Silver Jail

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Soft story about 2 broken hearts healed by alternative love.
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They met at a heavy pub. He, a smart guy with a shady past where fights and soft drugs were not strange, had just finished a long relationship. She had not sleep with anyone long ago, and never had a mate who will last more than a few months.

He had believed in romantic love, with its chivalric epic details, the typical image of the dragon, the maiden and the savior prince, but the world, and especially that as long than cold relationship, had made him forget about those things. Or maybe he had departed them to a corner full of thought impossible and unrealizable desires.

She was not happy with herself, and was certain that she could not be with anyone. So, while yielding to his passionate impulses, then she immediately repented and dramatically ended her relationships.

He dreamed of better days that never were, and although he was glad to have finally realized that playing with fire was not the way to escape the gray world in which he lived, he rebelled against the fact that the time spent with that vapid and selfish girl had not been better.

She simply did not dream. She chased away her suitors with sarcasm that touched almost the cruelty, even without saying anything. Why give hope for something that would not last?

They attended one day at a pub, as I have said, and their lives changed forever.

At first they just met: they had mutual friends that do the presentations, but were ignored mutually, at least in appearance. He could not help watching her, and she ... no one will ever know if maybe she did something to show that she knew he was watching her, even sideways. I, for one, won't ask.

Then they started dating without commitment, after a day she drank too much and he had to hold her to avoid falling. He was polite, and not wanting, nor repenting after that, he touched her breast. She became a rage and gave him a slap attempt. He did not protest, though felt hurt by this misunderstanding, but when she went to hit another slap drunk, stopped her and staring into her eyes, took her hand to his lips before she hit. She was surprised by that, and confused, went out in a hurry. She expected him to follow in order to escape and to dodge him, but he did not. Dazed and angry, turned around the streets until she decided to return home. And on the night bus stop, as she sat, he saw across the street he was.

He thought, very superficially, in what had happened, and smiled, doesn't realizing that she was there. In fact, he simply felt good for his chivalry and, hell, also remembered perfectly the soft touch of her breast compressed under their hand. Someone coughed in a very striking way across the street, and he looked up to see her.

Her name was Naomi. He did not like that name, and when he had thought of her, he had called Nymph, because it seemed more gifted with charm. He liked the rest of her: the long straight hair brown, smooth skin, bright eyes, fine and delicate fingers laden with rings. He remembered that one of them, with a snake head, had scratched a little, and stroked his cheek automatically.

She, of course, had coughed on purpose, pretending or faking, still was not sure of that, her dissatisfaction with re-find him there. She recalled too that he had slapped him when saw his gesture, and she felt a little embarrassed. Now, with more clear head, began to remember that almost had fallen and that he had secured her.

The bus of him would arrive soon. "Well", they said both to themselves. But when it passed by, they were not too much surprised when he stayed in the bus stop.

She looked at him and began to wonder. What was his name? She wavered between Albert and Anthony, but almost sure it was Albert. His disheveled appearance was not in her opinion, devoid of charm. And he was strong enough, or rather wiry. Not a fit-victim, but someone who has been working hard for too long. Standing there was humanly understandable, in the absurd, that after he missed the bus, he treated of avoid crossing his eyes with hers, waiting for the nymph make a grimace, trying to spot if her bus came.

They figured more or less the same scene, without knowing it. He would cross the street, tip the knee and ask her forgiveness for ... good, he would apologize only. There was nothing to forgive, and that was already known to both, but the wall of unbreakable protocol required those intricacies. She then maybe would smile, or make an eye drop, or would only entertain the small and polite humiliation of him, or give him his hand, the same that assaulted him, to kiss again, or more likely among those ranges gentlemanly game. The city was deserted, the night was safe and that scene would have been a delight without additional incentives.

