Breaking Up and Making Up

"But Laura, if you cheat on me you don't get to come crying to me about it. It's not how this works, it's not how any of this works."

He looked at her, his hands still covering the lower half of his face. He looked like he was about to cry himself, his eyes were gleaming in the gray light of January morning. He batted his lashes, trying to draw back the tears.

"I didn't mean to cheat on you," she said feebly. "I thought...well we've been fucking other people before, right?"

"Did you even think?" he asked. "It didn't sound like you did. And if you don't see the difference between this and the scenes we've arranged together then I don't know what else to say to you."

"Tommy, I'm sorry," she said, new tears welling up in her eyes.

"I know you are," he said. "I'm just relieved you're okay. I think you should sleep now, you look exhausted."

She was exhausted. She let him guide her out of the room and undress her, all the while trying to come up with something to say. It wasn't easy, and the more she thought about it the less she had to defend herself with.

Tommy tucked her in and kissed her, but didn't want to lie down with her, and so she sank into an uneasy sleep alone.

When she woke up several hours later he was gone. There was a note on the kitchen table.

"Darling Laura,

I'm sorry I didn't see this coming. I've noticed things were slowing down between us, but I thought it was okay, I thought it was only natural. I guess I should've talked to you about it. Maybe you haven't been content. Maybe you need something I can't give you.

I'm thinking I have to let you go now. You haven't had a chance to try different partners, pick and choose, and I shouldn't hold you back. There's gonna be so many who are interested in you, there already is, your career is blossoming so beautifully now. And I can't do this, I can't share you with the Marks of this world. I never thought I would get jealous but maybe I just haven't loved anyone this much before.

I hope you take good care of yourself. With the things you write there'll be those who think you're ready to do everything you write about and more, so I hope you learn to tell them what you will and will not do. I hope no one will ever hurt you.

Let me know when I can sell the house. It's finished, has been for a few weeks now. I guess I've been stalling behind for you once more. You can stay for as long as you want to. I took the car, let me know if you want to have it instead.

I will always love you.

Yours, Tommy"

She read it and had trouble understanding what she was reading. Her body seemed to know better than her mind and fresh tears started rolling down her cheeks. She tried to call him but he didn't answer his phone.

Now what the hell had she done.

-#-#-#-#-#-

The following weeks were just a turmoil of agony in her mind. Tommy didn't answer her calls or texts but did answer her emails, albeit shortly and only if there were some actual practical things to take care of. She wrote him long, rambling emails anyway, pouring out her love and longing and remorse, trying to process things. His lack of response depressed her, and gradually she stopped sending her rants. She didn't stop writing them.

She asked her publisher to find another editor. Preferably a woman.

She didn't answer Mark's calls.

She found a small rental apartment she could easily afford and moved her few personal belongings away from the house. She didn't have much, they had been living like gypsies ever since they left their hometown, and back there her house had burned down taking along every old photograph and other memorabilia she had. She wasn't that interested in accumulating stuff and moving around every few months had helped in keeping things ascetic. She furnished her place with absolute necessities, and it made her cry to realize it was the first time she'd done it without Tommy.

Usually they went to local jumble sales together, picked up furniture they absolutely needed. They would laugh together and joke about their new bed and make up stories about it. They would suggest silly items for each other and sometimes even buy them, tacky paintings, stuffed animals, old rugs. Sometimes they'd even hang on to some of it and move it to the next location with them, but often they would just dump all their things to the new owner and start anew somewhere else.

The most difficult thing was to sleep alone. She tossed and turned in her lonely bed and bitterly regretted her stupidity. It felt slightly ridiculous to be so dependent on another person, and she did her best to immerse herself in her writing and manage her life. She wasn't aiming at getting over Tommy, she thought she never would, and didn't see a point in trying.

She wasn't looking for another relationship, but as spring advanced she did start dating. She discovered Tommy had been right, and she could pick and choose amongst people in the crowd that attended the publishing company's events. She did fellow authors and she did readers, she did publisher's employees but with more scrutiny than she'd done with Mark.

