A Farewell to Arms

She didn't just grab it and bob. She made a production of worshipping the thing, sometimes just holding the poor old guy to her lips and loving on it. I was in heaven when she lithely straddled me and slowly lowered herself on me, without disturbing my legs in the slightest.

I sank into the hottest three centimeters of real estate imaginable. I had noticed in our kissing that Catherine burned hotter than a normal person.

It might be a matter of a degree, or so. But she was literally hot. And she was very turned on. I knew that because she was dripping in ways that I had never encountered in a woman.

She groaned loudly and said, "GOD THAT'S SO GOOD!! I have been waiting for this for so long!!" She stopped moving as I bottomed out against her cervix. I could feel her intense heat and lubrication and her vaginal walls were spasmodically nipping and tugging on me.

She leaned forward with her arms over my shoulders. Her delectable breasts with their rock hard nipples dangled on my chest. Then she made a tent around our faces with her long thick copper hair.

It was unspeakably erotic. The effect was like I was looking up a rose colored tunnel to her beautiful face at the other end. Her emerald eyes were burning with passion. But I could see that she was communicating something to me with her rock steady gaze.

She was telling me about the perfect fidelity and the abiding passion that would be mine, and only mine. She was telling me about how our joining would mark the convergence of our spirits into a single mutually supportive entity. And she was telling me that she would do everything in her power to make it so.

I gave her a short nod of acknowledgement. I knew that was all that was required.

Then she began to move. It was a slow and gentle sliding and rotation. Her eyes clouded over and she began to moan. She was still holding me with a steady gaze in the crimson light of the little world that she had created for us.

Then it got too much for her. Her head snapped back and her hair flew up and behind her like a big wave breaking gracefully on a tropical beach. She put her hands on my chest and began a desperate back-and-forth motion powerfully rubbing her clit on my pubic bone.

That lasted for just a few seconds and then something happened deep in her core. You could feel it like a cataclysmic force; everything inside her clenched tightly and her entire body went rigid. Her head snapped back as she bent rearward in a supple bow supporting herself on the bed with her hands and bucking furiously.

Most women who lose it like Catherine had would have put their hands on my lower thighs, or knees. But even in the throes of out-of-control passion she was cognizant enough on another level that she had carefully avoided all contact.

Then she flopped forward, head on my chest, and began a frantic up and down motion of just her hips on my cock. She was rapidly bringing me to where I wanted to get.

But all during that time she was hysterically gripping the pillowcase in both hands and was just shrieking, "CUMMING!! STILL CUMMING!! OH GOD HELP ME!! CAN'T STOP CUMMING!!"

I was not able to appreciate the fact that I had just experienced more wild passion from a woman than I had ever witnessed before. That was because I was in the process of shooting into her in unimaginable ways. I thought that my entire reproductive systems would end-up inside her before I was able to get a little control back.

On the other hand, she was passed out colder than a mackerel on my chest, with her internal muscles still milking me in little autonomic twitches. I couldn't do anything about her unconsciousness, since my mobility was limited. So I just lay there joined by our mutual sweat, while she lingeringly returned from wherever she had been blown.

She was making little whimpers, moans and twitches as she did that. During that entire time, I was thinking, "I know she's very experienced. And Rinaldi had warned me how hot she was. But there was no possible way that she could throw a fuck like that just to satisfy her own needs."

It may have been a whole lot violent. But it was clearly a case of her making love to me. I thought to myself, "This woman is unreal!!" And I considered myself the luckiest man in the universe.

My shrinking out of her finally woke her up. She made a little moan of protest. Then her eyes popped open and she said, "What in God's name did you just DO to me???!! I have never cum like that in my life!! My internal muscles hurt like I have been working out!!"

I kissed her on her forehead and said, "They definitely HAVE been. I was there. I felt it!!"

She looked at me and said, "Should I be ashamed of myself for being so wanton. I have been waiting forever to do that with you."

