The Heart - Sex Stories

The Heart

... river then drove back to Philly, but I remember looking across the river at Tomkinsville, not sure why I was so fascinated by this town.” “Interesting,” Emily said, nodding, looking at Walter. She returned the coffee pot to the burner, then came around and sat on the stool next to Walter. “Then what happened? How come you decided to come and live here?” “Another good question,” Walter said, turning to face Emily. “I’ve never seen you sit down before.” “Well, I do from time to time, especially when one of the customers wants to talk. I’m kind of the mother confessor around here,” Emily said, chuckling. “So, tell me, why did you decide to live in Tomkinsville, of all places?” “Well, when I got back home to Philly with my new heart, I decided I wanted to make sure I didn’t get back into my old habits and thought I should take off to some place new. Start over, do you know what I mean?” Walter asked. “I just knew I needed to make a big change.” Emily nodded. “And?” she asked, urging Walter to keep talking. “And I remembered stopping in this town that day and for some reason liking it. I couldn’t drive, so I decided to take the bus here with a few things in a backpack, got a room at Miss Henderson’s. Do you know her? She’s got a house on Parker Street?” “Of course I know her. She was my fifth grade teacher. Anyway, I know everybody in this town,” Emily said. “So you just decided to show up and live in this town. That’s so cool.” “I guess you could say I was drawn here. I like it ...

... around here and I take long bike rides and walks. I like exploring. I have a part-time job gardening for a few people, but recently I’ve been drawing a lot and when I can afford it, I want to start painting. I’ve never painted before, but when I stand on Walker’s Hill and I look down at the town, or sit on that dock where people keep their boats. I want to paint a picture of the river.” “I think I can find you some paint,” Emily said. “I know where there’s paint that hasn’t been used and I could get it for you.” “Really? That would be great. I can’t explain it, but suddenly, I’ve had this urge to paint. I like writing poetry but, I want to see if I can capture the light, the ripples on the river.” When he spoke and looked into Emily’s eyes, she was captivated by his intensity. “My boyfriend used to paint,” Emily said. “Used to paint?” Walter asked. “So your boyfriend doesn’t paint anymore?” Thinking about Jonathan’s paints and Walter wanting to paint brought a rush of feeling over Emily and she remembered how much Jonathan loved painting, how he wanted to be the best artist possible. “How come he doesn’t paint anymore?” Walter asked. “He was killed about eight months ago in a motorcycle accident,” Emily said. “Horrible. Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” “How could you? You just came to this town a little while ago. You couldn’t have known about Jonathan.” “That’s true. In fact I know nothing about you either,” Walter said, pausing, looking into Emily’s eyes, “I hope you don’t ...