Tapestry Ch. 01

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HLD
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Don't get me wrong; I like men and I loved feeling a nice hard cock inside me, but I think women are so much more attractive than men.

I'd like to think that I've aged well. I try to stay in shape, although I'm a little heavier than I want to be. In college, my rear end was amazing, but now I think it's merely very nice. My breasts were never big, but that means now they're not too saggy and hanging down to my waist.

My nipples are still sensitive and I punched them as I rubbed my sex. I had to bite my lip as I flicked the hard little nub of my clit.

In my mind, someone was nibbling on my breasts and cupping my ass. I began to buck my hips ever so slightly, meeting the strokes of my fingers.

My lover kissed and caressed me. I ran my fingernails along the skin on my sides, from my hips to my chest.

A little faster. A little harder.

I felt my pussy flood with warmth and cried out just a little.

Just when I was about to climax, Nichole shifted in her sleep. I stopped moving, lest I wake her.

I could hear the blood pounding in my veins, and the thought of getting caught masturbating by someone I had just met a couple of days ago was oddly exciting.

When her breathing was regular again, my fingers resumed their ministrations.

It didn't take much longer and soon my body tensed for just a moment, and then my clit seemed to explode against my hand. I gasped louder than I should have, then I fell back into the plush pillows.

My sex pulsed as my orgasm was released. I curled up into a ball and rolled over on my side, the waves of pleasure receding.

A few minutes later, I fell into a contented sleep.

When I awoke the next morning, Nichole's body was pressed up against me, her arm once again draped around me. Instead of feeling strange this time, I pushed back against her so we were holding one another underneath the covers.

My fingers wrapped around hers and I went back to sleep, happy to once again feel close to another person.

****************

A little while later, I stirred again. Blinking the sleep out of my eyes, I realised that I was alone in the bed. The sun was trying to peek in from behind the drawn curtains.

I padded out to the living room in my pajamas where I found Nichole and Melinda. Our other three friends were still in bed, but it was early. A pot of coffee was warming.

Melinda gave me a warm greeting, but Nichole only winked at me. I blushed slightly.

We sat around and talked quietly until the rest of the house was up. After everyone was dressed, our limo came around and took us out for Sunday brunch and then to the touristy area by the fishing pier. We walked around and did some shopping while our food digested, but then found out Melanie and Melinda had made arrangements to go parasailing, which was a lot more fun than I thought it was going to be. I'm normally deathly scared of heights, but after a couple of mimosas, my courage was up.

The girl and two guys operating the parasailing boat were young, tanned and pretty. Melinda had paid a little extra and rented the entire boat, so it was just the six of us. That also meant that we could spend a little more time up in the air.

Lara and Becky went up first. For us, they had a side-by-side harness for two people. The ocean wasn't too rough or choppy. They put the parachute up first, then strapped us in the harness. Once the riders were airborne, a tether bound the riders to the boat, and then we rode around for a while before reeling the line in.

After the first pair was done, it was Nichole's and my turn. The cute guys strapped us in, and then began unwinding the tether.

Once we got about a hundred feet up, all of the noise from the boat and the ocean faded away. There was just us and the wind. It was actually very peaceful. Melinda had gotten us the 1200 foot spool instead of the 800 foot tether and it took awhile for the line to let out.

"So did you spoon me, or did I do you?" Nichole asked once we got up to the apex.

I blushed. "I think it was a little of both."

"I liked it," she said gently. "Thank you."

"That's the worst part of being single," I admitted. Before I met McKayla, I really wasn't much of a cuddler. I hated sleeping and feeling my boyfriend or Travis (my daughter's father) touching me. Yet from the first night I spent with McKayla, I never wanted to sleep without feeling her next to me. I don't know what it was about her and I can't explain it. I just needed her near me. "Not having someone to hold me at night."

Nichole looked away for a moment. She took a deep breath. Her voice was soft, and I could just barely hear her above the wind. "The first year was the worst. I cried myself to sleep every night after Michael died."

