Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… I hear as my eyes slowly open. The room is blurry; I try to get some orientation as I am not sure where I am.

What has happened to me? I think.

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

I felt different; light-headed. My eyelids are so heavy and my mouth feels dry. I am not able to move. There was a weariness within me, though my mind seemed still sharp.  

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

A vision appears, and it hovers above me. I recognise the blurry image as my long passed mother.

“Follow me,” she whispers as she holds out her withered hand. I reach out and touch it. She is cold, yet I feel warmth within me.

I pull back, unsure. There is a conflict within me. Follow or not?

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

A brief thought… was it rationality? I am in a hospital, and my family is around my bed. They're holding my hand, Stella, my wife of seventy-one years. Though I could not turn my head, I noticed she was crying. Tears of joy, I think. I am alive; weak, but alive.

I try to move my fingers and squeeze her hand. Nothing happens, though I feel her touch.

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

My peripheral vision senses our two daughters, Sophia and Lilly, their partners and with them, our son, James, and his wife. I have not seen them in five years, since they moved to the USA. Where are my grandchildren? They are not here, and I question why.

I look at my family, and they all look concerned, even sad. Why?

Don’t they know I am alive? I question… My heart monitor is beeping away.

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

But I feel so weak; I try to speak. Nothing but a garbled murmur escapes my mouth. I don’t understand why there are no words.

There is movement once again. A mist swirls in the air as my mother’s hand holds mine. Warmth as she tugs me once again and I feel strangely light. I am floating and then tumbling as my mother whispers once again, “Come with me.”

This time, I do not resist.

Then there is a flash, an explosion, though strangely, no sound.

My mother is shouting, “Get into the shelter.”

I don’t know why, but I react when there is another explosion. This one is a lot closer, and this one comes with sound. I dive into the Anderson air raid shelter and safety. I recognise it as the one that we used to have in the old family home's rear garden. But that was so long ago…

Now I don’t have to think as I just know this is London, early 1944. This is my past, my memories.

Am I reliving them? I question. The answer, I am not sure.

What I see around me is very clear, almost real. My mother was now young; her blurry apparition had gone. I reach out to touch Mum, but my hand passes through her as if she were just a ghost. Yet she looks so real, and it occurs to me, it is me who is the vision. That I have no sense of touch, but I can hear, see, and smell.

There is another explosion, this time the sound rattling the shelter as I watch on. I work out that I am observing my past, and it is then that I see my sixteen-year-old self…

I am sitting there and next to me is Anna, my childhood friend and next-door neighbour. Her blonde locks cover my shoulder as she cuddles into me. Then it didn’t occur to me, but with experience, I now realise she was looking for protection from me.

The bombs raining down ever closer. Is this a half-world? I think.

To understand, I once again reach out, my hand passing through both Anna’s and my sixteen-year-old bodies.

How can that be? I ask myself, this happened so long ago, eighty years to be exact. Yet, these memories are so clear and sharp. I now remember everything about this time.

More people pile into the shelter, the sound of the explosions now all around us. There is a thud, and then a shudder as the shelter shakes. It partially collapses.

As I watch on, remembering, knowing, there are screams. My mother is shouting, “It is time to evacuate! You need to escape London.”

There is another swirl of mist and I am floating, being pulled to the countryside and the farm where I spent the last year of the Second World War as a child evacuee.

As my feet touch the ground, I see a beautiful young lady pushing her bicycle. Milly the milk girl is a very fond memory. With her husband away, she used to come to the farm where I stayed to help milk the small herd of cows.

The date is late summer 1944; the sun is high in the sky and the fields are ripe with their crops. Milly is standing there on a country track waiting for me as a Spitfire and then a Hurricane fly over. They are based at the local fighter aerodrome.

With no one seeming to know that I am there, I watch on. Then I see my young self pushing my cycle up the hill. I chuckle as I realise this is the day I lost my virginity to Milly.

For the teenage me, it turned out to be the best day of my young life.

Watching the sixteen-year-old me felt strange, almost spooky. Yet, I already knew what was about to happen. I observe Milly speaking to me, her words lost in the wind and now unimportant. With a smile, she leads me into a quiet field at the top of the hill, and in the corner, a large shady tree.

