Separate Lives Pt. 03

"Oh, I did this last year," she said quietly. "And I thought someday we'd be like this again," she added. I cocked my head to one side wonderingly.

"Or maybe I wanted us to be here, like this so much it just had to happen," she said. There were tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm glad," I said simply.

I didn't know what else to say, but it seemed that was enough. I went back to work, soaping and rinsing her thighs, calves, and feet. I came back to her pussy and soaped her mound liberally. Pressing my right middle finger inside her, I tried to dispassionately wash those parts of her inner lips and what I could reach of her vagina. It was difficult though. I didn't want to wash; I wanted to explore.

Judging by the small hunching movements Sherrie made, the little jerks when I pressed a bit deeper or found a new region to stroke…well, I could see she wanted me to explore also. But she had already indicated sheneeded the cleansing, so I did my best to concentrate on what I was doing. It wasn't easy, but I was finally done. I stood, facing my ex-wife, my soon-to-be lover once more.

She started to move close to me, half lifting her arms to wind them around my neck. I stopped her with my hand on her sternum. I was hoping my earlier inspiration was still valid.

"Now you have to do me," I told her softly. The look of hurt was washed away in an instant. There was a gleam deep down in her eyes that told me I'd gotten it right again. I was batting a thousand tonight.

She proceeded to soap my entire body from stem to stern, just as I had done her. She paid particular attention to my cock and scrotum, softly squeezing and massaging as she worked to clean me. I had to squeeze my eyes shut and not look at her while I ran some multiplication tables in my head. When I opened an eye, her lips were no more than a couple of inches from that little slit in the end of my penis and I had to start multiplying all over again. She moved on and I was sorry she did.

"Is this okay?" she asked hesitantly. She was tenderly inserting a finger inside my anus, working it in slowly while she watched my face closely.

"Uh huh," I replied. When she had her finger fully inside me, she worked it around until I'm sure she could tell from my expression that she'd found my prostate. She gently massaged it for a time while her left hand jacked my cock. When she stopped, I sighed audibly. She grinned cheerfully up at me while she cleaned her finger off.

"That's another thing—"

I stopped her with an upraised palm.

"Darling," I said, "we're going to get around to everything and we don't have to have any regrets about when we coulda, shouda, woulda…and all that. Okay, sweetheart?" She nodded. "Besides," I added. "I've lost count…but I'm going to remember all of them later," I said with a lecherous grin. She began washing me faster.

When she was finally finished, we came together for a series of long kisses and much intimate fondling. I couldn't get enough of her slightly larger breasts and I kissed them, tongued the nipples and hefted them in my hands for a while. On my knees, I licked at that smooth pussy and parted her lips to search inside. She tasted as wonderful as I remembered. More importantly, the drying effects of her soapy washing had already been overcome by abundant amounts of juices from her vagina walls. I had her dancing around on my fingers a moment later.

We decided to get out of the shower—I think just before we wrinkled up like two prunes. Kissing and hugging, we used huge, fluffy towels to pat each other dry and then dried each other's hair. I drew her into my arms for one long, steamy kiss before we walked, naked as the day we were born back into the bedroom. On the way, I turned down the rheostat control until the two lamps were putting out a dim glow.

When we got there, I pressed Sherrie down on her back at the side of the bed and spread her legs wide apart. I got down between her knees and began to kiss her inner thighs from knee to groin.

I loved to do this. I've heard of men who didn't like to make love to her woman orally, but I wasn't one of them. I loved to see my woman wriggling uncontrollable across the bed, begging me to stop—and in the next breath pleading for more. Tonight, though, Sherrie wanted very little of this.

"Honey," she urged, "come up here. I need you in me," she begged. I kept on licking at her inner labia, flicking my tongue across the little flap of flesh that hid her clitoris but she began backing away, moving until she was in the middle of the king sized bed.

She grabbed my wrists and pulled me up and onto her, bringing my head down so she could press her lips tightly to mine. I moved to the side so I could slip my right middle finger inside her. She was sopping wet; I could feel the heat surging up from her vagina. She whimpered, then moaned deep in her throat as we kissed. She pulled back, struggling to breath.

