Sarah woke with a gasp, drawing breath sharply as her eyes adjusted to the faint beginning of sunlight knifing through her bedroom drapes. Sensations still danced across her skin as her mind struggled to comprehend her surroundings, jarred from dreams to stark reality. “No,” she moaned as the music grating out of her alarm became clearer. She closed her eyes against the morning, trying to will it away as she fumbled for the ‘off’ button. His image was still faint in her sub conscience, but fading like a wisp of mist being burnt off by the morning sun. The music continued to blare, her fingers failing...and the image was gone.
“Fuck!” she yelled flinging herself onto her back and kicking her legs straight. The sheets were tangled about her and were damp from sweat, chilling her now in the early morning. Eyes still closed, she took a deep breath and let out a long, desperate sigh. She turned her head to the right where her husband should have been. It was the third night this week he had stayed at his parent’s house. It was closer to the university than their small apartment and he had been staying there more and more frequently since his studies started picking up in intensity. Logan was going to veterinary school on his parent’s dime, and they were always happy to have him stay. At first it had hurt her when he didn’t bother to come home. It stung. She understood that he was tired and it was simpler for him to stay close, but it also made her feel less important to him. They had been married for less than a year, and in her mind they should still be fucking like rabbits. But the passion had withered quickly with Logan. She already felt like she was an outsider in his family. They were quite well off, and his parents had made no secret to the fact that they thought their son had married down. Now he was spending more time away from her; more time with them...
Her thoughts trailed off as she stared at the vacant spot next to her in bed. Her eyes didn’t even mist up anymore. Now she was just numb. She had known when she married him it was a mistake, so there was nobody to blame but herself. Deep down, she had known he would never be enough. But he had always been there for her, and was tender and sweet. And he had asked so many times. Eventually she just couldn’t say ‘no’ anymore.
Sarah slid from the bed and gathered her robe from the floor where she had dropped it the night before, sliding her arms into the sleeves. Whenever she started thinking about marrying Logan, she couldn’t help but think of Charles. Enigmatic, complicated Charles. It had been over a year since his final message when he had announced to her he was getting married. The shock that message had been to her emotions was still palpable, all this time later. How could he not have known? But as much as she hated to admit any fault in the events of her life, she knew she was to blame if he hadn’t understood her feelings. She had been too cool. Too aloof. She always thought of Charles when she began questioning her marriage because she knew his absence in her life had played a factor in the eventual ‘Yes’ to Logan. She always thought of him because she still loved him, which in itself was bizarre.
She walked over to the mirror and looked at herself. Her dark, short hair was splayed out at odd angles from a sweaty, active sleep, and Sarah couldn’t help but smile a bit at the memory of the dream. She wondered if she would ever stop dreaming about him. She barely remembered what he looked like aside from those striking blue eyes, crooked smile, and choir-boy innocence. She looked at herself for a time in the mirror. She had dark circles under her eyes and had put on a few pounds. She untied her robe and opened it, exposing herself to the cool air. Goosebumps broke out across her skin and her nipples hardened. Her breasts were plump and round, though a bit small for her frame if she was being honest. Though she exercised daily in her ample alone time, she had still developed a slight fullness to her body and lacked the flat abs and svelte legs and arms every woman coveted. She looked nothing like her older sister. Kara had gotten all the looks and Sarah and come to grips with that years ago. She would always play second fiddle to a gorgeous older sister. Except for, apparently, with him. That was one of the things that had first endeared Charles to her when he had messaged her on OKCupid 3 years earlier.
She had just returned from a party where she had been rejected by her long-time pursuit. They had the, ‘I like you as a friend’ talk, and while she had played it cool she had been broken inside. So after too many drinks she stumbled home and hopped on the dating site to let some bastard take advantage of her fragile state, and up popped a message from some choir boy. He wasn’t her type at all, but she was intrigued and decided to play along just to tease him. Her profile had included a picture of her and sister, and when she had mentioned to Charles that first night that her sister was the prettier of the two he politely told her she was crazy, that her sister was indeed pretty, but really had nothing on her. He had told Sarah that her beauty was more unique. It would have been easy to brush off such a comment as flattery, but it was what she had needed to hear that night. They had ended up chatting for 6 hours. And the fact that after six hours he hadn’t once asked to see her naked or offered to send a picture of his cock had floored, her. They had chatted earnestly. He was interested in learning who she was and what made her tick. He had asked her the strangest, most wonderful questions. And he was so outside her realm of experience: Mormon, squeaky clean, only ever kissed one woman, a 7 year girlfriend he had just broken up with. Didn’t drink, didn’t smoke weed. It was all very fascinating to her.