My older self notices that Millie’s brunette hair is long for this time in history. Her womanly figure is petite, yet shapely. My eyes hone in on her tight bottom, her bum cheeks trying to escape the dark shorts they are tightly clad in. As I focus, I know my teenage eyes were there long before my elderly ones.

Unquestionably, like a puppy dog, my young horny self was following her. My older self, happy to follow in their wake, unobserved, and already knowing what was about to happen. I wanted to be the voyeur and re-live that moment again when I lost my virginity. From that day on, I would call myself a man.

“Bill,” Milly said. “Help me with the blanket.”

She had called my name as clear as the day they had been spoken.

My memory, suddenly sharp, this had been pre-arranged. Milly was twenty-five, married, but very lonely as her husband was away with the war. Though I did later wonder if he knew about Milly and me, and our lustful sexual activities.       

The elderly me stood there in full view of the frisky couple, yet unseen. I silently look on, remembering and enjoying my first life-changing experience.

Milly and the younger me unfold the picnic blanket, sheltered by the tree branches. They are in a world of their own as she pulls the teenager close. They embrace and kiss, her hand already groping for his hard cock.

I catch Millie’s smile as she finds it, my younger self passively lying there. His hands seem content to just hold on to the older woman, not daring to touch her sexually.

“Let’s have a look,” Milly whispers as she undoes his shorts.

As the older me looked on, I now noticed that she did not wait for the younger me to answer. That she was eager to get her hands on me.    

“You're big, Bill!” she excitedly exclaims as Milly starts to gently handle my cock.

I grin, as I watch my younger self lying there not knowing what to do.

My memory of this day was now sharp, it felt like it had been retrieved, cleaned up and then slotted neatly into my head. Thoughts and recollections flood back. I can now remember everything about this moment.

The young Bill (me) was just realising that cocks must come in different sizes, and thinking – that big must be good. That was one of the two reasons I had that silly grin on my youthful face. The other, Milly, was now taking my BIG cock in her mouth, sucking me just like it was a lollipop.

The older Bill, my elderly self, was just a voyeur, yet knowing everything about what was going to happen. I watch the young me, my youthful cock twitching to its first female touch, my young face with a silly grin as I lay there feeling these new sexual sensations.

My ninety-six-year-old self, watching, remembering, back then I never knew that women put penises in their mouths. Or, for that matter, that cocks came in different shapes, colours and sizes. I had never seen anyone but myself naked.

That was about to change.

I observed Milly as she twirled her tongue around my young, potent cock. Unseen by me then, her face full of lust. She wanted this moment as much as my sixteen-year-old self.

As I continued to look on, grinning, I knew what was going to happen. Moments later, I watch my cock erupt; squirt after squirt as my spunk spurts and lands on the blanket.

Watching on, chuckling to myself, the young innocent me apologises to Milly. Though now, I observe there is a wry smile on Millie’s face.

“Undress me, Bill,” she warmly urges.

With a keenness, Milly places are knees on either side of me and I notice my young hands shaking as I reach for her blouse buttons. I had forgotten that, how I had suddenly felt weak knowing what was about to happen.

The blouse was quickly discarded. Milly reached behind her back and unclipped her bra.

I know my sixteen-year-old self was going to see his first pair of breasts. Yet, now, I notice something else, my eight-inch erection. My cock was still hard and ready, how I wished that would still be true in my later years.

With excitement, Milly pulls my unsure hands to her naked boobs. I play with them, my fingers exploring this uncharted territory as new sensations and cardinal thoughts pulse through me.

I notice a sigh, almost a purr coming from Millie’s lips. That was a new observation. At the time I had been too caught up in my sexual pleasure to notice or recognise she was enjoying my touch. It is only now, with a lifetime of experience, that I realised how horny she was. How much she wanted my youthful big hard cock.

With a smile, I watch Millie’s hand wrap around my ridged young prick. I am ready to cum once again.

My younger thoughts hoped that I could last longer.     

“Oh, my,” Milly grunts.

