Unrequited

We lived in the basement at a mission in Baltimore.

We lived in a small apartment near the college where I taught in Ohio.

We practically shared her tiny dorm room.

We were together. Sometimes. Never. Always?

Never.

Touching her hand, I saw it, though. Saw it all.

That no matter where we were, we'd be together. We'd be in love.

Her face sunk when she found out I had a girlfriend. Perhaps I shouldn't have told her ... and gotten rid of the girl.

She sent a concerned email when she met my soon-to-be-wife. Was everything ok, she wondered?

No. Clearly, it wasn't. Because a wedding was planned, but it was not with her.

I'm not even sure I can write this. Or that I should.

I'd open an email from her, and all would melt away.

I'd see her and my heart would leap.

With the benefit of time, I can see events that would have happened.

I can see a future.

And I can see that after I let her go, my life took a path. One I desperately tried to escape. Those attempts at escape. They hurt the most. Leading me in unfamiliar directions -- away from the man who loved (still loves) her.

10 years ago, I had it all worked out. I'd move away. I'd start all over. Even go back to college.

I'd find a way to bring her along. Or, invite her out once I'd been established.

And wasn't that always the problem? Instead of taking a the moment when it came, I had to create the circumstances to make it perfect...and then, the moment never came.

Instead of asking her to marry me right then, the moment I knew, I waited. It wasn't right. It couldn't be right.

I've felt that intensity ...or something very close one other time. Since she left. Just once. There are probably maybe one or two or three in the world for whom each of us has such a connection. So, I've met my second.

But instead of using the lesson of M to guide me... I've become more guarded, more afraid. More careful in my execution of life.

I don't really know why I'm doing this. Writing this. But I keep thinking it. And it haunts me.

Not just because I may have saved her...but because I could have saved myself. Could have been the me I needed to be. Could have been me.

I think she loved me. I feel like she did. Maybe that's what causes the pain. I can never know, now. I could ask her sister, but I don't want to bring up that topic. Though I want to hear those words: M loved you.

But that's selfish. And painful. And won't change the reality.

All I can do now is this: Monica, I love you.

Can she hear me? Does she know?

Midday Cravings

Guest blogger Lexi on some office naughtiness:

The day was tedious…dragging minute by minute…

She was already distracted by the thought of their last tryst. It was completely happenstance that they ran into each other in the seldom used stairwell of their office building. It must have been mutual understanding; when their eyes met, pupils dilated. With little more than a scan of the upper and lower staircases, he pulled her into a corner and kissed her ferociously. She met his onslaught with equal vigor, gripping his crisp button-down in her fists as their tongues entwined.

He ran his hands down her back and cupped her firm ass in his hands before they heard a door click open above them. Startled, but smirking with knowing naughtiness, they smoothed their hair and clothes and went separately, without a word. She knew she would see him again. They were friends outside of work; they’d engaged in innocent flirtation here and there, but only acted that one time…

Now, she thought, should be the day. She sent him a quick text… “stairs…5”

No sooner than she arrived at their spot did he appear. He grabbed her hand and led her to the bottom most stairwell, where there was a generous space underneath in which no one could be seen from the doors on either side of the hall.

Feeling the rush of nervous excitement and the telltale clenching of the muscles between her legs, she knew the possibilities of this encounter would be too sweet. He pulled her into the dark crevice and pressed her front against the wall; she reached out and braced her hands on the cold cement brick. The warmth against her back made her yearn for him. She arched into his groin, feeling his arousal through thin khaki.

His hands traveled around the waistband of her pants, and un-slipped the hook closure, sliding his hand quickly into her lace panties.

She stifled a gasp as he whispered “oh my god, you’re so wet… you feel so good.” His fingers traversed the smooth, wet curves of her womanhood, entering her with 2 fingers as he wrapped his other hand over her mouth.

It felt so forbidden, but oh so good. The adrenaline compounded with his skillful circling motions sent her over the edge. She could fuck him, right here in the stairwell and not give a damn. Of course there was no time for that…surely their 15 minutes was nearly up. She felt herself edging on the brink of orgasm. He kissed the soft spot behind her ear and bit gently into her neck. His hand slipped from her mouth and found the low neckline of her shirt. Gruffly, he reached into her bra and caressed her breast, feeling her nipple harden in his palm. He let out a soft groan as he flexed his hips into her backside, working with the motion of his fingers sliding in and out.