Coming back to herself, Sarah glanced again in the mirror, hands rising to squeeze and heft her breasts. “I wonder if he would have approved”, she thought, turning to examine her body in the mirror. After all, he had never seen her naked. He had never even seen her in person. She was definitely more voluptuous than she had been. But she knew he wouldn’t have minded. In a way, the distance between them had been a blessing. All that writing – all that exploring of each other’s minds without any physical contact or superficiality. It had started as a strong mental attraction which had developed into a need and a bond more intense than anything she had experienced in any other relationship. Sarah was snapped out of her reverie by the ringing of her phone. Rilo Kiley’s “Shake Your Moneymaker” chased off the silence of the room and she wrapped the robe back around her naked body, somewhat irritated. She walked across the room to retrieve her phone from the nightstand, picking it up and pausing when she saw Logan’s name. Biting her lip, she set the phone back down without answering. The clock said 7:40. That meant she still had time for a good shower before she had to be to the spa at 9. The music stopped abruptly as her voicemail picked up and the bathroom door closed.
She was near orgasm now, the shower stall filled with steam from the scalding water. She was bent over, one hand against the wall as the hot water sprayed against her back, running over her shoulders and trickling down her breasts while also sliding down her back and over her bottom running into the channels of flesh between her thighs where the fingers of her free hand massaged in a steady rhythm. Her body shuddered as a half moan/half cry escaped her lips and her legs went weak. She was thinking of Charles, of the dream he appeared in a week ago. They were in the shower together, the steam obscuring her vision as he came up behind her. She could feel him towering over her, feel his large, strong hands touch her back sending sparks of electricity dancing across her skin, then slide around to cup her breasts as his chest pressed against her back and his manhood, erect and full, found the space between her slick thighs. The dream had been so real. The touch of his skin on hers, the heat making her head spin, the smell of soap and sex. In the dream he had leaned down and kissed the back of her neck, his hands kneading her breasts as she threw her hips back against him, grinding and polishing the smooth shaft with her slick womanhood. She had grown impatient in the dream and had moaned to him, “What are you waiting for? Stick it in.” He had obliged with a roar. She came then, remembering the fictional moment her sub-conscience had gifted her, her own fingers moving inside her a poor substitute for the memory of Charles’ velvety, iron cock spreading her and entering, filling her body and mind with bliss. It was a moment of release, all of their conversations and flirting and professions of longing, finally played out physically. The fierceness of her fingers set her clit on fire as she worked to prolong the orgasm, her knees threatening to buckle as she cried out.
Then silence, save her labored breath and the spray of water against her flesh. She let her forehead fall against her arm, still supporting her body leaning against the shower wall as her breathing steadied. She never came like that with Logan. Everything with him was so sweet and docile. Lovemaking when all she wanted was to fuck. And not a cheap, one-night stand fuck. A, my body is aching and my mind is so tortured with desire for you that I can’t restrain myself fuck. She wanted to be so desired and so on fire with uncontrolled passion that she couldn’t restrain herself. And that’s what she wanted from her man. But it just wasn’t there with Logan. That fire had always been there in the messages she and Charles had exchanged. It smoldered under the surface of their words and played at the edges of their interactions.
She straightened then and turned into the stream of water, flinching slightly as it hit her breast, still sensitive and tender. “He could never live up to the dream”, she said aloud, a smile spreading across her lips as she tried to convince herself. She reached for a bottle of body wash and upended it, filling her waiting palm. How had her life come to this? Once she was vivacious. An aspiring musician in Lincoln, surrounded by scores of friends. Now she was a lonely housewife, eeking out an existence as a massage therapist, the only family or friends within 200 miles of her a disconnected husband and his disapproving family.
And with that thought jolting her back to reality, her mood darkened. Then she began to sing softly as she washed herself, the bubbles trailing over her curves and down her legs to disappear into the drain below.
To be continued...