Albert needed a fuck. And not just any fuck, either. He needed a large, curvy woman, one with big boobs he could bury his cock into and suckle at her tits like a starving child. He needed to ram his sorrow and anger into her. He needed a woman with wide hips and full butt cheeks he could grab on to so he could get in really deep. It was the third anniversary of the death of his wife, Eloise, and he needed to mourn her loss and celebrate her life.
Eloise had been a hard-drinking, larger-than-life, buxom woman he’d met at a gig. After hearing him sing, she’d told him she wanted him to fuck her like he sang: like raw silk sliding into her bones. She’d brought him a bottle of single malt and they sat around drinking it, her matching him glass for glass, neat no ice.
They’d danced, his cock grinding against the wide, warm flesh of her curvy ass as he imagined fucking it. Together their bodies were pure, liquid fire. They went out to his limo and he paid the driver to take off while she laid him out on the long crushed velvet seat in the back and lowered herself on top of him, leering down at him with a devilish look in her eye, her long blonde hair tumbling down onto his chest.
"Now sing to me," she said, and he crooned "Midnight Hour" while she took him deeply into her cunt and writhed her hips to the beat of his words. He took one of her tits in his mouth and nuzzled it, hardening the nipple as she moaned and moved her body.
It didn’t take long before she’d moved in with him, and started touring with him, acting as his manager. She got him great gigs and they fucked constantly. His songs improved with her sexy fire and her love of life as his muse. She could handle booking agents like a pro too, talking tough to them or sweet-talking them if need be. She was like a fine liqueur: sweet to taste and fiery when devoured. He couldn’t get enough of her. She intoxicated him.
It was her idea to get married in wintertime. She said winter was the most beautiful season: all that frost like a painting on the windows, and the flakes of snow that came down and covered the earth in white, surprising you as you woke up each morning.
They had their own ceremony, so most people would say it wasn’t legal, but it was beautiful and that was the only thing that mattered to Eloise and to him. They waited for the perfect night when there was no moon, just a sky full of stars. It was cold and clear. They crossed an ice-covered lake and stood in the middle of it to watch the stars. Albert was cold, but she held him tightly to her ample breasts and let him put his hands inside her coat. She wore nothing but a Daisy lace basque and a buttery-soft Serena brief beneath. He unbuttoned his pants and pressed his hard cock inside her, both of them shivering with cold as they vowed to love one another forever, to live life together to the fullest, to keep taking everything they could from life.
She always wanted more: more sex, more booze, more of his music, more food.
She ate with gusto, not caring about getting food stains on her clothes. Her favorite was linguini with red clam sauce. He remembered how the red sauce used to spatter onto her chin and he’d kiss it up and then they’d end up on the floor of the kitchen, knocking over plates and glasses then fucking to the sounds of glass shattering on the cold tile floor. They were always short on dishes, but Eloise wouldn’t settle for paper plates and she wouldn’t stop fucking him in the kitchen. To feel life, you had to experience the pain and the danger, she’d say.
So that’s what he did every year since the accident. He celebrated and mourned her memory by taking a hooker to bed. The rest of the year he remained in his cabin. Eloise had had money, which had surprised him. Apparently her parents had been wealthy. When she died, she’d left him all of it with the proviso that he would use it to become a well-known singer and to live life fully. He knew he was disappointing her, but he just couldn’t handle being without her. He tried, he did his best, but most of the time, he’d have bad nightmares and wake up shivering, unable to leave the house.
His friends had admonished him about turning his back on them all, told him he was becoming a recluse. He couldn’t disagree. But once a year, he made an exception. Some might think this was a morbid thing for Albert to do, but for him it was a kind of homage. While he made love to the stranger, he thought of Eloise and her love.
Albert muttered to himself as he put on his coat and boots. This wasn’t the kind of night he should be going out, really it wasn’t. His hands trembled as he fastened up his bootlaces. He thought about calling and canceling, but he needed this. His body ached with it. All year he waited for this one night. And no, it couldn’t be any other night.
Carefully he made his way along the path to his car. He almost slipped and fell on the ice. He scraped the hard ice off his windshield with the chipped plastic end of his snowbrush, just enough so he could see, and no more.
It was a freezing January evening, so cold the red vinyl cracked when he sat on the car’s bench seat and he had to use the snow brush on the inside of his windshield. The car took a while to start, despite the fact that it was plugged in. He burrowed further into his beige wool coat, and wished himself back in his cabin, in front of the fire he’d spent all day tending like he would a woman he loved.
