The funny thing about time is the way it affects the memory. It
distorts it. Do I care that my mind might have altered the
reality about my relationship with Claire? Not really. What's
important, what really matters is that she became the most
important person in my life - so losing her hurt like hell.

Claire
By knobbieknobbs
(c) Copyright 2005 knobbieknobbs

The funny thing about time is the way it affects the memory,
distorts it. I have memories that are only vague recollections. I
see them in my mind's eye only in black and white, like a
Saturday afternoon matinee on BBC2. Yet all this is fresh in my
mind, burned on my soul forever. Ask my peers, and they might
give you a different version. Do I care that my mind might have
altered reality and painted Claire in a softer light? Not really.
She meant more to me than life itself, so losing her hurt like
hell.

********

We'd been at the same school for five and a half years and I'd
never noticed Claire. She'd been in a different class and I doubt
that we'd ever exchanged more than two words.

I'd heard the rumours about the number of guys that asked Claire
out, and about how she said no to all of them. She knocked back
even the popular guys. There were other rumours too, that
explained why she wasn't interested in guys.

When we were sixteen, after our GCSE exams, around half the year
group stayed at school to tackle `A levels'. The rest went of
into the real world to find jobs. It was a huge change. Old
alliances were lost and everyone became more open to making new
friends. It was like starting out all over again, except that old
prejudices die hard. Despite revamping my image, I was still the
geeky little egghead I'd always been. Problems with homework, ask
Mark, he'll know.

Claire had a similar problem. After all, sweet sixteen year olds
didn't turn down the chance to go out with Andrew Aspbury unless
they batted for the other side, did they?

Two weeks into the new term, my girlfriend dumped me. I went
through that 'girls are all the same, what's the point' period
for a while, and it wasn't until the Christmas party season that
I started to enjoy life again. I stopped being the drunken loser
that vomited down the kitchen sink then got carried home and went
back to being a relatively normal teenager (that vomited down the
kitchen sink then got carried home).

In early January, the school management organised a photo session
for the whole of the sixth form. We posed for a group shot on a
stage in the school hall, the tall ones at the back, the mid-size
ones in the middle, and the vertically disadvantaged sitting on
chairs at the front.

We'd been there for ages when the photographer announced that he
had a problem with the camera. He apologised, but said that his
other camera, for the individual photos, was fine. He had the
first row line up on the far side of the hall so that his
assistant could snap them.

The front row stood up in unison and trooped along in single
file. The tallest guy in the class, who also happened to be the
loudest and most brash, called out cheerfully, "Hi, Ho, Hi, Ho,
It's off to work we go..."

Laughter rippled through the rest of us. Despite laughing along
with everyone, I sympathized with the poor souls being ridiculed.
I knew most of them, but Claire stood out.

I recognised her from my maths class, and tried to place where
she sat. Claire and her little group of friends sat two rows
behind me and my friends. The row between us was always empty.
She rarely volunteered answers, and never asked questions. She
always spoke in whispers with her friends. I couldn't understand
why I hadn't noticed her before. She wasn't a teenage
glamour-girl, but there was something about her.

I decided to try to get to know Claire. Being in the same class
helped. Phrases like, "Have you done you homework?" or "Could you
answer question two, 'cause I thought it was hard?" are not chat
up lines. But that was how most of my conversations with Claire
started.

It would get us talking about work, and this would lead to other
topics. We spent many free periods in the library talking
nonsense and working. I did most of the work. Claire said things
like, "Oh yeah, I get it. What answer did you get again? That's
what I got too." She was copying me, but I didn't mind.

There was no question that her looks first drew me to her. Her
hair was forever changing style, but she never changed its colour
- night sky black. She had dark blue eyes that she tried to hide
with make up and she avoided looking directly at people.

She wasn't tall, not that that mattered to me, nor did she have
the huge chest that was the fantasy of many a teenage boy. But to
me she was perfectly proportioned. Many people thought of her as
cute but to my mind that wasn't the right word, I would have used
`pretty' instead. She was very, very pretty.

The way she carried herself added to her appeal, I couldn't say
why, and her shyness added to the whole image. There was a
mysterious air about her, something I found sexy.

