tagLetters & TranscriptsA Letter From Barbara

A Letter From Barbara

byRonnie Wachuka©

From the author:

This is the continuation of, "A Letter to Barbara," which the reader is encouraged to read first.

I have to again express my thanks to Lady_Silver, for her advice, kind assistance, and for her correcting my miserable mistakes, to RedHairedandFriendly for her input, encouragement, and support, and to Barbara for her getting me started on this story and pressing me to finish what had been started.


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My Dearest Ron:

The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.

How those words by Omar Khayyam from his Rubaiyat flash before my eyes like a lighthouse beacon and make me believe that today's strange occurrences, as well as all that has gone before, were ordained to happen.

When I removed your letter from my mail box and noted your name in the corner with no return address, my mind and body suddenly experienced every emotion that mankind is heir to like a kaleidoscope of whirling colors and patterns. I was so overcome with emotion I had to quickly seat myself on the sofa lest my knees give way and my body fall to the floor in a heap of flesh and cloth.

Fear flashed through my mind, gripped my heart in a vice, and knotted my stomach so tightly it almost doubled me over in pain. Were you writing to tell me it was over? Was this letter your final goodbye?

I missed you so much that loneliness washed over me until I wanted to scream for mercy and relief.

Then anger surrounded me like a black fog, completely shutting off all the other emotions. Why had you shut yourself away from me for so long? Why had you made no attempt to contact me? Did I mean so little to you? Where were you? The tears ran freely down my cheeks as I held your letter in my shaking fingers.

Slowly peace reduced my fears and calmed me as the love I have for you slowly flowed through my veins. I had to know our fate so without further thought I opened the envelope to read the words you'd penned.

As I read your words, my fear, anger, and loneliness dissipated from my mind and body like an ice cream cone in the hot August sun, completely melted by my love for you.

"My affection and bumbling Love: Ron." I must have read those words a dozen times until the ringing of the phone roused me from my reverie.

To my hello I heard the soft deep tones of your baritone voice and I found myself again sinking down to the sofa in shocked surprise.

Our conversation lasted for perhaps ten minutes and as I placed the phone back in its cradle I felt completely and wholly at peace.

I went to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Once the tea was brewed and in the pot, I carried it to my dining room table to re-read your letter and make my response.

When I felt I was ready I gathered up my pen and stationary and began.

As my pen flew across the paper I'd find myself pausing now and again to put my thoughts in order. . .

The death of my husband, Carl, after nine years of marriage totally devastated me. The grief was multiplied many times over by the fact that Carl and I were childless. Several years into our marriage routine tests showed him to have such a low sperm count that conception was unlikely.

We'd talked about adopting and as his position in the company improved we began to investigate the possibility, but our hopes came crashing down when the new wall at the construction site fell, killing my best friend, lover, and husband instantly.

It was Father Fry who helped me to keep my sanity in those dark terrible days. It was he who conducted the services and counseled me afterwards. During the counseling sessions he learned about my computer skills and found a job for me to help distract my mind from my grief.

Knowing I dreaded the loneliness of my empty home he'd sit with me on the bench under the old Chinese Elm Tree alongside the church after Mass on Sunday. We'd talk for what seemed like hours about whatever struck my fancy.

At about the sixth month of my widowhood Father Fry quietly began to urge me to come to the church social events. He pointed out to me that at my young age (I'd just turned 31) I couldn't just shut myself away.

As the anniversary of Carl's death approached, depression began to settle over me like an unwelcome blanket. Father Fry recognized my anguish and listlessness immediately. He also knew I didn't wish to date or mingle with others so he sort of became "my date" on Saturdays. He escorted me to the museum, to art shows, to any event that would help to raise my spirits. To prevent the upraised eyebrows and quizzical expressions sure to fall about us if a priest was seen in a social setting with a woman, he took to wearing "civilian" clothing.