"A woman, ah yes," Albert sighed as he removed his thick mittens to grasp the steering wheel, caressing the cool soft lamb leather of its cover, as he would soon caress a woman’s inner thigh. It had been one year exactly since he’d touched a woman, and she was, as she had to be, a stranger, one who looked like Eloise. Just for a short time, he needed to feel as if his dead wife were still alive, to be able to touch her breasts, her full round stomach, slide his hands along her glorious buttocks and fondle the thick pouty lips of her cunt, then stick his cock inside her and feel warm once more, just for a little while, to imagine he was fucking his wife, to forget that she was dead.
He sipped on his cup of hot chocolate heavily laced with brown sugar, set it down in the cup holder and began his journey. The motions of his car shook the nearby tree and caused snow to tumble down. A snowy owl flew from its perch as Albert drove away. He watched the glow of the East End Light as he waited for the ferry to arrive at the Dawson Point Dock.
The inn was on the outskirts of Kingston, only forty-five minutes away from his home on Wolfe Island, including a twenty-minute ferry trip. Clarke was the ferry master, as usual. The other passengers eyed Albert but didn’t say anything. He didn’t go to the town stores anymore, nor did he attend any of the social functions, so to most people he was a complete stranger.
Clarke, a man of few words himself, nodded in greeting, and then went back to his duties. Albert sat in the cabin at a distance from the few other passengers, decked out in their finest city clothes. He made no small talk and invited none. Most of the other passengers were couples, out for a night on the town in Kingston, maybe a fancy meal at Chez Antoine. He and Eloise had gone there once, and she’d loved the bourbon chocolate pecan pie, even charmed the chef into giving her the recipe.
He didn’t go to that restaurant or any other restaurant anymore. He remembered Eloise’s beauty, that golden hair down her back, the shapely curves of her body. She had the most exquisite body, like a Renoir nude: round hips, a stomach you could cup your hand over, long legs, soft yielding buttocks and breasts a man could nestle his head against like cushions. Her nipples were pale pink, the color of just opened peonies in June.
He remembered licking those nipples and turning them hard with his rough tongue, the way she opened her legs to him, let him put his fingers inside her, brush his thumb against her swollen clit. God, he needed her still. His stomach contracted with the pain of a hunger that could never be sated, the pain of grief. The ferry bumped up against the Kingston dock. His hands shook as he returned to his car and left the ferry.
Traveling through the roads carved out of granite and limestone, he passed the winding channels of the Cataraqui River, various inns, diners, and tourist souvenir shops. When he’d decided to settle on the island between Watertown in the US and Kingston in Canada, it was deliberate. He wanted, no needed, to be far away from crowds, but still close enough to deal with the essential trappings of life. This land with its Precambrian shield, so tough it had to be tunneled out and blasted, was the place he needed to be.
He relaxed as his heavy snow tires stayed steady on the ice. He kept sandbags in the trunk to weigh his car down, making sure it didn’t slide. They’d outlawed studs on tires years ago, otherwise he’d have them too. He didn’t like sliding out of control. He’d done that the night of the accident, lost his control of the car. That’s why he was alone, and as he knew, deserved to be alone.
The snow glistened in the streetlights as Albert negotiated the car through downtown Kingston and made his way to the Inn. Once he arrived, he didn’t really want to get out of his car. He felt safe and warm. He waited for the song to end and then after a few more minutes, feeling a strange combination of reluctance and excitement, he left the car and entered the Inn.
The room was empty, a bottle of champagne stood in its icy bucket, drops of water caressing the neck. The wood fire in the fireplace crackled, its blue and orange flames rising and sparking in the stone grate. He turned on the radio and the soft sounds of soul filled the room.
His cock hardened as he thought of the woman they’d send. He never knew who she’d be, except that she’d be to his specifications: curvy body, large breasts, long blonde hair, tall, her lips and fingernails shellacked in red. He imagined those glistening red lips kissing his balls, the tongue working its way up to his shaft and then around the cockhead.
He emptied the small case and put a few condoms on the nightstand. He remembered his first time with an escort. He’d assumed she would have some condoms, and she did, but they were small and difficult to put on and keep on. So he always brought his own extra-large Trojans. He remembered her. Another buxom golden blonde. Her hair fell on his cock as she sucked him, tickling his balls. So soft, so silky, so like Eloise.