She dressed well too. For the younger kids in the school the
uniform was uncompromising, but our dress code had a little
latitude, as long as we stuck to the colour scheme. Guys didn't
have much choice, grey suit, white shirt and silly tie. The
girls, on the other hand, could get away with anything. Skirts of
varying lengths, trousers, blouses, low cut tops. You name it,
someone wore it.

Claire always wore dark grey, mid-length skirts, white blouses
and dark grey cardigans or sweaters. It doesn't sound special,
but everything about Claire, taken alone, seemed ordinary; but
she put them all together in such a way...

I can't do justice to her aura of quiet sexuality. Hers was an
understated beauty.

Weeks passed and Claire and I became good friends. We even
flirted, but I flirted with most of the girls I knew, so thought
nothing of it. We found more things in common than just maths
homework. We played pool in the social area, and talked about
politics in the library. She showed me little glimpses of the
true Claire, the one she kept hidden, and I liked what I saw.

In free periods, we knew exactly where to find each other, at a
table in the children's corner of the library. We were never
alone; someone else was always working at the table or relaxing
in the comfy chairs with a newspaper. I liked to be first to the
library, and first to get hold of the paper. Then I could share
it with Claire.

I hated people reading over my shoulder, but I always shared the
paper with Claire. It meant that we had to get close to each
other, into each other's 'personal space.' If I was at the table,
she would come up behind me, one hand on the back of my chair,
the other on the table, leaning over me. If I was on one of the
low comfy chairs, she would kneel down beside me. Whichever it
was, it drove me wild. I could smell her; the heady mix of her
own scent and her perfume. But I kept a cool exterior, kept my
desire hidden.

About halfway through that first year of 'A' levels, the
friendship groups shifted. I was pulled into a group that
included Claire. We went out as a group - to the cinema, bowling
and to nightclubs. Claire and I flirted even more, and it became
obvious that I fancied her. But with my confidence low, I was
convinced that there was no-way she could fancy me back. I never
considered asking her out on a date alone; I contented myself
with the relationship we had.

Homework sessions in free periods became so regular that others
in the class joined us. We played badminton together and formed a
deadly partnership, and we played pool. With each activity, we
found ways to flirt. We would arrive at school early to play pool
and I'd offer her advice on the best shot, stepping up close
behind to help her line it up. When on the badminton court, we
would slap each other on the behind after winning a good point,
and homework sessions were riddled with innuendo.

But I knew I couldn't ask her out. All the most popular guys had
asked her out, and she had turned them all down. Was there any
reason she wouldn't turn me down? They were better catches than
me, and she wasn't interested in them. Besides, she was one of my
best mates, and I couldn't jeopardise that.

I took a long holiday with my family that summer and spent most
of the time sunning myself, and reading. It was relaxing and just
what I needed. I went back to school a changed man.

One of the reasons that Claire and I had become such good friends
was that we both carried the stigma of our recent history. No
matter how hard we tried, or how unwarranted it was, we both
retained the image and reputation that we had always endured.

In reality, I was no longer the wimpish, teacher's pet that
always got everything right. Yet my classmates still saw me that
way. Claire had ditched the hideous glasses for a combination of
designer specs and contact lenses as long as four years ago, but
people still referred to them. And she was very flirtatious, but
there were still guys that made the odd dyke remark, particularly
if she had knocked them back.

On returning to school, we were both determined to shed this
baggage. A new headmaster had taken over the school from the
previous 'Thatcher-esque' incumbent, and there was a more relaxed
atmosphere. I had my confidence boosted by the news that there
was a crop of girls lower down the school that had the hots for
me. So what if they were four years my junior, at least someone
found me attractive.

It was about that time that we applied for university. The Staff
did everything they could to try and convince us it was
worthwhile, including organising a trip to the local university
open day. The trip left early and we spent the whole day on
campus. I spent the day with some lads who were interested in
doing the same degree as me. I didn't see Claire except for lunch
in the Student's Union.

I was shattered when I got back on the coach for the return
journey. I found a seat on my own and settled down to get some
kip. My sought after solitude lasted barely a minute. Claire and
her friend Melissa were in the seat behind me. As soon as we left
the campus, Claire leant forward through the gap in the seats.

"Mark," she said, in a voice just louder than a whisper. "Look at
these."

