A series of bizarre coincidences killed Charlie Edwards’ husband, Graham. No one could have foreseen it, how can anyone see into the future? That fateful deadly day, began much like so many previous, insignificant weekdays. There had been many other, much more significant days in their lives; the day they met, fell in love, first had sex, were engaged, got married, moved into their first house in Witney, their second, present home in Banbury, along with a few other special days; all of these held some significance. This Tuesday would be significant for Graham because he would die, violently, agonisingly, slowly, and for Charlie, who would begin to die along with him.
Graham had become, over the previous several years, a well-respected member of the community he served. He helped to run a clinic of five General Practitioners in Banbury, his home-town. He also attended the Psychiatric Clinic in the Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford two mornings a week. Charlie held a partner’s position in a highly regarded design studio in Banbury. Milton & Quest Design Studio specialised in graphics and design layups in high-end women’s fashion magazines. Their clients included some of the most prestigious monthly magazines. The Richardson’s lived in a large detached house surrounded by a large, neatly kept garden.
The significant day they met occurred over seven years ago when they were both at University in Oxford. She had just begun a post-graduate Master’s degree in English Literature and History while Graham attended a post-graduate course in Clinical Psychology. They collided whilst cycling around Radcliffe Square, which is not, in fact, square but a large oval. They were both on their way back from lectures. Students cycle in both directions around the square; collisions are frequent. They tangled with each other as they tried to cross paths. He fell off, she did not. She helped him up and he thanked her profusely. It echoed the corniest “love at first sight” story. From then on, they were inseparable.
Charlie moved in with Graham after just six weeks of going out together every day. They lived for nearly two years on his sixty-foot canal boat, “Tinkerbelle” moored on the River Cherwell. They moved the boat around to avoid paying rent, making good use of the rivers and canals criss-crossing Oxford. They lived a simple life in the cramped conditions on the boat, learning to live in close proximity with each other. They cycled many miles, exploring the countryside around the city. They quickly found the more remote and private spots where they made love in every location that lent itself to the activity. They marked them on a large-scale map they kept pinned inside the door of the boat. After two years, they found nineteen such places, some of them used on a regular basis.
This particular Tuesday, this soon to be significant day in both their lives, began by following a familiar and skilfully honed pattern learned over the years of their fellowship.
Charlie lay soundly and peacefully asleep in the seven feet square bed. At a quarter to seven, Graham’s wristwatch vibrated on his arm. Charlie lay naked under the warm duvet. She had her back toward him. Graham moved closer. He slid his strong hands across her silken skin, circling the firm globes of her ass, down her tapering legs, gliding over her back then around and over her shoulders to hold and gently squeeze the full globes of her breasts. He gently rolled her nipples to erection. Travesti Using his skilled fingers to arouse her slowly from her slumber, he continued until Charlie turned onto her back and let her long, firm legs slide apart. Charlie pushed and kicked the duvet down around her ankles.
He began a more intimate caress, slowly up the inside of her thighs, over her flat belly, around and under her full breasts, then down again. He slid his right hand over the neatly trimmed pale-blonde hair between her legs. His middle finger dipped between the folds of soft flesh. She allowed him complete control, not moving, not stirring under his expert ministrations. She began the long climb along the winding path, slowly but surely to an orgasm. His fingers worked their magic on her bud, sliding back and forth over the slick skin. His finger, just the middle finger at first, slid gently inside the now moist lips. He dipped as a hummingbird would, delicately, with the slightest vibration. He took just enough of the clear fluid from inside her to keep the lubrication around her clitoris just perfect. He maintained a steady and unhurried rhythm, just the way she liked. She taught him well in the early years of their relationship. His thumb pressed and rubbed on and around the erect nub of flesh, the centre of her whole universe right now.
Charlie lazily drew her long legs up and apart, her heels rising off the bed, her hands gripping her knees, pulling them wide apart, and offering him the best possible access to her sex. She used her elbows and shoulders to lever her hips upwards as the final moments approached. Charlie gazed deep into his eyes as she began to come, frowning slightly in intense concentration. She cried quietly, a keen wailing noise and hissed through clenched teeth as she shuddered under his fingers. She felt the moment approach, the flashing pulse of heat from deep within, the electric shock of pleasure that ripped through her consciousness. Her head went back, her neck tightened, her breathing stopped, her chest suffused an orgasmic red. His fingers flew, her clitoris exploded, her breasts shuddered in time to her own violent vibration. Her body curled, she looked closely at Graham’s fingers doing their magic on her clitoris. Her wail rose to a scream. She shook, hissing the words,
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” as she came in great flashing bursts of pleasure. She scissored her legs closed, her body shaking and shuddering with the intensity of her orgasm. She fell back onto the bed. She clamped his hand captive as she squeezed every ounce of pleasure from him.
Charlie lay there, a small death, almost unconscious from the lack of breath. Moments later she gasped, a huge inflow of life giving air. She floated dreamily for a moment in the comforting warmth of their Victorian four-poster bed. Graham rested on his left elbow and studied her face, smiling at the intensity and depth of her pleasure.
Graham’s reward followed soon afterwards. When she had recovered, she gently pushed him onto his back.
“Your turn.”
She positioned herself to the left side of his hips, gripped his now rigid cock in her left hand and took what remained above her fingers into her warm mouth. The fellatio he favoured differed slightly from the one and only other man she had performed with, in that he enjoyed most the friction of her teeth on his penis. Occasionally she swirled her tongue around the swollen head, meanwhile using her left Antalya Travesti hand to masturbate him into her mouth, gently and rhythmically.
