Roller Coaster part four
Posted: 29 Jan 2026 19:55
Roller Coaster part four - finale
The spring fuck-fest had gone well. The bigger she got the more banging she seemed to need. And she just couldn't keep her hands off her crack. Whether she was on her back or on her tits she would always help herself along. She had become a little loose in the process of expanding but she had a simple remedy for that. She reached down and held everything nice and tight if I showed any signs of flagging. A side show that I loved to see and still consult mentally from time to time. One evening she distractedly announced she was getting married again.
I must have looked a little crestfallen because she immediately said,
"Did you ever love me?"
This was potentially dangerous territory. The binary answer she was obviously expecting could open up a whole can of worms, possibly even end the fun. But I had the footwork for her.
"I never stopped," I declared solemnly, looking deep into her eyes. It convinced me, anyway. She looked a bit annoyed at having failed to anticipate the get out of jail card. But she was never a strategist and she didn't know where to go with it any more so she dropped it, no doubt hoping to return to the subject one day. Throughout the years I'd known her she would regularly refer to my "lack of commitment." Rather than acknowledge, "too fucking right babes!" I would always manage to spin out some nonsense about circumstances and events and one day our time would come you wait and see. We both accepted it was horseshit but she knew she was never going to out fence me so she would just let out a sigh of frustration and a few minutes later I'd be splashing about in her crack again after she'd forgotten about it until the next opportunity.
On the Friday, once again she went off to the airport. A few months later she sent me a picture of her wedding and so she was now established on No 3, or maybe it was No 4. I was losing track.
We kept in touch by email because texts were too visible for her now. Still, it was six years until I saw her again. Jacobite was in town to deal with some crisis. Financial or personal, I can't remember and didn't much care, there was always something. She suggested lunch and when I arrived she had already ordered on my tab a nice bottle of red wine. I had work I couldn't get away from in the afternoon but she asked if we could meet in the evening, stressing it needed to be for "at least a couple of hours." Damnably she had picked the one night of the week she was free and on which I couldn't be free so that turned into a missed opportunity to cover old ground.
"Next time, maybe?" I ventured.
"You've been saying that shit for years," she laughed.
More years passed with only contact by email. But pretty saucy emails so the marriage had obviously settled down to basics. About six or seven years after the last lunch I got another email asking if I could help her out financially. I was still inclined to help her for all the fun she'd given me over something like 20 years and more. However, after probing some I discovered that she was in serious financial trouble and it could bounce back if it became obvious she had a benefactor. And she wouldn't keep a secret for more time than it took to run upstairs. So this time I said no. To keep the door ajar I told her it didn't mean I would never help but this one had too many risks.
Another five years went by before the next crisis arose. Her mom had passed away and she was in town to deal with the formalities. The emails I got from her that week were pretty morbid, as you might expect. For the first time ever, neither of us suggested meeting up. Having sorted out the paperwork and such like she told me she was setting off for home next day in her car.
A few weeks later I was lucky enough to get tickets for a tennis grand slam event and on that day her favourite male was playing. The one for whom every girl in the stadium would have shed her knickers, not excluding anyone. I emailed Jacobite to invite her. More in hope than expectation because I didn't think she'd be able to cover it at home. To my surprise I got no reply. Not even an acknowledgement that I was a lucky bastard. Her fave won his match and actually won the tournament.
I went off on holiday to France and kept sending Jacobite the occasional email. Answer came there none. Very strange. I started searching newspaper reports in her area for any word of her but I failed uncover any bad news. Or any news at all. And that was then I realised I had been searching under the wrong name. I'd been using her maiden name to which she'd reverted after divorce No 1. But of course she'd changed it again after marrying No 3 or No 4, whichever it was. When I searched again under this name the words leaped from the screen and stunned me. Jacobite had crashed her car on the way home that fateful day and had been pronounced dead at the scene.
Dead? Jacobite? Dead? Nah, that can't be right. But of course it was right, or true anyway, and Jaco has been gone this past while. I never had any contacts that might be her. No mysterious encounters. I've never seen anyone who looks like her. Which is not really that surprising. I don't even have one photograph because we both knew the risks. I realised my life was never going to produce another Jacobite experience and slowly I got used to the idea that while the roller coaster is over it's still running and always will be. It's just different now.