"Take me," she whispered. "Honey, I need you…please take me." My fingers continued to probe deep inside her. She was too near a climax for me to stop. I wanted to see her cum while my fingers massaged her G-spot. It had been too long. I needed to give her this pleasure.

"Nooooooo," she moaned. "Ronnie…please…I want you inside me first…please, honey."

Resting on my elbow for a moment, I struggled to get my own breath back. In my mind, I listened to the echo of what she had been saying. She wanted me to "take her" and it sounded as if I needed to do something different than the way I liked to make love. Abruptly, I knew this was as important to her as the ritual-filled shower we'd just taken. Sherrie wanted me to take her, to possess her. She needed me to make her my woman again. It struck a chord with me—maybe, there was a need for that in me too.

Supporting myself on my left hand and my knees, I took my cock in my right hand and worked it around her slit for a minute to coat it with her own juices. Slipping it a little inside her vagina, I transferred my weight to my elbows and knees. When I was in a stable position, I drove my penis inside her in one long, steady thrust. I didn't stop until I felt the tip of my cock touch her cervix with a gentle bump.

Sherrie groaned the whole time I was plunging deep inside her. When I bottomed out, she crooned soft words of love in my ear, begging me to love her. I answered, telling her I loved her more than life itself. Sherrie didn't reply directly to what I said to her; I doubt that she could have, but I know she heard them on some level.

We found a rhythm quickly, though we'd been apart for so long. She began to rock her hips from side to side, then humping up to meet my downstrokes. In a short time, the hours we'd spent together this evening all came to a culmination. Sherrie began begging me to go faster and I redoubled my efforts until I felt a slow, but relentless flood building inside my groin. The lava flowed upward, mixing with other fluids until I could feel it opening, spreading the fleshy tubes in my penis. I tried to stop it. When I couldn't, I tried to slow it down, but it had been too long coming.

When I spewed my first splash of semen inside her, I felt Sherrie jerk. Her hips worked frantically at me for a couple of seconds and then she clamped her fingers on the backside of my arms and threw her legs around my waist, tightening her grip in both places until I couldn't move. I strained to push my penis just a tiny bit deeper inside her. A second eruption of cum spurted inside her.

Sherrie bucked one final time and froze. Her head was thrown back. Her face was twisted in the agonizing pleasure of orgasm. I gave her one another spurt of sperm laden juice and a small one followed; then I was spent. Resting on shaky elbows and knees, I dragged in huge lungfuls of air. Sherrie was doing the same thing. The thighs that had held me tight against her relaxed and allowed me to move slightly, to adjust my position and rest. Gradually our breathing slowed to something approaching normal.

I wondered if there was anything more that needed to be formalized within the framework of the ritualistic coupling we'd just completed. I didn't know about that, but therewas something I wanted to tell her.

"Sherrie," I said softly, "you're my woman and I'll never let you go again, ever." She started crying almost immediately, but they were happy tears. While they flowed, she planted little butterfly kisses on my face, my chest, anything she could reach.

"I promise, darling, I'll never hurt you again. I'll die first, honey," she sobbed, "I will."

After a time, we made love again—I'd never pulled out of her; she wouldn't let me. This time we wanted it to last. We talked to each other, whispering little endearments to each other between kisses. When we climaxed this time, it was a softer, but strangely equally satisfying orgasm for each of us.

********

"Are we going too fast?" I asked her. I was stretched out beside her, facing her on the same pillow while we touched and caressed each other with slow, tender strokes. She giggled.

"I don't think so. It's been four years, eight months, two weeks, and…a few days since we did anything like this," she said.

"Wow," I replied, "you've got the timing down that exact?" I paused for a moment.

"Hey, does that mean I'm going to have to rememberanother anniversary or something?" I was being facetious and she knew it. But she changed the humor into something else.

"No, baby," this is the only anniversary you'll need to remember from now on," she said softly. "Just today…tonight." I rolled up on my elbow to find her lips and kiss her.

"I'll write it in my memory with indelible ink," I promised. We kissed again. Then she giggled. I drew back.