She realised that I was ready to go again, though the truth was, I had never been flaccid. 

Both my older and younger self watch Milly scutter out of her shorts and then her knickers. My younger eyes widen and stare at her dark bush. My older eyes are drawn there too, as I remember back then, I had never seen a lady’s pussy. A quick playful thought reminded me that in those days we called a lady's vagina a fanny.

Looking on, I notice my hands and fingers are not moving. They remain still… and almost as ridged as my cock.

With a warm smile, Milly giggles at my inexperienced reaction and then produces a condom.

“We need to use one of these. I don’t want any accidents,” she announces.

Yes, this had been pre-planned; she had come prepared. Both my old and young self, watch Milly roll it down my young cock and then position herself over my ridged member.

It was as I remembered. There was no ceremony, no words, just a moan of contentment as Milly slid down my erect shaft and then started to gently rock on it.

I remembered being surprised as to how tight and wet her pussy was… My older self, now chuckling as I looked down at my youthful face, there was a realisation on it that I was no longer a virgin, coupled with a desire not to cum too quickly.

Hovering there, I watch Milly and the sixteen-year-old me, fuck. She was riding my large youthful cock, moaning as she enjoyed her pleasure. It is only now that I noticed that I just lay there and did not move or try to replicate Millie’s movement. How my young eyes did nothing more than stare at her bouncing tits and that Milly was using my cock like a human dildo.

It didn’t take very long for her to cum or for me to fill the condom.

That was my first time, my first fuck, an older married woman, the sex all over in a few minutes.

However, Millie’s and my sexual story didn’t end there. We fucked again a little later that afternoon, this time with me on top and with a little more control. The older me, watching on once again.

Yes, nineteen-forty-four was the year I lost my virginity and then, as the year progressed, I went on to discover the joys and cardinal pleasures of sex. There was never any love between Milly and me. She was married and we were satisfying a mutual need during a time when life was hard.

Milly was a good teacher, and I was lucky to meet her. I learned about anal sex, and exhibitionism as we regularly fucked every time Millie’s husband was away. Our relationship was about lust, sexual experimentation and cheating. She taught me to be confident, to enjoy sex and to appreciate that women enjoyed sex too.

But as the year flashed past with swirls of mist and flurries of sexual images, I realised my time with Milly was coming to an end. As my memory faded, I heard Milly’s voice one last time…

“It is time to return to your family and London.”

As she said those words, I sensed that she could see the elderly me and I felt a cold chill as I realised Milly had long since died.

With a whirl of mist, Millie’s vision faded away. Then, as I drifted, floated in a no-man's-land, there was another brief sound… Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

Then another quick swirl of mist and the lightness returned, Milly now nothing more than a distant memory.

I floated in the darkness, then the sound of a siren and the smell of a bonfire. There was a tug on my arm. My mother, I think. But this time there is no image, and then I feel a young, dainty female hand holding mine. This feels different. A touch and fresh memories emerge in my head.

This time I willingly follow as I return to London, my family home.

It is May 8th 1945, VE Day. I am now seventeen, and there are victory bonfires, and people parting in the street. The Second World War was over.

Then I realise the hand has gone and the elderly me is once again on my own. Standing there watching what was happening as if it was just yesterday. People were drinking, and dancing on the road outside my house. There was our lecherous neighbour, old Mr Campbell, and he was hugging my mum, a large grin on his face.

My dad was there too, dancing with the elderly, Mrs Long. She looked as old as I am now, ninety-six, yet she was moving like someone half that age. Their image had me smiling, and I started to tap my foot to the tune. I wanted to dance with them.

Whatever I did, I now knew it would be unseen by any of the people in my memory.

As I started to move, I stopped as I caught a blonde mane of hair. It was Anna, and she was waiting for my seventeen-year-old self to walk down the street. She had stayed in London and survived the war, and I was due to return from the countryside, and from being an evacuee.

It is an image that made my stomach lurch and the memories around today, flood back. They are all tinged with sadness, sorrow, guilt…

Once again I remember today like it was yesterday. But this was a memory that I had tried to bury deep inside my mind. One I wasn’t sure I wanted to experience again. 