As he tugged her nipple she came. Every muscle inside her clenched and flexed around him, dreaming of his member thrusting into her. Her mouth fell open in a silent cry of pleasure as her head rocked back onto his shoulder.

Looking down at his hand as he withdrew it, she glimpsed at his watch, noticing they only had 2 minutes left before they were each expected back to their respective areas. She re-clasped her pants and wiped the wrinkles and dust from her shirt. She turned quickly, looking from his still prominent erection to his eyes, biting her lip mischievously. Grabbing him in one hand, she leaned close to kiss him on the cheek, and whispered “I’ve got you next time.”

Next time. Oh, there would be a next time.

With a wink, she exited, leaving him to compose himself while she imagined their next encounter.

 

 

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Sydney and Thalia

Guest blogger Lexi writes about an attraction that can't be denied:

Sydney never considered herself a lesbian, even bi-curious. Maybe it was Thalia’s androgyny. Maybe it was her insistence. Maybe it was the way she looked at her like she was starving every time their eyes met.

But part of it... most of it, in fact, …was the sex.

Long after their attempt at monogamy ended, their trysts continued. Neither of them could get enough. As women, they knew exactly what women wanted... and how to stimulate just the right places at the right times. Sydney could only reason that it was a woman's innate knowledge of how another woman's body operated that allowed the two of them to achieve earth shattering multiple orgasms ... Every. Single. Time.

When Thalia texted her, there was always an insistence.

“Come get me when you’re free.”

Unlike a man, everything about her was soft. So the aggressive, brusque passion Sydney experienced with a man was replaced with an equally powerful sensuality that naturally permeates within a woman. Thalia’s skin was soft as her hands ran up Sydney’s ribcage to cup her breasts briefly before giving her a ravenous kiss and pulling her shirt over her head.

She showered soft kisses along Sydney’s neck, from earlobe to clavicle, gently embracing her waist as her lips traveled south to her navel. Goosebumps rose on Sydney’s skin in anticipation when Thalia looked up at her through her eyelashes. She deftly released the button on her jeans with one hand and leaned down to kiss the sensitive spot on Sydneys hip, close enough to her pubis to make her muscles clench. Thalia hooked her fingers into Syd's jeans and panties and swiftly forced them both down and off her feet.

Wearing only a blue silk bra, Sydney lay exposed under Thalia, who looked upon her body as one would look upon Aphrodite. Lust crackled in the air like electricity between them. Almost entranced, Thalia's fingers slid between Sydney’s legs, immediately finding her wet and swollen clit. Sydney released a sigh of relief as her head tipped back and her hips lifted in response to the touch she came to relish.

Thalia circled her bud with skillful fingers, occasionally leaning down to suck softly, coaxing Syd’s body into her own before inserting two fingers inside her. Syd was ready for this; she moaned and moved into her, begging for release already. Thalia paused, her fingers still buried inside Syd’s softness. Her free hand grabbed Sydney’s forearm and gently pulled, suggesting she straddle her. Sydney looked into her eyes, excitedly biting her lip. With a smirk, Thalia began a rapid come hither motion, catching Syd completely off guard.

“Oh fuck” Syd breathed. She threw her leg across Thalia's groin and ground her pussy against her hand. Thalia took Syd's nipple into her mouth and sucked hard, gently twisting her other nipple between her fingers. Syd was lost in ecstasy, writhing against the exquisite friction of bodies and Thalia's relentless stroking of her sweetest spot. The combination sent her over the edge. She was coming apart as Thalia released her, pressed her body down into the seat, and ravenously pushed her knees to either side, wrapping her body underneath Sydney. Abruptly she pounded her fingers into Syd's pussy and pumped, stroking and tapping her g spot each time. She pressed on Sydney's mound as she sucked and licked tight circles around her clit, feeling her core tighten with her mounting orgasm.

Sydney came with a scream, sweat covering her in a sheen across her body. She convulsed as the orgasms rippled through her being; Thalia coaxing and milking her body for its entirety. There was never an abrupt stop, making it all the more savory as she took her lovers' body to the brink, and tenderly cajoled her back. So unlike a man, but oh so satisfying.