This time both were surprised when the bus arrived and she got on the bus. He was in front, unmoved, and each time was longer the while watching her. And she liked that too. But what they had envisioned did not happen, though both wished. It just was, when the curtain fell on that day, the knowing that she was pretending, sitting inside the bus, she was not known observed, and that he had not given up, smiling playfully to impress himself for his winning picture, knowing that this swagger would not do the slightest visible effect on her. And he also noted the banal fact that would have to wait quite a while the next vehicle.

Both rested well, but took to fall asleep that night. Love threatened, stretching its bow.

Of course he gave the castle first, and not so much because he was fully aware that he belonged to, but because when his friend told him to go the next day at the home of Naomi, housemate of his own girlfriend, it seemed that fate, or some higher power, was making such a clear way for him there was no chance of reply.

She, in slippers and just neat, was very unhappy about finding Anthony at her door, accompanying the boyfriend of her housemate, and whose name, now, she was sure. If anything was glad that she had not said anything to him the day before, because of being wrong with the name, perhaps he would have thought that she did not care at all, or did she deliberately annoy, and curiously was not charmed of that Anthony thought any of two.

-Hi, Naomi.-

He felt her stiffness when he went to kiss her cheeks, and stopped before reaching the second one, to whisper:

-Sorry.-

"You like to play, huh?" she thought, and vowed herself to ignore him all afternoon. She would get into his room, and leave the door open enough so that, looking, he could see her sitting there in her best gown, her hair loose down her back, totally oblivious to him. Well, she also would hear what he said about her, and she was surprised so strong desires of his words.

Anthony sat in the living room, so pleased that began to take chips without waiting for his fellow arrived, who had gone to get beer. The other's girlfriend rebuked him: she had enough confidence to those little nagging. Naomi, who could not concentrate on the fish pc game that had started as a lame excuse for her pantomime, was pissed hearing that hint of anger: that was not appropiate for a host, nor the right of her housemate, but of herself . She regretted not being in the room, for the first and last time. Last because, as the other guy entered the room, Anthony told, perhaps to apologize for being a guzzler with appetizers, that had been yesterday at the pub and seen Naomi there. The satisfaction was short for the aforementioned diva, because then her friend said, and thus triggered a wave of perceptible blush:

-Ah, yes, she told me she saw you, and then you were at the bus stop. -

"I just want to crawl under a rock!". Su compañera acaba de, involuntariamente (pero de accidentes involuntarios están llenas las tumbas) confiar al actual centro de sus leves desvelos que le tenía presente, y que quizás incluso pensaba en él. Al menos tanto como para habérselo dicho, maldita la hora, a la del almuerzo a aquella bocazas tremenda. Ni siquiera se le pasó por la cabeza la posibilidad de que él hubiera jugado esa carta de órdago, sabiendo que ella lo oiría todo, para enterarse de lo otro. Deseo meterse otra vez en la ducha y dejar aquella situación que no hacía sino complicársele (y no quería reconocer que luego lo pasaría en grande rememorando todas esas pequeñeces). Pero lo que siguió escuchando, la descolocó aún más.

Her partner has just inadvertently (but hell is filled with unintentional accidents) trust to the current center of their mild anxiety that she thought about him, and perhaps too often, at least enough to have told such a thing to that tremendous largemouth, damn it, at lunch. The possibility that he had played that risky card not even crossed her mind, but if he knew that she would hear it all, maybe would have learned that secret feeling from her. She wanted to get back into the shower and let that complicated situation (and she did not want to recognize that she was going to have so much fun remembering all those little things). But what she listened then, let her even more confused.

-But man, if the bus line through here is not the one of your house. - -Yeah. Yesterday, when I left the pub... I intended to go see Carol. -

There was an awkward silence. Luck had wanted, a few days ago, that Naomi became aware that Anthony (then still Albert), had no girlfriend. It was one of those things hunted on the fly in the conversations of others, but our damsel in distress was not passed one that came under guys free to fantasize. From the tone of voice, if you could give credit to that carnival frauds, but it seemed that for once yes, that such Carol should be his former girlfriend; and he was hurt. She bit her lip: even a topic, the guys with the heart broken recently stimulated her. His friends quickly changed the subject, showing a discretion very different from the disregard the housemate just had, and all afternoon, until she left his room, not much later (enough to wear a white T-shirt somewhat tighter than usual to be home and a couple of ornaments in the form of bracelets and barrettes), they did not mentioned anything about all that bad stuff.