This was the next chapter in my life and it was one that even at ninety-six, I was not sure about. It still concerned me, but this was my history, the major relationship events of my past. It had me feeling a little weird, even different.

I even asked myself, could you change the events of your past?

On impulse, I shout out, “Sorry,” to the waiting Anna.

She didn’t hear, and it confirmed what I already knew. What I am seeing is nothing more than my memories, strong ones of my past life, and they cannot be altered even if I want them to be.

I didn’t know at the time that Anna was there waiting for my arrival. We were both seventeen and still learning about life.

As I stood there with Anna, my senior self looked into my memory, and at the beautiful Anna. I knew that my younger self was soon going to learn that in that year apart, she had grown up, her womanly curves now there for all to see.

Smiling, though with a feeling of guilt, I noticed that her makeup and hair were flawless, and in her hand, there was a small wrapped gift. Anna was dressed to impress, in a summer dress and it is only now that I realise she had spent hours making it. That she had done it all for me.

With sorrow, I felt a tear run down my cheek as my elderly eyes watered up. I knew what was about to happen, though on the day I was blissfully unaware.

Then in an instant, I appeared and on my arm was a young woman whom I had met on the train. For the life of me, I cannot remember her name.

As I look on, Anna sees me, then the girl, and turns. She runs into her house, unknown to my youthful self. The cocky, arrogant, seventeen-year-old me who was more interested in trying to get into this nameless girl's knickers, rather than to look around and remember my old friends, and the girl who I should have known, loved me.

Another brief swirl of mist, and it was later. I am enduring the image of me and the nameless girl in a dark alleyway. We making out, my hand now inside her knickers, my cock out, her hand wrapped around it. It was obvious we had been drinking and now we had nothing else on our minds but to get each other off.

My older self felt embarrassed, yet I now remember those teenage urges that I had long since forgotten about. I watch the nameless girl cumming on my fingers as she pumps my cock. What a waste, I think, as my seventeen-year-old self ejaculates onto the floor. How I wished I had come like that later in my life, I think.

I never saw that girl again after that night.  

With another swirl of mist, I look at my younger seventeen-year-old self. It was just a few weeks later, and I had started to work as an apprentice engineer. With a smile, I noticed that I was waiting for Anna outside the local corner shop where she now worked. This was a memory which had always stayed with me, but now it played out in front of me, just as if I was there.

I had heard from her mother about Anna waiting for my return and that she was keen on me. But it wasn’t until I saw Anna that I knew she was the girl for me. She was no longer a young girl. She had grown into a beautiful young woman and I was waiting there to ask her out.

With embarrassment, I watched myself babble as I spoke to Anna, who surprisingly smiled and said yes. My younger and even my elderly self who already knew the answer, were surprised. 

The mist swirled many times as we started dating, which turned into love and courtship. Both sets of parents were pleased and told us that we were made for each other.

I watch Anna and my younger self, date, and become a real couple. There we are in bed, her parents away, as I lovingly take her virginity. Our sex life was good, though I never mentioned Milly, and Anna never mentioned the girl she saw me with. Then we wanted to keep our secrets.

Scene after scene was being played out in front of me; time seemed to have no meaning in this visual memory world.

It was nearly four years later, with my apprenticeship finishing and my delayed, compulsory two-year conscription into the armed forces on the horizon, that Anna and I decided about our future. We got engaged to be married. It had been more of a mutual decision rather than me getting down on one knee. Our families were delighted.

I had tears in my elderly eyes as I watched on. My parents celebrated with Anna’s, they were close as we had been next-door neighbours all our lives. 

But things changed between Anna and me… doubts bubbled up.  

Anna brought up that girl and wanted to know about her and what sexually happened between us. Secrets came out. I mentioned Milly and relived that part of my life as I told Anna, wondering if our relationship was all going to unravel.

By the time I joined the RAF on my conscription, Anna and I were not a couple anymore as I found out that Anna was cheating on me. It was with an older man and it particularly hurt me as it was a neighbour who Anna knew I didn’t like.

With another swirl of the mist, I found my older self, peering into the memory of that fateful day.