 

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Dangerous Pleasures

A submission from a new reader... thanks to K for her work on this:

Dangerous Pleasures

Something about the affirmation, and the risk, and the convergence of male and female energy made her yearn for new male encounters… The static in the air from sexual attraction, and the ignition of a flame when new bodies touched... Everything was new; every kiss, every drop of sweat, every hitched breath was charming – and the risk of mundaneity was null when you commit to non-commitment.

There is something inherently macabre about lovers meeting anonymously; placing trust in photographs and text messages, but finding solace in the fact that they’re temporary, and the enraptured payoff always worthwhile. This is the preference when you are a collector of experiences, and an addict for euphoria.

There was no use for names when she opened the door in her silken thigh length robe. They both knew the arrangement. He was beautiful; a picture of male physique: Broad shouldered, clean shaven, and outwardly confident. She had to wonder how she ever landed this deal; but in truth it was easy…

The drive toward mutual need.

As soon as they were behind closed doors, passion erupted from silence. He embraced her, heat emanating through layers of silk and cotton. As they kissed and familiarized themselves with each other’s bodies, he pulled her robe down over her shoulders and exposed her taut, perky breasts. She felt her nipples, stiffened by arousal, press against the firmness of his chest. He grabbed a fist of her hair at the nape of her neck and kissed her with seductive force. Her vision blurred from the intensity with which the encounter began; she felt tipsy with heady arousal.

Guiding her backward by her hair, he led her to the edge of the bed. Untying her robe, he grazed his thumb over her breasts, giving each nipple sensuous flicks of his tongue. She moans, moist from the aggressive hold on her hair and the sharp sensation of his tongue on her breasts. She needs him inside her. Such a primal need, she squirms against his hardened cock, still enveloped by denim. She feels him throb between her thighs, confirming his desire for her body, for his release.

When he releases her to use both his hands to grasp her hips, she frees herself from the sleeves of the robe, allowing the dim light to cast shadows on her full body. He relishes its newness to him, and stares wide eyed as his lips play into a smirk. When he pulls her to him she catches the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing the concrete slab of perfectly smooth muscle underneath. She starts a light trail of kisses from his left shoulder, down his collarbone and up the side of his neck before gently tugging his earlobe with her teeth. She is brazen now... teasing him with her tongue as she presses her breasts into him and uses her deft fingers to free his belt and then the button fly of his jeans, releasing his throbbing, perfect cock.

As she strokes, she clasps the back of his neck with her free hand, challenging his dominance and looking him in the eyes. His fingers  digging into her hips now; his breath catching as he bites down on his lower lip to will himself to last longer. With a brusque kiss, he drops his jeans and effortlessly lifts her up and onto the bed. Placing one hand on her clavicle, she obligingly arches back, offering an erotic view of her breasts and sex. Still standing, he pulls her to him with his free hand and places his member on her cleft. She is wet, anxious for the release he will give her. He strokes her swollen clit with his cock, making her moan and arch toward him. His hand locked on her throat, making blood rush to her head and send the room into a haze.

Her legs were already shaking in anticipation when he slammed his rock hard cock into her. It was a delectable fullness, with just the right edge of pain. She felt complete when connected so intimately; able to give and receive freely what each wanted so badly. She felt him stroke every hidden bundle of nerves deep inside her. He pounded into her ruthlessly, one hand gripping her hip so tightly she was sure to bruise, the other hand gripped on her throat. She was coming undone…her wetness providing perfect motivation for him to continue. She played with herself for his hungry eyes, knowing exactly what he wanted to see. Circling her clit and gently tugging on her nipples, orgasms were rippling through her body. She could barely hear his moans and animalistic growls as she found her release. This was her nirvana.

He pulled out in time for her to take him in her mouth and milk him completely. She circled her tongue around the head and grasped his balls in her hand. His legs quaked as he grabbed a fistful of her hair and filled her mouth with hot cum. She was thirsty for him in a way he had not experienced with another woman, and it sent him over the edge.

With sighs and gentle moans of ecstasy, they lay together embraced for the last few moments of their encounter, enjoying the silence of anonymity and mutual pleasure and warmth of bare skin on bare skin.

They both knew they would likely never speak again - in fact, had never actually spoken, and the understanding provided a comfortable parting. One last kiss at the door, for gratitude, for memories’ sake, and for trust, and he was gone.

