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Helping Handsthis story is part of the FanClub (fm:older women/men, 6024 words) [1/2] show all parts

Author: pandsal Picture in profile
Added: Jul 24 2008Views / Reads: 2555 / 1924 [75%]Part vote: 9.38 (13 votes)
Following the death of his wife, a widower with very limited experience is introduced to a whole range of exciting new encounters
 


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Next month I shall be sixty-seven years old. Before then there will be the fifth anniversary of the day my darling Dorothy was taken from me. A merciful release, said people who had known of her illness; and so it was. I still think of her, of course, and that is why I cannot help feeling just a little guilty about the turn my life has taken in the intervening years.

Sex was never that important to Dorothy. At any rate, not once our early ardour had dwindled. And somehow I suppose I just adopted her way of thinking. There were stories in the papers about something they called ‘the sexual revolution' but I never felt it applied to us. Certainly not as we grew older. Darby and Joan who used to be Jack and Jill, as the song puts it.

So how would Dorothy feel if she knew the things I get up to nowadays? If she can look down and see me ... in action, as it were, she would surely be scandalised at first; I hope she would come to realise that I have found a new way of life that is very good for me. Dorothy's memory is on my conscience, I have to admit, but I have to balance that against the excitement, the fulfilment that each new day promises. Thrills quite unlike any she ever experienced.

It all began quite quickly. Only a few weeks after the funeral I was in the garden at the front of my cottage tending my roses: there's a pale mauve variety, called Compassion, I'm fond of, and a yellow one ...

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