She learned to ask if they were married and make up her mind whether it mattered. She learned to be more explicit in what she wanted, she learned to say yes and she learned to say no. She got her first sexually transmitted disease, luckily not a very nasty one, and learned to use a condom. She enjoyed the differences and similarities, she did things she hadn't done before and taught some of her tricks to other people. She mostly did men, but participated in a few threesomes including other women. She had a very active sex life, but emotionally her life was barren and desolate.

She felt homeless and abandoned and very alone. She didn't have family and she didn't have friends. She got along with a few people from her publishing company, but they were professional relationships, and privately she had absolutely nobody. She had no skills to make friends or keep up friendships, her lonely adolescence had ensured that, and she was introverted by nature and didn't even miss it much. When she'd been with Tommy she'd had all she could wish for and now she had nothing.

She immersed herself in her work with even more vigor. She wrote day and night, she participated in book signing events and even some book fares and panel discussions. She authorized the shortening aka censoring of her books to book clubs. There was even talk of filming rights to one of her stories. The money was pouring in, but without Tommy it was without meaning.

In May she drove by the house. She parked across the street and took in the signs of the family living there; kids' bikes in the yard, a trampoline beside the house, curtains in the windows. With a pang she realized this wasn't their house anymore, Tommy had sold it and moved on, and it hurt like hell to realize he could be anywhere by now. She didn't know his current address and it was probable he wasn't anywhere near Chicago anymore.

She, on the other hand, had absolutely nowhere to go. When she'd been with him it had felt like the whole world was open to them and no matter where they went they were home. This was the exact opposite, there was no place in the world that was her home, and she knew she would feel this terrible loneliness and pain no matter where she went.

She had his phone number and email address, so she had a way to reach out to him, she just didn't have the words to say.

-#-#-#-#-#-

Tommy was fiddling with his tape measure in the kitchen. He had on a pair of faded jeans and a sleeveless shirt of white cotton that was so tight it was slightly uncomfortable. It licked his flanks and he could see his nipples through the fabric. He smiled to himself, this was bordering ridiculous but he could feel the anticipation growing nonetheless.

Claire walked in with a smile and twirl of her summer dress.

"Why hi, Tommy," she said and batted her lashes. "I didn't know you were still working!"

"Just finishing up, ma'am," he said and tipped his head a little with his fingers to his brow in a small salute. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do?"

"Actually, there is," Claire said. "It's just on the top shelf, let me get it for you."

She took the stepladder and came to where he was standing near the sink. She positioned the ladder right next to him and started to climb the steps slowly. Tommy could see she didn't have a bra on, her nipples were poking against the tight bodice of the dress, and he could guess she didn't have panties on, either. She climbed the steps, wiggling her hips, and Tommy thought he could smell her excitement.

He waited until she was almost at the top and then he touched her thigh. She stopped climbing and held onto the cupboard. She was trembling slightly. Tommy could feel his penis straining his jeans, and he opened them to give himself more room. This was the part that always made him so hard, it was funny how it worked time and again.

He held on to her legs and turned her slowly. He lifted her other foot to the edge of the sink so that her legs opened up nicely. He looked up and Claire met his gaze with slightly glossed eyes, a small smile on her lips. This was her favorite part as well.

Tommy lifted the hem of her dress and went under it. Her pussy was at just the right height, and he didn't have to bend very low when he stretched out his tongue and licked it open. Claire sighed and pressed closer to him. She was already very wet. He opened up her folds, licked at her sweet moisture, and when he sucked her clitoris into his mouth it made a wet slurping sound that made him smile. She moaned and he took a good hold of her buttocks to keep her up. He couldn't let her finish in this position and she was already so close he didn't have much time. He gave her a little, anyway, and when she started whimpering and grinding against his chin he let go and bowed his head to get back out from under her dress.

Their eyes met again and he smiled.

"Did you find what you were looking for, ma'am?" he asked.

"Oh, I think you found it, Tommy," she said huskily.

