It's late, and I'm awakened by soft, occasional moans coming from Jake's room. If this were another time, I would know they are the moans of self-pleasure. But they're not. They're moans of pain and sorrow. His wife just died. I know how much he loved her. I know how, after so many years with her, a man of such passion, such ability to give and receive love will have a very difficult time getting through this. I know all of this because he's my best friend. And my lover.
Jake and I have been lovers for years. And more than that; we were friends first, and have been since. We're connected on more than just the physical level. And yet, neither of us was willing to leave our spouse or to give up the life we each led and so ours has been an illicit affair - a love affair for sure - but never being able to be for and to each other all we wished we could be.
This is most obvious in the very distinct boundary he drew from the start of our relationship; no sexual intercourse. When I first told him of my feelings for him, his response was, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted to you Kayla, but I can't have sexual intercourse with you." Then he kissed me. And so it began. Jake believed that everything else was not adultery, not really - and we did do everything else - but intercourse crossed that line. I even suggested anal intercourse, but for him that was too close. I happen to disagree with his belief, but I respect it. So we are careful of our passions, keeping them in check and occasionally backing off when things get too tempting. There are times when we are caught up in our passion and I tell him how much I want him, want to feel him inside me. On one occasion I even told him rather emphatically that I wanted to fuck his brains out. Highly unlike me, at least at the time. But it's his love and passion that has awakened in me needs and desires previously buried in my sexual treasure chest. And I say things I never thought I could say out loud.
I'm a widow for some time. Jake was there for me then, as I want to be for him now. I'm here in his home to be a friend, to provide comfort, to offer a shoulder to cry on, and whatever else he needs. I don't entertain the thought of sexual intimacy during this difficult time. When those thoughts enter my head - and they undoubtedly do...I'm only human, after all - I acknowledge my desire for him and brush the thoughts aside, telling myself this is neither the time nor the place for that. I won't take advantage of the situation that way.
I stand there listening. If his were moans of pleasure, I'd gladly join him and offer to help or just watch. We've always been open about masturbating, have even done it while the other watched. I'm always fascinated watching this "tall, dark and handsome", physically fit guy with those big blue eyes, pants around his ankles and hand wrapped around his swollen cock. Of course, he liked to watch me, too and we both enjoyed it just as much when we did it over the phone. He would tell me how I was so much prettier than those girls on the websites; that he loved my dark blonde hair especially now that it was longer and curly and that my breasts were the perfect size to fit in his hands even if I did say they were too small. We always seemed to know what to say and do for each other. But right now I don't know what to do for this man, my friend and lover. Do I check if he's ok? Maybe he's crying in his sleep; would I wake him? Does he want to be alone? Wouldn't he come to me if he needed to talk, to cry, to be held? I want to go to him, to put my arms around him and tell him it will be okay in time. But he's not ready to hear that. It's too soon and he needs time to heal.
I remember how difficult those first days were for me and this past week I longed to help him somehow. I had no magic words, only my usual offer of love and friendship, caring and support. But I could hardly give him that, not with all those people around. As he was surrounded by so many well-intentioned people, I kept my distance. And yet, we always spoke to each other in a private language - gestures and looks that only we understood. So I let him know in our own special way - a gentle touch on his arm as I walked by, a loving smile from across the room, a knowing wink. And in his time of great need, he accepted my offer to stay with him and take care of him for a while. That's why I am here in the middle of the night.
