love songs over and again as if still at her wake or funeral, sometimes with his shoulders shaking and his head bobbing, he’d have his head down as if he was sobbing. With her wanting to cry with him, for him, for Mary, and for William and Patrick too, he made her feel so sad for his loss and as much as she felt for her loss too. In the way he seemingly didn’t feel connected to her by their grief and by their loss, and in the way he seemingly didn’t even notice her, conversely, she noticed him and vicariously felt connected to him.
Oddly enough, in the way she met Patrick when visiting and mourning William at the cemetery, wouldn’t it be funny if she could meet another older man too? What are the odds of that happening with her meeting another man, a third older man, who could be her new love of her life. She hated living her life alone. With her feeling so very sad and so very lonely, she’d love to have someone to call Daddy again.
She’d love to feel the caring, the kindness, and the love that she felt first with William and then with Patrick with another man, a new man in her life. That first year of romance, as if newlyweds and on their Honeymoon was always the happiest. Yet, those kinds of love stories happen only once in a lifetime and it had happened to her twice in her life already. Thinking that they were astronomical, what are the odds lightning would strike her for a third time? She’d be unrealistic to think that kismet and destiny could strike her again for a third time.
* * * * *
When it rained or when the sun was too hot to be outside for very long, as if at the beach, he stuck an umbrella in the top of his lawn chair. With the cemetery so solitary and so quiet when there wasn’t a funeral, sometimes he brought an easel with him to paint. As if at a picnic, he had a basket of food, bottled water, and a thermos of coffee. Wondering if he was painting his beloved Mary, she was always so tempted to stand behind him to see what he was painting but allowing him his privacy, she didn’t want to intrude on him and/or on his thoughts.
Seemingly, an interesting older man, the kind of man she had been drawn to recently after being abused and fucked over by younger men and by men her age, older men treated her with respect. Seemingly appreciative of her being with them, older men treated her with kindness and were much nicer to her. Forsaking younger men and men her age for older men, with older men wise, witty, intelligent, charming, mature, and sexy, she felt safe when in the company of an older man. With younger men and men her age more like an appetizer or dessert, older men were a seven course meal. The real deal, the whole thing, older men had it all over younger men and men her age. Older men had so much more to offer than just a hard cock and sex.
With older men not very hard to please, older men seemed grateful to have her in their lives as their special friend, albeit a friend with sexual benefits. A win/win for both, in the way she rewarded them with sex to not make them do without, older men rewarded her with their generosity to make sure that she never did without either. Older men made her feel protected and secure where younger men and men her age made her feel abandoned while wondering where and what they were doing when they weren’t with her. Where older men made her feel comfortable, younger men and men her age made her feel jealous and angry that they were cheating on her with another woman.
* * * * *
One day, when Susan didn’t see him, she wondered where he was. She wondered if during the night he had died too, before she even had a chance to meet him. Now thinking more of him than she thought of William and/or even of Patrick, he had inspired her curiosity as well as her sexual interest. With Patrick dead for more than a year, something hard for her to do without, it has been more than a year since she had sex. Seemingly now with her mystery man always on her mind and with her making more frequent trips to the cemetery to see him more than to visit with William or with Patrick, she wondered about him.
Sexually frustrated, she was horny. She needed to get laid. She needed a cock to suck. Just as she had her eye on William and Patrick, she had her eye on this new man, whoever he was. Wishing she was closer, whenever he was preoccupied with his cassette recorder or staring at Mary’s head stone, she stared over at him. As good looking as was William and Patrick, he was a good looking man too. In the way she had envisioned having a love affair with William first and then Patrick, she could imagine herself having a loving relationship with him just as she could imagine herself calling him Daddy.
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