Touch

It had been a while since they touched. Since they touched each other. In intimate ways. Their history was one of months of exploration, first of exploring the boundaries that separated them, then of exploring each other without separation. But now there were boundaries again, and the exploration was of the limits imposed by those boundaries. He spoke so many words to her, that he exhausted her. She found it hard to listen. So many of the words were painful. She wanted him. He wanted her. But she felt she could not have him, and should not have him, for different reasons. He was not available to be had, she thought, and she did not want to hurt him, or hurt herself. She did not want to be ?the other?. She did not want her life to be a secret. She...she had many reasons which she felt, and which she tried to convey to him. Yes, she wanted him. She needed him. But she felt she had to do without it for now. And she could not say how long "now" would last. So the exploration stopped. He still spoke to her. That was his way. His way was of words, of exploring through words. And this was not her way. She listened patiently. And then impatiently. He was pushing with his words. It was his way to explore - no longer through touch, but through his words. He sought to understand, so he spoke. And she listened, but it wore her down. Not her resolve, but her strength. She grew tired and could no longer hold her head up and listen. She needed rest. And she sat in the chair, in the flickering light of a silent television. And he sat beside her in a chair, bathed in the same light, talking, and then seeing she had fallen asleep, he stopped talking. He looked at her in that artificial electronic glow, the wavering light alternately creating definition and shadows. She was still beautiful to him, even with boundaries. The wants. The needs. They were still there. The light. The dark. Both defined the two as they sat together, one aware, the other now distant in her sleep. He knew that she must rest, and he hesitated to wake her, to rouse her from this peace and tell her to go to her bed and get a proper place for her slumber. He hesitated because of how perfect her sleep seemed. How even in her state of unawareness, she still projected the boundaries, and he hesitated to touch her, even to rouse her. But he did not want to see her sleep in a chair. Still dressed from her day at work, sleeping upright in that chair. He rose from his chair and turned off the television. He lowered the window blinds in the living room where they sat, and he looked at her. He was not a big man, and he felt inadequate at his thought of lifting her and carrying her to her bed. He would surely wake her as he struggled to lift her, but he persisted in feeling she should be in her bed. So he pushed. He pushed the chair from the living room and into her bedroom. Slowly. Carefully. Quietly. So as not to rouse her from her perfect rest. And he pushed the chair to the side of her bed. And gathering all that he had within him, he lifted her from the chair and onto her bed. It was not easy for him, but he found the strength to do this, to do something for her that was touch and yet still within the boundaries. He rolled her onto her bed, and covered her with her blankets. Making sure her head gently lay on her pillows. And he crossed a boundary by gently stroking her hair, only once, and whispering to her "good night." It was late, perhaps closer to midnight than he had imagined at first, and he knew he should go. She had not invited him to stay the night. And that was one of her reasons. For wanting but not being able to have. She knew he had to be elsewhere, and when she thought of that, she drew no pleasure from the thought of him belonging elsewhere. When she wanted him, she wanted him to belong there. Beside her. With no restrictions. But...there was always a but. And so she knew he had to leave. But...once, months earlier, she had given him a key. Back then she had thought of his touch differently. She wanted him to be able to come to her, in the night or the early hours of the morning, and to crawl into bed beside her as she slept. And to touch her. So he had a key. He had never used it. He had always respected her privacy. Her space. And he never came into her home without asking first. And waiting for her words to appear on the small black screen of his telephone. "Door is open." But this night he remembered the key. And he left her alone in her bed, in her house, and used the key to lock the door behind himself. To leave her alone in her boundaries on this late Friday night. To leave her locked inside her feelings, and not to touch her. So he left. And he returned to where he was supposed to be, just as she had described it. Not to where he wanted to be. He left behind him, he left in that bed, the better part of himself. He left behind his soul and his desire, and just his body returned to where she said he had to go. The night was long as it was short. Only a few hours, but he could not sleep. Only a few hours, but they seemed more. The second hand on his clock, moving deliberately, and he could count each second. Seeing how sixty turned into one minute, and how each minute slowly turned one hour into the next. And all the while it was just his body, just his eyes, which kept watch on the clock. And all the while, he remained behind in her bedroom, imagining her lying there, alone, protected from his touch by the boundaries of the words "should" and "cannot". The night was short. Cut short by his separation. He had made his appearance, he had shown up to where he should be, but now, as the clock moved him closer to morning, he could not bursa