“I’m crazy about her!” he tells me,
“I don’t know how she feels”
“I think perhaps you do.” I say and “I also think that you should tell her”
“Even if you say it just the once, put it out there, and then it can never be said that it was not known.”
This is a story about un-reciprocated love. Not all stories are happy ones but still stories are there to be told. The Space
“I love you baby” he says, except he isn’t smiling because deep down he knows.
She smiles weakly in response and then wonders with the same sad expression that he wears, whether she might love him in some way.
After all he makes her laugh, they don’t argue. Of course he doesn’t see her for who she really is, purely because she hasn’t shown him but he’s ‘willing’ to see her for all she is.
There’s just one thing and though it’s only ‘one’ thing, it’s bigger than all of those things put together. The space between them doesn’t bother her.
“Come here and give me a cuddle” He interrupts her thoughts before the silence becomes unbearable.
She shifts closer to him and makes a gentle noise of affection as she rests her head on his chest. She sighs involuntarily and instantly wishes she could have suppressed it, wishes she’d been aware of it’s waiting game.
“What’s the matter baby?” he says
“I’m just tired” she says and it’s a lie, she hates to tell lies. She convinces herself that since she is tired, it isn’t really a lie, but everyone knows a lie when they tell one.
He accepts her answer but inside his heart is sinking into the pit of his full stomach. Still he will not love her any less even at the very moment she breaks his heart, he will not know how.
“Shall we go to bed and watch telly?” he asks.
“Okay” she says as she gets up to lock the doors and turn down the lights.
He watches her from the couch. Her sexy round arse is on display because her dress has hitched itself up. She’s aware of it, and she loves the way he watches her, the way he loves her as she is.
She doesn’t like the way he grabs her hand in public to show the world that she belongs to him. She doesn’t belong to him. This he knows.
She smiles at a stranger and it’s an innocent smile yet it riles him. It shows in his eyes, and now she’s afraid to make eye contact with the world.
Upstairs she goes to the bathroom. She washes quickly and brushes her teeth.
He’s already smiling at her from beneath the covers when she enters the bedroom and it’s a welcome sight she thinks because she doesn’t much like to sleep alone.
She pulls her dress over her head and even in the poorly lit room she feels his eyes on her, his keen eyes taking in her curves.
“I don’t think you realise how beautiful you are” he tells her and she kisses him on the mouth.
“And you’re so fucking hot in bed” he adds and she settles down beside him, to which they both laugh before she turns onto her front.
The covers sit just below her backside, it’s a hot night and cool welcome air from the ceiling fan makes tiny hairs stand on end.
He turns on his side towards her and strokes her back tenderly.
Her back is so soft it draws the very best efforts from his fingertips. He traces her spine up and down, memorising the feel of it. Gradually he hears her breaths become heavier as her arousal grows.
Arousal born from purely physical and not the desire she’s supposed to feel.
He moves behind her now and pulls down the covers.
He silently takes in the sight of her and she feels his hard cock against her backside as he moves in to kiss her back.
She spreads her legs willingly and he drives himself into her as he continues to plant the kisses he wishes were tattoos on every inch of her.
She thinks for a second that if she loved him, if she loved him the way she was supposed to, this might actually make her cry.
He moans as he makes the first long journey into her. He’s slow and deliberate.
He’s making love to her, and he’s doing it with every ounce of himself as if it might make a difference somehow.
She cries beneath him. She wants to be ravished, she wants to feel sore tomorrow but even now, even when she pleads with him, he can’t be all that she wants.
He can only be himself and right now, he’s a man in love, a desperate man trying to inject her with all that he feels.
“I want to marry you!” he’d said the night before and it had been that one statement that would inevitably seal his fate so soon. She’d always dreamed of a fairytale, she dreamed for so long that she wondered if she might not recognise it if it ever came.
“Oh baby!” he moans as he rocks back and forth into her.
“Fuck me” She says in a terribly needy tone that makes her sound like someone else.
She clutches the pillows before her as he ups the tempo, she plays her part in this. She likes sex after all.
She begs as she really starts to feel her pussy being worked inside and begins to slam herself back hard onto him.
He obliges, and then in another few seconds it’s over and he sends stream after stream of hot cum into her fertile belly.
“You drive me crazy” he says apologetically, “I can’t hold back with you!” he whispers.
“It’s okay”, She tells him and she’s sincere.
Afterwards she has silent tears streaming down her face. Their cause is sadness and frustration but he doesn’t ask, he doesn’t see. If he did, he would wipe them away and save the questions for the light of day when things hurt less.
When he settles beside her, intent on sleep, she slips her hand to her cum drenched pussy. The mess is the only real evidence.
She’s drawn to her reliable clitoris, it serves her well and sleep is not far away.
She uses their combined juices as she slides her fingers across her swollen need and in her head she imagines a different man, a different scenario, a filthy loveless one suffices.
In just a few moments, she shudders as minimally as she can, as the waves of her self supplied orgasm engulf her and the she rolls over to shed a few more tears before her dreams take her to the place she won’t recognise, the place where the space would matter.
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with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.
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