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By Strickland83

 

He slipped into the room, gliding silently like a cat. Barely a sound, a wisp of a breeze. She was lying there as he knew heíd find her. She was asleep on her back, wearing just a pair of panties Ė nothing else. He smiled because that was how he expected to find her. She always slept like that. She shifted slightly in her sleep, the gentlest of moans escaping her lips. A heavy breath, perhaps. A fragment of a dream that wasnít quite enough to disturb her sleep.

He could smell the lavender she always put in the laundry. The sheets always smelled of lavender, of her. It was just another thing to remind him. He also recognized the clutter on the nightstand Ė framed photographs, a half empty glass of water, a box of Kleenex; on the floor, a heap of yesterdayís clothes.

He grabbed the hem of his white t-shirt and pulled it over his head. He didnít care where it landed when he tossed it. That didnít matter. What mattered was touching her flesh. His hands went to the button on his white jeans. He fumbled just an instant before the button was undone. The zipper made the slightest of sound as he worked it down, then he pushed his pants to the floor. He stepped out of them, his erection making the front of his white briefs tent. His fingers now in the waistband, he pushed those down, feeling the cool air on his cock. He was erect, painfully so, and only the touch of her would ease that pain.

He crawled onto the bed, slowly so the mattress wouldnít creak. Up on his hands and knees, he approached her. He was over her, looking down at her sleeping form. He loved watching her sleep. She was so beautiful; she had always been so beautiful. From the first time he ever saw her, his heart ached in his chest when he looked at her. He felt such passion for her that being apart was a physical discomfort. It was a something that nothing could satisfy.

Ever so softly, he bent down until his face was next to hers. He pressed his lips to that spot on her cheek just in front of her earlobe. He reveled in the softness of her skin, the warmth of body. It always made him feel so alive to touch her warm body. His lips puckered, brushing against her. He heard her breath catch in her sleep. On one level, she knew he was there.

He wanted to run his tongue down her body but he knew that would wake her. That was against the rules. He moved his face down her body a little so he could kiss her on her neck. He sought that hollow in her collar bone. He smiled again as he remembered how she liked that. She didnít wake; she didnít try to brush him away. She was dreaming and he wasnít going to disturb her. He couldnít.

Now puckering his lips over a nipple, he kissed again, savoring the touch, the taste of her body. He sucked gently on the nipple, almost too much. She sighed. Startled, he released the nipple and moved lower. A kiss over her belly button and he was able to feel her stomach react with a tremble to his touch.

As if by instinct, or practice, her legs moved further apart, making room for him. He was lying between her spread legs now, the bulge of her mound beneath her panties directly in front of him. He could smell her pussy. It was faint, but his senses were heightened. Using a touch as light as a butterfly, he gently grabbed the hem of her panties and pulled one leg opening to the side to expose her lips. Her scent was a little stronger. She knew he was there, or she was dreaming, because she was damp for him. He leaned forward, not using his tongue yet. As his nose passed over her curly hair he inhaled, savoring her special aroma. She was very wet for him.

He slowly extended his tongue, judging the distance carefully in the darkness so when he made contact it was just barely. He could feel the fine hairs tickle his tongue. He pressed a little harder, just a little, so he could press through the hair and make contact with her lips. She started, just enough to cause her to shift a little in her sleep, still on her back. He pushed harder with his tongue and her lips parted for him, moisture flowing out so he could taste it. Such strong memories the flavor brought back!

It was time; he knew there wasnít much more time. He reluctantly yet eagerly got to his knees, her splayed legs to either side of him. His cock was throbbing in anticipation, a drop of moisture beading at its tip. Still holding the leg opening of her panties to one side, he maneuvered carefully so the tip pressed against her lips. When he felt the wet warmth of her pussy, he gasped, hurriedly putting the free hand to his mouth to stifle the sound. He pressed forward and felt her opening not yet yielding to him.

She was tight, or he was large, or perhaps both. She was wet enough, though. As he pressed, he felt her opening slip a little, then yield, then welcome the intruder. He slid into her body, biting his lower lip so he wouldnít cry out at the intense pleasure he felt. She was enveloping him, and her lubrication was flowing freely. As he pressed in, she moaned but still didnít awaken.

He pulled back slowly, savoring the passage of each of her ridges against his shaft. Even in the semi-darkness, he could see how his shaft glistened. It had been inside her, had been lubricated by her. He pushed, entering again. He wanted to go faster but he couldnít wake her. He had to force himself to go slow. It was exquisite torture to have to take the pleasure so slowly. In and out he moved, feeling such love for the woman lying beneath him. He lowered himself on top of her just until he could feel her breasts beneath his chest and her breath against his cheek. Her breath was hot against his neck, on his cheek, and he remembered a little more. He had to be careful to keep his weight off her so he wouldnít wake her.

He dared to move a little faster, feeling her now starting to respond. As he thrust against her, she thrust back against him, but just a little. As he pulled out, she pulled away. It was a rhythm that was born of instinct.

Too soon, she started to cum. He recognized her signs and felt his own disappointment. Her breathing deepened, she moaned harder, her legs pressed against his, and he felt her flutter against him, inside. She could feel the hard intruder within her. She recognized it for what it was and began to wake.