escort keep himself separated. His body and soul needed to re-unite. He remembered the key, and he knew he had to return, and re-unite the body with the soul. He took his leave, as he had on previous mornings. On previous Saturday mornings when he had read the words "Door is open" and then entered her sanctuary. But this morning he did not wait for those words. He was not going to cross her boundaries, but he simply needed to return and to make himself whole again. He could not leave her alone without making sure. He was not certain what he needed to check, but he had to see her. To convince himself, perhaps, that what he had done a few hours earlier was real. That he had pushed her chair to her bedroom, and had placed her in her bed, to rest. To rest from his words. To regain her strength, which she so desperately wanted. She needed that strength to maintain her boundaries. She felt that she had to. He drove to her. And stood at her door, and listened. No sound. No television. No lights. Just silence. And he took a chance that she would not feel he had crossed the boundary by returning, and that she would see his actions for what they were. That he was simply doing what he felt he should do, after leaving her alone, and not saying goodnight. After leaving her alone, and her being unaware of what he had done. After leaving her alone. He entered her house again, and removed his shoes. And he quietly walked to her bedroom, and saw her lying alone in her bed, just as he had left her. And he wanted to lay beside her, almost as a dog would sleep on its master's bed, to simply keep watch and protect her. So he removed his jeans and his shirt, and lay down on the bed wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, still dressed, but more appropriate for bed. And he quietly lay down on the bed beside her, careful not to touch her. Careful to leave space between them, to honor her boundary. And he lay down, and simply watched over her, fighting his own tiredness to stay awake and watch over her. And his body was now re-united with his soul, as he watched her sleep. As he watched his friend alone in her boundary, he felt at peace, knowing that his words were no longer necessary. Just his presence. I don't know how I got here in bed. All I remember is him talking to me. On and on, the same words. He doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that I know what he is saying and that he doesn't have to say it again. So he keeps on talking. I'll let him, though. He has put up with my shit. My silence at times. So his way is different, and I'll just let him talk. And eventually he'll get it. He has no faith in me, sometimes I think that. So I think that's why he talks so much. He has no faith that I do want him. That I do desire him. That it is as hard for me to resist him as it is for him to be resisted. Maybe harder, because I have to show the strength and resist. He has no faith that everything we have done together meant something to me. Means so much to me still. He has no faith in me, I think, because he pushes me. Too much. So impatient. So little faith that I...he doesn't believe the depth of what I am feeling, just that I don't or can't express it to him the same way. I don't want to be hurt. I don't want to hurt him. I can't have him the way I want. I can't be to him what he wants. But he thinks that I am saying no to him, when if he listened...if he had faith...he would know that I am saying no to myself. And not to him. And that I am leaving the future open, because... But he wants the future now. And I don't know. So I am careful of what I say. I am careful of not saying things which would hurt him. Or me. And he doesn't get it. He doesn't get that I understand him, and that I am not trying to push him away. Just that I am trying to be true to myself. He lay beside her, feeling no warmth from her body, because he had been careful to create that space between them on the bed. He watched her, as her chest gently rose and fell with her breath, as her face lay there motionless but not expressionless. As he watched her, he wondered what she thought about, what went on inside of her as she slept. As she dreamt. He watched her and tried to imagine her thoughts, but he too was tired, and he fell asleep beside her, losing the battle to his exhaustion, to the too few hours of sleep he has had during the weeks before. He fell asleep, and he lay there, on his back and uncovered by the blankets he had spread over her alone. He lay there open to the night, and his body and soul, re-united, surrendered to his own dreams. How did I get into bed? I don't remember getting up from the living room and coming here. And I am still in my clothes. I always change into my pajamas. Holy shit! He's in bed beside me. How did he get here too? Holy fucking shit! Took off his pants too, lying next to me in his underwear. Damn, I'm already wet thinking about his underwear. He has no fucking clue how horny I still get thinking about when we used to make love. Damn, I am wet. I can't. I'm not that woman. I don't want to be that woman. I need to matter. To be. Not to be invisible. Not to be perceived as ?the other?. I can't. Doesn't he get that? Is he so fucking selfish or so fucking stupid? What does he want from me? Friends don't do what we have been doing, and all I can be is his friend. But...watching him lying there. I can't believe he's asleep on my bed, in his underwear. What the fuck is he doing? He shouldn't be here. He's supposed to be elsewhere. Where he has to be right now. What time is it? Five fucking thirty? Can't believe he spent the bursa escort bayan night on my bed. Shit. This isn't going to be good. Mmmmm...I