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Letters, Read Just One Last Time – 3: Broken

This short story contains explicit sexual references that some readers may find challenging and/or offensive. You have been warned.



Letters, Read Just One Last Time
© 2010 J.W.Brown

Letter #3: Broken



There are many things I would have done differently, given the chance, because I’m just the same as everyone else. And if I was given the chance of changing only one thing, it would be that I wouldn’t have accepted her dismissal of me so readily. That acceptance, that terrible acquiescence in her decision, has stalked me for the rest of my life.

Why? Because I know now that she loved me, desperately, but had two reasons, the least of which she would not, as she saw it, be the reason for the breakdown of my marriage, and secondly, but most importantly, the terrible belief that I could not, would not, be able to live with a cripple. Trouble is, I was so hurt at the time, that I blindly accepted as the truth her lie that she didn’t love me.

There is part of me that says if I hadn’t waited as long before contacting her again, there would have been a real chance for us. As it was, I sought consolation for my terrible sense of loss in a succession of affairs, which ended, as you know, with you.

You have many weaknesses, but I believe in my heart that you might have fared better with someone other than me. Someone who refused to accept the terrible truth that he’d let the real love of his life walk away. I can only say that I’m sorry, with all my heart, that you haven’t found happiness, either with me, nor subsequently with anyone else.

I first saw Emily sat on one of the long bench seats, more or less alone, as everyone else was up dancing in the crowded pub. She smiled up at me when we were introduced, and as I took in her pretty face, framed in her long, dark, silky hair, and the warm, welcoming brown eyes, a bomb exploded deep within me, and shivers of Déjà vu ran up my spine as I recognised a girl, and a lover, I had only dreamed about.

She had taken my offered hand, and held it gently as our mutual friend introduced us, and when he’d finished, she had just as gently pulled me a little closer. “Sit with me Joe, and tell me more about yourself.”
Charlie left for the bar, to buy us a drink, and I sat down on her right, her hand still holding mine, which she rested on her knee.

Up close, I could smell her delicate body scent, and the second shock wave of emotion rose, and I shivered.
“Are you cold Joe?” she asked softly, her lovely eyes intent on me.
“No..”
She waited, hearing me pause. I don’t know what came over me, I only knew I didn’t want to lie.
“It’s you.”
“Me?” she asked quietly, but her hand tightened it’s grip on mine.
I blurted it out. “I feel we have met before, been lovers before. The feeling of being next to you is exquisite.”
She smiled. A wide sensuous smile, and the light seemed to dance in her eyes.
“I’m sorry..” I started to apologise, but she let go of my hand and placed her index finger to my lips.
“Don’t apologize Joe. That is one of the loveliest things that has ever been said to me.”
She moved her finger from my lips and placed her hand on the side of my face. She leant forward and I knew what she intended. I leant forward and our lips met.

Her tongue brushed mine as we moistened each other’s lips. Her fingers tightened on the side of my neck and I felt her shudder. She ran her tongue deep into my mouth, exploring, searching, as we kissed slowly. Another shiver ran up my spine, and she half-giggled.

“Christ! You two don’t waste any time, do you?”
We broke apart and her giggle turned into a laugh. She grasped my hand again and held it firmly pressed against her thigh.

Charlie put down the drinks and stared at us, looking puzzled.
“Am I being wound up here?” he asked. “Do you already know each other?”
I turned to her and we both smiled.
“In a way, yes, we do know each other, very well indeed.” she said.
He shook his head, and looked down at us, then picked up one of the pints.
“Well, it looks like you both have unfinished business, so I’ll leave you to it.”
He nodded at me. “Maybe you’ll explain later?”
I laughed. “Maybe.”
He left.

A warmth had come over me I had never felt before. I was totally at ease with her, and we talked, broken now and again with the gentle meeting of our lips, in kisses that became progressively more passionate.

I wanted to hold her. A slow number was being played. “Would you like to dance?”
A shadow crossed her face. I nearly missed it. She gripped my hand.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh? Tell me on the dance floor. I want to hold you.”
Her hand went to my cheek. “Sweet, sweet Joe. Your lovely honesty. But I must tell you before we get up.”
I had a foreboding, but dismissed it immediately. Whatever she had to tell me, it made no difference, I loved her.
I leaned forward and kissed her. She took my hand again. She looked intently at me.
“I have a spinal condition called Scoliosis – curvature of the spine.”
I looked into her lovely sad eyes. “Will it stop you dancing?” I asked softly.
I felt her relax. The tension left her face and she smiled.
“No. But it can be seen, and people may stare at you.”
“Then I shall stare back at them.”
She leaned forward and we kissed again, then she took my hand and led me up to dance. Other than she leaned a little to one side, she looked lovely. I took her in my arms and we smooched in time to the music.

