Chapter 4: Exodus
The weeks turned into months and from Passion still not a word. Love was with her, she was with love. He smothered her with attention and admonitions of his love. He anticipated and catered to her every whim. She enjoyed being with Love, enjoyed that now they could laugh, joke around, hug each other, and be there for each other in a way that they weren’t before. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts still returned to Passion. She tried to rid herself of the memory, she tried to focus all of her energies on to Love, she immersed herself in her work, she worked on herself, she wanted to be a woman worthy of Love and way too good for Passion.
She read self help books, attended session after session of counseling, sought support from her friends, and tried desperately to solve the riddle of passion and love. She listened to the stories of strangers in their own struggles between passion and love. She heard tale after tale of how love had failed and the evil that men and women do and she wondered if these acts were committed out of love or passion, which emotion could inflict such pain and suffering? Men and women both lied, drank, cheated, lusted, and cried all in the namesakes of passion and love. She began to wonder if either passion or love was worth it. She began to appreciate Love all the more, at least with Love she knew exactly what she was getting. She began to curse Passion, vowing never to allow herself to fall into that trap again. She was still lost without any answers, cursing Passion, appreciating Love.
Another fall had come, the summer was over in an instant, as brief as her interlude was with Passion. The sky was grey, the rain fell like cold tears, and it was as bleak and desolate as she felt on the inside. She went to the bar to try to find some warmth and comfort in a shot glass. The bar was practically empty, a couple sat at a table, two men in the back played pool, and a man clad in flannel sat at the far end of the bar, perched up against it, downing a mug of beer. She slid onto the barstool and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. The drink slid down easily and she was grateful for the burn of its warmth, she ordered another.
The man at the end of the bar looked at her, examining her. With a false grin she returned his stare. He motioned to the barkeep to set up another round and slid across the seats, landing next to her. She made a gesture of thanks as she downed the shot, the warmth from the whiskey spread throughout her body and dulled her pain. She wondered what this man’s story was, what tale of woe would she have to endure tonight? Anything was better than being alone right now she mussed. The man introduced himself, shaking her hand. He had dark hair, eyes hidden by a ball cap, he was of medium build, bits of chest hair peeped out of the neckline of his flannel shirt, and his smile, he had a wonderful, warming, sexy smile which threw her off guard. She liked this man who called himself Bruce. She waited for his tale of woe to begin, but it did not, they engaged in light friendly conversation, chatting about the weather and so forth.
As the evening went on, they chatted like old friends. Her head was beginning to spin from the drink, luckily she could walk home. She liked this guy. She politely declined the drink he was ordering for her and excused herself for the walk home. He steadied her as she slid down off the barstool and asked her if she wanted a ride. She thought about this, he had been nursing the same beer for hours and she didn’t relish the thought of walking home in the cold rain, gratefully she accepted. He navigated her to his truck, the water beaded off the heavily waxed black exterior. He boosted her up as she slid onto the seat, she didn’t realize she had gotten so tipsy. She gave him directions to her house; he obeyed, brushing against her knee as he shifted gears. When he arrived at her house, he slid the truck out of gear, and turned off the engine. He slid out of the truck, opened her door, and helped her get out of the hulking, black beast. She asked him if he wanted to come in, he readily accepted.
Once inside her apartment, she offered him a drink and put on some music, together they swayed dancing, the ice melting in their forgotten drinks. The pressure of his hand on the small of her back was making her heart race, she leaned into him heavily. As her hips brushed against him, she could feel him rise against her; he lowered his head resting it on her shoulder. The exhales of his breath, warm against her neck, his lips as they caressed her pulse points, his tongue as it licked at her neck, his assault was awakening her senses, weakening her resolve.
They melted into one another; she slid her hands up the back of his shirt, the skin of his back smooth and warm. Her head was swimming, her heart racing, he slid her blouse up over her head, not bothering to unbutton it, he lowered his head to her breasts and begun to slide his tongue underneath their lacy confines. She arched her back, bringing her breasts closer to his tongue. Her senses reeled as he lowered the straps to her bra, sliding it down around her waist, his mouth claiming her nipples, sucking greedily on them, nipping at them gently with his teeth.
