One Weeend Stand

Sunday morning

When she awoke it was still dark, though possibly the darkness of near dawn. There wasn't any real indication of that, just a feeling in her gut that indicated a new day was near. As her eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom, she began to pick out the dark shapes in the room where they'd shared so much. What they'd shared...

What they'd shared and would never share again. Of that she was certain. Oh, sure, they might give in to a moment of mutual weakness and have a quickie at some point. Even she, with her belief in absolute certainty, couldn't be absolutely certain that it would never, ever happen again. But it wouldn't come close to what they'd shared over the past weekend. The closeness. The intimacy. The melding of two souls. And she knew she'd been holding back, and suspected him of the same. How powerful would it have been had they both been free with each other the entire time? Overwhelmingly powerful, she suspected. Perhaps dangerously so.

She struggled to understand what she was feeling. They were both in situations that wouldn't normally lead to anything more than a little flirtation. She loved her husband and her child. Well, maybe her child more than the husband. But, still, loved him enough to want to share some part of her life with him. And her friend, and now lover, headed his own loving family. He'd been very clear all along that nothing would be allowed to get between him and his wife and child. Not even her. Yet he lay sleeping soundly next to her in this bed. And she lay next to him, his seed still deep inside her. Not that she had to worry about a child from him. But could anyone get any closer than that?

They could, because she felt that they had. It wasn't just about the sex, or the lovemaking or the fucking or whatever other sexual variation you wanted to label it. She felt that they'd shared something far more basic and fundamental. Or, if not shared, allowed the other to see a side they'd both kept hidden, not just from each other but from everyone else in their lives. Including their respective spouses. For herself, it was an admission that she could be selfish and take something just for herself, without guilt or even a moment's regard for someone other than herself. That he'd gotten pleasure from her was more a lucky happenstance for him than any plan on her part.

Sure, he'd led her to the precipice. He'd shown her the pleasures that she might experience. He'd tempted her and manipulated her. But the final decision had always been hers. She wasn't doing it in exchange for anything, except maybe the freedom to do it for herself instead of in exchange for some bauble or compromise or other negotiating tactic. She'd come into the weekend wondering what would happen and soon would be leaving it just a bit freer and just a bit more enslaved.

Enslaved. Tied together with a secret that could never be revealed. She wondered when he would be warning her of that. Wondered whether he would warn her at all. That was the most wonderful thought of all. He treated her as someone of infinite depth, not just a woman or a wife or a mother or a lover. But someone who could and would figure out the intricacies of their situation, and make her own decision on how to handle it. Someone who could be trusted.

Did he treat his own wife with such respect? She often felt that her husband was obsessed with husbanding her. He loved taking care of her to the point that he was smothering her. And it was no secret that he distrusted any sign of independence that she might reveal. She wasn't sure what was behind that. A fear that she might move beyond his realm of influence? Or that she might end up in the bed of another man?

She laughed silently at that, her hand thoughtlessly straying to rest on the exposed shoulder of the man beside her. She was having trouble creating a straight path of thoughts. She was coming up with all sorts of answers, but couldn't pin down the questions.

Maybe a walk would help. Carefully she slid out from under the covers and padded to the door, not bothering to wrap even a shirt over her shoulders. The walk to the shed was short, and who would be around to see her in the dark?

He watched through slit eyes as she headed to the door, her nude form sensuous as it passed between the bed and the door. The outline of her body still stirred a desire deep inside him, and he smiled inwardly as her thin legs, smooth stomach and prominent breasts were alternately revealed and obscured. Even now, after all they'd done, his body was aware of the possibilities. Whether his body could do anything about it was another question completely.

He'd felt her awaken earlier and could tell by her relative stillness that she'd been mulling over some very deep thoughts. If he'd had to guess, her thoughts would concern what they'd done all weekend and where that left them for the future. She wasn't the type to be impulsive. She thought her actions through before doing practically everything. Though they'd never discussed it, he couldn't imagine her ever doing something so impulsive as, say, kissing a man before he kissed her. Or making the first move without having a fallback position where she could deny it was the first move.