know those boxer shorts so well. He always had them on when he was wearing a suit. Monday to Friday, when he came over, it was boxers. Briefs on the weekend. What day is it? Saturday morning. So it should be briefs. But if he spent the night...ok, that explains the boxers. So sexy on him. He's got to know that I'm still feeling it. That when I see him, it takes all I've got not to give in to him. Not to say yes when he wants to touch me. So sexy the way his legs emerge from the boxers. The same legs he wraps around me when we fuck. The white undershirt too. I wish I could tell him how sexy that is too. In a nerdy kind of way. But I love that about him. He's not a Greek god, that's for sure. But he is real. In an ordinary way, he's so sexy. To me, at least. I guess if I can find him sexy, then maybe he's not just feeding me a line when he calls me sexy. But I'm not. He just makes me feel sexy when he touches me, and when he pays attention to me. I don't really matter in his life - I can't matter - but he makes me feel like I do, even when it's just when we lie together naked. I can't. I shouldn't. I can't. He snored a little bit. She had heard it once before. The time they did spend the whole night together. The one time he had fallen asleep without one foot on the ground and one eye on the clock. And so he snored a little this time, lying beside her, because he had nothing left to fight. He surrendered to his exhaustion completely, and he was unaware of where he was, or that he lay beside her. I can't. Fuck! He's got a fucking hard-on. The tip is sticking out of the fly on his boxers. I can't. How can I look at his cock sticking out of his boxers? The other night, when he was over, I wouldn't let him see me naked while I put on my pajamas, and now I'm looking at the tip of his hard cock sticking out of his shorts. Mmmmm...I am so damn wet, though. I love his cock. I love the way he would tease me, putting the tip in between my pussy lips, getting the tip wet with my...oh fuck, I love it when he teases my pussy. He gets so hard. Even the tip feels hard, yet it is so soft and delicious. Ok, I have to get up and change. Put on my pajamas. I'm getting so wet, I can't just lie here in my work clothes. How the hell did I get in bed anyway like this? Not like he could carry me in here. He'd get a hernia from me...ok, another hernia from me. Hehehe. Fuck, giggling again like a schoolgirl. I must be tired. She rose from the bed and went into her bathroom. Brushed her teeth. Peed. Changed into her pajamas in there, away from his closed eyes. Looked at herself in the mirror and wondered how he could find her desirable. In her bed, he still snored, motionless. She returned and lay down beside him, resting on her elbow and watching him. He must be horny. It's been a while since he's cum. Ok, maybe there was the one night he jacked off at his home, that he told me about. When was that? A week? And I played with my vibrator on the phone for him? A week and a half? Two weeks? Fuck, he must be horny. His cock looks so hard now, just the tip, and is that...damn, it looks like something wet on the tip. He's leaking, he's so hard. I don't think I've tasted his cum for a while. The last few times, he's tasted me. He's fucked me too. But I'm not sure when the last time was that I took his cock in my mouth and tasted his cum. He doesn't know how much I like that. I don't know why, but I do. Ok, I did. I can't anymore. But that is so sexy, seeing the tip with some cum on it now. What if I just touched the cum? Not his cock, but just took my pinky and touched the cum and then tasted it from my finger. What if I do that? He's asleep. He won't know. I will. Slippery slope. I can't. I want it but I can't. But just one little drop of cum. Mmmm...I so fucking want to taste it. To be naughty and he won't know. Payback, maybe. Who knows what he did while I was asleep. He probably grabbed a feel of my ass. He so fucking worships my ass. Don't know why. It's fat. Too big. And it's an ass. I don't know how he puts his tongue...ewwww. I so want that cum. I know I can't, but I want it. I want to touch it and feel its slipperiness. I want to feel its wetness and then taste it. Just one little drop and one little taste. Get it out of my system, and then move on. No harm. He won't know. I will and I'll have to deal with it. But not him. He won?t know. Mmmmm...I am so wet. Fuck, I'm touching myself without even realizing it. My finger smells like my pussy. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Even when he's asleep. Even when I can't. I don't know why, but he makes me wet. If only he knew... Mmmmm...I need my toy. But the sound will wake him up. But I need it. I need his cock inside me, but I'll have to use my toy. I'll use it with the power off and just slide it inside of me. But I have the real thing next to me too. So unfair. So fucking unfair. I want him inside me. I want him to cum inside of me. I want to feel his cock filling me, while his hands play with my breasts. I want it. I can't. I so fucking want it. I'm making myself crazy. I need to be touched. But I can't. Ok. Just do it. Oh, god, that feels so good. Oh fuck. That one little drop of cum. I don't know whether I should taste it or rub it on my nipple. The way he does with his cum sometimes. Oh that feels so naughty, now that I've done it. Now that I have this one drop of cum on my pinky. Oh fuck. Mmmm...it tastes the way I remember it. Oh fuck. I want more. I want his cum inside me. I want him to taste my wetness escort bursa and his cum mixed together after we fuck. I want it. Mmmmm....holy fuck. Why can't I stop this? Why? I can't. But I want to. Let me just touch him