As I watched on and remembered, my older self now knew that this was the only time I watched Anna with Mr Campbell.

He was the old lecherous neighbour who lived across the street from Anna and me. We all knew what he was like, touching, groping and his leering eyes trying to undress all the local women. It did not matter if they were married or not.

As I looked at this humiliating event for the second time, I realised that the younger me never moved. That I had watched in the dark through the window, the seduction of my fiancée, which was once again playing out in front of me.

My elderly self was getting the repeat, already knowing the end, and wishing that the young me had bashed down the door, punched him, and rescued her from his lustful touch.

It had been pure chance that I had seen my fiancée go through his side door, the late timing making me suspicious, though at the time I hadn’t suspected that Anna was cheating on me. There I was, my younger self, watching, taking in my girlfriend’s body as she stripped off. The older man already with his erect cock out, he was ready to fuck her.

Now my feelings were different, more titillating and sexual as I took in Anna’s naked body. Then it hurt and paralysed me. I didn’t know what to do other than cry and walk away. That was what I did after a couple of minutes, and I sat in the local park contemplating what I needed to say and do.

Perhaps, in my old age, I had become lecherous too, as I never moved when my younger self left. I stood there, of course, unseen, and watched it all. Perhaps, surprisingly I was pleased that I did as I learned things that I didn’t take the time to ask at the time.

Mr Campbell was giving Anna a lesson on how to suck his cock. His instruction reminded me of how Milly taught me. It also became obvious that this was not the first time that they had got together, as they seemed familiar with each other’s bodies. His hand holding the rear of Anna’s head as her mouth went back and forth.

I thought back, and I remembered my fiancée rarely blew me. She told me then that I was too big. It was a thought that had me looking at Mr Campbell’s cock. It was smaller than mine.

I smiled but then thought, was she practising to take mine? I quickly dismissed that idea.

Then later, I watched as she took him from the rear, in the doggy position, a way we rarely fucked. Their sex was surprisingly varied, and I felt no guilt in watching. Then, with a final thrust, her hands now resting on the sofa, he grunted and filled the condom.

It was at that point that I chose to leave them, but it was with the feeling that there was going to be a second round of sex.

With another swirl of mist, I was there, watching me and my fiancée breaking up. There was never a reason given why. We chose to keep that secret. We may have still loved each other, but there had been a growing realisation that neither of us was ready to get married.

It would be more than two years before I found love again. 

Then there is another swirl of mist and then something I didn’t expect happened. A ghostly, smiling Anna was standing there, her hand outstretched, and she touched me. As she does so, I feel her warmth, and I become aware that she can now see me. We have not been in contact since I married, and I now realise she has already passed.

“Please forgive me, Bill. We should have married as I always loved you… Come join me,” Anna whispered as her beautiful form reappeared, her blonde hair cascading down her back.   

Is she giving me a clue as to what to expect?

Then, in a twinkling, Anna fades and two young children’s ghostly faces briefly appear. I realise these are our unborn children, the ones we would have had if Anna and I had married.  

“I am sorry,” I cry out. But it was too late; Anna had disappeared in a sudden swirl of mist.

Will she be waiting for me? I question.

The whirling mist returns and as it does, I think back to Anna, my blonde fiancée. We lost touch after I married my wife, but like Milly, I will always remember her fondly. She was the first girl I ever fell in love with, and I like to think we have always carried a piece of each other’s hearts.

For me, Anna was my first love, the first woman who I desired and could have married. We were together for nearly four years before she cheated on me. With that came the realisation that both of us were not ready for marriage and commitment to each other.

Once again there is lightness, a whirl as I travel. This time I feel I know where I am going. As I float, I hear a gentle noise… Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

Then, in an inkling, another, more pleasant sound… It is the Glen Miller Band playing, “In the Mood.”

As I float down, I smile on seeing my twenty-three-year-old self dressed in my RAF uniform. I look smart and in an instant, my feeling of sorrow has been washed away. This is the night I meet my red-headed wife, Stella.

I am in a dance hall in North London. The big band was playing the tunes of the day and the dance floor was packed with couples as they danced to the music.