Of course, to be honest, the same could probably be said of him. At least where it concerned her. He didn't have many close friends. And so, a psychologist might say that he didn't want to jeopardize his friendship by interjecting sex. Said psychologist would by only half right, however. Because he knew that he thought differently than many people who saw a clear delineation between emotional intimacy and physical intimacy. Those people would talk of taking a relationship to a new level. For him, at that high stratus of intimacy, the emotional and the physical were on the same level. Over the years, they'd already shared their hopes and dreams. Sharing their desires and, yes, lusts, was just another part of that great dance.

He knew she wouldn't see it that way. She was about actions and reactions. About circumstances and consequences. And if he could even find a way to express his thinking, she would probably say he was rationalizing. Which would be true, of course. Rationalizing was the best way to explain one's actions after the fact. As far as he was concerned, it was also the best way to get to the true reasons one did what one did. He was adept enough at pulling back the gossamer fabric shrouding the real truth in his rationalizations. He knew when he was fooling himself. And was, usually, brave enough to let his subconscious confront his conscious self. That self-criticism usually hurt far less than anything coming from without.

Still, he wondered what she thought about all this. Was she feeling guilty? Shocked? Pleased? Would she feel the need to confess to her husband or friends or neighborhood priest? He wouldn't. Of that he was sure. He'd often felt that his way of looking at life was different from that of a lot of people. Events occurred in segments. Not disconnected, but connected in ways that were hard to discern, far below the surface. Their dalliance (and he liked the casualness of the word) was the next obvious step, perhaps even inevitable. To somehow obstruct that step would have been as pointless as obstructing the flow of a river. Eventually the water would find a way around and probably to a much more corrosive effect. Except for the denials that had heightened their pleasures, there was no point to damming anything.

His fate was as much in her hands as his was in hers. A weak moment on her part could destroy his marriage as easily as the reverse. He knew why he'd planned this weekend, enjoyed every moment of it and wanted it to continue. Did she know the same? In the end, he could only trust that she did.

She stopped in the middle of the walk back to the cabin and took a deep, long breath, enjoying the soft caress of the cool night air on her bare skin. Her mouth tingled, freshly brushed, along with the patches on her body where she'd washed herself but weren't quite dry yet. She stretched up onto her toes, her legs pleasantly sore from the previous evening's vigorous workout. Through the pine needles above stars sparkled, blinking from view and back into sight as she swayed as lithely as a reed in the whispering wind. She felt truly free, unencumbered and unhindered.

She'd discovered a truth just moments before while attending to herself in the small bathroom in the shed. While this weekend had begun as an obstinate rejection of her husband's control, it had grown into something much more. A confirmation of her own independence. That, and a realization that she could only be constrained as much as she let herself be. She could passively follow the rules if she wanted. Or she could question the rules and set her own. Without guilt. Without remorse. And, when she decided, with her own needs at the forefront.

She'd had these moments of self-discovery before, though not so often now as in earlier years. The trick, she knew, wasn't making the discovery. It was remembering it. And remembering it often enough to let it make a difference in her life. The phrase "old habits die hard" came to mind.

A soft wind touched the trees, bringing the scents of the forest to her nostrils and tongue. They were majestic against the sky. There long before she'd arrived. And there long after she'd be gone. An image of polished wood passed fleetingly through her consciousness. She didn't know why, but she was suddenly shaking inside.

He'd fought off sleep while waiting for her to return to the cabin. The sight of her dark form, the outline of her body, had been so intoxicating that he'd replayed it in his mind again and again, hoping to fix it in his memory. Though, to be honest, he wanted to remember so many sights and sounds and tastes and touches, he doubted there would be room in his mind.

