By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2005 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

Beloved, my Beloved, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink

Molly heard a gentle snoring and realized that Mrs. White had fallen asleep. She closed the book gently and ran her fingers over the gilt lettering of the spine’s raised bands. She loved reading Sonnets From The Portuguese and Mrs. White never tired of requesting them. She’d been given this copy by her very first love, seventy years ago, and the poems stirred her most ardent and amorous remembrances. In Molly however, they provoked the terrible sadness of a dream of love never realized: not before, during or since her marriage.

Molly leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Her day of volunteering at the hospital was over, but she was in no hurry to go home to an empty house. Five years earlier, her forty-eight year old husband, Bob, had run off with a twenty year old Barbie look-alike and left only deliverance and serenity in his wake. She never missed him; she missed what she’d wanted him to be. She often wondered what had happened to the adoring boy she fell in love with in High School. He’d chased after her, loving everything about her: ponderous breasts, generous curves and uncomplicated, smiling nature. But over the years, he’d become a man who regarded her with contempt, wanting her to be what she’d never been - tall, slim and flashy. And later, what she could never be again - young.

Mrs. White groaned in her sleep. Molly got out of her chair and stood looking down at the old woman. Cancer was ravaging her puny frame, but her giant spirit had found its way to a graceful acceptance. Molly had learned a lot about life just watching her. She loved coming here every day; reading to the patients, running to the pharmacy, or just talking with them. But her nights were empty and she dreaded the holidays. Her married friends had drifted away, calling infrequently to see how she was and to suggest luncheons that rarely materialized. And her best friend, Florence, had already left the city to spend Christmas with her parents. Molly felt tired and so much older than her fifty-five years. She sighed and squared her shoulders. No sense feeling sorry for herself. She’d go home, order her favorite Chinese meal and crack open a bottle of chardonnay. Such meager pleasures, she thought. Maybe she’d go to bed early, touch herself and fantasize about a lover and a night full of creative, bold and relentless sex. She smiled wryly. She hadn’t so much as kissed a man since her divorce and was coming to accept that her romantic life was over. She left the room and started down the hall toward the elevators. It was 9:25 PM on Christmas Eve and a desolate loneliness fell down around her like weighted snow.

The sound of raised voices caught her attention.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Corbett. I know how much you were looking forward to going home, but the doctors don’t want you rattling around in your house alone during the holidays. Christmas is an emotionally stressful time! I’m truly sorry,” she said again, before bustling out of the room.

“What’s the problem?” Molly liked working with Sally. Of all the nurses, she was the one who went furthest out on a limb for her patients. “That poor man was packed and all ready to go home for the holidays when his worthless son called – didn’t even drop by – called to say that he was off to Hawaii for the holidays. I could have killed him. His dad was so disappointed. How much can one man take? He slaved all his life, amassed a small fortune, and lost his wife last year, very week he retired. Then, six weeks ago, he had a heart attack. He’s recovered wonderfully and his son had promised to take him home for the holidays. But, no such luck! I’m so disgusted with that boy. Anyway, I’ve got a new husband to think about. I can’t make it my problem.”

“Maybe, I should go in and talk to him awhile. I’m in no hurry.”

“That would be wonderful,” Sally said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you and if he needs anything, page me. I’m on duty until twelve.” Sally led the way back into his room. “Mr. Corbett, I’d like you to meet my friend, Molly. Come Molly, meet Mr. Corbett.”

Molly followed Sally over to the window where Mr. Corbett sat in his wheelchair. He was a distinguished looking man with a shock of thick white hair, a tidy moustache and a handsomely sculpted face. She extended her hand. “How are you . . . ”

Mr. Corbett stared at Molly, his mouth slack and gaping, and then collapsed over himself, wailing with grief. Molly stared at him helplessly.

“That’s all right, Mr. Corbett,” Sally encouraged. “That’s been coming for a long time. Just get it out.” She turned and pulled Molly aside. “They say he hasn’t cried; not over his wife’s death or his own illness. This is the best thing for him. Just comfort him, if you can.”

