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The uphill climbs were torture for me, she would lift her bum from the saddle, powering the pedals harder, but this only served to allow me to glimpse the outline of her pussy lips from behind, her muscled buttocks swaying side to side with each pedal stroke. With the sun on our backs, I could make out her white and black spotted knickers hugging her mesmerizing buttocks. More than once I came close to crashing into her. She had me horny as hell, pre-cum making a mess in my shorts. The next break we took after a couple more hours in the saddle. We sat very close together, our bare legs touching each other as we tried to communicate. Teresa was very amicable; she liked to touch my arm as we talked, laughing heartily and smiling continuously. We managed to understand that we were both having a few months away from life, we liked music and films, and just being quiet, but that is as deep as it went. Personally I was here because I wanted time by myself, so it kind of worked out nice. There was no question that he would come or that he would drop everything and come later if I wanted him to. So that afternoon I got in my car and headed off to Francis’ place, knowing exactly what my conscious brain and half of my feelings told me I wanted to get from the meeting. Yet after going through so much, we really had not learnt enough. (Maybe that’s unfair to Pete. Pete’s the first to admit his faults, but in this instance it was me who hadn’t learned enough.)If I’m totally honest, I drove across town with two very different sets of thoughts and emotions. At one level I wanted to tell Francis exactly what I thought of him and his actions, and to make him to do something practical to make recompense. But bubbling below the surface was the desire and maybe even need for one more last physical and emotional ‘goodbye’ for the man I was grieving for. The man who I thought I knew. The volunteer at the shelter, the kind and caring oncologist. The man who had died at the hospital.
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