She entered as silently as she could, but his eyes were so attuned to the darkness that he could easily see her outlined in the doorway. She padded to the bed, her feet barely making a sound against the wood floor. Instead of climbing back beneath the covers, she sat on the edge and touched him lightly, as if to rouse him. He pretended to come awake, enjoying the sensation of her hand upon his shoulder, cool from the outside air yet leaving him feeling scalded on the inside. She made as if to climb back into bed, but he had something else in mind. Taking her hand, he swung out from beneath the covers. With nothing more than a finger across his lips, wordlessly telling her to be silent, he led her back out into the night.

It was cooler outside the cabin, though not unpleasantly so. He led. She followed, though she soon guessed what their destination might be. The pine needles on the forest floor stuck to their soles like glue, stuck in place by the pine sap from the trees overhead. They'd surely need to clean their feet before re-entering the cabin. They walked unhurriedly, unable to see the arrows on the trees but pretty sure of the correct direction. They said nothing to each other, content to be together yet apart, communing with nature in the most intimate fashion.

Time passed slowly, or perhaps not at all. The light of the stars gave them all the illumination they needed to stay on course. Soon they crested the right hill. Below them lay the grand wooden table, open to the night skies, glimmering in the starlight.

She allowed him to lift her onto the table, her body trembling in anticipation of its first kiss upon her bare skin. He lay her upon the flat surface, and she concentrated on the sensations, drinking them in with a need that was almost painful in its intensity. Dew covered the table top, a sheen of the purest water that created a natural bond between her skin and the solid wood surface below.

She lay on one side of the table and waited while he reclined on the other side. There was a forearm's span between them, and though she wanted him to close the gap, he remained on his side, his hands folded atop his stomach. She closed her eyes and folded her hands in a similar position, again expecting his touch against her most intimate regions. But once again she waited in vain. He remained isolated from her. She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed by that.

When he asked her to open her eyes, her breath caught in her throat. The stars, a splendorous sight, floated on a tapestry across the roof of the world. So many it would be impossible to count. She found herself instead searching for the parts of the sky that weren't glistening, that were dark against the brilliant illumination. Softly, his voice no more than a whisper on a breeze, he instructed her to tune out the trees around them, to let her spirit hover above the table beneath them, to become free of the earth and become one with the universe.

And suddenly, almost like magic, she was. She felt suspended, her body unencumbered by gravity or laws or expectations. She floated amidst a sphere of stars, their light pure and clean, bathing her body in a calming, healing aura. Her mind was suddenly free from cares, their absence palpable, creating a void into which all manner of sensations rushed in: freedom, peace, assurance, joy, comfort, warmth, love, excitement, restfulness, and a host of other feelings she couldn't put a name to.

She reveled in the feeling. Captured and jealously guarded it. Forced herself to remember to breathe, then giggled with delight as the freshness of the air fed the fire within her, enhancing each sensation until it was as bright and sharp as a winter's icicle on the coldest of days.

From a distance, seemingly across the galaxies, she heard a murmur, a whisper, a breath. It took her a moment to realize that it was nearby, and another moment to realize the whisper contained words, and still another moment to put meaning to those words. It was him, whispering to her. Start over, she asked. And the words floated freely around her, a warm breeze softly caressing her.

What links are ours with orbs that are

So resolutely far:

The solitary asks, and they

Give radiance as from a shield:

Still at the death of day,

The seen, the unrevealed.

Implacable they shine

To us who would of Life obtain

An answer for the life we strain

To nourish with one sign.

Nor can imagination throw

The penetrative shaft: we pass

The breath of thought, who would divine

If haply they may grow

As Earth; have our desire to know;

If life comes there to grain from grass,

And flowers like ours of toil and pain;

Has passion to beat bar,

Win space from cleaving brain;

The mystic link attain,

Whereby star holds on star.

At the end she wanted to ask if he'd written it, but held that urge in abeyance. Instead, she found that core of her where the joy existed and returned to it, as a swimmer might return to the warmth of the summer seas.