"Don't you remember," she asked in an amused, but warm tone, "you made love to me just three weeks after we met?" I sighed. I did remember that. I'd known at that moment that I was the luckiest man alive.

"Uh huh," I answered, "and a month and a half after that, you moved in with me…after making me throw most of my furniture away," I teased.

"Well, most of it was junk," she said tartly. "But your bed was okay," she said thoughtfully. "We got alot of good use from that, didn't we?" I chuckled, adding it to hers as we laughed together at the memories.

"Yeah, we did that," I agreed. We were quiet for a time.

"Ron?" she said quietly.

"Hmmmm?" Sherrie pulled back until our foreheads no longer quite touched.

"Honey…I've said it before but I want to tell you again that I'm so sorry I did those awful things back then and I'm even more sorry that I hurt you so terribly by doing them. I want to make it up to you for all the bad times and I will if you give me the chance...please?"

I took my time answering her. She'd said, and done, so many things this evening that required interpretation on several levels and I wasn't sure this wasn't one of them. When I didn't answer, she started in again.

"Honey, please…I love you so much I can't breathe sometimes," she said passionately. "Please…please forgive me for what I did. I don't think I can go on if you leave me…please, darling." She pulled my head to her breast and kissed the top of my head. Her arms were desperately tight around my neck.

"Shhhhhhh," I whispered. I made my voice soft and gentle and stroked her shoulders and back. She was in a bad place but I thought I knew how I could bring her out.

"Sherrie, darling," I said tenderly, "I've been needing to tell you something for a couple weeks and I ought to kick my own ass for not getting it out before tonight." I took a deep breath. Sherrie watched my face, half fearfully, it seemed. This needed to end now.

"Honey, I forgave you for what you did a while back. I'll never forget it, but it's no longer something that is front and center in my mind; it's off to the side, tucked way behind a lot of other things." I rolled onto my back, my left shoulder was well on its way to a full recovery, but it was still possible to overstrain it. Sherrie followed me, her left leg thrown over my hips and her chin coming to rest on my chest as she stared into my eyes.

"I know," I said, "saying that sounds awfully arrogant…like I'm bestowing some fantastic, wonderful gift on you…but I don't know any other words except "I forgive you." It quit hurting somewhere along the way. I'm not sure exactly when, but I know it was gone before I went to Afghanistan. Actually, it had to be gone long before that, because Karen had it figured before then that you were still on my mind." I stopped for a moment, afraid the mention of the woman I'd had a long-standing relationship with would upset Sherrie. There was no reaction I could detect, so I continued.

"I love you Sherrie," I told her. "Whether it's arrogant or not, I forgave you long before I saw you in that delicatessen a couple months ago. After I did see you, I tried to take it slow, but I haven't really been in control of myself since. Can you accept that, honey?" She nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Iwill make it up to you," she said. "I'm going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you." She kissed my chest, putting her lips down deliberately and kissing each bit of my flesh as if it were the most important thing she'd ever done. I touched her face, urging her to face me again.

"Honey…youcan't make it up to me," I said. "Don't you see? All that happened in a marriage that was over long ago. We aren't the same people who got divorced back then. If you try to keep on making it up to me, you'll wind up hating me for letting it dominate you so much. And I don't want you to hate me, darling."

I thought furiously, trying to find a way to show her how I felt. Sherrie had been working on various bits of symbolism all night long and she needed one more. I felt the faint tugging of a memory…something to do with the delicatessen I'd just spoken of. Then I had it—not the delicatessen…it was at Denny's that she'd spoken of this.

"Honey…where's your purse?" The energy I put into the question, as much as the content, caught her attention. She blinked, wondering what I could thinking of.

"It's…it's downstairs…on the couch, I think," she said hesitantly.

"Good," I said. I was sure I had it now. I scooted my body from beneath hers and stood beside the bed.

"Come on," I told her, taking her hand and pulling her up. We got to the doorway before she balked.

"Ron! We're stark naked. What if people see…?" I laughed. I thought all the drapes were closed tight downstairs but I really didn't care.

"Screw 'em," I said shortly. "Let them watch…they'll just have to get used to it," I said, giving her my best leer. She giggled and released her hold on the doorframe.

