Finding the Way HomebyFunintheFort©
A gentle roll of thunder woke her. The early morning light was dim and watery, and she drifted for a moment, listening to the rain. As she lay there, warm and content, the realization that she was not alone filtered into her sleepy brain. She was being held, two arms gently imprisoning her against a mountain of a chest against her back. And then she remembered.
They met at summer camp. She was 13, a tall, loudmouthed Texan with golden hair and a ready smile who was funny and loud and just so damned overwhelmingly present that she intimidated most, if not all the boys. He was 12, a sweet, shy boy from Oklahoma, several inches shorter than she was with startling blue eyes and lashes so long they made women weep. He would stammer and stutter whenever she would talk to him. They met in Nature Class and quickly became friends. At least, she became friends with him. He would later tell her that he fell in love with her.
A strange bond grew over that summer. Although they never talked during the school year, the next summer, both were back at camp. That's when she started calling him her "little brother," much to his dismay. Still, being her little brother afforded him some status among his friends, especially when she would fling her arms around him in excitement or would pull him out onto the dance floor during those ridiculous and wonderful camp dances. She never knew how he felt about her.
After three summers, he didn't return to camp. Her last summer there was strangely empty without her little brother. She had just assumed that he would be there with her because that was how it was supposed to be. In the following years, she would think about him in the summers, wondering what he was doing, where he was. But then she went to college, and her attention was pulled from the past to the present.
So imagine her surprise when, right before she went back for her sophomore year of college, she saw him in front of a movie theater in her hometown. What was even more surprising was that she recognized him in the first place, for he had changed dramatically. Instead of her "little brother" who was shorter than she, here was a strapping young man, 6'2" at least, and nicely filled out. But she recognized his eyes. Those blue eyes with the long lashes that now were looking at her with astonishment as she ran across the parking lot and flung herself into his arms. They talked for a couple of minutes and made plans to go to dinner that night.
Dinner was both wonderful and tense. They had both grown up a lot, and it was quite obvious that there was a strong sexual tension between them. But he had a girlfriend, and she had a boyfriend, and so they spent the evening talking about anything and everything, except what they were feeling. At the end of the night, he took her home, gave her a long, tight hug, and walked away. They didn't see each other again for almost 25 years.
On the couch, she snuggled into his arms. They both sighed; it just felt right. Long gone were the golden-haired girl and the sweet, shy boy. They had known each other for over three decades. Granted, they would fall out of touch for long periods of time, but upon meeting again, they would always fall back into an easy pattern of deep, thoughtful conversations and silly, sarcastic joking. They thought alike. They laughed at the same things. They had both been through long marriages, which, while painful at the ends, had given them beautiful children without whom their lives would have been empty. They were battered and bruised, body and soul. And now, here they were. Holding each other. Really holding each other.
Looking back, it's unclear exactly how it happened. They were quietly talking, just holding each other, and she looked up at him. And he gave her a kiss on the nose. The sweetest, silliest kiss on the tip of her nose. Instead of drawing away, she held there, looking at him. So he brushed his lips over hers. Just a soft, gentle kiss. But in her heart and in her head, something clicked. This was right. This was supposed to be.
He was the first person she went looking for when she signed up for a Facebook account. They would chat for hours, catching up on all that had happened in the years since they saw each other in front of the movie theater. They talked about food and swapped recipes. They gushed about their children and said nice things about their spouses. And then she told him that she was getting divorced.
Through those long, dark days, he would occasionally call or send a private message, always seeming to know when she needed a smile or a shoulder to cry on. When his marriage was crumbling, she did the same for him. They instinctively turned to each other for comfort, although their styles of mourning were very different. And whenever one would thank each other for being there, for listening, for being a shoulder to cry on, the answer was always the same. "It's what we do. You do it for me. I do it for you. It's what we do."
So finally, after all the divorces and moves and upheavals in their lives, she invited him to come visit for a weekend. Okay, so she didn't "invite" him. She demanded to know when he was getting his ass down to visit. Just as old, battle-weary friends. A platonic weekend of going to restaurants and museums, breweries and movies. After all, he was still her little brother, right?
After that first, magical kiss, they made out on the couch like teenagers for ages. Slow, drugged kisses. Hot, passionate kisses. Tongues and teeth and panting breaths. And then, somehow, she was in her bed, looking up at him as he slid into her for the first time. Feeling his mouth on her breast. Stretching around his generous girth. So hard. So hot. So demanding and yet so giving. And she knew that her life had changed forever. Hearing him groan. Feeling him over her and in her and around her. Shattering around him in the most intense orgasm she had ever had as he pulsed in her, filling her completely. Knowing they had both found their way home.