She handed me some postcards. They were arty prints, apparently
famous paintings by an artist that I had never heard of,
featuring ladies in various states of undress.

"Never heard of him."

"No! Really?"

She scrambled around to sit next to me and unloaded all her
knowledge of the pieces and the artist's colourful history.

"I've been studying him this term, and my next piece has to be in
his style."

"Does that mean you're going to need a semi-naked model? I know a
few girls who jump at the chance to get their kit off."

"Actually, since we have to do our own version of his style, I
was thinking of doing semi-naked men."

"Oh?"

"Yeah." she grinned wickedly. "I might even ask you to model for
me. I know you'll look good with your shirt off."

"What makes you think that I'd do it?"

"Because when I'm rich and famous you can say that you sat for
me. Who knows, maybe your image will grace the halls of the
National Gallery one day."

She put the postcards away, but stayed where she was. I didn't
mind, and certainly didn't complain. We sat in silence, looking
out of the coach window, until she got hold of an Italian phrase
book from a friend. We looked up all the dirty words, and then
spent half an hour chatting each other up in Italian, then later
in Spanish.

I knew then that she might be interested; what had happened on
the coach was more than just innocent flirting. I decided to ask
her out as soon as the opportunity arose. But I had several
opportunities over the next few days and didn't take them. The
words seemed to get lost somewhere between my brain and my mouth.

That year I stood for vice-chair of the student committee and
won. The principal job of the committee was to organise
entertainment for the students. Most of our activities were for
the kids lower down the school and took place on school grounds,
where the staff could make sure that there was nothing untoward
going on.

Attending discos for thirteen and fourteen year olds wasn't my
idea of fun, but it was in my job description. I had no choice.
Claire, who wasn't on the committee, did have a choice, and
stayed away.

My new high-profile position had apparently built me quite a fan
base amongst the younger girls. It was my solemn duty to dance
with as many of them as possible at the disco. I even had to snog
one of them, imagine that! It caused quite a stir in the common
room the next day; Mark-the-Geek had become the school
heartthrob. I took some stick over that.

At the disco the following week, a great deal more of the sixth
form turned up. The boys clearly thought that if I could pull at
one of these parties, then they would too. But Claire had shown
little interest in finding a boyfriend before now, and boys are
notoriously less mature than girls are at fourteen, so I doubted
that she was on the pull. Or was she?

For the whole disco, she was never more than a few feet from me.
When I got up to dance, so did she; when I sat down again, so did
she. I should have made the connection, but I was eighteen, had a
low self-image, and in all honesty was probably just too stupid.

The committee also organised parties for the sixth form students
only. As older, more mature and more responsible students (yeah,
right), we could have our parties off site. We hired a function
room at a local pub, got a local semi-celebrity DJ to provide the
tunes, and promised the landlord that he'd be out of beer by the
end of the night.

The party was great fun. When my friends and I weren't in the
function room drinking and dancing, we slipped into the bar for a
few games of pool. Claire and I teamed up for a couple of games
against our friends.

The focus that night was Andrew Aspbury, the most popular boy in
school. He and his girlfriend, Vicky, had been having a torrid
time; she had accused him of cheating on her. He had denied it,
but we all knew it was true - after all, we'd all been at that
disco too.

She hadn't spoken to him for days but he was determined that
she'd be back in his arms by the end of the night. There were
just six of us in the bar, around the pool table, when Vicky
burst through the door, followed closely by Andrew.

"Vicky, listen to me."

"Why should I?" She stopped in her tracks and turned around.
"You're still denying doing anything with that girl." She was
right by the pool table, preventing me from taking a shot.

"That's because I didn't."

"Liar! And these all know 'cause they saw you. Didn't you?"

None of us answered.

"Well?"

"Alright. We saw him. Now can you move, I'm trying to line up a
shot," I said, wearily. We'd all seen this too many times before.

"Oh thanks, Romeo," Andrew said. "And you should know all about
snogging little girls. At least I've got a proper girlfriend."

"Had a proper girlfriend," Vicky corrected.

"Oh, really? Well, maybe I think it's time for a change anyway."
Andrew slid up to Claire and put his arm around her. She looked
disgusted when he touched her.

"You're welcome to him, Claire," Vicky said, and stomped out of
the pub.