My neck felt wet. I looked down at her face and saw she was crying.
“Hey! Why the tears?”
“Fear.” she snuffled. “I’m sorry. Touch me, and let’s get it over with now, then you can go. I’ll understand.”
I was shocked. I stopped moving and stepped back to look at her. I took her head in my hands and kissed her tears, salty on my lips.

“I’m going nowhere, other than with you. Now I will touch you, just to show you that it makes no difference to how I feel about you. Then I’d like to see where you live, and make love with you.”

I took her into my arms again, and as we moved in time to the music, I gently ran my right hand down the length of her spine, from neck to coccyx.
She looked up at me, her eyes still afraid. I moved my hand to where I could feel the top of her lovely bum and gently pressed and massaged slightly down between her cheeks through her thin dress..
Her face went into my chest. “Oooh!” She tightened her arms around my neck. “More, please, more.” she whispered.

I extended my ring finger as I touched her and I felt her clenching her buttocks. With each slow movement of my hand she shuddered and moaned softly. Then she looked up at me. “Christ Joe. Let’s go, otherwise I’ll be coming in front of everyone.”

Our drinks left half-finished, we got our coats and headed for the car park. Her hand went to the inside of my thigh as I started the engine, and she gave me the first directions.

Inside the house, she threw her keys on the hall table and led me upstairs. She turned and embraced me. “I’m a little shy. Hold me as you undress me.”
Then we were in between the sheets, her lovely thighs apart as she guided me inside her. We both shivered.

I moved slowly and deeply. Her breathing became interposed with gasps of pleasure, and I could feel her fingernails in my back. Her head began to rock from side to side and she shouted. “Oh! Please, more, more.”
I slid my hand under her bum and lifted her pelvis.
She gasped “Yes. Like that.” and thrust herself up to me. Her mouth found mine again and we kissed, her tongue long and deep into the top of my throat. There was a pause, and she arched her back upwards, a long low scream escaping from her throat. I thrust ever harder as she came, wave after wave. “You. You.” she yelled looking into my face, and I let go. I buried my face in her neck as I screamed, and thrust violently into her as I started to ejaculate. “Oh God!” she shouted. “Go on, go on.”

My orgasm ended after a furious violent flurry of movement, and I lay, just above her and kissed her brow.
We lay, getting our breath back, then she started to laugh, then cried.
I lay by her, propped up by my elbow, and stroked her sweet face and neck, until the tears stopped.
“Sorry.” she said. “I can’t help myself. That was the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me.”
She reached up and kissed me gently, then her head back on the pillow, she said softly. “I want you to look. Look now.”
I nodded. She wanted assurance from me.

She rolled over. I could make out the slight, but distinct ‘S’ curve. Other than that her back was beautiful, her bum absolutely lovely.
I put my hand on the small of her back and pressing gently, massaged up and down, reaching a little further each time, deep between her cheeks.
She turned her face toward me. “Oh Joe. That is lovely. Please don’t stop.”
I smiled, and kissed her neck, then leant back and watched her face as I massaged her.

She was breathing deeply again, her tongue licking her lips, and her eyes occasionally opening to look at me. She moved her bum so that my finger ran over her anus and she gasped. “Yes. Touch me there. Please.”
I ran my finger gently over her, and she writhed with pleasure, her breathing becoming shortened and forced. Finally, her face in the pillow, she screamed and beat the bed either side of her head with her fists.

She lifted her head and shouted. “Come inside me. I want you inside again.”
I moved over and entered her soft, hot vagina, and she thrust herself up and into me, her delicious bum wrapped around me and caressing my stomach. We moved together as she orgasmed, over and over. Only when I felt her tiring did I come, then smothered her neck and shoulders in kisses.

Finally I lay by her side, bathed in sweat.

She turned over and put her head on my chest. She spoke, her voice low and gentle. “I’m in love with you. How is that possible? We only met just over two hours ago.”
“I could ask you the same question. I don’t know. I just know that you make me feel wonderful.”
She moved her head and kissed my right nipple. “Me too.” she murmured.

A few blissful weeks followed. Then her announcement out of the blue, just before we said goodbye after making love again.
Yes, we had discussed my failed marriage already. When I had protested as much, she had told me her love for me had died. She was convincing, no sign of doubt, just a kind assurance that she would never forget me, but it was over. Fool that I was, I accepted her lie.

At times, when I think of her, it seemed as though it was just a dream, a dream within a dream, and the reality was that we had never met. Whether it happened or not, the profound sense of loss has never left me, and despite trying, I still grieve, ruined, and useless to anyone else.

Letter #3: Broken is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters in the story, and real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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