What Katie did on the Balcony. By katie_tt - Sex Stories

What Katie did on the Balcony. By katie_tt

... around,” I say. “I’ve seen a lot of things - and their aftermath. And please - I’m Katie. And it’s Evie, isn’t it?” As if I’d forget. She smiles again, this time more broadly, and my heart beats faster. I want to say more things that will make her keep smiling, but this is not the time. “Colin is three years older than me,” she begins. “I’m 35.” So Colin is five years younger than me. And even at 35, I can’t help but think of Evie as someone much younger. “Colin was okay till about five years ago”, she says. “He’s very smart and he was very popular, and he had a really important job with one of the big banks. He had lots of girlfriends and I thought he would never get married.” She shook her head. “He was so different then. You wouldn’t believe he is the same person.” There is a long pause. Her eyes are looking into the distance, through the wall, and I sense that her mind has gone back to those happier times. “Then he fell in love.” It is a simple statement but I know there is an ocean of emotion behind it. “The wrong woman?” I prompt her, immediately regretting my words which sounded as if I thought I was listening to a cheap soap opera. 'Oh no,” she says. “She was wonderful. They were so right for each other. Everybody was so happy for them when they said they were going to get married. He adored her, and she loved him so much. She was not like the other girls he knew. She was special.” Her face darkened. “So much so, he told me he had never been in bed with her. He ...

... could wait they were married.” She sighs, and I see tears welling up in her eyes. I say nothing. “They did get married,” she goes on. Her next words come out in a rush, &#034And she died, that first night, in his arms, while they were -“ She can’t go on. Tears are rolling out of those beautiful eyes and I fetch a box of tissues for her. I take some for myself, because now I am crying too, at her sad, awful story and at the pain she must be feeling as she recalls that time. After a while she is able to continue. &#034It was some sort of a stroke. The doctors said there was some congenital weakness in the bl**d vessels. There was nothing before that which showed anything wrong. It could have happened any time, but - love-making - killed her.” She looks so unhappy. “You love your b*****r very much,” I say, breaking a long silence. “Yes,” she says. &#034And when that awful thing happened - I couldn’t help him, he just fell apart, and I did my best to get him back together again, he was just never the same.” She need not go on. Of course, after such a horrible experience, the poor man would be terrified of the same thing happening again. I hated myself for the way I’d teased him. It would be the worst form of torture for him. I make cups of tea while she sits quietly, staring at nothing. After a few sips of tea, she starts talking again, telling me about doctors and psychiatrists, tranquillisers and anti-depressants, a round-the world trip on which he cried at all the places his dead ...