The Final Arrangement - Sex Stories

The Final Arrangement

... at least it's hot. He's visibly shivering, wet shirt and jeans clinging, his dripping jacket discarded over the arm of the sofa creating a small puddle on the floor.

"Look," he begins, reluctantly, "I know we haven't had a chance to talk yet, but I really need to go and get changed out of these wet things." He looks into my eyes intently. "I'm really hoping that you'll still be here when I get back. But if you're not... It's okay. I'll understand."

With an uncertain smile, he stands and hurries out of the lounge.

Oh God! I really don't want to be alone. Not here. Not now. Being alone means I'll start thinking and... I don't want to do that. Uncertainty, guilt and shame wash in; an urge to flee home is only barely suppressed. I need to be reassured, guided, to be kept moving with momentum. I'm suddenly aware of wet cheeks. Not rain, tears. Emotions are as turbulent as the storm-roughed sea outside. A sharp, painful sob catches high in my chest. Oh, John...

"Thank you." He's smiling; fresh shirt, dry jeans, walking confidently toward me. "I'm so glad you..." His smile fades quickly as he sees my sorrow. He sits next to me, takes my hand. "Look, I know I have poor taste, but I didn't expect you to look at this shirt and cry!"

Sorrow punctured, we laugh, mood yanked suddenly upward again as he pulls me from chill waters. It's that strange, half laugh, half sob moment when you feel so ridiculously mixed up.

His smile fades to kind concern. "I'm sorry. I ...

... appreciate something is upsetting you. I can call you a cab if you want to..."

"No." I interrupt him. "No. I need to talk with you." I hastily wipe away tears, sniffing. Another conscious effort to recover and focus. His warm smile eases the effort. I continue, "We both know why we're here."

"Because John feels that you're unhappy."

"Yes."

"And he thinks that I can help with that."

I nod, hesitantly, my smile uncertain.

He continues, "But the important thing is - how do you feel about that?"

"I feel..." I'm struggling to find words. The empty place in my soul feels suddenly raw. "I feel... incomplete." He looks puzzled, so I continue. "I'm intensely, deeply in love with John." I close my eyes, recalling last night. "I love to feel his warm skin against mine, his tender touch. I feel safe and loved. He smells of love!" I giggle, realising how ridiculous that sounds, but it's true. "His kisses are delicious. They melt me..." I realise that I'm staring out of the window at the turbulent rising tide, and turn back to face him. "But I also feel... incomplete."

He's smiling, not pitifully but kindly with attractive wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. My God those eyes! Like John's they're so deep, dark, intense - they reach into my soul! A warm tingling betrays something deeply hidden.

I continue, quietly. "John understands how I feel, although we've never spoken about it. When we're together, close, I feel his intense frustration and sadness. He sees mine. He ...