Grave

Our eyes met across the hotel bar. I walked over to him.

“I am Danielle and mine’s a Prosecco.”

“Pleased to meet you Danielle.”

He smiled and motioned to the barman, at the same time inviting me to sit on the stool next to him. A flute of prosecco with a strawberry was place in front of me. He picked up his beer and we clinked glasses.

“I’m Stewart” he said. “Tell me are you…?”

“I’ll cut to the chase. Do you want to fuck me?”

He took a sip of his beer and asked

“How much?”

“I’m not an escort” I said, “It will cost you nothing but the drink you’ve just bought me/”

“I’m probably a bit young for you..”

“Fitter and harder, no? Age doesn’t mater to me. My last fuck was with an eighty year old. And he was good, Stewart, good. He has set a high bar. Are you up to the challenge?”

“You bet Danielle.” He leant over and planted a kiss on my lips. He held it here, and I felt his tongue trying to burrow into my mouth. I resisted.

“Save that for later.”

“OK. My room is on the second floor. Shall we go up?”

“It’s such a warm evening, and I bet you like fucking outdoors as much as I do. Besides it’s nearly dark so no one will see us.””

I pressed my thigh against his and stroked his hand. I watched his crotch for the bulge.I stroked his inner thigh and saw his erection pushing against his fly.

“Where are we going?”

He seemed genuinely intrigued.

“A place I know not far from here.”

I put my coat on and took his hand as he tried to gulp down his beer with the other.

“Come on, you don’t need any more beer.”

I led him out of the hotel and down a side street to a main road. We crossed and walked along the outer wall of the town cemetery.   Half way between lamp posts, in a pool of darkness where there was a kind of niche in the wall I pushed him back against it and kissed him. He responded, puling me close and driving his tongue deep into my mouth. He hadn’t shaved that day and I loved the feel of the stubble brushing against my face.

“God I want you!” he gasped, coming up for air and sweeping his hair from over his eyes.

“Where are we going? Are you parked near here?”

I gestured with my head.

“We are going here.”

“The cemetery? You can’t”

“Can’t what? I do what I like darling and don’t let anyone tell me otherwise, particularly men.”

He said nothing.

“Do you want to fuck me or not?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Come with me then.”

I led him down a side street to where works were taking place and there was a gap n the wall and we could squeeze through, taking care not to stumble over the pile of rubble that had once been part of the wall.

He dusted down his suit as we stood in the blackness of cemetery. I took out my it my phone and turned on the light.  He had the uneasy look of a man who is realising that he has got into something deeper than he anticipated.

It wasn’t far to my husband’s grave, tucked away in  a side alley.

“This is my husband”

I pulled my knickers down and lifted my skirt. I lay on the grave, the gravel biting into my back, and spread my legs. .

“Just fuck me.”

“On your husband’s grave? This is fucking weird.I can’t.”

“just do it. Do it now!”

I had reached the submissive inside him and when he pulled his trousers down I could see that he was rock hard under the boxers. I arched my back as he came down. I was wet and he slid straight in and fucked me hard, working quickly as if conscious of the risk of exposure. He came quickly and, withdrawing, knelt up.

“Now wank and come over my tits.”

He was soon hard again and worked his shaft quickly.  He was still nervous about being caught it seemed. I lay back and he stood over me. I shut my eyes and felt the warm stream landing on me.

“You can go now” I sad.

“When will I see you again? Maybe we can do it in like a proper bed next tme?”

“I don’t want to see you again. I have had you and I will pick someone else up next time I need to be fucked”

“You have used me.”

He spat the words out as he pulled his trousers up and zipped his flies. He winced as he did so.

“But it’s not about you. It really isn’t”

I stood up and reached out to him. He brushed my hand away angrily.

“I don’t want a relationship. I had 22 years with a wonderful man and no one can ever replace him.”

“But why DO you fuck on his grave?”

“For him. He will always be with me, he looks out for me. I want him to know at I am OK, that I am desirable, just as he found me desirable.”

I don’t think he even heard the last words as he walked off, no doubt wondering how he would find his way out of the locked cemetery.

I knelt over my husband’s grave and frigged myself

“I am good darling. I am good. I am getting all the fucks I promised you I would.”

As I came I leant forward and kissed his name on the headstone His name which was my name. For ever. I can’t actually remember the last time we fucked. I guess that once we had the diagnosis we fucked as if every time would be the last, raw, intense sex until he was too weak. And now every time I have sex it is the last time with that man.

I kissed the headstone. I needed to get back. I had to pick a dress for tomorrow. Tomorrow at seven at the same place in the same bar.

A post for Wicked Wednesday. For more wickedness click here 

Wicked Wednesday

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