Naomi decided to obey her sensations a little, otherwise she would not come, except into the street screaming that went for snuff. She entered the sitting room with the hands in the pockets of the jeans. They were watching an episode of some series downloaded from internet, but did not ask what for, for it she was extremely sound, give a damn. Her housemate was sitting on her boyfriend, but her feet resting on the knees of Anthony. That bothered her. They were friends, but all those little replacement she was doing, even if they only belong to the scope of her creative hypotheses and their overflowing imagination, were harassing her too much. She would love to have this boy to his feet, footstool, and perhaps, if he behaved well, would sit on his lap, as her friend did with his own stallion, and make him cuddles. If he behaved well and told what had happened to his former girlfriend. She loved those stories, provided they were extreme: tragic, sad, violent. But that, from beginning to end, was too far for now, and she only had on hand a rampant frustration. Therefore, giving vent to their instincts, and combining them with plans and trigger effects embedded in the depths of the female psyche, so that even women themselves know they have similar equations of subtle manipulation in their hearts, she said "Hey, girl! Do something that probably will not work, or you will get mad in an absurdity."

She began to gather, in silence, but looking from the corner of the eye to the couch, plastic dishes that had emptied of pickles and other goodies. Her eyes darted between Anthony and her housemate, while her studied movements were a blatant display to the present people. The face of the first, not directly watching television, was an enigma, and she would have really given much to know if he was abstracted thinking of his former girlfriend or about the meaning and consequences of not having taken the bus the last night for her, for Naomi. To her friend, however, she quietly said "witch, up there and help me at least to compensate for the mess you've gotten me into." And in the way of each other, lamented the low style showing little plastic dishes out for a visit. Even if it was a massive party at home, she would approve, but not wanting to wash a few dishes for the price of looking bad with their guest, that seemed her even offensive.

Anthony was not aware of those things, of course, as any man who does not use nearly every effort to appreciate the details, but he was well aware of the presence of Naomi. There he was comfortable, collected by his good friends, as an emotionally beaten puppy. In fairness to him, nor we say whether he thought Carolina or why or by whom he did not go to see her the night before.

The housemate noticed Naomi's eyes and stood up. She may be understood or grasped the intentions of her friend, but should not want to go a long way in interpreting them. They were old friends, and Alice knew her housemate was a little special when dealing with boys. However, if some kind of relationship was going to be after all this time on dry land, she was happy for her. And there her thought stopped because the risk of concluding that if things did not go well, they will have discussions with her own boyfriend to tell if it was her friend and housemate or good old Anthony who would have shit.

When she began to clear the table, Anthony also stood up to help. Was the kind of people, without distinguishing between genders, which values the formality enough to behave that way (often in the hope of being told that it was not necessary, but not rare merit to his offer). This time, however, he wanted to lend a hand, appearing helpful and grateful, changing the current conversation topic, which had led to a bitter and sensitive subject, for some everyday home action, completely neutral and shielded against emotional interpretations, as it was to collect the dishes. And he also wanted to be near Naomi, of course.

The housemate, more practical and less theatrical than Naomi, was already running by the hallway to the kitchen. There was hardly anything to finish clearing, and the boyfriend was also going to stand up. He was not the only rude at the meeting of bets and feints, only the slowest, and the one who more attention was doing to the series. Naomi was as sharp as sweet when she decided, knowing that was trying to cut a hair in the air with a newly sharpened blade, to launch its own "all in", culmination of all that round which mysteriously (and then when she thought of it alone, almost disturbingly) had happened so well.