I took her hands in mine. It wasn't sexual or even casual-friendly. It was the intimate touch that only people who have lost the one and only love of their life know. We didn't speak for the remainder of our parasailing flight.

After about ten minutes, they began reeling us in. Her hands never left mine until there are only about two hundred feet left on the line.

"I hope you'll spoon me again," I said, only half-joking.

She squeezed my hands before letting go. "Play your cards right and we'll do a lot more than just spoon."

Behind her sunglasses and wry smile, I couldn't tell if she was serious or not.

****************

After we got back to the house and changed, the waiting limo took us to dinner. It was a nice, upscale fusion restaurant that featured a menu of Pacific Rim-style seafood and sushi, with a little bit of Polynesian/Hawaiian thrown in for good measure.

We ordered all of the appetizers on the menu, half of the main entrees and passed everything around. The grilled seabass over rice pilaf was especially good and the house sommelier matched our meal to the perfect wines. In a check-grabbing coup, I managed to pay the bill without the others finding out until it was too late, a move which would have made McKayla especially proud.

Our next stop was a bar that featured dueling pianos. The guys playing were absolutely brilliant, and we tried to stump them with requests that ranged from Big Country to Jimmy Buffett to Lady Gaga to the Indigo Girls. All night long, I kept looking nervously over at Nichole. A couple of times, I found her looking back at me. She smiled nervously, and then turned away.

A gazillion things ran through my mind.

What signals was she sending? My gaydar has always been way off; hell, the first time we met, I had no idea McKayla was a lesbian or that she was interested in me. I certainly would never have pegged a woman who married three different men to be into girls, too.

And what was I thinking? Was I just lonely? Was I ready for another relationship? If she was interested in me, did Nichole even want a relationship? And what about the distance? She lived in New York. I was well established at the beach. What would my daughter think? Would her family like me? Would her family kick her out for being gay? Would I be betraying McKayla if I got involved with someone else?

Can you tell that I tend to over-think things?

I lost track of the time, but I knew it was late when we left the bar. I think the other girls figured that since they were flying home the next day, they could go a little crazy. Again. About half way through the night, Melinda and Lara started ordering shots for everyone. I think the instructions were, "Everyone gets two shots every ten minutes until someone passes out, then it's every five."

Becky was the first one gone. Although she didn't quite pass out in the bar, one of the bouncers had to pretty much carry her to the limo. We tipped him well and I think Melinda even inadvertently flashed him with her big, round bosom that was falling out of her V-neck top.

We got back to the house and the limo driver had to help us stumble up the steps. He also got a pretty nice tip.

Everyone pretty much went straight to bed. I changed into a set of cotton pajamas with loose-fitting long pants and a short sleeve top. Nichole's were similar, but with shorts that showed off her shapely, athletic legs.

I took my customary dose of ibuprofen, brushed my teeth then got into the bed, nervously wondering what the night had in store for us.

Nichole turned out the lights, so only a soft glow came through from behind the curtains. I felt her get in on the other side of the bed. I was laying flat on my back, under the covers.

Her hand brushed my shoulder and she snuggled up close to me.

Neither of us spoke. I think we were each waiting for the other to make a move.

My heart raced. I hadn't felt this way in years.

It was terrifying.

It was exhilarating.

I took her hand in mine. Her breaths were short. I heard her lick her lips in anticipation.

She took a deep breath. My nipples crinkled up when she squeezed my hand.

"I want you to kiss me," she whispered.

Pushing her over on her back, I rolled on to my side. Our legs intertwined as I pressed my body against hers.

My hands cupped her face. I felt desire building within my gut. Any guilt I might have felt was washed away by the alcohol, and the burning touch of the woman with whom I was sharing a bed.

Nichole tilted her head back and I leaned in. Our lips met, briefly at first. I went in for a second pass.