Charlie took his cock deep into her mouth, pushing hard against the head with her throat. She swirled her tongue and slid the swollen head against her teeth. All the while, her fingers gently encircled the remaining tube of rigid flesh, pumping slowly, up and down, up and down. Such a technique brought the desired result within just a few short minutes, developed in the face of them both having to get up at seven o’clock to begin busy days ahead. He began to shudder slightly; his hands gripped her silky, ash blonde hair in great bunches. He came with a low moan, jetting over her teeth and into her mouth. She pumped slowly, sucking hard, draining him completely; the resulting emission she gleefully swallowed. It had become a shared joke considering her otherwise careful control of the amount of protein she normally consumed. They afforded themselves about two minutes of stroking, kissing and quiet conversation before the bedside alarm clock shattered the still peace in the room. Time to get up! Today, unlike most other days, Graham leaned over Charlie and kissed her, long and hard. He licked her nipples for a moment and stroked her wet pussy. He looked up and with a huge grin on his handsome face, asked her,
“Do you want scrambled or boiled?”
He did not normally ask; he simply cooked whatever he fancied.
“Er, I don’t mind. Boiled, I suppose.”
Charlie declined the proffered second boiled egg as she had already eaten enough protein for one day, she explained mischievously.
“I’ll eat it then. I’ve got time.”
The events that combined to kill Graham Edwards began in two different places, completely unrelated. One was the fact that Graham had stopped to kiss and fondle Charlie for a minute or so and ask her how she wanted her eggs. This put him over a minute and twenty seconds behind his usual schedule. Eating the third egg delayed him another minute and a half; total delay, two minutes and fifty seconds. The other, so far unrelated event began when Chaz Milligan, twenty-four and only recently hired, got dressed rather more slowly than usual in his two bedroom terraced house in Oxford. He did not want to disturb his pregnant wife, expecting their first child in a month or so. He left himself no spare time for his journey to work. He was unaware of the depth of the frost until he stepped outside the front door into the early morning darkness. He scraped the windows clean with a credit card, a laborious process at the best of times. He drove more slowly than normal to the parcel-sorting depot just off the M 40, a few miles north of Oxford, where he worked.
“Sorry I’m late Guv. The ice was bad.” explained Chaz.
“Get out of bed earlier tomorrow or you will need another job.”
“Yes, Guv. Won’t happen again.” replied Chaz.
Chaz started his delivery route behind schedule. Van E144G left the depot five and a half minutes late. He had to be back at the depot at eleven a.m. for a refill and to begin his second route at midday. He rushed off to his first drop, an address in Brill, a small village some seven miles away. His second delivery was in Banbury, a large, six-kilogram box marked ‘Urgent’. Inside were essential medical supplies for the clinic.
Graham left for his practice a little before four minutes to eight that morning. Bursa Travesti He normally left at about seven minutes to eight. It was only a short walk from Orchard House to the surgery, barely a hundred yards. The prolonged kiss, the extra egg, the low, bright sun just beginning to glare over the eastern horizon, the late driver and the icy road all combined in a deadly and unforeseen cocktail of events that killed Graham. The brown parcel delivery van took the bend approaching the clinic just a little too fast. Chaz Milligan, trying to make up lost time on his route, did not see the icy patch hidden in the shadow of the adjacent building as the sun glared through his wind-shield. The resulting skid as he braked for the bend left him without directional control. He mounted the curb at around thirty-five miles an hour, bounced up a foot or so into the air as the front tires hit the curb and slammed into the doctor.
The impact crushed Graham against the solid stone wall surrounding the clinic’s car park. Graham’s thighs, pelvis, spine and lower ribs disintegrated into a hundred pieces, crushed by the three-ton impact. Immediate, massive and lethal damage to his spleen, his guts, his kidneys, and liver, combined with the internal and external loss of blood and the traumatic shock left him with less than thirty minutes to live. The staff in the clinic rushed out to administer what assistance they could while they waited for the ambulance to arrive. The hospital in Banbury was close to the surgery and it arrived within five minutes. It made no difference. He died on the operating table as surgeons fought a losing battle with his torn and shattered body. They tried to contact his wife but she switched her cell to silent while she drove to the office on the other side of town. She did not want to be tempted to answer it while driving. Graham had seen enough accident victims who were texting or on the phone and drummed it into her; no phone while you drive.
When the news of his death reached the small group waiting in the hospital lobby, the atmosphere became one of despair and sadness. One of the partners at the clinic took it upon himself to deliver the message to Charlie. Doctor Philip Mountjoy, young and inexperienced in the face of death, knew it was his duty. He had been the first on the scene outside the clinic and had stayed with him throughout the ordeal until the hospital staff had wheeled Graham into the theatre. He went because he had to. Graham had asked him to, with his last words, and made him promise to tell Charlie that he loved her. The young doctor drove to the office where Charlie worked and explained as best he could the circumstances of Graham’s death. Charlie sat quietly and listened as he described the efforts made to save her partner of more than seven years.
“Graham told me to tell you that he loves you and he wants you to go and look at the boats this weekend. He said to come in to the hospital on Sunday evening and tell him which one you’ve chosen.”
Dr. Mountjoy cried as he spoke. Charlie sobbed, once, and hid her face in her hands. She had only just arrived at the office a few minutes earlier. She said nothing as she took her warm winter coat and let Philip drive her to the hospital mortuary to see her husband for the last time. She nodded as the attendant asked her if this was Graham Arthur Edwards. She stared with red-rimmed eyes at her dead husband for a full five minutes. No one spoke or moved.
‘My dead husband. My husband is dead, how can this be true? How can Graham be dead? Graham, I need you. We are going to look at boats this weekend. We are going on holiday with Julia and Ian next month. What will I do now, Graham, what will I do now?’