Crossroads

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Love Recaptured.
1.4k words
4.44
9.8k
2
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She whispered stories with pictures and he painted portraits in words. She was unobtainable and he was no threat. After all, they lived from opposite ends of the spectrum. Her; beautiful, married, classy, and upwardly mobile, and him; maybe just one more starving artist. Each being gifted, but her gifts paid more than just bills. And then, at times in his darkness, she'd drift through his mind.

They met on a dark cyberspace street. Flirting, electronic banter had coupled them, helping them satiate their worldly lust. And, at times, during his days he would catch himself thinking of her. He'd ask, who was this succubus who played in his dreams? Who was this phantom that resided so submissively inside his Internet cage? That cage where she'd become his personal cock-sucker, and turn the blood in his veins into a river of lust. That place where she'd wrap her silky lips around him and breathe something forgotten back to his life. He dreamed, and that was how she gave to him. And she dreamed, she remembered his ways.

The year was 2008 and he'd bought a chance on Wall Street. It didn't take long and he discovered that chance he took miserably failed. She lent him her ear to a few other problems over the next couple of years. And somehow during this time, she had morphed into more than just a cock-sucking fiend, she had become a confidant, a muse, and a very trusted friend. She knew, and he knew, someone's confidence was shook. Financially, all that remained was his home and the land.

He found himself at a crossroads. This path was more than just opposite of that street where they initially met. This back alley was now filled with a light which had exposed the weakness in him. And this was where she extended her hand; she knew property, she understood money, and she knew value. She offered him freely her experienced advice.

He remembered when they first met; it was a thick August morning when she pulled into his life. Cutting the car's engine, she began primping in the mirror. Waiting there, on the front porch, he walked over to her as she exited the car. They smiled, and laughed, a nervous laugh. Hugging her, her face wore a slight shade of red. He thanked her for coming, and she said she didn't have long. He then offered her a drink, but she politely declined, and said she'd better get doing what she'd come to do. So he led her inside and told her he'd be out on the porch.

He sat there bewildered because he'd always been so in control of his life. And there he was, now thinking about selling the family homestead. He didn't belong in those times which were changing as fast as the thoughts in his head. He felt old, he felt forgotten, and he felt like he no longer belonged.

Those thoughts didn't last long, as his new thoughts turned right back towards her. Yeah, she was real, maybe more than he'd ever imagined! Her scent lingered on him like a warm memory. She was beautiful! None of that mattered though, her reactions whispered a disappointment in him.

Sitting there, he pictured her Liz dress, her rich girl hose, and those upscale Weitzman heels. He saw her silky blonde hair, those blue eyes, and her flawless smile with those cock-sucking lips. Fuck it, he thought, she could be dangerous!

She walked up the oak stairway and landed on a corridor leading to four bedrooms in his old federal home. Starting at the far end, she entered a room. She smiled, a remembered smile, from another life. A life which now seemed like an eternity away. She gazed at the antique Eastlake bedroom and revisited those childhood summers she'd spend with her grandparents. She remembered those naps her grandmother and her would take on a similar bed. Thoughts consumed her as she ran her smooth hand over that quilt, just as she had when she was a child. She imagined her grandmother talking to her, brushing her hair, and telling her stories about when she was a girl. She missed her, and their special love. That wasn't what she experienced with her own mother though, everything was about money, and material things with her. And those were the things which she had drilled into her. Ironically, those things had brought her on this little trip. Getting up, and walking over to the tall narrow window she looked out at the view. A large oak, right there, shaded the drive where her car sat. She remembered those fields, and walking hand in hand with her grandfather through them. Sighing, she thought just thirty minutes north and she would be back in that rat race filled full of con men. She wondered if he fully understood what he was contemplating. She knew what his home was worth to those parasites which just happened to dwell minutes away.

Continuing her examination, she stepped into the room across the hall. She knows this room. This was where he first captured her and sent her to those same places her husband once had. This was where his eyes, and the tone in his voice, could make her shake and spasm with each new demand. And this was where she'd been keeping her secret from him. Maybe she was no better than those same people who she detested. She had wrestled with this for so long it had paralyzed her, and she felt she might lose what she had now found in him. He was a good man, and she knew how he felt about lies. She felt the same, only she had convinced herself she wasn't supposed to find what she'd discovered. Somehow it just happened and this whole thing had snowballed on her. Looking up on the wall she gazed upon a beautiful face. That old love of his then spoke to her soul. She had died of cancer and he'd struggled with her passing, never quite returning to where he once was. That same struggle, that unknown common denominator had glued her to him. If only he knew how she found comfort in him. It was one of those things ironic in life, and as she stared at that photo she pictured her husband's same death, and how she knew all too much about his loss. They'd even died the same year, she thought to herself.

Sitting at his desk, she looked at the computer, and then gazed at the old antique typewriter sitting across the room. That piece of the past where he would rough in his stories. This was where he had the courage to open his heart and write those words she could relate to. He was such a romantic. She smiled sitting there, thinking how this relationship had slowly evolved into something she'd never imagined it could. And slowly her smile changed, and a tear emerged from her eye. He was real, his heart was real, and she had totally fallen for him. Walking over to the manual typewriter she picked up a blank piece of paper and placed it within the machine. She thought, and her not so steady hands hit away at those old sturdy keys.

She wrote: "Jake, I've lied to you. I hope you can forgive me. I am a widow. My husband died the same year as Carol. I'm sorry, but I don't know what to do."

She looked at the words and pulled them out from the typewriter. Walking over to the desk, she laid the paper on the computer's keyboard, and then she walked out of the room. Finding the bathroom, and looking into the mirror, she pulled herself together and retraced her steps back down to him. She said she had received a call and needed to get back. She excused herself, and promised she'd finish the first chance she got. Jake asked her if everything was all right, and she assured him it was.

He walked her back to the car and curiously watched as she drove away. He knew something wasn't right as he walked in the house. Entering his office he noticed the paper. He read it once, and then again.

Quickly reaching for his phone, he pounded out his message to her, "Wherever you are, pull over now. I'm coming. Katie... did you ever think you could feel this again?"

She hadn't gone far when she read his words. And like a weight being lifted from her, some new tears streamed down her face. She didn't wait long and she saw his truck finding its way towards her. He spotted her at the crossroads.

The crossroads, where two beaten down souls breathed in a new life with their forgotten kiss. The two never forgot their first kiss, along with his first handful of her silky blonde hair!

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3 Comments
burningloveburningloveover 7 years ago
It really doesn't matter about the length of a story!

So what? The story was well-written! It made the reader think and wonder about Katie's remembrances regarding her grandmother, an effective tool to bring the reader into the story.

I guess there could be a second chapter of explanation for this story!

Easily 5 stars from me!

If your first story, good start!

It seems some authors write a second chapter to further explain their first!

Burninglove

AnonymousAnonymousabout 8 years ago
I agree...

i wish I could weave words so well.

My feedback is, maybe I'm dense but I lost track of the subtle shifts of what was happening.

Does she know this home via her own eyes and experiences or through the lens of the word portraits he's painted?

Did they ever meet before?

trigudistrigudisabout 8 years ago
A Good Start

Stylistically, I liked this. You get into the emotions of the characters very well. However, it needs more development.

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