She gave him a son, he remembers the night well, carved into his memory as if on some unconscious level he new they had created a life. Images flooded his mind, his face buried into the nape of her neck, his cock throbbing deep inside of her, it was the true definition of eroticism. He tried to shake the images but her sweat soaked red hair and bouncing breasts would be forever etched into his mind. In a hazy flashback he was smiling down into her beautiful blue eyes, watered over and full of desire. Every piece of poetry he had ever read made perfect sense in that moment, she was life.
He shook his head to clear his thoughts aware of the flush that had overtaken him. He watched her drinking at the bar surrounded by their friends, twenty years had passed and she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Oh how he desired to see her carrying his child. How did her body change while carrying their son? He would have worshiped her pregnant, never letting her doubt her unwavering beauty. Was the birth painful, was she alone? He should have been by her side kissing her forehead and praising her along as she endured the pain of bringing their son into this world. Did she breast feed him? Some masculine urge to see his child being fed from his wife's swollen breasts overtook him. Beverly was the mother of his child, it took the breath right out of his chest. He rubbed a hand over his head forcing his mind to focus on the conversations around him. Aching to reach out and touch her, he walks from behind the bar he stands behind her stool and places his hand on her back. She leans into his touch and looks up smiling. He knew, this was what he had been looking for his whole life.