Saying Goodbye To Someone I Love

The first shots of cum splattered her cheeks and chin, she kept slurping and jerking at my shaft. She pulled it back between her lips, sucked hard and drained it through the last spasms of orgasm. The swallowing action in her throat, her tightly shut eyes, the hand that pulled at my ass and guided my shaft into her throat were all good signs that she wasn't done yet.

She released her grip on my ass and guided my shaft through the drops and rivers of cum that had escaped her mouth. Then pulling it back between her lips, cupping and pulling my balls, coaxing me into the warmth of her mouth, licking and sucking until she'd gathered all she could gather.

Her thighs were held tightly together as the rabbit dildo kept up it's relentless fucking of her newly bald and beautifully Brazilian pussy, it's "ears" squeezed and vibrated beneath her swollen clit. She bucked as she came, small convulsive involuntary silent jerks at first and then with volume as she was swept away on a tide of pleasure into her own distant place. A place where she stays for as long as it takes to come back.

I slid away from her mouth, small shocks still shaking her, lifting her off the bed. Her thighs opened, the rabbit gave way to my mouth. I turned off the power on both switches and offered it to her as I lowered my mouth to her dripping, delicious sex. She sucked her own nectar from Bugsy’s length as I lapped and licked her slowly down. Her heightened pleasure showed by more convulsions as she heard me swallowing her cum.

I stayed eating her until my cock regained it's girth, I pushed her open and pulled her ass apart as my tongue delved deeper. I lowered my thumbs and exerted some stretching pressure each side of her perfect ass, her moves told me it was appreciated and enjoyed. I buried myself and with a long slurp I pulled her legs straight up, dragged her to the edge of the bed and drove into her incredibly open, wet, pink sex. I fucked her there, slowly at first, harder when she demanded it. I came out of her as orgasm hit, shot cum across her belly and tits and sank to my knees to suck on her saturated sex. Fuck, she still tastes like a dream.

We slept for an hour or so.

I dressed. We ate and I left again. Not much was said. That's the saddest thing. There's so much to say but no way of each of us getting through it without breakdown or argument. Accusation or resentment. It hurts me and I know it hurts her. If we can find the right space and time and put all the crap behind us it would be a different world. Who knows if we can ever do that? Only time I guess. She's working on it, I'm working on it. Thing is, we're working on it separately, that's what makes it tough at times like this. Given more time maybe we'll reach the point that we'll have done enough work individually to start at it together. For now we still have love, some belief in each other and hope for us, collectively and individually. Who knows where we'll wind up, I have no idea how to address it emotionally or verbally. I think it's the same way for her and on some level the physical expression is the best we can manage right now.

Emotionally I felt dead, She'd expressed similar sentiments. I'd been ready to close another door and stay dead in that way. Not wanting or caring to face what might be inside my head, not needing to. Excusing myself from the need to face emotions to understand them. I had no idea for how much of my life I'd done this. When I knew it to be true it still wasn't easy to open myself or have myself exposed. It was bad enough that I knew it, letting somebody else in on the exposure seemed pointless and certainly unwelcome.

I went back to my place. I could still see her, smell her. Fuck, I was ready for her again.

Without knowing how it had happened I knew it was still all right to express how much she turned me on. It was fine for her to tell me what she wanted, it was okay to keep exploring fantasy, it was acceptable for me to express how I wanted to fuck and suck her and to ask questions about what she'd like.

This connection had always been there and it wasn't going away. Now it was all that kept us knowing that a future might be possible for us. A relationship built on trust, hope, belief, love and overcoming difficulties together was now left shredded but we were still bonded by our sexual attraction towards and satisfaction found in each other and nobody else.

The only security I had in us was that it had never been this way with any past relationship and I believed that to be something we shared deeply. It was enormously stimulating to hear her tell me how she'd masturbated the night before, how she'd fucked herself again and again, what she'd fantasized about. She didn't spill it all without prompting, slowly at first, gentle questions with ever more revealing answers. She liked to talk about it just as I did but she liked me to pose the questions. Ever more exposed in her replies.

The question remained as to whether a relationship now based predominantly on our sexual bond could ever recover. Either way, it was better to contemplate fucking each other than losing each other and that's the way it came to be and for all I thought about her all the time, I thought more about making love to her, fucking her than of eternal bliss. We kept sharing our thoughts and fantasies on the level of lust and sex and fantasy.

I mostly stayed away.

When the conversations turned back to other stuff it seemed again like an interrogation. It seemed again like the arguments and the feelings were all too fucking much to put up with. It felt again as if I was too fucked up to deal with all that crap and she was so fucked up that it was never going to end.

It was hell for hours or days and then we'd fuck and it was pure and utter passion and lust and raw sex and intense emotion and connection and just total love for one another and only then were we in the moment and out of the past without staring into some future nonexistent space or place. Just for those moments we were connected and one. At least that's how it felt.

The last time I went over we made love at the top of the stairs. Her thong stayed on. I sucked and fucked, she sucked and fucked, she fingered my ass, licked my ass as she stroked my cock, she buried my face in her pussy, I probed her ass gently, I finger fucked her, I licked up her cum as it dripped onto her ass. We shared every taste. She sucked my nipples and I nibbled on hers. She fucked me and enjoyed every second, I did the same to her and we were in love.

Later we spent time on line in different places. We sent erotic picture links to each other and exchanged erotic thoughts. We shared fantasies about each other and other people. Maybe we'll do it, maybe we won't. Who knows. The simple things are the easy things. The recovery process is a long one and maybe an impossible one. Some things we have to be honest about and right now we're nowhere near close. If this is a bad day for me, why does it have to turn into a bad day for her or vice versa? Why do my problems have to be hers and hers mine? It makes it easier to stay apart. It makes it easier not to even go near the possibility of more questions and complaints. What does that make me? A coward, a wimp, less than a man? I don't know what it makes me but I have to get better for me first. If we keep a connection maybe this is the one I can hang onto right now. I don't care about the rest of it that much. I don't want to judge or condition myself to loathe her. I don’t want to resent or be resented, I want to recover, be who I was before all this crap. If it can't happen, so be it but forever more I'll want her back there at the top of the stairs, or spread on the sofa, or on the big chair or holding onto the bottom rail of the bed, gazing into the mirror, straddling my face and my pillow, crouching between my legs on an airplane, leaning over the balcony rail, chest deep in the ocean and in every other place I see her and think about her. I’ll forever hear and feel her orgasm when I have mine. I’ll forever know where I was meant to be.

We all have our side of the story, there’s mine.

DreamOn

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