Dark Eventide
- 3 years ago
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Love’s Eventide free porn video
Copyright 2014 by robindavisfiction. This story may not be republished or reposted on other websites without written permission.
*****
He warmed the lotion in his hands before spreading it gently on her swollen feet and rubbing each cold toe carefully between his fingers until the chill was gone. Gently, but firmly, he massaged each foot before working slowly up her calves and shins, steadily increasing the pressure with each upward stroke. He lightly caressed her cool, smooth skin with each downward stroke.
‘That feels so good,’ she whispered.
Despite her pain, she smiled with genuine pleasure as he rubbed warm lotion behind her knees and stroked the sensitive skin the way she had always enjoyed. ‘Is it time for morphine yet?’
‘Only twenty more minutes. Do you want to increase the dose a little this time?’
‘No. It makes me sleepy. I’d rather talk with you.’
‘I’ll always be here when you wake up.’
She closed her eyes.
‘Is the angle of the chair comfortable?’ he asked.
She had already drifted back to sleep. He carefully raised the foot rest and covered her legs with the light quilt her mother had given her when she left home for college in the big city. When he spent the night in her dorm room for the first time, he kidded her about the design. She spiritedly defended the smiling cartoon characters sown into a field of blood-red roses, and later he impressed her by carefully folding it up and setting it on her desk before they made love on her narrow single bed.
He checked the oxygen level in the tank behind her chair, and as she slept, he updated the notebook containing her medication schedule along with questions for the home hospice nurse who stopped by each afternoon. The notebook seemed to reduce her anxiety, and he relied on it more and more as his fatigue increased with the passage of each day, and the boundaries between yesterday, today, and tomorrow became less and less distinct. He dreaded a lapse in memory, or a missed dose, that might cause her pain or anxiety.
When it was time for her morphine, he gently caressed her cheek and called her name softly to awaken her gradually. She smiled weakly and murmured, ‘My hero,’ and the hint of happiness in her sparkling blue eyes transported him back to his first sight of the slender girl playing a guitar under the biggest pecan tree in the small grove near the math building. The wind blew through her long chestnut hair, and she tossed her head to keep it out of her eyes. He stood in the shadows, captivated. Her voice blended with the wind as she sang the long-sung songs of sailors lost at sea, soldiers gone to war, and maidens left to weep. She sealed his fate with a smile, and he barely breathed as he waited for the last chord and the chance that she would talk with him.
He earned the title ‘my hero’ two days later. Near the end of a lecture on differential equations, he glanced out the window and saw her opening her guitar case under the pecan tree. As much as he liked this particular class, his professor’s next comments were lost to more urgent thoughts about what he should say to her once the remaining minutes of class dragged by. When he next looked, his dream girl was engaged in an animated dispute which quickly became physical. Her assailant grabbed her hair and her face contorted in pain.
Later, he couldn’t recall the details of bolting from his seat, sprinting past his astonished professor, and arriving just in time. But, he would never forget slamming the edge of his calculus book against her ex-boyfriend’s head to prevent her throat from being seriously bruised. He still smiled whenever he recalled his adversary falling to the ground with a curse, then scrambling to his feet, fists clenched, ready to fight, only to confront a large, angry campus cop who didn’t like men who beat up women. After making sure she was uninjured and recording phone numbers and addresses, the cop shook hands with the young folk singer’s new hero and left them to get to know each other a bit better.
‘This stuff works pretty fast. Maybe we can try a walk in a few minutes.’
Her whisper brought him back to the present. He took her hand in his and knelt next to her chair. ‘I’d like that, if you feel strong enough.’
He transferred her oxygen tube to a small portable tank he could carry on his back as they walked. They made their way slowly out of the bedroom, through the small living room, past the ratty old book-strewn sofa they had purchased at a moving sale, and across the expensive Persian rug they had purchased from a dealer who offered them a special price because most of his customers didn’t like the unconventional colors woven amidst traditional patterns. They had planned to save their money to buy a new sofa to match the rug, but after she got sick, their savings were needed for other things.
‘Are your legs okay?’ he asked as they reached the front door.
‘I think a little walking might help,’ she said.
He could tell she knew that he knew she had not answered his question. They paused at the porch railing, and she leaned against it, taking shallow, rapid breaths.
‘Rain is coming. The sky is so beautiful,’ she said and rested her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m worse, aren’t I?’
He had promised to always answer her questions honestly, but he paused briefly and gazed at the sky as though it might hold some wisdom he had previously failed to perceive.
‘The nurse thinks your liver is getting weaker,’ he said. He put his arm around her waist and his chin on the bright blue scarf covering her head. ‘I love you.’
She squeezed his hand without speaking. They stood like that, like lovers with all the time in the world, simply feeling the closeness of each other and taking comfort in shared silence. Her shallow breathing told him he needed to increase the oxygen flow rate slightly.
‘I love rainy days,’ she said. ‘Will you remember me when it rains?’
His eyes glistened as he nodded and kissed her cheek gently.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Shhh. . . ‘
‘Let’s go back inside,’ she said. ‘Maybe I’ll try to eat some soup.’