Claire tried to push Andrew away, but he held her to him,
probably hoping that this display would carry some weight with
Vicky.

"Andy, let her go. She doesn't want you to do that," I said.

"Shut the fuck up, Romeo. I don't know any girl who wouldn't want
me to hold her. Isn't that right, Claire?"

"No," she said firmly.

"Aw, come on, don't struggle."

"Andy, let her go. Now!" I was angered that he thought he could
get away with this.

"Or what? You'll make me. I'd like to see that, Romeo."

"Maybe. But there's five of us and only one of you."

"Let me go," Claire said and pushed him away with all her
strength.

"Fine," Andrew said. "I didn't really want some lesbo anyway.
Sure, it might have been fun turning you normal again. But would
it have been worth it? I don't think so." He marched back into
the function room, no doubt to tell everyone how he'd dumped
Vicky and fought off the attentions of the lesbian.

We relaxed once he was gone, and I finally took my shot, which I
missed. When I stood back to let my opponent shoot, Claire pecked
me on the cheek and said softly, "Thanks for sticking up for me."

"No, problem."


The following weeks at school were difficult for Claire and me.
The school normally ran on Asbury's law, so if he didn't like
you, then nobody did. It put a strain our friendship. People's
conversations fell to a whisper whenever one of us passed, and
stopped altogether if we were both near. Then Claire told me she
couldn't make it to my belated birthday party.

"It's my own party the following weekend," she explained. "I
can't get both nights off work."

"But Claire, I really want you to be there. You're one of my best
friends"

"I know, and I want to come, I really do. It's just not
possible."

"I suppose."

"Look, I promise that if you come to my party, I save the last
but one dance for you."

"Why the last but one?"

"I've already promised my big brother the last dance."

"Do I get a birthday kiss as well?"

"Only if I get one too."


"Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi was Claire's favourite tune. She
requested that song for our birthday dance. The music was loud
and slow, sensual and sexy. We clutched each other tightly;
tightly enough to leave her in no doubt how turned on I was. We
swayed in harmony to the music, our bodies fitting together like
jigsaw pieces. My hands rested in the small of her back, and she
draped hers around my neck and rested her head on my shoulder. I
leaned my head against hers. I was in heaven. I could feel the
heat of her body, and her scent flooded my nostrils until it was
all I could smell. I remember being thankful it was a long song,
but wishing that the music would never end. After she had spent
most of the evening with her family, or dancing in a group, this
was our time. When it ended, we kissed. A "Happy Birthday" from
both of us, to each other.

After that, Claire and I were closer than ever. Aspbury was back
with Vicky and the whispered conversations had stopped. One
Wednesday, in early November, I was alone with Claire in the
library after school. We were working on some extra maths
problems. There was a test coming up and I thought I could get
more work done after everyone had gone home. When Claire found
out, she joined me. We worked for an hour then walked home
together until our paths diverged. We parted, but before I had
walked more than a few feet, I had a sudden impulse. I turned
around and ran after Claire.

"Claire," I called. "Claire, Wait up."

She stopped and turned around to see why I was shouting her.

"What is it, Mark?"

"Urm, I was just wondering... I... urm... nothing. Doesn't
matter."

I turned to walk away but she called me back. "No, wait. What is
it? What were you going to say?"

"Nothing, it doesn't matter. I was just... It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does. What was it?"

"I was just gonna... I was gonna ask you if you were doing
anything later.... I thought you might want to... Look, I really
like you and I was gonna ask you to go out with me, okay. It was
silly. You'll say no, I'll get embarrassed, and we won't talk to
each other for weeks, which would be really bad with the test and
everything. Let's just forget it, okay?"

"So then ask me," she said.

"Why? So, you can laugh in my face. Since I've known you, all the
best guys in school have asked you out. All the really popular
guys. And you've turned them down. What chance has a nerd like me
got, eh? I mean look at you. You're sweet and kind and the most
caring girl in school. And by far the most beautiful. What would
you want with someone like me, huh? So let's just forget I said
anything. I've said what I wanted to. I've made a fool of myself,
so now I'm just going home and locking myself in my room."

It all came out, everything I felt. The floodgates opened and I
couldn't stop it. By the time I realized what I was saying, I'd
already finished. I turned to leave but Claire reached out a hand
to stop me.