She threw her arms around my neck and pulled me in to her. Our noses brushed. Her kiss was soft and tentative.

Our clothed breasts pressed together.

Her hands brushed the hair out of my face.

She gasped when my lips left hers and went to her neck. She dug her nails into my shoulder when I gently bit her ear.

I felt like I was going to pop when she sucked on my collarbone.

We lay in the soft bed for what seemed like an eternity, just kissing and exploring one another. She made no move to undress me.

The thought of touching her breasts or sex never even crossed my mind.

The closest we came was when her hands went to my hips and she began to slowly grind against me.

She cupped my ass with her palms for just a second, but then went back to pulling my neck close to hers.

Some time later, Nichole rolled me over and she took a turn on top. I ran my hands up and down her back over her pajama top. Our tongues dueled and she suckled the soft underside of my chin.

I fell asleep with Nichole's head resting on my shoulder and her arms around me.

When I woke up, I was spooned up behind her, my arms pulling her close to me, a contented smile on my lips.

And that's when the guilt started.

****************

Look, I know that I really didn't have anything to feel guilty about. My wife died six years before from pancreatic cancer that spread very aggressively to her colon and brain. She'd had one bout with colon cancer a few years earlier. The doctors found the cancer's return in May and she died in October, not long after our thirteenth "wedding" anniversary.

I think there was a part of her that was happy that the cancer got her. You see, she also had Huntington's Disease, which is a hereditary degenerative neurological condition very much like Parkinson's with Alzheimer's thrown in. She had some tremors and physical symptoms, but the cognitive parts hadn't begun to manifest themselves. Relative to the Huntington's, which she may have lived with for another five or for thirty more years, the cancer took her quickly.

Still, when I woke up in Nichole's arms, all I could feel was guilt. Guilty for waking up with someone other than my beautiful, devoted wife. I know I shouldn't have felt that way, but a part of me thought that I was cheating on the woman with whom I shared such deep mutual adoration, and with whom I had fallen so completely and madly in love.

At the same time, it also felt good to be held once again. Even before she died, McKayla made me promise that I would find someone else to fall in love with. I promised only to placate her, and truly, I never conceived the notion that I would ever find anyone who could even come close to matching my feelings for McKayla.

Like her Mom, our daughter is a cuddler, and after McKayla died, we spent many nights crying in each others's arms. That ended as we adjusted to the fact that she was gone, and then Maureen started high school and went to college.

It just felt so good to be held, even if it was by a woman I barely knew.

Nichole stirred a few minutes later, and pressed herself back against me.

My arms were still wrapped around her and I pulled her close, feeling the warmth of her body. She turned her head and I reflexively kissed her.

Her lips lingered on mine for just a second, then she pulled away and turned so that we were both laying on our sides, facing one another.

"Regrets?" She smiled knowingly. I didn't say anything. It was like she could read my mind. "You've never been with anyone since she died, have you?"

All I could do was chew on my lip. Nichole's hand caressed my shoulder and then she took my hand supportively.

"I understand," she whispered gently, and a chill ran down my spine. "I can see it in your eyes. It was almost two years after Michael died before I would even consider going out with anyone. I know you're comparing me to her. I know you're wondering if she's upset with what you're doing. I've been there."

I had to close my eyes and take a deep breath.

"It's been six years," I said softly. "I should be over this by now."

"Over this?" Nichole shook her head sorrowfully. "Amberle, listen to me: You will never get over it. Not ever. I think about Michael every day of my life, and he died sixteen years ago. I knew him growing up, and even though we were only together for three years, he was my one and only true love."

I choked back tears.

"How did you go on?" I whispered.

"I got up every day because Michael would have been pissed off if I didn't," she said simply. "We had no kids, but our families are close. I had to go on, for his parents and mine, for my brothers and sisters and his, too. I met another man, who was wonderful to me, and we were happy, at least for a while . . . happy enough to have a beautiful baby boy. