My Summer of Love

The title of this piece doesn’t, unfortunately, describe how my summer has gone so far, for I might better describe it as “My Summer of Lovelessness”. Somehow the feelings of love I have for the diminishing number of beautiful and desirable women I know are not reciprocated by them. Is it their contemplation of my 111 year-old body which puts them off?

I should explain that “My Summer of Love” is a film I saw quite recently. It is about two teenaged girls – from family backgrounds as disparate as you can imagine – who meet one sunny summer’s day in the English countryside. One is from the landed gentry, the posh daughter of a mater and pater whose palatial home has acres of lawned gardens and a tennis court. The other is an orphan – a very working-class inarticulate orphan – who lives in a village pub run by her brother, a quondam inmate of one of Her Majesty’s prisons who has turned to Christ for comfort and succour.

The first meeting between the two girls is accidental. The poor one – the one who lives in the country pub – has fallen off her bicycle, and as she lies dazed on the ground she looks up to see a horse, whose rider – the rich girl – is looking down at her with concern. But you can tell by how intensely they look at each other that there are stirrings of something-or-other in their gutty-wutzes.

We shouldn’t be surprised, because each is loveless and lonely in her own way. The poor girl has just been unceremoniously dumped by her boyfriend, and the rich girl lives isolatedly in a big house with her mater and pater who, being quintessentially upper-class English, are emotionally distant, though polite. So you don’t have to be, like, a rocket scientist to understand why the girls were susceptible to looks of longing from the other.

This, then, is the bare bones of “My Summer of Love”, the plot of which I won’t tell you more of lest you go see it, which I recommend you do, unless you are a Bruce Willis and Special Effects fan, in which case you should give “My Summer of Love” a miss.

But while watching “My Summer of Love” I did have……how shall I say?……..thoughts running through my old head. As I gazed at the two girls doing stuff with each other that two girls together don’t normally do unless they have extreme passion for each other, I asked myself if they were in fact lesbian? After much cogitating I concluded they weren’t, because they were looking more for emotional closeness and affection than anything else, and it just happened to transmute into something physical. And speaking generally, perhaps it is the need of women for tenderness and sensitivity in lovemaking – something most of us men don’t seem able to supply – that draws so many women together in physical relationships with each other, as happened with the two young women in the film.

I speak from personal experience because from very early on in our marriage my wife Gladys always reacted with distaste whenever I demanded my conjugal rights. She did have a close woman friend with whom she seemed a different person – smiling and laughing and touching and all of that – whenever I saw them together. One day I came home when not expected, and when I entered our bedroom there Gladys and her friend were, under the blankets entwined in a passionate embrace and I discerned from garments scattered on the floor that they were naked.

I experienced a deja vu since, as I’ve told of in a previous piece, I had once before caught Gladys in bed with one of my fellow army officers. But at least he was a man. However, when I caught Gladys with her woman friend it was as much as I could endure, for had it got around my social circle that a woman could satisfy Gladys more than I could, I would have had to commit suicide to protect my honour.

We hushed everything up so no-one outside the three of us knew what happened on that long ago afternoon in a far tropical corner of the world that formed the British Empire. It is only now, with Gladys and her friend long and safely dead, that I can speak of this. And I’ve never spoken of it since, until now, so consider yourself privileged.

My conjugal activities with Gladys more or less ceased after that, except during those times when other women weren’t around for me to slake my lust.


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