I smiled and said, "Only if you never do it for me again." She whacked me on the arm and nimbly rolled off our mutually sweaty bodies. She said, "We'll have to limit those to once every 24 hours. If I came like that any more frequently it would kill me."

Then she looked lovingly at me and said, "The next time we are going to make sweet gentle love. But I just couldn't control myself this time."

A look of concern suddenly came in her eyes and she reversed her position on the bed; giving me a view of the sweetest little pussy and the most awesomely full and perfectly shaped ass ever hung on a woman.

She went over every inch of the surgical work down there looking for any problems that we might have caused. While she was doing it I was idly sliding a couple of fingers in and out of her well lubricated pussy. And she was moaning gently and appreciatively while I was doing it.

Her ability to compartmentalize her thinking into hot woman and efficient health care provider was another thing that I was amazed by. Finally, she turned back around and said, "No damage that I can see. And since you are insisting..."

Then she applied her mouth to Old Lucifer and we had another almost as spectacular round as the first one. We both showered together.

That led to round three, with her arms spread widely on the tile of the shower, head turned toward me urging me on with the most amazingly hot glance. Her wet hair was plastered against her head and down her back and her magnificent round ass was rippling as I pounded her. The sound of the water covered up most of the moaning and shrieking.

She ended the session by saying, "I can't get enough of you. But I'm starving to death." She had spent nine hours behind the wheel.

Then she fucked me in ways that would have made Messalina herself seem like a blushing virgin. During that time, she had never complained. I kept asking myself how I could be so lucky.

The Royal-Riviera has a small covered outdoor terrace that looks directly out over the Mediterranean. We dined on lobsters that had been at the bottom of the Med that morning, killed a bottle of wine and watched the boats come and go on that ancient sea.

Night on the Mediterranean is like no place I have ever been. The best word to describe it is "tender". The temperatures are ideal, the breezes are gentle and there is something in the air that is soft and comforting

I was with a woman who was turning heads even in a jaded place like this, I had a soon-to-be wife who was as steadfast as the most loyal friend and boon-companion, and I had a lover who could rock my world - multiple times.

If this was paradise, then I was there. I took a snapshot in my head so I could savor this moment for the rest of my life. And I made a vow that we would be together forever.

~

And so we were married. It was a simple civil ceremony performed at the Maire's Office in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat. It took a week to gather the paperwork, since I needed a copy of my divorce decree and she needed a blood test.

The wedding was just a technicality. It really didn't cement anything. That was because we were about as much in love as two humans could be. In the meantime, we had rented a little flat while we were doing the bureaucratic paper chase.

It was in Saint-Jean proper. It was lit by the bright Mediterranean sun and just a short walk down the Avenue Claude Vignon to Paloma beach. There were restaurants and bars and of course the glorious Mediterranean climate. My life was about as perfect as it could be.

We had decided to stay in St-Jean since there was really nowhere else to go. And I was avoiding my friends at the NSA. They still had a posting for me and they were getting very insistent about my contract.

The sun was making its annual disappearance in the rest of Europe and the temperatures were beginning to drop. But it was still warm enough in Saint-Jean to stretch out in the sun at the beach. I was using two canes now instead of the walker. So I could get around.

I didn't want to show off my legs. That sight would have scared small children. So I always wore Jeans and a Polo shirt when I was down there. But the sun on my face and the warm on-shore breeze was incredibly sensuous.

My wife had no such constraints. She would lie next to me in a beach chaise wearing a very skimpy bikini; which showed off her long-waisted litheness and her beautifully shaped muscular legs. And although her silky white redheaded hide couldn't stand much sun the SPF 30 that she rubbed on that gorgeous body let her stay out in it like a California beach bunny.

Hence, we would sit by the seaside and talk all day. I had stopped being freaked-out by her intimidating beauty a long time ago.

That was because her extraordinary good looks were overshadowed by the fact that she was so wonderfully kind, well-read and intelligent. She was just my best friend and companion now. And I lost all of my lifelong feelings of isolation.

And thus, the time with her just passed in a glorious haze of stimulating ideas and conversation. Afghanistan and the Taliban were something that two other people had experienced. And all of our losses were walled off in that sealed room behind us.