She shuffled slowly, and he helped her sit at the kitchen counter. He placed a bowl of warm chicken soup in front of her and began making himself a peanut butter sandwich.
‘More treatment won’t help, will it?’ she asked.
He walked around the counter and rested one hand lightly on her shoulder. ‘No, it probably won’t.’
She didn’t speak. Her face was calm. Her spoon was motionless just above the bowl. He finished spreading peanut butter on his bread, and but wrapped the sandwich in a paper towel without tasting it. They shared the silence.
‘You aren’t eating well,’ she said, finally. ‘You have to take care of yourself.’
‘I do,’ he said. ‘I ate an apple while the nurse was here.’
‘Promise you’ll take care of yourself,’ she said, her lips trembling. ‘You know . . . later.’
He gently squeezed her hand, unable to speak, trying hard to keep tears from springing to his eyes. Her gaze drifted to the wall behind him, and she frowned slightly.
‘What do you see?’ he asked.
‘A lizard—next to the mirror.’
He turned and looked at the wall, the mirror over the sofa, and the textbooks he had not touched for weeks.
‘It’s looking at me. Why is it there?’ she asked, a hint of panic in her soft voice.
‘There’s no lizard there. The nurse said you might have some hallucinations because of the morphine and your liver.’
‘But. . . ‘
He walked quickly to the kitchen window and picked up a vase containing a single crimson rose. He placed it next to her on the counter.
‘Look at this rose. It’s real. You can touch it, if you want.’
He guided her fingers to the scarlet petals, carefully helping her avoid the thorns.
‘Yes, I can touch it,’ she whispered and stroked t
he petals again. ‘Maybe you should take down the mirror. That might be where the lizards go.’
‘Shhh . . . Remember, the nurse said this might happen. The rose is real. My eyes are real. The counter you’re leaning on is real. But, the lizard is not.’
‘Yes, my liver. The morphine. . . Maybe I should lie down.’
He left the uneaten, wrapped sandwich on the counter, and they walked into the bedroom slowly. She sat on the edge of the bed while he transferred her oxygen tube to the main tank and rearranged her pillows.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘That was a little weird, but now I know the lizard wasn’t real. Too bad, though. He was kind of cute.’ She smiled, and he laughed, something neither of them did very often anymore.
‘You never got dressed today,’ she said as he bent to help her swing her legs onto the bed.
‘No, I guess not.’
He paused when she slipped her hand through the opening at the front of his pajamas and gently encircled his penis with her soft, cool hand. ‘I found something,’ she said with one raised eyebrow.
His erection grew quickly, as it always did when she touched him. He closed his eyes and remained still, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. She gently stroked him, and then leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest, her breathing shallow and fast. But, she smiled up at him and unsnapped his pajama pants, letting them fall to the floor.
‘I want to be a good wife.’
He gently touched her face and ran a finger lightly across her lips. ‘You are. You always have been,’ he said.
‘Come lie next to me,’ she whispered. ‘Make love with me.’
She leaned back against the pillows, and a grimace of pain flitted quickly across her face. But then, she smiled and beckoned. He took off his pajama shirt and lay naked next to her. She murmured her approval and closed her eyes as he kissed her. He stroked her neck with his fingertips and caressed the curve of her hip as she rolled to her side. ‘Your fingers make me feel so good, so relaxed.’
‘Would you like me to rub some lotion on your shoulders?’ he asked.
No answer. She was asleep. Her next dose of morphine was not due for three hours. He pulled the cartoon quilt over them and snuggled comfortably against her back with his erection pressed between her buttocks and his belly. He lightly caressed her shoulder and hip and listened to the gentle sound of her breathing. His arousal slowly diminished, and tears dampened his cheeks. He entwined his fingers with hers and kissed the back of her neck.
She slept more peacefully than she had in several days or nights, but he slept lightly and awoke just before her next morphine was due. He stroked her cheek and called to her softly, but she continued to breathe slowly, deeply asleep. The nurse had emphasized the importance of staying on schedule with the morphine to prevent break-through pain, so he persisted in his gentle attempt to awaken her.
Finally, her eyes fluttered open, and he gave her the medicine. He fluffed up her pillows and rearranged them so she would be more comfortable. She whispered something, but her voice was so soft he couldn’t understand. He smiled, leaned close, and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold, but her eyes were bright.
‘Sorry, I couldn’t quite hear what you said.’
So quietly he could barely make out the words, she slowly asked, ‘Did we make love?’
He pressed his cheek against hers and hesitated only a moment before whispering, ‘Yes. Yes, we did.’
She squeezed his hand weakly, settled back against the pillows, and closed her eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand as he watched her sleep. Before long, he lay down next to her and also slept.
Dawn, the rain, and time for her next dose of morphine arrived together. He caressed her cheek and wished her a good morning. He brushed the hair away from her eyes and gently shook her shoulder, but he couldn’t wake her up. Her face was more peaceful than he had seen it in many days, with no sign of anxiety or pain, but her breathing was slow, so very slow.
He held her cold fingers to his lips and tried to warm them, first with his breath and then with his tears. When the undertakers came, he would not watch them work. He would walk into the rain and promise to love her ever after—while her still body was taken from their bed.
The End
Brandy
- 21.04.2021
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