She didn't know how long they laid there, isolated on the table yet sharing an experience that she would never forget. When his hand caressed the side of her face, she was suddenly aware of the warmth of him and the coolness of her own body. Reluctantly she opened her eyes, surprised to find a sheen of dew glistening on her skin, chilling her and making her shiver. After helping her from the table, he hugged her, pressing his body against every inch of hers. Though he too was covered in dew he felt much warmer, and she clung to him, rubbing her limbs along him until the chill dissipated. Without a word they set off back to the welcome comfort of the bed, each content to travel together and apart, hoping to remember as much of the moment as they could.

He smiled in the dark as she climbed under the sheets and snuggled against him. Her body was still cool to the touch, but pleasantly so. He fought to keep his thoughts from becoming sexual; he focused on the sensual instead. He'd never shared his star meditations with anyone, not even his wife. It was a poem he'd memorized long ago, one he'd stumbled upon after a night of sleeping under the evening sky. Perfectly apropos. He knew he'd been able to take her to a special place. He didn't want that feeling to end. Or to sully it with his carnal meanderings.

Still, he'd only be acting in a caring manner if he snuggled against her and shared his warmth, right? And gently reached across her and cradled her breast? And softly brushed his lips against the back of her neck? And entwined his legs with hers? He knew he was rationalizing. He knew he should let her bask in the afterglow of their most recently shared experience. But while that experience left her drowsy and peaceful, it left him hungry for more.

He looked past the delicate curve of her ear into the room beyond. Was it brightening with the first glow of the sun? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. When they left the bed, they'd have just a few short hours before their return to civilization. She to the marriage that was more work than pleasure. He to the marriage where the pleasure was all but extinguished. He pulled her tight and let his eyes fall shut. He'd waited forever to get her in this bed, denying himself all but the slightest morsels of physical pleasure. He could wait another hour before imbibing once again.

She stirred, slowly awakening, her mind drowsy and muddled. She vaguely remembered cool summer air, a breeze against her nude body. And stars. A lifetime of floating wonderingly inside a sphere of stars. Her awareness slowly cleared. They lay spooning, his hand loosely clasping her breast, his legs twined between hers. When she shifted her bottom she could feel his member pressed against her, for once placid and undemanding. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been like this with a man, outside of this weekend, of course. She hadn't done this often with her other husbands. It always felt too close, too stifling. This was the same position, but somehow different. Was the situation different? Or were they different?

Despite the languid feeling in her limbs, part of her wanted to get him stirred up. To press her naked ass against his cock and see how long it would take for this mind to catch up to his body's response. To let the fingers hovering so tenderly above her breast be awakened by her hardening nipples. To give herself to him in full measure and watch the pleasure and delight race across his face. She could see it in her minds' eye, their final joining, lust and love and everything in between all exposed for each to fully grasp and enjoy. But then she decided to be still, to build back some of the anticipation they'd shared during their long and intricate journey to this bed. Waiting would make the heart grow even fonder. And she did so love to tease him.

Sunshine brought tears to his eyes when he next opened them. The room was decidedly brighter, the light reflecting off the polished panel walls. The covers beside him were depressingly flat. Still, he blindly felt around underneath them. She was pretty thin, after all. But no, there was a definite lack of another person in the bed. Disappointing.

A rustling in the kitchen area clued him in to her whereabouts. She already had a couple of bags on the counter. A fresh cup of coffee steamed in her cup. Was she already packing? What time was it? How long had he slept in? And worse, had he missed his opportunity?

As his mind began functioning more efficiently, he began to notice more details. Her luggage was, promisingly, still open and not standing by the door. She was dressed, but not fully, wearing nothing but a sexy top and a pair of panties. And, most tellingly, she clearly hadn't taken a shower yet, as her hair remained dry. Her smile when she finally turned around told the rest of the story. She wasn't ready to leave just yet.

When he beckoned her over she brought something he hadn't noticed before: a tray heaped with fresh fruit, chocolate covered strawberries and a huge glass of orange juice. Breakfast in bed? He hadn't enjoyed that since, well, since so long ago that he couldn't remember it. He sat up and balanced the tray in his lap, suddenly acutely aware that he was naked under the covers. He felt strangely prudish, especially after all that they'd done that weekend.