Simple

At this moment in time, my hands shaking on the keyboard, I muse. I romanticize that I am going to see her. Then the romance goes away, and I see the facts, not the emotions. The reality kicks in. Oh yeah, she was serious. She doesn't want me and for good reason. She is in a 24 hour in patient program with no date of release.

In the dream, this fantasy that plays in my head, I sit in a hallway that is white, with patients walking up and down. One approaches me and asks me what I am doing, who am I waiting for. I am polite and smile. I am waiting for someone. Who? He asks. I smile again. I know not to speak to the people in the halls. They are there for a reason.

As I do what I can to separate myself from the man, she is just there. So stealth she is. And standing looking angry, confused. There is no love in her eyes just emptiness and scorn. She walks down the hall, away from me. I follow slowly, not wondering where we are going. I do not have fear.

Some how through the meandering halls we end up outside in an obvious smoking area, enclosed by four sides of glass. A square area with tables and coffee cans everywhere where two coffees from a pot are poured. I take a coffee and make it as I like it. At an opposite table, I sit. No contact, just sit quietly. I know to do so. A group of people looking in at us does not take me by surprise.

Suddenly she stands and looks right at me. I can feel her stare and it gets kinda creepy. I take a deep breath and look. No, that's not a knife in her hand, just a smoke. I breathe out. She lights it for me. And her swagger some how returns. How tall she is. When we were a couple, people were always mistaking her for a man. This pleased her and did not object. Our raw sex life often played with this role. But her soft side, the one I craved the most, was not present. Her blonde hair not having seen scissors hung around her face as an extension of her torment. Wild and unyielding. Those eyes, those brown eyes had a glimmer of sparkle, but were deadened by this moment. Despite this, she looked sharp. Well dressed. Tight blue jeans, red baseball cap and a soft white button down shirt. I recognized her breasts, tightly bound. I know it all to well, as I taught her. Her transformation from feminine to masculine complete.

"You are not to be here. You are not to be in my life. You are not to be anywhere near me. I need you to leave me alone." The words are ice. But I don't care, I simply stare back. I state~ you are on 24 hour watch. I am not to have concern? Thought? Prayer? Tell me, what are you missing here, why don't you understand my perspective. ~yells she does~STOP! Please just stop! I can't take any more of you! I can feel you! You are in my head! I know you are out there, thinking of me, worrying about me! STOP! DON"T do it any longer!! She stomping her feet now, waving her fists. I do just sit quietly. I think this surprises her as she keeps getting louder and louder.

I see people running to her. They start to surround her, give her calming words, but do not stop her. She just yells and screams at the top of her lungs. They treat her with respect as she goes through the eye of her hurricane. I hold myself, waiting for the back wall to hit. And it does. They always do. This one, I suspect wasn't a too big of a one. The good people leave her, and go back to behind the glass. I see her relax. I do not speak; I just wait quietly for anything she may need to say. She sits~

I let out a deep sigh. Shaking, I go towards the door, and do not look back. I can feel her mind being so undone, she truly doesn't know what. I breathe in again and her arms surround me from behind. She is holding me, and sobbing. I relax again and thank the goddess that she has finally seen it my way.

I do not turn to face her. I just let her hold me. She backs away from me and sits back at the table. As overwhelmed as I am I keeping away from her. I know its best. Another cigarette is lit. We both breathe out at the same time. The cig is crushed and she turns to me. Lust now in her eyes.

My hand is taken and she leads me down the white hall. A small bedroom, with curtains closed. A radio is on playing calming sounds. She lights a candle and looks to me. Her mouth is upon me and I react as instinct. Her hands upon me, reaching, groping, probing desiring. Clothes remain on our bodies entwined. On top of me, she grinds. Dry humps me with skill. A fist towards my orgasm which come quickly. I roll her over and bring up my knee, I pound her with my hand to her crotch and I see that she is pleased. Getting under my waistband she inhales deeply to herself. How wet I am, how turned on I am, how SIMPLE it is for me to cum. Her jeans are off. On my face, she sits, and I taste her so salty yet sweet. Her groans are not silenced, her needs not denied. I am with her, she wants me, and I want to comply. The lust that she has for me, never truly died. "Suck it, suck me off" and she grinds into my tongue. I am happy, I hum and I am won't stop until she is done.

Her mouth on my sex devours my clit. My pearl, as she has called it, hardens to the tip. Fucked hard and fast by her fist, I moan out. Another orgasm is had and we both shout out. She turns me over, and my ass is slapped. Her groan tells me she has her strap. It pushes deep into my tight ass. I breathe out, and breathe in the pleasure she needs. As she fucks me, my ass gets nice and red. She reaches around and grabs my swinging tits. Pulling on them, she bangs me as hard as she can. She screams an orgasm as I am fucked to my mercy.

My cunt now soaked and needing release, three fingers start pulling and stroking. Her eyes widen as she sees me, her hands dive into her cunt and she grinds on top of me. Her hand, my hand, they are one. I pull her close once more and shudder as we cum.

Exhaustion is our only reason to stop. No embarassment or shame either of us feels. We know what we have done, and there is nothing to regret.

Walking away from her room, I smile to myself. I acknowledge her pain, suffering and grief and know that I can never take it away. But there is still hope in my heart that she will call to me again, feeling better about her circumstance, and to see me for who I was before her meltdown. Not just as a friend, but a deditcated girlfriend, one that would wait. One, who would weather all of her storms, stand by her, no matter what. Some one who she could turn to, cling to, rely upon. Im this selfish fantasy, I am the hero, the rescuer, the saint and the lover she can't live without. She needs me, and I am there to give her as she needs.

As I walk away from this fantasy, my mind clouds over. I remember how much she gave to me, before she fell ill. Her love to me was unconditional and I still desire it to be. I want to give it back to her, as she once gave it to me. My guilt needs to be assuaged as I still feel I was her undoing, her demise. I was the last one to be with her before she went to walk along those white halls.

The romance you say? How can that be romantic? SIMPLE. In this fantasy she reached out to me. Despite her anger, grief, sadness of hurricanes. But she still wanted me, on some level. And for that, I am glad.

Fantasy versus reality. It is tempered but not solved.