His pants were tight with his erection; he removed them and lay on the bed, his shirt still on. He’d left the door unlocked. The heat of the room, the light of the flickering candles and the soft soul music made him sleepy. Before he knew it he was fast asleep.
Albert had been dreaming of Eloise and the way she sucked his cock so right, circling the shaft in her hands first, then licking the head round and round. He woke up with a massive hard on and a blonde licking his cock. "Eloise," he thought. "My god." But the woman’s body wasn’t the same, the frame was smaller, though she had Eloise’s curves and hair color. His cock wanted that mouth on him forever.
"Keep licking, beautiful," he said. And she did. She was the best cock-sucker he’d ever experienced.
"Mmmm you’re gorgeous, sweetheart. Yes," he repeated over and over, letting her mouth wet his cock, feeling her tongue glide along the sides of his legs and then in between his balls. She sucked both his balls into her mouth and it was oh so glorious. He reached down and stroked her hair, her fine golden hair cascading around her shoulders like some kind of halo. Fuck, she was delicious. He wanted to come, but he wanted her on top of him.
"Climb on me, honey."
She grabbed a condom and smiled. She still hadn’t said a word, just straddled him and gently, gently took him inside her.
She had such a tight cunt, and was wet and ready for him. He touched her soft breasts then, hanging down into his face, licked the pink nipples hard. She moaned.
Her body fit his so well. He lavished her with kisses, on her shoulders, her neck, her feet, her calves and her thighs. She was round and soft like Eloise, not bony, but buxom, fleshy the way a woman should be.
It was almost early morning when they treated themselves to a glass of lukewarm champagne and decided to take a Jacuzzi together.
They entered the warm water.
"Spread your legs."
She cocked her eyebrow but did as he said.
He got in, slowly, then took a washcloth and lathered soap onto it, rubbing her all over. Soon he slid the cloth between her legs and pushed it gently inside. She moved against it. In and out, up and down, the water splashing over the sides of the tub.
Albert’s cock bobbed in the water as it grew.
Albert smiled and took the washcloth out and then pulled her onto his cock. "We should get a condom," he said, his breathing ragged.
"Oh god, you’re right, but this feels so good."
She opened herself and let him enter her, his unsheathed cock so deep inside her. Water spilled out of the tub and onto the tiled floor as Albert pressed his body against hers, his cock buried inside her, her breasts snug tight against his chest. She wrapped her legs around him, as his bare wide cock filled her up.
Albert’s movements quickened. She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts, taking him in further. She traced his lips with her wet fingers, then kissed him as the steam of the hot water met the cool air. He brought his hand down to her thigh and then inched it between her legs, letting his thumb brush against her swollen clit.
They couldn’t stop kissing as he moved deeply inside her. He hadn’t felt this right with any woman since Eloise. He let himself go and came deeply within, grunting with the force of his orgasm draining his balls as she moaned out her orgasm. He sobbed against her. It was such a release, felt so good, but also so horrible in a way, to be with a woman who wasn’t Eloise. He kept crying. She seemed puzzled, but held him close for a long time. Finally they both realized they were cold. They dried themselves off and returned to bed, lying together as he continued to cry.
"I’m sorry, hon," he said. "You were really terrific."
"You’re welcome, Albert. So were you. I’m sorry you’re sad, hon, but I have to go now," she said. She dressed and picked up the envelope of money.
"Wait, doll," said Albert. He kissed her hard on the lips and went for his pants to get to his wallet. He added another $100 to the envelope. She smiled and walked out the door.
Albert nestled under the warm covers and fell asleep.
The dream started again. The highway was slick and slippery. Freezing rain beat against the windows. The only sounds were the passing cars and trucks and the rain. It was early evening, dark already except for the blur of oncoming headlights. A cold draft came from the window of the car.
The dream changed to a black umbrella opening. The sound of funeral music. The freezing rain beating a dull ache on the coffin. Eloise’s coffin.
Albert woke up shivering. An overpowering feeling of nausea and weakness came over him and he rushed to the bathroom and threw up.
He missed Eloise so much. Sometimes he wondered if he should just end it all. He couldn’t take it any more really. But he thought of how she lived her life to the fullest. The way she bit into a ripe peach and let the juice run down onto her naked skin, then had him lick up the sticky juices from her breast. She wanted him to live, to feel.
He didn’t really know how to live or how to feel and most of the time he was numb, but once a year, he opened himself up to life, to living and to celebration. Maybe some day it would be more than one day, but for now he could live only moment by moment. He hoped Eloise would understand.
Originally published May, 2008