"Okay, honey," she said. We stole downstairs hand in hand. I touched a control that turned on a floor lamp. I lit the living room, but only dimly.

"Sherrie…honey," I said slowly. "You have that picture in your purse…the one you told me you always carried when we were at Denny's?" Her face fell. She'd been excited, hopeful. It must have seemed like I was reverting to a time when I'd used the picture to beat her up pretty badly. I shook my head and smiled affectionately at her.

"Trust me, honey," I said gently. "Just get the picture, okay?"

While she dug into her purse, I made my way to the fireplace, tossed three fire-starter "logs" inside it, and lit them with a long match from the container on the mantle. The imitation wood logs caught immediately and flared brightly.

I stood and walked back to my Sherrie. She had the photo in her right hand but she'd forgotten all about it. She loved fireplaces and the fire, so low it barely penetrated the dimness of the room, had her full attention.

"Honey," I said, stepping up to her and gathering her in my arms. "I forgave you long ago, but now…you have to forgive yourself too, okay?" She looked at me questioningly.

"Go ahead," I said, releasing her. "You need to put this behind you as much as I needed to. We can't move forward until you're willing to let all this slide away into some place where it won't hurt us…you and me…where it won't drag us backwards…you see?" I pulled back a step.

"You have to make a choice, honey…throw that picture into the fire and let the pain and hurt die with it. If you don't, it's going to destroy everything we try to do for the rest of our lives." She stood there, her nakedness forgotten for the moment. She looked at me intently, her eyes flicking rapidly from one point on my face to another as if she was trying to find some deception there.

"Are you sure, Ron?" she said in a quiet, firm voice. "You want us to start over as if it never happened…that I never did something so incredibly stupid and cruel that hurt you so badly you couldn't live with it? Are you sure you want that? Because I'll do what I said. I'll live the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. It won't bother me. I'll do it gladly." She might have added more but she saw me shaking my head.

"No…we can't pretend it never happened," I said slowly. "Neither of us can ever forget it, but it can be just a…a reminder of what we can never allow to happen again…okay? What youcan do is let go of the hard edge of guilt I know you're still feeling. Let it go before it turns into a hatred that would turn you against me, honey." I pulled her tight against me again and kissed her hard. Her eyes were closed so I kissed them too.

"Sherrie," I said in a low voice, "Idid forgive you a long time ago. It's time for you to forgive yourself, okay, honey?" She opened her eyes and looked up at me for a long moment, still trying to decide. "I want you to forgive yourself, honey," I said finally, "for us?"

She tilted her face up and kissed my lips hard and fast. Then Sherrie twisted around in my arms and marched to the fireplace. She tossed the picture atop the log that was blazing hottest. She watched it for a minute, then turned and came back to me. My arms were already spread wide to enfold her and bring her back to me.

She began crying and cried for a long time that night, but the tears were a purging of the poisons that had been building for so long. When she woke the next morning, I had my woman back—one who would walk beside me rather than a pace behind.

Good people can only hate the things they've done and hate themselves for so long until the venom consumes them. Letting go of the bitter self-reproach was the final bit of the cleansing Sherrie began with the shower. It hadn't been perfect—I'm sure a rational man could find missteps and incongruities in our private little ceremony. I could only wonder that we had managed to work our way through it as well as we had.

********

In the morning, we took another shower together. We washed each other's bodies, but not with the ceremonial intensity of last night. This was a lazier, more sensuous experience. After a while, Sherrie tossed the well-used bar of soap aside, giving up the pretense of bathing. Her arms went around my neck and she kissed me urgently. Backing up against the wall opposite the showerhead, she pulled me tight against her and reached between us to guide my cock inside her.

We fucked slowly for a long while, until we couldn't stave off our climaxes any longer. Sherrie had a screaming orgasm, bucking her hips off the wall to meet my thrusts and mashing our groins together. When it ended, she slid off my cock with an exhausted smile. I thought to turn around to wash myself, but she held me tight. After a while, she got her wind back but she wasn't about to let me go. She loosened her grip just enough to pull back and look me in the eyes. She smiled secretively.

"I…uh…have another surprise for you," she said hesitantly, "if you want." I laughed