About three months after we were married she was lying in the sun, on her stomach. She spent a lot of time on the beach. I wasn't with her all of that time. Walking was still a challenge and she loved the sun. So I wanted her to get the maximum enjoyment.

Her top was untied and her beautiful little full breasts were pillowed out beneath her. As usual, the sight of that strong woman's back with the two jutting buns and the flaming mass of copper hair was causing the locals to do double takes, as they strolled by on the beach.

I was sitting up next to her reading in a beach chair. I still couldn't navigate without some pain. And the canes prevented me from going out on the beach. That was because they would sink the moment they touched the sand.

Catherine sat up tying her top as she did and said, "I'm getting hot lover, and not in that fun kind of way. So I am going to take a dip in the sea."

She rose and strolled down to the breaking waves. Her hips were swinging erotically as she glided along the sand. She waded out a bit and did a perfect dive into the next breaker.

I watched that incredible ass disappearing down to the water and it was giving me a great idea about a few interesting things we could do that didn't involve walking.

She was about waist deep headed back when she was intercepted by a guy. The dude was your classic beach Adonis, tall, lithe, incredibly handsome, with his dark hair plastered on his head and a twinkle in his eye.

He stood in front of her as she worked her way back through the water toward me. There was a pleasant exchange. I saw her shake her head "no" in a friendly fashion. He laughed and smiled. Then she lightly touched his arm.

It was a responsive social gesture, nothing sexual about it. But it told me that the two of them knew each other.

So when she got back to me I said, "Who was that?" Catherine laughed lightly and said, "Just one of the local beach boys. He asked me to get a drink. It was nothing."

In their short exchange I had gotten the distinct impression that it WASN'T nothing. So I said, "It looked like you knew him."

She said, "He pesters me from time to time. You know the French."

I DID know the French and I didn't like it. I looked at that fabulous woman with one leg up on her lounge chair carefully drying her muscular thigh and I was suddenly overcome by the most hopeless case of bourgeois jealousy.

That emotion alone ought to illustrate how much I had changed over the past half year. And it was fucking humiliating to feel that way.

But look at it from my perspective. I am a cripple. And I will be one for foreseeable future. I am big, pasty-white and a little over-muscled for my frame, not sleek and pantherishly sexy like her friend.

He was probably 10 years younger and no doubt a whole lot friskier. I have always thought that Catherine thoroughly enjoyed herself during our bouts of sex. But at the same time she was an insatiable physical animal in bed. And I am not as young as I used to be.

More importantly, this guy was clearly not burdened by any sense of honor. Since, he was hitting on a woman who was obviously married. I was sure that he thought that any woman who didn't actually threaten him with a gun was fair game. And Catherine had not pulled out any six-shooters while they were talking.

In fact, they seemed very sociable. Worse, she spent hours away from me down at the beach and this was the first I had ever heard about the dude.

I was aware that Catherine had been hit-on by every male in that part of the world except perhaps the College of Cardinals and the Pope himself. And she has never given me a sense that she has anything but the utmost respect for our marriage vows.

But I did not like the thought of her spending any time alone with a man-whore like the guy she had just been so friendly with.

Nonetheless what could I do? She had not given me the slightest hint that she was anything but happily married and that she was totally devoted to me. I might add that she was also clearly dedicated to my care. So it would seem a tad ungenerous for me to start dictating the rules of engagement for her.

Even worse if I started acting dictatorial without any hard evidence it might drive a wedge between us. So I just said, "I trust you with my happiness." And she proceeded to look at me like she didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about."

We had evening dinner at Capitaine Cook. Naturally that was after a short, and very vigorous bout of sex and a quick shower. That little place is a nice bright little restaurant off of Port-Saint-Jean. It serves the most incredible fish soup.

I took Catherine's hand and said, "I'm sorry that I can't be as active as you are. But I'll get better someday. And we can enjoy the surf together."