-Make yourself comfortable.-

The boy obeyed, and not only that, but also lay on the couch without leaving a free space. Naomi smiled at that delicious softness that how well came to her plans as she walked teasingly slowly down the aisle, conscious that few steps behind Anthony followed her, forced to adjust his rythm to hers, so close that if she stopped he would push her and stain with nachos cheese sauce. Then she could be angry with him and get revenge of any affront, probably imagined, she wanted, to the point of ordering with the look he licked the place where he had spotted. She would not say it, but he would understand and would like to do that, just as wanted to cross to the other bus stop yesterday, but could only to collect, with care mortified by impotence, the aforementioned sauce with a paper towel, and she would ridicule for herself of that state of morbid excitement and submission where he had fallen, knowing she was the ruler of the situation. Even, and licked her lip unconsciously at the thought, calculated in these febrile feet of aisle exactly the pint of her back where Anthony would rub. A little above the ass, but low enough to have to lean a bit to clean it. She would have him at her mercy; the circumstances, the scene, gestures ... everything but the explicit name of the act that she would play with him in an instant if she wished, and the original script that her tireless brain wrote as a printer, would be properly restrained by their reins. Like a puppet theater.

Her friend saw the face of ineffable and perverse tastes, however it was subtle, and shook his head but said nothing and smiled Anthony when she returned into the sitting room.

He thought she had been spotted. Had not noticed? Had some cheese sauce on the wrist. He could not look there, but knew it was. He feared, indeed, may have missed a moment in which she had licked the sweet, select hole where the sauce had been deposited, but no ... was impossible. He had not taken his eye off her, and besides, she would not have let him deprived of a spectacle so sublime and refined as that: would have looked into his eyes as she slowly approached the hand to face. Her red tongue without excelling, in a perverse modesty, from the veil of the lips, would have touched slightly that orange mass, without actually printing on the warm dermis. It was the action, not the practical purpose what would have mattered, which would have given meaning to that flash. He would silently scream to her to let him complete the task, knowing himself powerless to do so. And then she would closed her eyes, provocative, and quickly, hiding like sex, clean her hand with a long lick. "You've lost it." She would look with disdain, fun to look at the chains that kept tense subject and sane.

-You've spotted.-

Hall thousand photos, beautiful all, were lost because of those words. Naomi felt embarrassed again, cursed in a whisper and was certain that astral teasing exists, and is based on changing the rules when you had won.

He looked at her. Would have liked to see her perform in the kitchen, like a strange voyeur. But the dishes were plastic, and the sensuality of garbage is far from desired. He had the delicacy of "desist" and return the sitting room swiftly and silently, fearing of forcing Naomi to extend some sordid process, such as drying hands, only to understood that it had not been possible.

Naomi thought the same, from their perspective, and added a few more points to Anthony when she noticed that he had made a graceful exit. He probably already reached in class some of the best romances she had had to actual date, which, now that she thought had been the most tormented. She turned and leaned against the counter. A month later, if this war of surprises and twists continued, she would have gone crazy and would be a bitch in heat, wishing her boy set aside the apron roughly and penetrate regardless. Stunned by this premonition, so similar in intensity but so different in content to all the turmoil that had stirred her brains in the hallway, holding her neck as looked at the ceiling, get stained with what remained of cheese sauce. Her nipples were hard, painfully hard. She let out a gasp, or a something violent sigh, then turned to wash her hands. The water was cold and clear, and in no time she drank a glass. She needed that.

The last move was in the sittingroom, back of that crazy expedition to the kitchen. Ah, if they had taken the dish ... But to sorry again was useless. As soon as she stopped thinking about, a new enigma was raised: no doubt her housemate and the other guy were seated on the couch. They both would not have been so foolish as to return to seize Anthony cornering at their feet! So there would be a free seat. Of course he could have taken one of the good wooden chairs at the other end of the room, gathering dust among the few celebrations that were given the amnesty under their sober oak table. But that would break all conventions and etiquette, if some of them remained to be corrupted in that house. So where does she sit? She shook his head, unwilling to be seen on the thighs of Anthony because there was no better place (and she feared it did not exist, but admit it was a different thing)

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