Towards the second anniversary we began to take evening walks in the park and down at the beach. He'd pick me up for supper once or twice a week and after supper we'd walk and talk. No, there was no romance, only the feeling of comfort that settles over you when you're with a friend. In private he was no longer Father Fry, he was Ron.

As the third year approached our social events included musicals, concerts, and the opera, followed by late evening dinners. We were still on a friendship basis. We hadn't even held hands, let alone kissed.

It all changed as the fourth anniversary approached and the company arranged a banquet to celebrate my promotion to head analyst in the computer section. Not having an escort, he'd agreed to be my champion that night.

Shaking my head to clear the cobwebs of history past, I sipped my tea, and again laid pen tip to paper to resume my missive. . .

My love; I think that to this day you have no idea of how great an effect you had on my heart, soul, and libido the night you picked me up to escort me to the banquet.

I spent many days in preparation. Not just to impress my bosses and their wives, but to make you proud of me, heart of my heart.

I found the perfect cocktail dress for the evening: Gold and modest. The hem fell to just below my knees and the bodice was cut low but not low enough to display my cleavage and perhaps embarrass you. It was overlaid with a knitted "Spider Web" as you laughingly called it.

I also found the perfect garter belt and black nylons to match my pumps with their three inch heels.

My hair dresser took extra care in preparing my hair so that the waves framed my face just so.

Just before I put my dress on I applied a small dab of my favorite perfume, Chloé, behind my ears and between my breasts.

Dressed at last, I added my mother's pearl earrings and necklace, and stepped back to appraise the final product:

In the mirror I saw a lady with soft blond hair and dark brown eyes. 5'4" tall and though my hips and butt were a little wider than in the years of my teens, the effect was not unpleasing. My breasts had a little sag to them but they were well supported by my bra and completely hidden from view. The pumps had added to the visual appeal of my legs. I was extremely pleased with my appearance.

Descending the stairway to the living room below I almost stumbled when my eyes took in the sight of you in your tuxedo for the first time.

Dearest, you stood at the bottom of the stairs with your hands behind you. A man who stood a head taller then I, with black hair flecked with slight specks of gray here and there. I did notice the thinning hair and the way you carefully combed it to hide that fact. It will be an item for loving teasing in future years when the fires of passion are banked by love, respect, affection, and the playful ways of long time lovers.

Your steel-grey eyes shone through your glasses, piercing me to my very soul and the smile on your lips melted my heart. For some reason the glasses gave you a boyish appearance and appeal I can't explain.

I have to confess if this night had occurred six months later, my love, I'm afraid that we would not have made the banquet that night because, dear heart, I would have jumped your bones to tear your clothing away from the body I soon learned to adore.

When you presented me with my corsage my heart skipped a beat at your thoughtfulness. As we looked in the mirror while you reached around me to pin it to my dress a feeling passed through me I hadn't experienced in years and I felt my panties getting damp as they began to stick to my labia.

I wanted to tear the shawl from your hands and press them to my breasts as you reached around me to place my shawl on my shoulders. I have to confess that I could feel my face heating into a school-girl blush.

I still can't explain what happened to cause my dress to be pulled up around my thighs as I entered the car. Thank God my panties weren't exposed because you would have surely noticed the dampness. I saw your embarrassed look as you tried to avert the sight of my bare thighs exposed to your view.

As we drove away my mind settled into a quiet decision: I was going to make every effort to win your heart.

I say this without shame or remorse; at the banquet, when the dancing began, I purposely set out to seduce you. I didn't know if it wouldn't happen that night, but happen it would. Perhaps the wine helped to allow me to make that decision, but I'm afraid it was more venal then that. When I felt your hard penis pressed into me during a slow romantic waltz the decision was cast in stone.

The longer we danced the more tightly we held each and I couldn't help myself as I rubbed myself against your hardness. All went well until they played the Rhumba. The pure eroticism of the Rhumba almost overcame all of my modesty; I wanted you and I wanted you NOW!

