Angela Tells Her Story

One evening I had been annoyed by one of the students who had carelessly let a cigarette butt burn a hole in the carpet. When I went to the kitchen I was still irritable and when Mark followed me in I turned on him and snapped, "For heaven's sake, Mark, either take me to bed or stop following me."

As soon as I said it, I felt terrible. I am not naïve, and was fully aware that Mark's constant tracking of me had a sexual content. I knew he would never give overt expression to his feelings, but my underlying and repressed sexual needs had given rise to an expression of annoyance in a way I would never normally have dreamed of.

I looked at him with the intention of apologising, and saw him standing there as if I had whipped him. "Mark," I said, "I am dreadfully sorry, I should not have talked to you like that." He turned as if to leave the kitchen saying, "No, it's me who should be sorry for being a nuisance."

I put my hand on his arm and said, "You're not a nuisance, Mark. I love having you help me." "It's just that I used to help my mother," he murmured. My heart bled for him. A lonely shy young man seeking the company of an older woman so he might give expression to his need to help and care.

I took a giant risk. I took his hand and said, "Come with me." I took him to my bedroom and kissed him as lovingly as I knew how. As I pressed my lower abdomen against him, I could feel his hard, urgent manhood pressing into me.

My guess was that he was a virgin, and events proved me right. I told him to undress and took my own clothes off. When I was naked before him, he looked at me and in a hushed voice said, "I knew you would be beautiful."

He was so shy I knew it would be my role to make all the moves. I also understood that his first time with a woman would be brief. I drew him over to the bed, and not expecting any foreplay, I parted my legs to open myself for him, saying, "Come down between my legs."

He came over me awkwardly, but I reached for his penis and drew its head against my opening. "Push into me," I whispered. As he entered me, he cried out, "Oh, it's so wonderful." I began to move with a rhythm and told him, "Work with me." He came quickly.

I had only ever been with Carl before, and was only used to his fierce, urgent thrusting into me. Mark, this hesitant young man, for all his inexperience, gave me the sweetest and gentlest sexual encounter I had ever experienced. When he had finished, he gave me another delight. He said very quietly, "Thank you, I've wanted you so badly."

I had repressed my sexual needs for a very long time, now they were out in the open again, and if Mark wanted me, I was going to be his. He had much to learn, and I had much to teach. Academic studies are not always the most important things in life.

I began by taking him to my bedroom whenever the evening meetings took place. Mark, of course, was anxious about Carl discovering us, so I was forced to explain the marital situation. Once Mark was reassured on this score, and when Carl was away on his ever more frequent lecture tours, Mark spent the nights with me.

My sexual needs had resurfaced with Mark. Very quickly, he learned the finer points of oral and anal sex and the pleasures that can be gained from breasts and a woman's handling of his penis. Yet, I was not able to be completely open to him. I had been so profoundly hurt I was not willing or able to commit myself to Mark. Put simply, I could not say, "I love you, Mark." I supposed I was just using him for personal gratification.

I was now inherently suspicious of men's motives, and in any case, Mark had never actually said he loved me. He had rejoiced in my body and was always thankful, even grateful, for the sexual delights we had in each other, but he had never said a word about love. I supposed I could not expect it with the wide gap in our ages. Such a young man could hardly wish to use words of commitment with someone years his senior. Even if he had, I was not sure I would have believe him.

It was after we had been lovers for about eight months that the dramatic change occurred. One night, when we had just finished our orgasms and I was laying in Mark's arms, he whispered in my ear, "I love you Angela, I love you very much."

Just at the very moment of climactic climb down, when, let us face it, men are least inclined to speak of love, he said the words. The very words I had promised myself I would not believe again when spoken by a man, broke through. His sincerity was so clear to me I could resist no longer.

The mighty dam wall that I had built to contain my passion, my longing for love came crashing down and its waters poured over me. I was loved!

I felt the first gasping, gulping catching for air that is preliminary to the storm of sobs that follow. Mark felt the coming storm and said, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to…" While I could still speak I cried out to him, "Hold me, my love, just hold me, please." I curled my body against his, and wept.

All the pain, the loneliness of my loveless existence came flooding out of me with incoherent words and cries. I gave vent to the self-pity that I had always renounced. I raged and cursed as giant sobs drawn from deep within shook my entire body. Every misery and woe was exposed. I hardly knew what I said. I just let it all flow out of me.

Mark held me tight as I physically writhed with emotional torment. The tables were turned as he held my agonised body and soul like a father holding a terrified child. I thought I felt his hand stroking my face and hair, but could not be sure I was so lost in the weeping, wailing gale of my emotions.

I have never known how long I went on for, but eventually I subsided, exhausted by my outpourings. I lay limply in Mark's arms, still racked with the aftermath of my sobs, and one thought rose to the surface of my mind. "I am loved."

Still held by Mark, I slept.

When I woke in the morning Mark was still holding me as he slept. I gently eased myself out of his arms, and leaving him to sleep, I got out of bed. I felt as if I had been washed clean inside and out. It was as if I had entered upon a calm and beautiful New World. The words, "I am loved," resounded in my head, and I sang as I showered and prepared breakfast.

I heard Mark showering and knew he would soon be joining me. A cloud passed over the joy I was feeling. How would he respond to the events of the night? Would a post-coital declaration of love die with the morning?

He entered and came straight to me and put his arms round me. "I am sorry you got up," he said, "I wanted to wake with you still in my arms." My doubts were answered.

In the following years Mark and I remained faithful lovers. I also remained faithful to my contract with Carl. There were great temptations to break with him and leave him to deal with the problems this would give him, but I did not. Mark pleaded many times for me to divorce Carl and marry him. Perhaps you think me foolish for not doing so? So be it.

There was a sadness that followed me through the years. I was never able to say to Mark, "I love you." Can you understand that, or do you think it rather odd? I could hardly understand it myself. I could only think it was fear that stopped me saying it, because I knew inside myself, I did indeed love Mark.

There came a time when Mark needed to go overseas to complete his studies. This seemed to mean a long separation for us, then I struck on the idea of visiting my brothers and sister and other relatives in my country of origin. This would mean that I would be quite near to Mark and we would be able to be together from time to time. Thus, the separation was not so long and painful as we anticipated.

When Mark returned he took up an appointment at a university some distance from where I lived, but still within driving distance. Carl had long known about our liaison and made no comments when I announced that I would be away for a few days.

Carl died when he was seventy filled with worldly fame and honours. His books still sell in great numbers, and I am the financial beneficiary of this. Mark and I talked about marriage, but decided it was too late for that.

My relationship with Mark went on from year to year. In earlier days, I had thought Mark would marry and have a family, but to the best of my knowledge, no other woman ever came into his life.

By the time I entered my sixties the storms of sexual desire had past, but we still found our greatest happiness in each other's company. Sex still happened, but it was less frequent, it lasted longer, and in many ways, it was sweeter. The urgency is no longer there, and you come to appreciate the union for its own sake. At times, Mark would lay inside me unmoving for long periods as we talked and held each other.

And now I have said what I wanted to say, and that being so, I shall cease.

Epilogue.

Two days before she died, Mark sat at Angela's bedside. She was very weak and at one point, she beckoned Mark, as if asking him to bend down for her to speak. He put his ear near her lips and she said, "I love you Mark, I have always loved you." Tears came into Mark's eyes. Angela said no more. I know, because I was there. You see my name is Mark.