Like ripples disturbing a pond, he vanished just as her eyes opened. She drew in a deep breath and shuddered. She felt a warm flush on her face. It had felt so real. She slid one hand between her legs, feeling herself as wet as she knew sheíd be there. She smiled and moaned, letting the other hand slide to the pillow next to hers. It was cold.

The cold and cruel reality set in, and she cried out in the darkness. No one was there to hear her. She was alone.

She blinked a few times until her eyes could focus on the clock. It was 3:18 AM. Her heart ached for him. Her body was aching for him, inside and out. She needed to talk to someone. She didnít feel right calling at such an hour but she needed to hear a voice, someone else to break the silence.

She remembered how Cathy had held her, had put her arms around her, and they had cried together. Cathy had told her to call whenever she needed someone. "I donít care what the time is. You need to talk. When youíre ready, call me. Promise." Her words had been rough, demanding. It was not a request. She had promised, standing right there in front of it. She had kept that promise, each time. She always felt guilty doing it, but she called because she needed someone.

Her hand clumsily patted the nightstand, looking for the phone. She found it and dialed the number. The phone rang five times before Cathy answered, her sleepiness evident in her voice.

"Hullo?"

"Iím sorry, Cathy," she said.

"Brenda." A pause. "You dreamed about him again, didnít you?"

Her answer was so obscured by tears that Cathy could barely recognize her saying, "Yes."

"Tell me about it." Cathyís voice, though still sleepy, was sincere.

"Oh, Cathy, it was so real. Iím wet, like he was really here. Iím soaking. He was here."

"You know thatís not possible, Brenda."

"Why?" Brenda cried.

Cathy knew it was not a response to her comment. She let Brenda cry, let her talk, let her ramble in her grief.

"If only I hadnító"

"Stop it," Cathy interrupted. "You canít do that. I wonít let you beat yourself up over this. There is nothing you could have done. It is not your fault."

"But I sent him out there, out to the store that night."

"It was a freak accident."

"But if he had only left a minute later, if I had kissed him one more time, one last time. Or not stopped him so he would have gotten there a minute earlier."

"Brenda, there is no way Iím going to let you do this to yourself. It happened and there was nothing you did to cause it."

"But why did he have to die?" Brenda asked as she cried harder.

After waiting a few seconds, Cathy answered, "I donít know." She let her friend cry for a few more seconds. "Itís only been two weeks. You shouldnít be alone. Come stay with me. Or let me come stay with you. You donít need to be alone. Not yet."

"Cathy, I have to do this. I have to get used to livingÖ without him." And that started a fresh wave of crying.

Cathy listened, her heart breaking. There was nothing but time to heal this kind of hurt. Her heart ached for Brenda, and for Frank, and for how he died. It was a stupid thing. A car ran a red light and hit him. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A minute, seconds maybe, either way and he would have survived. She cried at the funeral, devastated by the loss of her friend, but she knew her pain was inconsequential next to Brendaís. She hadnít been the one married to Frank. Why did he have to die? It was all so damn unfair. They were so happy, so perfect for each other. If ever two people were completely in love, it was Brenda and Frank. Cathy had been so happy when Brenda told her Frank had proposed. She remembered how Brenda had even called her on the second day of her honeymoon to tell her how the wedding night had gone. Cathy had known love a few times in her life but never a love like Brenda and Frank shared.

Brenda was talking about the last time she and Frank had made love. Cathy was used to them sharing intimate details of their respective love lives so that wasnít unusual. What hurt was that it was the last time Brenda would ever be with Frank. Cathy tried to be supportive. She was concerned that Brenda felt so certain Frank had been in the room each time she had dreamed about him. She was thinking maybe she should recommend that Brenda see some kind of counselor, but she hadnít figured out yet how to suggest that without angering Brenda.

"The dream always ends as I start to cum. When I wake up, Iím alone and itís over. Itís so frustrating."

"Brenda, you know there are ways to help with thatÖ frustration."

"I canít do that. I want him."

"Heís not there anymore, Brenda. You have to know that."

Brenda thought about that for a moment. A silent pause filled the phone.

"I know," she finally said, resignation coloring her speech. "I know."

There was no hope for anything other than memories and dreams. The memories and dreams were all she had anymore.

The two friends talked for over an hour. Finally, Brenda was ready to hang up.

"Are you sure youíre okay?" Cathy asked. "Let me come over."

"No, I need to do this," she said, sounding a little stronger. "Iím going back to sleep. Goodnight, and thanks."

"Call me next time," Cathy urged.

"I will. Goodnight."

And with that, Brenda hung up the phone. The crying had passed, now only the emptiness remained. There was just one way to get over that. She closed her eyes, cleared her mind and tried to go to sleep. Her mind was a storm of memories, of better times, of times when she wasnít so lonely. Her breath came ragged for a little while, before she relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

Frank had been waiting in the shadows, watching her. Tears streaked down his face as he watched her in pain. He knew heíd eventually have to leave. The other side beckoned, but he wasnít ready to leave. Not yet. He couldnít tear himself away from her. And he knew Brenda wasnít ready to let go yet, either.

As Brenda slipped into sleep, she began to dream. Taking his clue, Frank moved out of the shadows and to his sleeping wife. Until he was ready to go on, he would continue to be here every night, to visit.

 

The End

This story is Copyright © 2007 by Strickland83. All rights reserved.

 

 

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