This was a memory which I had played so many times during my life, this night, and this very moment.

My National Service was now over, but I had chosen to stay on in the RAF and be trained to become a pilot. It was a career that I would later pursue. This was my weekend off, and I had originally planned to return home but had been persuaded by my fellow trainees to attend this local dance as they had a good band.

It proved to be the right decision.  

As I stood there, next to my twenty-three-year-old self, and glanced around, looking for her red hair. This memory had always felt like yesterday. 

I notice her, she is dancing with a female friend and she keeps looking my way. I know in a few moments she will grab my arm and pull onto the dance floor, her friend melting away.

I look on as it happens, my eyes wet with emotion, my mouth smiling and then chuckling at my twenty-three-year-old facial expression. I had never been asked to dance before!

My older self floats around the dance floor, listening in. I had become a voyeur to my past, and this was the most important night of my life. As I do so, I take in my future wife, her trim figure, and her youthful good looks.

To me, she is by far the most beautiful lady in the room.

“What is your name?” I questioned.

“Stella.”

“Like the star?” I shout out as the music stops. Everyone briefly looks at me before they start clapping. The band was taking a break.

I chuckle as I notice my face has turned as red as my future wife’s hair, but the most important thing is Stella laughing. I had made an impression with her, even if it was perhaps not the one I had wanted.

With the elderly me in tow, Stella and I went to the bar, and I bought her a white wine. Once again, I listened in on their conversation. 

“I am nearly seventeen.”

“So sixteen…” Even the youthful me noticed that she seemed unimpressed at that remark, so I quickly said, “Nearly seventeen.”

Stella smiled and though I didn’t know it then, the pattern had been already set for our future marriage.

With time having no meaning in the world of memories, my elderly self listened and watched the rest of their evening. Sometimes, I cringed, sometimes I laughed and sometimes I cried as I felt this would be the last time I relived this most personal of all my memories.

At the end of the night, with Stella thinking I was already a fighter pilot, and me thinking Stella was the most beautiful girl in the world, we said our goodbyes. There was a small kiss and an exchange of telephone numbers. Then, as we parted, we agreed to see each other the next day.

We didn’t know it then, but that was the start of our courtship as we saw each other every day we could after that.

We married as soon as Stella turned eighteen and lived in officer accommodation at the RAF base where I was stationed. With Stella’s support, I rose through the ranks, becoming both a test pilot and a Squadron Leader.

Along the way, we found the time to have three children, Stella being the perfect mum. 

On leaving the RAF, I flew commercial planes until we both retired to the south coast of England.

As for our sex life?

That night when I met her and she pulled me onto the dance floor was her first night at that dance hall. She had got in by using a fake ID.

Sex between us didn’t happen straight away. I was her first, and she wanted to be sure. She also wanted to know all about me, my past relationships, Milly and Anna. There was no jealousy, she was more inquisitive about my history and when she had heard it all; she told me…

“Bill, I am going to be the last woman you ever want or desire.”

She was right!

Stella taught me how to love again; she was both passionate and devoted to me. Our sex life only had one boundary, no third parties in our marriage bed…  

It was with that last thought that a cool mist surrounded me, and I felt a sudden chill. With it, I sensed that was my last memory. It is the one I am going to take with me.

Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

My life consisted of three meaningful relationships: Milly the older brunette, Anna the blonde, the girl who I could have easily married. But the one who meant everything to me was Stella. She was my younger, red-headed wife of seventy-one years, my friend… my soul mate.

Beep…… Beep……… Beeeeep…………… Beeeeeeeeee…

A bubble of light appears and hovers above me.

It moves closer and I realise this is the end, my life now a fading memory… then gone.

I feel something, warmth, as the light envelops me.

My wife’s soft touch, her fingers around my hand, fades… and then goes.

Death is here, taking me.

With my final breath, I mumble, “I had a good life.”

Author’s Note: This story is a work of fiction. However, it was inspired by someone who, until recently, was close to me. Their last three words on earth were, “I had a good life.”

Authors Note:- All characters engaged in sexual acts are 18+  ©2024 wxt55uk. This story may not be reproduced in any manner, without the express permission of the author.