The spring fuck-fest had gone well. The bigger she got the more banging she seemed to need. And she just couldn't keep her hands off her crack. Whether she was on her back or on her tits she would always help herself along. She had become a little loose in the process of expanding but she had a simple remedy for that. She reached down and held everything nice and tight if I showed any signs of flagging. A side show that I loved to see and still consult mentally from time to time. One evening she distractedly announced she was getting married again.
I must have looked a little crestfallen because she immediately said,
"Did you ever love me?"
This was potentially dangerous territory. The binary answer she was obviously expecting could open up a whole can of worms, possibly even end the fun. But I had the footwork for her.
"I never stopped," I declared solemnly, looking deep into her eyes. It convinced me, anyway. She looked a bit annoyed at having failed to anticipate the get out of jail card. But she was never a strategist and she didn't know where to go with it any more so she dropped it, no doubt hoping to return to the subject one day. Throughout the years I'd known her she would regularly refer to my "lack of commitment." Rather than acknowledge, "too fucking right babes!" I would always manage to spin out some nonsense about circumstances and events and one day our time would come you wait and see. We both accepted it was horseshit but she knew she was never going to out fence me so she would just let out a sigh of frustration and a few minutes later I'd be splashing about in her crack again after she'd forgotten about it until the next opportunity.
On the Friday, once again she went off to the airport. A few months later she sent me a picture of her wedding and so she was now established on No 3, or maybe it was No 4. I was losing track.
We kept in touch by email because texts were too visible for her now. Still, it was six years until I saw her again. Jacobite was in town to deal with some crisis. Financial or personal, I can't remember and didn't much care, there was always something. She suggested lunch and when I arrived she had already ordered on my tab a nice bottle of red wine. I had work I couldn't get away from in the afternoon but she asked if we could meet in the evening, stressing it needed to be for "at least a couple of hours." Damnably she had picked the one night of the week she was free and on which I couldn't be free so that turned into a missed opportunity to cover old ground.
"Next time, maybe?" I ventured.
"You've been saying that shit for years," she laughed.
More years passed with only contact by email. But pretty saucy emails so the marriage had obviously settled down to basics. About six or seven years after the last lunch I got another email asking if I could help her out financially. I was still inclined to help her for all the fun she'd given me over something like 20 years and more. However, after probing some I discovered that she was in serious financial trouble and it could bounce back if it became obvious she had a benefactor. And she wouldn't keep a secret for more time than it took to run upstairs. So this time I said no. To keep the door ajar I told her it didn't mean I would never help but this one had too many risks.
Another five years went by before the next crisis arose. Her mom had passed away and she was in town to deal with the formalities. The emails I got from her that week were pretty morbid, as you might expect. For the first time ever, neither of us suggested meeting up. Having sorted out the paperwork and such like she told me she was setting off for home next day in her car.
A few weeks later I was lucky enough to get tickets for a tennis grand slam event and on that day her favourite male was playing. The one for whom every girl in the stadium would have shed her knickers, not excluding anyone. I emailed Jacobite to invite her. More in hope than expectation because I didn't think she'd be able to cover it at home. To my surprise I got no reply. Not even an acknowledgement that I was a lucky bastard. Her fave won his match and actually won the tournament.
I went off on holiday to France and kept sending Jacobite the occasional email. Answer came there none. Very strange. I started searching newspaper reports in her area for any word of her but I failed uncover any bad news. Or any news at all. And that was then I realised I had been searching under the wrong name. I'd been using her maiden name to which she'd reverted after divorce No 1. But of course she'd changed it again after marrying No 3 or No 4, whichever it was. When I searched again under this name the words leaped from the screen and stunned me. Jacobite had crashed her car on the way home that fateful day and had been pronounced dead at the scene.
Dead? Jacobite? Dead? Nah, that can't be right. But of course it was right, or true anyway, and Jaco has been gone this past while. I never had any contacts that might be her. No mysterious encounters. I've never seen anyone who looks like her. Which is not really that surprising. I don't even have one photograph because we both knew the risks. I realised my life was never going to produce another Jacobite experience and slowly I got used to the idea that while the roller coaster is over it's still running and always will be. It's just different now.