She actually looked angry and said, "Why do you think I should care about something like that. You have a slight mobility problem. That is due to the fact that you have done heroic things. It's temporary. My only regret is that I am not with you all of the time. But sometimes you have to be alone."

She was right about that. I'm a nerd and once in a while I have to be alone to do nerd things. So instead of joining her at the beach I spent FAR too much time on the internet researching connotative search algorithms. I thought that there might be some money in that kind of artificial intelligence engine given how omnivorous big-data has gotten.

I sighed and said, "Okay, I'll put it directly out-there for you. I am not as bronzed and beautiful as the guy who talked to you today. Is that a problem for you?"

The anger that flared out of those emerald eyes was like being hit by a green laser. She said with barely controlled rage, "You are the only man I talk to. You are the love of my life. I am yours forever. And that's the way it will always be. Is that a problem for you!!???"

I laughed at her sarcasm. She laughed at my response. We were a couple again. For a while.

Then her behavior changed radically. It started when she disappeared for almost a day. That had simply never happened before.

She had been acting moody for a week prior to her disappearance. And it culminated in her getting back to the flat after dark. She had been drinking and it showed. She went right off to bed as soon as she arrived. And when I eventually crawled in next to her I could tell that she was awake and staring at the ceiling.

When it happened again exactly a week later I was sitting on our little balcony with an open bottle of Cabernet and a distressed look on my face, waiting for her to get home.

She went upstairs and took a quick shower. Then she came down wrapped in her fluffy bathrobe. She sat glumly in the chair opposite me. I poured her a glass of wine and we sat for a few more excruciating moments.

Finally, she sighed and said, "Well I guess I have to get it over with."

My heart sank like a figurative stone dropped down a well. There was even a loud plop in my head as it hit bottom. She fixed me with a resolute gaze. Her emerald eyes were duller than I had ever seen them. And she uttered those four dreadful words, "We have to talk."

I must have looked as distressed as I felt because she rushed on like she wanted to get my death-blow over with as quickly as possible. I thought to myself, "How fucking considerate!!"

She said, "There are going to be some changes in our life that I simply didn't expect. I had no idea that it was going to happen to me. But I can't change what has occurred."

It took every ounce of courage I had to say, "And what is THAT my dear?"

She put her head down on the table and sobbed into her arms, "I just got back from seeing a doctor in Nice. This has been my second visit..." And she couldn't finish.

I said with sheer panic and just the hint of outrage in my voice, "And WHAT Catherine??!!"

From somewhere in the general vicinity of the table I heard a timorous, "We are going to have a baby. There is no doubt about it!! I just got the results of the HGC test that I took there last week."

I was in the process of yelling, "You slut!! You whore!!" And then what she had just said REGISTERED - Thank God!!

My inner voice shook its head and said, "You insecure BASTARD!! She was sneaking around trying to confirm a pregnancy!! Not fucking anybody. No wonder she was distracted. She thought she had let you down!!".

All dishonorable thoughts about bronzed beach-boys disappeared in a puff of smoke. And I said as gently as I could, "We're going to have a baby? Why that's WONDERFUL!!"

A sad face with huge red rimmed eyes appeared from off the table. She looked at me with tears running down her perfect cheek bones and snot running out of her cute Irish nose. She looked adorable. And she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

She said, "REALLY?? That's good news???!! I thought you would hate me. I have no idea how it could have happened. I am on the pill. I don't know how I could have messed up like that."

Then she added shamefacedly, "I didn't know how to break it to you. I have been sitting at Capitaine Cooks for the last two visits just trying to get a little Dutch courage."

I thought to myself, "Thank God for female insecurities!! If I recalled correctly, I had made some minor contribution to the baby making process. Yet here she was taking all of the responsibility on herself."

I said with a far too much enthusiasm, "So what!! Now I will have two of you to love, spoil and generally devote my life to."

She was clearly surprised at my delight. She said, "But that means diapers and 3 AM feedings and all of the other things that go along with parenthood. I have wanted to give you a child since I met you. But I wanted it to be when you were ready, not just spring it on you like this."