"Have you ever thought why I turned them all down?" She didn't
give me time to think of an answer. "It was because I was waiting
for someone. Someone special. Someone I really liked. One of my
best friends."

It took a while for my feeble brain to assimilate this, and I
gazed blankly at her. She came closer to me, taking my hands in
hers. I was still looking at her as our faces came closer. She
tilted her head as she approached. I reached out to her, and we
kissed. A long, slow kiss.

We started out with just our lips touching, holding hands, bags
abandoned on the floor beside us. I parted my lips and she parted
hers in response. We let go of our hands and embraced, pulling
each other close.

My tongue snaked its way into her mouth and found hers, wrestling
with it. My hands were on her hips, then in her hair, then back
on her hips, moving slowly, tracing the curve of her body.

The whole thing must have lasted less than a minute, but it felt
like forever. I didn't ever want it to end. We stared at each
other; stared into each other's eyes. She smiled at me, which lit
up her eyes, and I smiled back.

"How long have you wanted this?" I asked.

"About as long as I've known you."

"Me too." I sighed. "God, we've been so stupid. We've wasted so
much time."

"Best make sure we do things right from now on then."


We walked back to her house, arm in arm, and kissed again when we
got there, agreeing to meet up later that night. I didn't walk
home that night; I floated.

We met up later and talked for ages. The next day at school, the
common room was buzzing with the news. Evidently, most people had
been waiting for this. My friends all had a good word to say.
Claire's friends likewise. People I hardly spoke to were coming
up to me and saying, "It's about time." Even some of the teachers
commented.

Finally, we were together, and we were happy. We spent as much
time as possible together. We even applied to the same
universities and went to the open days together.

Day turned in to weeks, which became months. As the time passed,
we knew that we wanted to be together forever. We would kiss, and
fondle each other, but despite animal-like urges, we refrained
from going further. We talked about what it would be like to make
love, and where we wanted to do it.

Then we decided that the time was right. We wanted our first time
to be special, and decided to make the whole weekend something to
remember. Friday night we rented a video, ordered a pizza and
spent the night in my room just like so many times before. The
difference was that Claire didn't drive home at the end of the
night. Instead, she went into the bathroom and changed into a
short nightshirt. While she was changing, I put on some jim-jams
and turned back the covers.

We climbed into bed together. It was a single bed, and we lay
close to each other, holding each other tightly. We kissed, and
our hands roamed, but this was not the night, as much as we
wanted each other. We eventually fell asleep, with me tucked up
behind her, my arms wrapped around her. She held onto my hand as
we slept.

We spent the whole of the next day together. We woke early and
went shopping. We had a pub lunch then went to the football,
something I had always loved and Claire had come to enjoy. We
followed that with a trip to the cinema and a McDonalds. We went
on to a club and met up with some friends. Most of the music at
that time was for solo dancing but by request, the DJ played some
bump-n-grind. Claire and I got very close on the dance floor. The
club was open until 2am, but we were desperate to get home. We
bid farewell to our friends at midnight.

My family was asleep when we got home. Claire and I went straight
upstairs. Everyone else was asleep, so it was too late for soft
music, too late for talk. I closed the door behind me and Claire
leapt on me. Her lips pressed against mine and she wrapped her
arms around my neck.

I responded to her kiss, slid my tongue into her mouth and
entwined it with hers. I put my hands on her hips and traced a
line up her back with my fingers. She wore a thin blouse, and I
could feel her skin through it. My hands worked their way up her
body; hers traced a similar path down my back.

"I've always liked your bum." She gripped my cheeks firmly and
squeezed.

She let go and moved her hands to the top of my jeans. I didn't
have a belt on, so it was easy for her to slide her hands under
my jeans and shorts, and grab my arse again. All this time I ran
my hands through her hair and we kissed.

While Claire kneaded my bum, I moved my hands between us to get
at her breasts. I was gentle with them at first, but then on
impulse I squeezed one of them hard. She flung her head back, and
there was a mixed look of shock and pleasure on her face.

I fumbled with the top button of her blouse, with little success.
She pulled away from me and smiled. We exchanged no words; there
was no need. We both knew we were about to cross a line and there
was no turning back.