At the conclusion of the evening we stood face to face on my porch. I softly stroked your face as I thanked you for the most wonderful evening in many years. Suddenly your arms were around me, my hands were pulling your lips to mine, and we kissed for the first time. If you hadn't had your arms around me my legs would have betrayed me and I'd have found myself on my knees.

Reluctantly you took your leave and it took all my strength to enter my living room and close the door. As the door closed my body settled against it. I was so horny that if I could have gotten the door open again, my heart, I would have thrown you down on the porch and ravaged you in front of God and anyone passing by. My need was so great that before I had finished with you you'd have been whimpering and sniveling for mercy.

Gathering myself together and with what little strength I could muster I ascended the stairway, shedding clothing as I moved. I wanted nothing more then to be naked and to seek relief. My body was totally enflamed in an arousal that had been years in the making.

I couldn't even wait to draw the cover and blanket back. Falling on the bed I rolled over and immediately began to squeeze my breasts and tug, twist, and pull the nipples. With my eyes closed my dream came true. It wasn't me handling my breasts. It was your hands ministering to me.

Carl used to tease me about my nipples being directly attached to my pussy. He was right; each tug and each squeeze made my pussy wetter and wetter.

I could take it no more. My imaginary lover had to pay attention to my pussy. Jamming my fingers deeply into it I began to rub them against the walls as my thumb rubbed across my inflamed and stiff clit.

It didn't take long as my need had been too great. Suddenly my body stiffened in climax as the vagina walls clamped themselves around my fingers. My climax came in shuddering release.

As I fell into a satiated sleep my only regret was that I was alone in my bed instead of lying contentedly against you with your now soft penis nestled in the crevice between my butt cheeks, your hand cradling my breast, and the night air filled with your soft breaths.

My last conscience thought before I fell asleep almost snapped me awake and would have if I hadn't been so tired and relaxed; "Lady, you're in love!"

That thought raced through my mind over and over again during the next several weeks and I could find no way to refute it. Something I had lost years ago had returned, but the problems in realizing my dream seemed insurmountable.

My problem appeared to resolve itself one night when we drove over to the lake for a late evening stroll in the light of the full moon. Along the lake front were rental cabins arranged around the water front. Investigation caused me to rent one and begin my assault on the object of my affection.

Because of the closeness of my house to the church and the fact that the bed was the one Carl and I had spent so many nights making love I had no desire to make love in that bed without being married, so the cabin seemed perfect.

I had a late evening picnic basket made up by my favorite deli and in the light of the next full moon you and I walked toward the lake, the basket jointly held by each of us, with a blanket under your arm.

What a delightful repast. Fried chicken, German potato salad, rolls, and two bottles of chilled Chardonnay wine.

We spent many moments kissing and holding hands during our late evening feast.

As we walked back to the car I suddenly pulled your arm and directed your steps to the cabin. The astonished and quizzical look on your face was precious.

The wine, our kisses, and caresses during the picnic released your normally reticent feelings and we soon found ourselves laying naked next to each other on the bed.

I knew that our first attempt at making love would not last long and events proved me correct, but oh love, the feeling of your hard penis sliding deeply inside my pussy as you flooded me with your cum was all that I'd dreamed of.

Afterward as I lay in your arms, you softly and bashfully confessed that you were a virgin. Those quiet words produced such a feeling of tenderness in my heart I simply had to touch you, caress you, and kiss you. I slowly raised my head to taste your lips, and for the next while we kissed and caressed each other as I taught you to make love to my breasts and suck my nipples while your fingers moved smoothly around and in and out of my pussy.

When I felt your penis rise in glorious hardness I again pulled your body over mine. I found my legs wrapped around your thighs as I urged you deeply within me.

How can I ever explain the feeling of your penis sliding along the walls of my vagina? The feeling of fullness as the head of you penis lightly touches my cervix and your testicles and pubic hair press tightly against my labia and pubic hair is almost indescribable except to say that it causes every nerve ending in my body to become aroused. When you stroke in and out the pleasure only heightens.