Molly walked over to his side, but her returned presence seemed to renew his distress.

“You’re her!” He gesticulated wildly toward his bed. “Different, but the same!”

Sally crossed to the photograph sitting on his bedside table. She examined it and held it up for Molly to see. Molly gasped. She was looking into her own face. The body was different, slender and tall, but the face was the spitting image of her own.

“They say that everybody has a twin walking around somewhere, but I’ve never seen anything like this. Perhaps, you’d better go, Molly.”

“No, don’t go!” Mr. Corbett got out of his chair and moved over to the bed. He took the picture out of Sally’s hand and looked from it to Molly and back again. “Come sit,” he said, patting the bed beside him. “Sit with me.”

“I think you’d better lie down, Mr. Corbett. I want to check your pressure.”

Sally busied herself checking Mr. Corbett’s vital signs. Molly gazed out of the window at snow falling softly over a huge decorated Christmas tree. It was lovely. Molly wondered about Mr. Corbett’s wife. She looked so cool and detached in the photo. What was she really like? Were they passionately in love?

“He’s fine, Molly. He’d like to talk to you awhile. Stay if you’d like. I have to check on some other patients.”

Sally left and Molly drew a chair up to his bedside.

“I must apologize for that outburst. I’m not usually so demonstrative, but your appearance gave me quite a shock.”

“I understand Mr. Corbett.” Molly felt a strong connection between them; as if they were already more than friends.

“Call me Charles.”

Molly found herself blushing. His resonant voice titillated her like butterflies in flight on Eros’ wings. Charles might be lying in a hospital bed, but he had all the grace and attractiveness of a nobleman on horseback. Molly didn’t know what was happening to her, but it was important. She had no past or future; only this moment, here in this room, responding mightily to this stranger. Her skin tingled and she was conscious of a delicious pulsing in her pussy, a stirring she remembered from long, long ago.

“Tell me about yourself.”

Charles took her hand. His felt warm, soft and firm. Molly felt protected like she had never felt with Bob. She began to talk about herself, her marriage, her divorce, about her dreams and disappointments. She talked about how much she loved her days here, ministering to the sick; about how lonely were her nights. She was a hurricane of emotions unleashed and she couldn’t stop talking. She heard thoughts that she didn’t know she had and felt passions that were no longer familiar.

Charles released her hand, adjusted his bed and sat up. “Come,” he said, patting the bed beside him. “I want to be as I feel. I want to be closer to you.” Molly got out of her chair and sat facing him on the bed. Her heart pounded as he took her hand in both his own. She felt like they were stars in a wonderful movie and the rest of the world was their audience. “Our lives haven’t been that different. My wife only looked like you. Unlike with you, marriage and commitment wasn’t the most important thing to her, my making money was. Even when I got tired of working so hard and decided to retire, she wanted me to sell the business, not turn it over to my son. When she died suddenly it was like a statement of how unhappy she was with my decisions. I’ve been struggling with the guilt ever since.”

“Don’t you dare,” Molly chastised, with all the vehemence of an old and dear friend. “You had every right to retire and she should have been anxious to travel, to spend precious time with you.”

“You’re very pretty when you’re upset,” Charles chuckled.

The light from the bedside lamp looked suddenly soft; the room very romantic. Molly could feel Charles’ eyes on her breasts. She could see the tell-tale lift under the sheets and she felt young and very beautiful. She listened as Charles told her the story of his life, about what had inspired and disappointed him. He told her about discovering that he was no longer in love, but deciding never to break up his family. He talked and talked and Molly listened. She felt her nipples tingle as she strained to hear, not only the words, but the meanings between them that had no words. And her breasts; Charles couldn’t keep his sparkling eyes off her chest and for the first time in a long time, Molly loved them. They were no longer ponderous and unattractive mounds of flesh. They were the seeming object of Charles’ desire. And so, she loved them.

