tagNon-EroticI Can't Have Her

I Can't Have Her


This is a quick little something I've thrown together. I hope it's mildly entertaining.

Please vote and comment. On something this experimental, I need the feedback.


I awake from sleep, eyes starting. I'm not erect. My chest is hollow with pain and want.

I can't have her.

How long have I known her? Not long, but I've waited the length of my life.

We met when I wandered into a gathering place, where people go to talk, debate, flirt. She was already a regular. Her words were the first thing I knew of her. Listening to her talk was fascinating; such a lovely balance of passion, intelligence and learning. She could be quite a pit bull when she set her teeth into an idea. But there was never any loss of her femininity, it was always obvious she was a woman.

When I finally saw her, her appearance matched her demeanour. She wasn't a large woman in any sense, a 'mere slip' as they say, but quite beautiful. Blazing red hair told of her inner fire. Her expressive, sweet face spoke of her womanhood. She never used the mannerisms of a girl. Not a giggle emerged from her mouth. Batting eyes and blushing were beneath her. Even relaxed she stood straight and proud.

As a new person I merely stood and watched at first. Occasionally I would interject something into one conversation or another. I stayed away from her. I was afraid I would be too much of the drooling, inarticulate male. We circulated through conversations, sometimes staying to chat a bit and move on. I became a regular patron of the establishment, so we saw each other more often.

And I soon learned I couldn't have her. The people we were would keep us forever apart.

Such things have happened before. I sighed internally, shrugged my shoulders and continued to visit where our lives intersected.

But this wasn't like before. Other times, my feelings would fade eventually. On accepting the inevitable the object of my desire and I would drift away.

Now, I couldn't stop my feelings. Every time I saw her they rose in me. Being so aware of her and knowing she wasn't to be mine would hurt. To be so close and not to have is painful. I would come where we met to see her, then avoid her. I wouldn't enter conversations where she was, and would leave those when she arrived. Sometimes I could control myself enough to speak, so I don't believe she ever knew I was keeping her at a distance.

It took quite a while, but one day it seemed I had accepted. That I had come to grips with my want and loss. We simply became people who knew each other, and were friends. I no longer stayed away from her and we talked a lot.

But last night I had a dream. Unusual for me, to have a dream I remember. More unusual to have another person in it. The other person was her, of course.

It started with me looking over her shoulder as she sat at a desk. She was writing something.

A story as it turned out, for the next moment we were the characters in it. She was an intelligence agent, an important and skilled one. I was the same, retired but I had been her mentor many years before. I had left the business because I couldn't handle my feelings for her. They were endangering us both. I don't believe she ever knew.

She was on a new and very dangerous assignment. I had been one of the best and she needed my help. As I looked at her, standing in the hall of my house, I realised how much I had missed her. Foolishly, I agreed to go with her.

Next we were at a safe house, with the other members of the team. Rather, in the dream I knew there were others, but I never saw them. The two of us were having great difficulty working together. What I had felt flared once more. And once more I knew there was no way to satisfy those feelings. I could never have her.

She confronted me, demanding to know what the problem was. All I could do was look at her and say, "I hurt!"

I felt her arms go around me then. I responded in kind without a thought. She whispered to me, "I know." I could tell from her voice and her grip that she did know. There was nothing I had kept hidden from her.

And she hurt as well. Not from loss, but because she knew I couldn't have her. That wasn't something she could offer. But my pain caused her to hurt as well. So we clung to each other, as friends do, to ameliorate the ache.

That moment seemed to last forever. She was barely an armful, the most wonderful armful I had ever encountered. Her sweet perfume filled my nostrils and I could feel her heart beat against my chest. She was warm, and soft, and strong. She was the part of me I hadn't known I was missing. I basked, letting her presence fill me.

We broke apart then and the hurt was almost gone. It wasn't what I wanted, but it was close.

I calmed enough to get on with the job. The next part of the dream was very fast forward, bits of what happened. Not enough to make much sense though. All I really remember was a map like in 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' showing us traveling; to Jamaica, then to Paris, Berlin after that, Rome next and finally Trieste.

Now I was standing in front of a building, the one we worked out of in Trieste. An upper middle class house on a cobblestone street. I went inside. She greets me in the living room. It's very much a European room to my mind; small, dark wood, intimate. "Sit," she tells me, indicating a chair. "I have something for you."

I do so, wondering. The job is done. I can return to my old life now, away from her. In spite of the close moment we had shared, being around her still pained me. I needed to go.

She stood in the middle of the floor and began to remove her clothes.

She pulled her shirt over her head. Her alabaster skin seemed to glow. Her breasts were small and firm. They would be barely a mouthful if I suckled on them.

Something stirs in my chest. I can't quite identify it. Fear? Pain? Lust? Love? I don't know. It won't stand still long enough for me to recognise it.

She unbuckles her belt and pants. Turning her side to me, she slides her garment off her hips. Bending, she continues undressing and reveals her legs. Although not long, they are wonderfully shaped. Solidly muscled, they are a delight for the eyes. Her lovely ass, displayed by her position is an avatar of beauty. Artists would be famous if they could capture it in pigment.

I had thought she was beautiful clothed, naked, she is overwhelming. I stare open mouthed at her, hardly able to breath. The emotion in me grows very strong.

I can analyse it now. Most of it is pain. I still know, somehow, she won't be mine. There is love, lust and hope as well. They form the sensitive surfaces the razors of my agony cut.

She stands straight and faces me. Running her palms up her flanks she says to me, "Tell me what you would do. Direct my hands."

I realise now what she's doing. She can't offer herself, so she is offering a dream of herself. She hopes that will be enough to stop my pain.

She's wrong. Instead it wells up, clutching my heart and squeezing. To have her so close, so almost a part of me, but without any hope is far more than I can stand. I bolt from my chair. I'm going to run, put as much distance between us as I can in the belief that the misery I feel will fade.

I awake from sleep, eyes starting. I'm not erect. My chest is hollow with pain and want.

I can't have her.


Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it.

Votes and comments would be very much appreciated.

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