He lifted her up and she let out a little shriek. She wasn't too heavy for him to lift, but he knew he was strong, and she probably wasn't that used to being handled like this. Definitely not by her husband, who was a lawyer, he was witty and intelligent but physical strength wasn't something he could be attributed with. And Claire wasn't the slimmest of women.

Tommy lowered her to sit on the counter and moved between her legs, she wrapped her legs around his pelvis and looked at him with lust clouding her eyes now. He didn't say anything more, they were done with their dialogue, instead he kept eye contact and guided his penis with his hand so that he could slide it against her slit. She was dripping wet, he got his dick covered in her fluids quickly, and then he started to push in.

He went in slowly and she moaned and tensed up. He pushed all the way in and gyrated slowly against her pubic bone. She broke the eye contact, tilted her head backwards and moaned. He had his arm behind her back and the other around her waist and hips as he started to thrust inside her.

She was so turned on by now she didn't want it slow anymore. She wanted it rough, and while he wasn't rough he could do this much. He accelerated, getting more aroused by the wet slapping sound of them meeting each other, and he could feel himself getting harder. His breath was getting harder as well, and she was panting already.

"Ooh, Tommy," she whimpered. "Ooh, ooh, ooooo."

She was close, and he didn't hold back anymore. He thrust in her faster and faster, and soon she went rigid and squeezed tight and fast around him. He moaned and let go, her fast spasms rippling around him as he came long and hard. He kept her in place and she slumped in his arms, pressing her head against his neck.

They stayed still for a minute and caught their breath. Finally she lifted her head from his neck and kissed him gently.

"Thank you, Tommy," she said hoarsely. "Once again you've delivered."

"Oh, Claire," he said. She reached for a paper towel and kept it in place when he pulled out, gathering his cum on her hand with it. He reached for a sheet himself and wiped himself off. They smiled at each other.

It wasn't always so fulfilling to act out other people's fantasies, but he really liked Claire. She was cheeky and fun, she knew what she wanted, and boy did it work for her. She was one of the founding members in the neighborhood swingers' club he had stumbled upon with the latest house he'd bought, and she was the one that had first approached him with the proposition of participating.

There seemed to be a great demand for "strong handyman" fantasy amongst these middle class housewives he was surrounded with. He didn't know what their husbands longed for, or what all the other members did on their swinger's nights, but he'd had the opportunity to act out this or a very similar scene with almost all of them. With Claire more than once, this seemed like a favorite fantasy for her.

"You want coffee?" he asked and she laughed.

They went to sit on the sofa with their coffees. Claire kept smiling at him, she was always in a good mood when she'd gotten off, and she'd cum hard today. He didn't feel too shabby himself and returned her smiles.

"So, what's next?" he asked and sipped his coffee.

"Shelley," Claire answered. He just nodded his head.

Their swingers' club had a certain basic rotation. Of course people couldn't commit to a rigid timeslots, so Claire managed their schedules. Or she managed his, in any case. Shelley was alright, she was the rare exception in that she didn't go for the "muscular working man" fantasy so many of the other ladies did.

"Okay, I suppose she'll let me know," Tommy said.

"Suppose she will," Claire said and glanced at the clock. "Sorry love, I have to scoot."

"No problem, nice seeing you," he said. She kissed him quickly on the lips and was gone. She wasn't much of a cuddler.

He sighed and laid down on the couch. He felt pleasantly spent, and for once he thought he might just take a nap. Maybe he'd be able to sleep if he didn't think of anything but just dozed off right now.

-#-#-#-#-#-

Shelley came over the following night. It was customary that the couple-to-be meet before the actual date time and settle on the details. For some there was virtually no change so it wasn't always necessary to meet, but Shelley didn't have a fixed fantasy. They sat on the sofa and tried to talk about it.

Shelley was way softer than Claire, nowhere near as aggressive, and it seemed to Tommy she didn't know what she wanted herself. Sometimes he wondered why she was in the swingers' club at all, perhaps it was because his husband had talked her into it. She was easy to persuade to do anything and the husband, Joe, seemed to be the head of the family. Tommy tried to coax her to formulate what she wanted. For him it was all the same, or much of it anyway, he knew the things he wouldn't do and so far nobody had asked for it anyway. Especially not Shelley.

