For when I never see her again.
Preamble:
I strongly suggest you read the first two chapters first, but here is a summary.
My name is Mike and I work at a University in Amsterdam. I'm completely infatuated with a young woman named Emma who works at the University sports center as a fitness trainer and weight room manager. I'm American, average height with a muscular build, brown hair and brown eyes. Emma is Dutch, but speaks perfect English, and does not look like a typical Dutch woman. Rather than being tall, blonde and pale, Emma is about a half a head shorter than me, has brown hair with blonde highlights, and a tan, olive complexion. Her eyes are very light blue-green. They're gorgeous.
Both Emma and I are very fit. Emma is slim and toned, with perky breasts that are probably about a B-cup (Emma once told me she thinks it's lame when women wear bras that pad their breasts: she's content with hers exactly as they are). And Emma's ass is sensational. I've been with a lot of women, and I have never loved an ass as much as I love Emma's ass.
Emma has a boyfriend, and I'm married with three young children. My wife's name is Christie.
Emma and I were acquaintances/friends for a long time before, very suddenly, our relationship exploded into an intense and explicit flirtation. I wrote out a fantasy that I had about her, and sent it to her as a gift. She loved it, which started me falling in love with her.
At the end of chapter 1 we were both alone at our homes (Christie was out with friends, and my kids were in bed) and we were chatting over email. In return for a sexy picture, Emma convinced me to let her watch me masturbate over the webcam while staying hidden herself. When I was getting close to orgasm, she sent a second photo, naked, close-up between her legs. It made me cum immediately. She came watching me, but then when we were through she said the second picture wasn't of her, and cut off contact, feeling too guilty about what we were doing.
In the second chapter, Emma and I caved in to our lust again and had another encounter. She teasingly told me that she had masturbated about me in the bathroom after I left the gym one day, and then, in return for a look at her lingerie, she convinced me to go into the same bathroom and jerk myself off thinking about her. She told me to keep a little bit of cum on my fingers so that I could prove to her that I had really done it. When I finished and came out of the stall, she was there in the bathroom, and she sucked my fingers into her mouth, tasting my orgasm. Then she quickly stuffed her wet panties into my shorts, and pushed me out of the bathroom.
Excerpt from the final moments of Chapter 2:
I was hard. My fingers weren't entirely clean. I had a pair of wet panties stuck down the front of my shorts, and suddenly I was standing out in the open in the middle of the gym with a shocked, horny look on my face.
In chapter 3, Emma and I enjoyed a highly flirtatious walk together, on her way to the train station. She was dressed up and looked incredible. She a wore a classy, super-sexy royal blue dress that I will remember for the rest of my life.
We stopped in a park to sit down and talk. We talked explicitly about our sexual fantasies. She asked me, if I could cum on her anywhere, where would I cum, and I told her everywhere. I traced my fingers from her cheek to her lips to her neck and breasts to her legs, as we both imagined my orgasm all over her. She flashed me her panties as I caressed her upper thigh.
The conversation left both of us aching for orgasm, but we continued on to her train. She left me, and after a few minutes of indecisive agony, I bought myself a ticket so that I could spend an hour riding the train with her.
When I found her on the train, she was masturbating.
She was masturbating in public, though the train was mostly empty and she was alone at her end of the car.
I snuck up and sat down beside her. After some moments of confusion, disbelief, and joy, Emma and I began to fool around, discretely, careful not to alert the other passengers to what we were doing. When our car seemed to have emptied out, I finally made Emma cum directly, in my presence, with body contact instead of just with writing and images and ideas. I knelt on the floor of the train and licked her pussy, which I was happy to recognize from the picture she sent in chapter 1.
We had thought that our car on the train was empty but it turned out a group of guys had hidden from us and watched. Emma orgasmed loudly, and then the voyeurs applauded, laughing loudly, alerting us to their presence. We left the train in embarrassment, and then Emma, intent on getting me back, sucked my cock in the deserted train station, pulling off of me at the last second to fulfil my fantasy, letting my cum spray all over her face, breasts, and thighs, and all over her gorgeous dress as she simultaneously had a second orgasm by her own fingers.
I confessed my love for her once again, and once again she gave up nothing back.
Excerpt from the end of chapter 3:
We held each other tight, holding on to the bliss that was already giving way to the shadows of our significant others; the guilt, the remorse, and the pain of wanting more than one person and not being able to give yourself to both.
And now, the final chapter:
Chapter 4
When it ended, I was furious.
And hurt. I guess mostly hurt, but furious about being so hurt.
I had never really been broken up with before.
Sure, I had liked girls before who were not interested in me. I had messed up a few budding relationships before any major feelings had developed. But this was very different.
I had never wanted a girl as much as I wanted Emma, never wanted to be with a girl as much as I wanted to be with Emma, never felt as close to a girl as I felt to Emma, and then had that girl reject me.
Emma rejected me. She rejected me for very good reasons, I can admit; but that didn't make much of a dent in the overall pain and frustration, and the fury that it caused me.
It wasn't exactly sudden, but it hurt like it was.
I will get to it gradually.
***
We had no communication for several days after that afternoon. I thought of her constantly. I was in a perpetual state of sexual arousal. In a frenzy of sexual arousal. Visions of her in that dress struck me every few seconds. My whole life was about the next moment I could spend with her.
But I didn't email. And she didn't email back. There was mutual radio silence. I suppose that for me, in between all those amorous thoughts, there was fear and guilt, and that was part of what kept me quiet. The guilt was not so much about betraying my wife's trust - that makes me an asshole, I know, I've come to terms with it and I'm trying to be a little better - what I really felt guilty about was my kids.
Emma was occupying my mind and my love almost completely, and there was just less of me available for my kids. That is what made me feel guilty, in a few brief moments of self-awareness.
But the rest of the time it was all passion. I just wanted to make Emma cum. Again and again. Every minute. Every second. I just wanted to make Emma cum.
Lying in bed, late, while everyone else slept, I just wanted to make Emma cum.
In the shower, rubbing soap all over my body, I just wanted to make Emma cum.
Eating breakfast, riding to work, analyzing data, I just wanted to make Emma cum.
At the gym, every time I looked at her, I just wanted to make Emma cum.
Every single time.
***
The next time I saw her the gym was empty.
I had arrived very early.
I had woken up very early.
I always woke up early on days that I was going to see Emma. Emma and I talked a lot about music, and on days that I expected to see her, I would wake up with songs we talked about, like "R U Mine?" by the Arctic Monkeys, and "Bruises" by Band of Skulls blaring in my head.
It was euphoria. It was deafening.