again, the way I used to after we fucked. Just softly play with his cock. So soft he won't wake up. He won't even feel it. Damn, his cock is so hard even when he's asleep. He feels so soft too. So gentle. I loved the way he feels inside of me, the way he is so hard and stretches me, and yet even when he fucks me hard, he is still so soft and gentle with me. Even when he bites me, it hurts, but it is still not hurtful. So soft and so hard. So many feelings at once. Mmmm...I can't believe I'm stroking his cock while he's asleep. So slowly, I don't want to wake him. Maybe I can coax some more cum out of him. Just a small drop on the tip again. Just a small taste. I can't do this. I shouldn't do this. But I am doing this. Fuck it! So not fair. Why can't I just do it? When I want. When he wants. So not fair. I hate this. I hate the way his cock makes me feel. So not fair! I love the feel of his skin, smooth as my hand slowly stretches it up and then down on his shaft, the way his skin bunches up near the head when I stroke up, and how long and lean and smooth it is when I stroke down. How his pubic hair is so sexy on him - he asked me if I wanted him to shave it, and I told him to fuck off, that it looks better with the hair. I love when the edge of my finger brushes against it. So soft and it tickles a bit. And such a contrast to the way his cock feels in my hand. And I love the way, after we fuck, his pubic hair is all wet from the two of us. Mmmmm, I can't believe I'm touching him this way, and he's still sleeping. Fuck, I'd love to feel him inside of me. I can't. Shouldn't. Not even this. But he's asleep and nobody will know. Not even him. Oh god, I'm so wet. Still. Even more than before. I just want to squeeze my legs together and feel...I don't know what I want to feel anymore. So wet. My pussy is on fire and I keep imagining what he feels like inside me. Or the feel of his tongue on me. His lips. His lips sucking my clit into his mouth, as he gently spreads my lips with his fingers. Oh, yeah...when he runs his tongue up and down between my lips. He has no idea. And even when he licks me along the outside edge of my lips, close to my inner thighs. He has no idea. How his warm wet tongue feels, and then the cool tingling after his tongue leaves that spot and moves on to another spot. Mmmm...it has been so long since he tasted me. He must be going crazy, not tasting me. But I can't let him do that. No matter how much I want it. Or he wants it. I can't. He's still so hard in my hand. No cum yet. How long do I have to stroke him before I get my reward? Hehehe...scrunching his cock up in my hand...my toy...my warm, soft and hard toy. Damn. Didn't even realize it but my other hand has been on my pussy while I'm stroking him. My fingers are so wet and...mmmm...they smell like me and...oh god, I love to taste myself. That must be weird for him when I do that, but it makes me feel closer to him. Like I get a sense of what he feels when he sticks his finger inside my pussy and then sucks off my wetness from his finger. He has no idea how that makes me feel. Makes me feel so sexy. So desirable. So naughty. Like when he just reaches into my pants and fingers me quickly, just to get a quick taste. He may like it too, but he has no idea how much I like it when he tastes me. My fingers are so wet. I can feel my pussy lips so swollen, so wanting. My pussy wants to be filled. It wants to feel something hard, stretching it. It wants his cock in it. Can't. Mmmm...I want something inside me. I need to get off. It's just building too much, and I have to get off. I have to get something. I'm just so unfinished this way. She released his hardness from her hand, and gently lifted herself up from the bed, and walked over to the other side, where her dresser stood. She reached inside the top drawer, toward the back, and found a toy, the new one that he had bought her. The new one that she first used just about two weeks ago. And the one she first used while he listened on the phone, as he sat alone in his car. As he sat motionless, unable to touch himself where he wanted to, unable to share in her pleasure except to listen. As she said how she imagined him inside her, as she said that she wished it was his cock, and not the toy, inside of her. She pulled out the toy, and as she walked back to her side of the bed, she slipped off her pajama shorts, and crawled back into bed, covering her naked lower body with her blankets. He still lay there on her bed, his hardness now fully withdrawn through the fly of his boxer shorts, in the open air with a hint of his pubic hair showing, catching some of the dim light coming through her window from the street lamps outside. So soft and brown and curly, she thought. She lay down on her back and in one hand again took his hardness, and slowly she began to stroke him, lightly brushing against his pubic hair. With her other hand, she took her toy, and placed the tip at the opening of her wet lips, and she spread her legs apart, bringing her knees up. She was so wet, so ready, so open - the toy plunged deep within her, no resistance being met. Oh god...I don't dare turn on the power on this thing...but it feels so good when it's on, but I don't want to wake him up with the noise. Shit. This is so damn not fair. Two cocks in my hands and still not what I want. One real, but I can't. One I can, but it's not real. Oh fuck, but it feels so good inside me. Makes me remember when he fucked me last, how thick and hard he was inside of me. How he did not stop, even after he came inside me, how he just kept moving in me, filling me, thrusting in me, with my wetness and his cum making him slide in me so easily.