Finally Shelley blushed sweetly and rummaged around her bag for a paperback book.

"I'd like to do this," she said and pointed out a bookmarked page in the middle.

Tommy hardly heard her. His stomach had turned over and all of his mental equilibrium had shattered around him so fast it left him weak and he leaned forward and buried his face into his hands. He drew a deep breath and took the book from Shelley, and then he stared at the cover before pressing it against his forehead.

"Tom? Are you alright?" she asked, worried now.

"No," he said. "No I'm not. And I won't do that, I'm sorry."

"But you haven't looked at it?" she asked, puzzled and still worried.

"I know what it is," he said hoarsely and lifted his head up to look at the book again. "It's me."

Shelley didn't know what to say and he took a moment to gather himself. The book she'd handed him was titled "The Dark Years". It was Laura's book, the first one she ever wrote, and he happened to know for a fact that every sex scene in it was about them. Either something they'd done or something she'd dreamed up and they had done afterwards. She had gotten more imaginative since then, but her first book was firmly rooted in their relationship.

God, he remembered how it was when she was writing it. How everything was still so right between them.

He wiped his eyes. Shelley was looking at him, confused and worried. Tommy tried to smile but failed.

"You see, Laura is...was my...she was with me," he said. "When she was writing this. So no, I'm sorry, it gets too close. I can't do that."

"I'm sorry, I had no idea," Shelley said. Tears were gleaming in her eyes as well.

"Don't be," Tommy said. "You couldn't have known."

He gave the book back to her and tried to breathe evenly to get on top of his emotional turmoil. He wasn't over Laura, he never would be, the pain was barely under the surface at any given time and this had definitely knocked him off balance.

"Has it been long?" Shelley asked.

"Not long enough," Tommy said. "A little over six months. Not that it's ever going to be long enough."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "Listen, we don't have to. If you don't want to."

"Well I won't do that, any of that," he said and gestured towards the book. "But maybe if you'll have something else."

"I have to think about it," she said. "I'll see you on Friday?"

"Yeah, I'll see you," he said and got up to walk her to the door. She bolted almost as if she was running away from his discomfort, and he suspected she might cancel Friday anyway once she got safely away from him.

He couldn't sleep that night. It all got so close again. He lay in the dark, remembering Laura and all they'd had together. It still hurt, and once again he wondered how she was doing. She had sent him long emails in the beginning, he had saved every one of them and sometimes read through them and cried. He couldn't answer, and gradually she had stopped writing.

He wondered where she was. It hurt not to know. He had stayed in Chicago, without her there seemed to be no point in going anywhere at all. The realtor he had bought the last house from had helped him sell it again, and she'd had a house she'd proposed he buy next, and so he had. His heart wasn't in it this time around, and while he had renovated it in his usual manner it felt soulless. He was all but finished but kept stalling because he didn't know what to do after selling it. He didn't feel like buying another one and he didn't have a pressing need to do so, he had accumulated enough wealth to take some time off, but alone he had no idea where to go or what to do.

And, let's face it, the ladies in this neighborhood weren't bad. It was an added bonus to have access to sex without the complicating burden of trying to uphold a relationship or woo a new person all the time. None of them was Laura, of course, and acting as a prop in someone else's fantasy wasn't very fulfilling, but he'd rather have this than just his hand to keep him company.

He couldn't imagine settling down here for good, anyway, and so he was trying to come up with something that would interest him at all. So far he hadn't succeeded.

He missed her so much. So, so much. There were days he managed not to think about her for some lengths of time, mainly the days that included meeting the neighborhood ladies. Even in those days she was always the first thing in his mind when he woke up, the last thing before falling asleep.

-#-#-#-#-#-

On Friday Shelley did come to his place. She had a laptop computer with her and she asked him to sit on the sofa again. He was curious but did what she asked. She didn't seem dressed for sex, but then she usually didn't, and he thought maybe she'd searched for a clip of porn she wanted him to do or something.