The Dark Places

I am attracted to the dark places.

The places others won't go.

The buildings in the back of the alley.

The homes with broken windows.

The mold along the baseboards.

I'm attracted to the dark places.

The people they attract.

The nod from the man at the coffee shop.

Who knows where I start my morning.

Who lives alone in a hotel room.

I am attracted to the dark places.

The chipped paint. The broken boards.

The swing set falling apart.

The smell of mildew.

The cracks in the linoleum.

The room in the back.

The bed downstairs.

I may look like I've escaped.

May appear finished, sophisticated, and of another world.

But the dark places.

That's where I'm from.

That's where I'm home.

The dark places are my escape.

To a world I know and understand.

To people who know not to ask.

Anything.

They know why you're there.

They know you belong.

At least for that moment.

Maybe forever.

You never leave the dark places.

Once you've been.

They make a mark.

You can't erase it.

And if you're from those places.

If the darkness is your home.

No matter where you go

No matter what you see

You belong to the dark places

You seek them out

And they find you.

I'm attracted to the dark places.

In the parking lot

She finished her shift.

Putting sandwiches together.

Baking bread.

It was a long day.

Early morning to mid-afternoon.

She went to the gym so she could shower.

And then pulled her aging, dying SUV into a parking lot nearby.

Mostly empty.

And she was near the back.

He climbed in the backseat.

And she met him.

A kiss.

A second.

Hunger.

She wore a skirt, a button down shirt. No bra or panties.

She was blonde and tired and eager.

He was in his suit, no tie. Cuff links.

He took his shirt off. No need for any evidence.

He unzipped and removed his pants.

And sat in t-shirt and boxers as she straddled his lap.

And kissed him.

His hands removing her shirt.

Her hands rubbing him through thick cotton.

The tip of his cock peaked over his waistband.

She felt the wetness of his pre-cum

She inched closer to him as his hands moved from her breasts to her ass.

A finger penetrating her wetness

Massaging her clit.

Two fingers...

Then she was on him, on top, sliding him in

Moaning and saying his name

As he sat there, grabbing her ass

Letting her take him

Kissing her neck and breasts and lips

Their bodies together, held tight

Slowly working into sweet ecstasy

He came. Hard. Deep inside her.

And they held each other.

And sat in silence.

She moved off of him.

And handed him his pants.

He buttoned up his shirt.

And kissed her on the lips.

And got out of the car.

Back to his.

She went back to the gym. Took another shower.

And drove home.

Angels....

That Ed Sheeran song.

The one about crack.

About the angel.

I sat in the parking lot of the public library... the dark, damp garage

And I cried.

I was the strange man who'd left my scent, who'd achieved a release

I was on top of her

And then I was not

And there was an envelope and a smile

I don't know what she needed

I don't think it was drugs

It didn't matter

she was always clean and had a job

But she needed something

And invited me in once a week

I guess there were probably others

I was an 11 AM on Thursday

Maybe it was just me

Maybe what was in the envelope once a week was enough

I cried

Because rather than connect with a real human... rather than dig in and open up

I paid for time

for the use of her

she was generous with her time... there wasn't a limit once I arrived

Except one time when her roommate texted to say she was leaving class early

Then I had to go

I learned from her

And she said it helped

The envelopes

And she seemed to enjoy our time

But when she messaged me once and said: "I just want to fuck you."

I thought: she needs some money.

And it became messy in my mind...

More than a transaction but less than a friend

She had a boyfriend.

A guy I'd known a few years back, but hadn't seen in some time

We talked about him once

And about how important it was for this to be quiet

A secret

A day in the week that was our time

And I wondered if they did the things we did -- she and her boyfriend

And I wondered if she liked his fucking better than mine

And I wondered what it would be like ... to be her boyfriend instead of a day on her calendar

And I cried

Because I couldn't imagine this being what she really wanted... a boyfriend and a man who met her once a week

That her need was so bad she'd provide this service no matter what else

Or was she lonely, too?

Was there more than a transaction for her after a time?

She moved.

On with her life.

Miles away.

I wished her a Merry Christmas... she wished me a Happy New Year

And that was the last we corresponded

But one day. After we were together.

I went to the library

And I heard that damn song

And I cried