She stood before me and undid each button in turn, slid the
blouse off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. She stood
silently for a moment, then reached around her back and unclasped
her bra.

She brought her hands around to the front and her bra fell
forward. I stood motionless, drinking in the figure of beauty
before me. I sighed, stepped forward, and reached a hand up to
each breast, gently kneading them, squeezing the nipples and
rolling them between my fingers.

I kissed Claire until she tipped her head back. I moved on,
kissing her neck, working my way downward. Claire had the
presence of mind to sit down on the bed, which was just behind
her. Sitting down next to her made it easier to bend and kiss
her. I tried to cover as much flesh with kisses before I got to
the deep red nipples, which were sticking straight out, hard and
proud.

Still massaging one breast with my hand, I reached out to the
other with my tongue. Slowly at first, and then with increasing
tempo, I flicked the nipple.

Claire's head went back even further, until it almost touched the
back of her neck. She sighed, and I tried to suck as much of her
into my mouth as I could. I switched breasts and started over.
When I was finished, Claire lifted my head up to kiss me.

Then it was her turn. She undid my top three shirt buttons and
ran her hand along my chest. Then she tackled the remaining
buttons. She kissed my chest the same way I had hers, except she
kept going. When she reached my navel, she dipped her tongue into
it, sending a shiver up my spine.

My cock was rock hard and straining to get out of the confines of
my jeans. It caused a visible lump. Claire placed a hand on it.
She fumbled with my fly, and I tried to kick off my shoes and
remove my socks with my feet. At the same time, our lips locked
together, our tongues fighting each other.

When my fly was open, I lifted my bum off the bed so that she
could ease down my jeans. She slipped a hand into my shorts and
took hold of my dick, wrapping her delicate fingers around it. I
flinched, and she broke away from the kiss to smile at me. A
calming smile, a loving smile.

She kissed me again and gently stroked my cock, moving the
foreskin back to reveal the shiny purple knob. I masturbated, of
course I did, but it was never like this. Claire's hands on my
dick heightened the sensations. I kissed her harder.

I placed a hand on her leg, just between her knee and the hem of
her skirt, rubbed gently, and then slid my hand upwards,
underneath her skirt and towards her panties.

I stroked her thigh, inching closer to her knickers. Claire
suddenly let go of my dick. I panicked, thinking I had done
something wrong. My fears we unfounded, and she reached around to
undo her skirt.

She lifted herself off the bed and I pulled down her skirt and
panties in one swift movement. I flung them across the room,
where they hit the door, and fell in a crumpled heap. I wanted to
get at her exposed pussy but Claire tugged at the waistband of my
shorts, and it was my turn to rest my weight on my hands while
she removed them.

With one hand stimulating her nipple, I moved the other back to
the top of her leg. No more teasing, I decided. I rubbed my hand
across her pubes. The wiry hair tickled my hand, and the warmth
of her pussy beckoned. I stroked one finger along its length,
resulting in her pumping my dick quicker. I stroked a couple more
times, and then slipped a finger inside her.

Her whole body stiffened, and she stopped pumping. I tried to
pull my finger out, but she forced it back in. I tried again, and
again she forced it back in. I got the idea. I fucked slowly with
first one, then two fingers. I found the nub of flesh just north
of her slit, and rubbed it with my thumb. Her moans left me in no
doubt that she was enjoying it, but we both wanted more. Claire
lay back on the bed and I reached over to the bedside cabinet for
a condom.

She looked up at me and said, "Have you ever put one of those on
before?"

"And when would I have done that?"

"I don't know, playing about, experimenting."

"No. I've never..."

"Well," she said with a glint in her eye, "can I do it?"

"Are you serious?"

She nodded and I handed it to her. I knelt in front of her and
she sat up, condom in hand. She looked at the condom then at my
dick, and then did something I wasn't expecting.

She leant forward and planted a kiss on the end of my knob. I
nearly came right then. She looked up at me again, her pretty
blue eyes still glinting, and smiled. She took the head of my
cock into her mouth, and sucked in as much as she could. I can't
describe how she looked, her eyes closed and her lips wrapped
around my cock. Or how she made me feel. Her tongue was tracing
patterns on my dick, but outside there was no sign of the
movements that were driving me wild.