Molly felt a tugging on her arm, followed by a clumsy shifting of bodies and was soon lost in the arms of the man she’d just met. His kiss was soft, but probing. She began to fall into an emotional abyss for which there’d be no excusing. She felt a hunger building. It was an awesome hunger; her pussy dripped with need. Goosebumps were springing up all over her skin. She found her tongue invading his mouth; warning him wordlessly that he was on dangerous ground, that he’d ignited a flame that would not be controlled. Molly fell into him, squirming, rubbing and beating her huge breasts against him. She gloried in his ecstatic moans.

“Why don’t we close the door?” Charles panted. Molly hurried to the door and closed it. “Would you mind taking off your jacket?” He spoke shyly. He was a boy again.

Molly took off her jacket and tossed it on the chair. She thrust her huge breasts forward proudly and turned slightly to afford the most impressive view of the shelf they created. Her white lacy bra was clearly outlined beneath the white turtleneck. As she climbed back on the bed, she pulled its length self-consciously down over her pot belly. Charles rubbed her belly as tenderly as if she were carrying his child. “You’re beautiful, woman,” he whispered, his warm breath exciting her ear. “May I look at them?”

Molly looked at his flushed face. He was as vulnerable and horny as a teenager. “Yes, they’re here for you. Look at them.” She cupped her breasts, offering them provocatively for his pleasure. He raised his gaze slowly, drinking in their size, shape, extended nipples and areole. He mewled like a hungry infant. Molly watched the pole of his great horniness tent the sheet obscenely. She felt his excitement in her long, hard nipples and pulsing, teased clit. Charles groaned and thrust his face into her cleavage. “I’m sorry, I can’t help myself.”

Pre-cum oozed out of him and stained the sheets. He began to suckle her nipple through the cotton of her jersey. He nibbled and bit and suckled some more. Molly held him close with one hand, but guided his hand between her quaking legs with the other. She was a volcano already spewing lava. He began to rub her clit through her slacks and she thrust and manipulated herself against his knowing hands. They began to kiss and then fuck with their lips and tongues and teeth, a primitive joining of too long denied desires. He rubbed her pussy and she stroked and teased his sheeted cock. They held on as long as they could, but soon they erupted, panting and weeping, in the grandest of grand orgasms.

They lay together for awhile, in a hug, sealing themselves off from the world. Eventually, Molly eased up and kissed his cheek. Without a word, she went into the bathroom and wet his washcloth. She placed it against her cheek to test its temperature. She came back and cleaned him as a mother would wash the tender skin of a newborn. Charles lay back, smiling peacefully. Molly returned to the bathroom and cleaned herself up, as best she could. Her undies and slacks were wet and smelled of pungent sex. She didn’t mind. Perfectly happy, she went back to the bed and snuggled into Charles’ arms.
They didn’t hear the door open.

“Well, well, well,” Sally laughed. “What have we here?”

Charles and Molly didn’t spring apart like teenagers. They uncurled slowly like ribbons dancing in slow motion from their maypole. “What have we here?” Molly repeated the question, looking deep into Charles’ eyes. The words she had read to Mrs. White from Browning’s Sonnet 20 came back to her: Beloved, my Beloved, when I think …

After a few lines Charles joined in the recitation. Molly fell silent, basking in the glow of his words:

No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,--why, thus I drink
Of life's great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,--nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing!

“Oh my,” Sally interrupted, giggling self consciously, “my shift is over and so is this romantic tryst, unless you intend to take him home with you.”

Her words fell between Charles and Molly like a life support.

“Could I?” Molly spun around to face Sally. “Could we?” She looked back at Charles who was already scrambling out of bed like a child on Christmas morn.

“I don’t see why not,” Sally said thoughtfully. “The doctor’s did sign for your discharge, but you’d have to be back in a week for a check up. Let me go and see what’s up.”

They sat side by side, hardly breathing. Ten minutes seemed like hours.

“You’re free to go but there’s a message from your son. He’s arranged for you to fly to Hawaii in the morning.”

“I’ll be going home with Molly, if she’ll have me.”

“I’ll have you.”

“So be it,” Sally said. “You two are my Christmas miracle; a gift for the taking. Now go take it and have a wonderful holiday.”

There was a group hug and then Sally broke the circle, leaving Molly and Charles alone to get on with their whole new life.