He lifted her up, instinctively she wrapped her legs around him, and she could feel his prick straining against his jeans. “Which way to the bedroom?” he asked. Without a word, she directed the way. His muscular arms held her tight like bands of steel. She kissed him deeply, he tasted of beer. He lowered her onto the bed; he unzipped her jeans and lowered them, discarding them on the floor. He stood over her, admiring her. Her brown hair splayed across the covers framing her heart shaped face, her brown eyes glimmered in the dim of evening, her small breasts, firm, nipples erect and yearning to be caressed. Her narrow waist, curing hips, the dark bush that lay in between them, he stood over her, staring down, assessing her appreciatively.
He lowered his jeans, removed his flannel shirt, giving her a chance to evaluate him. His chest was broad and well formed, covered in a layer of thick, curly, dark chest hair. He had a bit of a beer belly and narrow hips. His cock thick and of adequate size, stood at full attention. His testicles were covered with a layer of thick, dark, hair. His thighs were muscular and well formed, his butt was just as well muscled and firm, fitting perfectly in her hand. He lowered himself onto her, sliding into her with ease. He glided in a rocking motion, slowly, causing her heart to race and her senses to reel. He teased her nipples with his tongue, tracing the areola in circular motions. He was good.
Grabbing onto her tightly, he rolled over on his back, bringing her on top of him. His cock plunged farther into her, causing a new wave of pleasure. She rocked faster and faster, her muscles tightening and spasming in orgasm. She slid off of him, and began to kiss her way down his chest and belly, taking in the length of his cock into her mouth. She could taste herself on him, she could taste him. He gasped and moaned in his own private world of pleasure. She was good. He grabbed her hair, stopping her before she could finish him. He liked this woman, he wanted to relish her. He guided her onto her knees, raising her ass high, he entered her deeply, ramming into her. She cried out in pleasure, their orgasm reaching its crescendo. He pulled his prick out, just before he finished, with a jerk he came. She could feel his come running down her ass; he entered her again, going soft inside of her.
They lay together, entwined in each other’s arm, lost in a private world of thought. She pondered what had just transpired. Was this love? Was this passion? Was this lust? She surmised that it had to be lust; she didn’t really know this guy. She liked him and felt comforted by his smile. This was just a random encounter, each of them satisfying their animal drives. He spent the night and left early the next morning. She showered and went to work as usual, she wondered if she’d ever bump into him again. If she did, that would be great, if she didn’t, that was ok too. Oddly enough, she hadn’t thought of Passion or of Love, just of the man with the enduring smile. She didn’t know where he fit in, but he had given her a temporary reprieve from the conflict which raged within her.
Chapter 5: Settling In
The weeks passed into memory, she had settled into somewhat of a peaceful existence. She had given up on Passion and decided to move onward. She had Love as a companion; she lived on her own, worked and lived, her life free, devoid of passion. She began to wonder if she would ever see Passion again. She began to wonder if her passion wasn’t an illusion, as good as sex was, it was never Passion.
The depths of winter left her chilled, she watched the snow as it fell and fell. Winter storm warnings were posted; she watched the updates as they flashed across her TV screen. The winds from the north rattled her windows; she could hear the crystal plinking of ice as it pelted against the panes. She was supposed to go out tonight, but the weather was too nasty. She cuddled up in a fleece throw, sipped wine, and listened to her stereo. There was a knock on her door, who would be crazy enough to travel in this weather? She wondered to herself.
She opened the door, it was Passion. Her heart pounded, her cheeks reddened, her knees weakened, her palms sweaty. She didn’t say a word; she stepped out of the entryway and bid him to come in. His hair was windblown and disheveled. Snow was caked in the wrinkles of his jeans, his boots dripping with melting snow making her floor wet. Sheepishly, he looked down at her. “Can I crash here for a while?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a reply; he began peeling off layers of winter garb, discarding them on the floor.
Her mind was racing as she thought for something to say, she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard from him, he didn’t care how hard she had crashed, and now here he was seeking her for shelter from the winter storm. Her first instinct was to slam the door in his face and leave him at the mercy of the northern gale; instead she motioned to the couch. She retreated to the kitchen to make some coffee.