The intensity of feeling becomes so great that my breathing becomes shallow and I begin to moan. As your movements continue my moans change to screams. I'm not in pain, my senses are so overloaded I feel the need for release. When it happens it's like a rubber band snapping. All of my muscles, nerve endings, and senses suddenly stiffen and release themselves with such force that I can only scream in a climax that I can't begin to try to explain except to say it's almost the most glorious feeling in the world.

The most exquisite feeling is when your penis is buried as deeply inside me as possible with the head of it touching my cervix and you explode and flood me with your seed. That feeling of your cum washing through me never fails to bring me to another climax that is so powerful my pussy muscles wrap around it in an effort to prevent your penis from slipping out and to make sure none of your seed escapes. Every part of my body freezes into paralysis. Any muscle action is totally beyond my control until I can come back down from the heights of the mountain of desire and need you've taken me to.

That second time confirmed what I'd already known; I was deeply and hopelessly in love with you.

During the next year we were very careful to arrange our love making so that it didn't occur during the time I was fertile. I taught you how to worship my body and properly make love to it just as I showed you how much I worshipped yours and wanted nothing more then to make your joy total and complete.

Our loving and making love went on until your sudden disappearance.

Why am I penning these words to you in a letter that will be placed in an envelope which will never receive a stamp, nor any postal cancellation?

I suspect I'm writing this for the same reason that you wrote yours. To commit these words to a computer screen and print them seems far too harsh and impersonal. I want them to flow from my mind and body through the pen to the paper...to you.

There are so many things I wanted to tell you that I couldn't say over the phone; words and thoughts that I now sit committing to paper.

This composition is like a statue in the park; it is my physical tribute of what you have meant, mean now, and will mean forever to me.

Tonight, my love, will be the first night of what I hope are many firsts.

When you come into our home this evening we will sit down at the dining room table and we'll enjoy the first meal that I've ever prepared for us to enjoy. I only hope that I can keep myself under control because every fiber in my body wants you and I wish for nothing more then to make love to you.

Following supper, we'll sit on the sofa side by side, enjoying a brandy, while I hold and watch you as you read the words of this loving tome.

After you set it aside I'm going to take you up to our bedroom and slowly undress you as you lovingly return the favor. When I can again behold your beautiful body, lover, we will slowly and tenderly bath each other in the shower.

Once our ablutions are complete my darling we are going to lay on the bed and make love . . twice (at least). I know how my body aches for sweet release and I can only imagine your torment.

The second time I am going to make love to you and surrender myself to you so completely that you'll feel as though you will be forever wrapped in my mantle of love. A mantle so protective that no action of man or nature can ever bring you pain or discomfort.

I was so thrilled and elated during our phone conversation when you told me of your decision to renounce your vows.

I'm so happy that you changed your mind and called me sooner than you'd planned. My heart soared like an angel in flight when you answered my query about why you hadn't waited.

You sheepishly informed me that you'd known from the first that you loved me but you wanted to make sure that you could walk away from your ministerial duties without regret.

Finally you stuttered out your impatience with waiting and made my life complete when you asked me to marry you as soon as possible.

I know that there will be times when you question your decision and doubt whether it was a wise one or not. When I see your eyes cloud with doubt my darling I will put my arms around you, lay my head on your chest, and whisper of my love for you until the doubts once again are safely locked away in the deep recesses of your mind.

Dearest one; I suggest to you that we will be sinning tonight just as we have for the past year and something when we made love. None more than the other, but sinned never the less. Let us make tonight our last night of love making until we are united in marriage in the eyes of God. As soon as it's possible let us each make our confession, make our plea for forgiveness, and accept our penance with grace so that our married life will be one of honor.

My husband-to-be; the night you take me to our wedded bed I am going to give myself to you in mind, body, heart, and soul. I will be yours to do with as you will because I know you'll return that love many times over. You'll never need another woman for I will be your lover, your confidant, your woman. In our bedroom I will be your whore and your slut if that's your wish.

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byRonnie Wachuka© 10 comments/ 22683 views/ 0 favorites

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