Without warning, she pulled away. She examined the condom once
more, looked up and a flashed me a cheeky smile, then slipped the
rubber covering onto me, rolling it all the way down to my balls.

Then she lay back, spread her legs, and beckoned me to her. I
fell forward onto her, eager to kiss the lips that had just been
around my dick. We kissed and she reached down, searching for me.
It was time.

I took hold of my dick. She gripped it too, and together we
guided the missile home. We found the warm, wet entrance to her
body. I pushed forward, the end of my cock forcing her lips apart
and entered her slowly.

The whole time we stared into each other's eyes. Claire's face
contorted in pleasure. I bent down to kiss her softly, and began
long slow strokes, pleasuring both of us in a way neither thought
possible. With each stroke, she lifted her hips up to meet me.

I started picking up the pace; building towards my orgasm, and
Claire matched every beat. All too soon, I came. Every muscle in
my body tensed, and the condom filled. Spent, I collapsed on top
of Claire.

I was unable to speak as I got back both my breath and my senses.
When I had recovered, I kissed Claire's forehead and spoke softly
to her.

"I'm sorry."

"What for? That was really lovely."

"Really?"

"Yeah," she said with a smile. "I liked it. I liked it a lot."

"But it didn't last very long."

"So, we can do it again later. Can't we?"

"And you didn't have... you know... you didn't cum."

"It doesn't matter," she said. "I'm sure I will next time, or the
time after that."

And she did. We got under the covers and fell asleep. The next
morning we did it again, and Claire came twice before I did,
making so much noise that I was scared my sister in the next room
might hear.

A few months later, we sat our exams, after which we took a
holiday together. When the results were published, I did very
well and got a place on a degree course at the local university.
Claire didn't do as well, but then she didn't expect to. Instead
of continuing her studies, she went to work for a bank. So much
for becoming a famous artist.

The three years I was at university were tough for us. I had to
live on campus, and with Claire working, we only ever saw each
other on alternate weekends and holidays. But we made it, and at
my graduation ball, I proposed. A year later, we were married.

Another twelve months on, Claire gave birth to our first child, a
healthy baby girl. Our lives were perfect. I was earning good
money, and Claire took a career break to look after Mary. She
even started painting again. We had a little home of our own, and
to our delight a second child was on the way just a year after
the first.

Then everything changed.

I was at work. Reception rang, which was nothing unusual, but
they said there were two policemen to see me. A detective and a
constable. I went down to greet them and showed them into the
conference room.

The detective did all the talking. The constable stood by the
door looking solemn.

"Mr Tasker, I have some rather upsetting news. Perhaps you should
sit down."

"What...What is it?"

"I'm afraid there's been an accident. Your wife. She was crossing
the car park at Tesco's in town. There was a young, and it turns
out drunk, driver."

I knew what was coming. I sat down and braced myself

"We're not sure how yet, we're still investigating, but he lost
control. Mrs Tasker managed to push your daughter's buggy out of
his path, but..."

"Is she..." I couldn't fight back the tears, even before I'd
heard the answer. There were coming whatever he said.

"She's alive, and at the hospital now."

"And our baby?"

"We don't know yet. The doctors will be able to tell you more
when we get there."

I was in no fit state to drive. I rode to the hospital with the
police. I have no idea how long it took us to get there, or how
long I waited for news or how many cups of god-awful coffee I
drank from polystyrene cups.

Each time a doctor or nurse came through the door, I jumped out
of my seat, only to be told nothing. When it came, the news
was...

"Doctor?"

"Mr Tasker?"

"Yes."

"Your son is out of danger." I nearly collapsed in relief. "We
had to perform an emergency caesarean, but he's alive and doing
well. He's in an incubator, but that's precautionary. He should
be fine."

"Oh, thank god. And Claire? She's okay?"

"Mr Tasker..." The doctor delivered his news with grace and tact.
Although I didn't appreciate it at the time, it's something I
will always be grateful for.

Adam's birthday has always been a difficult time for me. I
rejoice that my son was saved; that he was granted life. But at
what cost? My children lost a mother; I lost a wife, a lover and
a friend.

Adam's ten this year. I tell him, and his sister, all about their
mother every chance I get. About how special she was, and how
happy we were. They have picture of her by their beds, but they
never knew her. In the end, all they have are my memories.


  
Claire