"Smeds-MarathonRunner" - читать интересную книгу автора (Smeds Dave)

She was riding him again, much, much later, when his climax arrived. The
ejaculation seemed to originate from the tips of his toes and the surface of his
scalp, rushing to his penis and into her with flash-flood suddenness and force.
As his hips collapsed to the mattress, he thought he would faint.

"Well!" she said, arching back and purring, still straddled across him. "What'll
we do tomorrow?"

He opened his eyes, peering under heavy lids at her beaming, gratified smile.
His body still basked in post-orgasmic tremors, but his mind was working again.
He replayed her comment from earlier in the evening. "I love doing new things,
don't you?"

The night lost the transcendence that came from banishing thirty-five years of
abstinence. In its place rose the shame of having read the signs wrong. Neil
choked down his disappointment. He began to count the days until Thea would no
longer consider him to be "the new thing."

Felice pranced across the tennis court, playing aggressively, forcing Neil to
call upon old tricks to hold his own. Though small and fine-boned, she whacked
the ball over the net with blistering vigor. The sweat flew from NeWs hair as he
lunged to catch her serve. The upper quarter of his racquet got there just in
time, sending the ball arcing lazily to her side.

She caught it before the bounce, slamming it into a far corner of his court, far
out of his reach.

"C'mon, Neil," she yelled. "You can move those hunky thighs faster than that."

He stuck out his tongue, and on her next serve, fed her the ball straight back
to her face -- another old trick. Startled, her backhand counterstroke fell
apart.

"Barbarian!" she called cheerfully.

Neil grinned, enjoying the steady pounding of his heart, the burn in his legs.
But she'd gotten him with the comment about sluggishness. He was trying hard,
but whenever he flung himself full-tilt across the court, he recalled the time,
at age 74, when a knee had locked up without warning, sending him to the asphalt
so hard he broke his nose. He'd given up tennis at that point.

His body was good now. He should trust it.

He hated seeming less than ideal in front of Felice. She seemed like just the
person to ease the braises left by his three-week liaison with Thea. The winter
had been long and lonely.

In other areas of his life, he was adjusting. He'd resumed his architectural
career. He'd moved out of Matthew's apartment into a place of his own. Dr. Rosen
seemed satisfied with his progress. Yet this new world remained flat without a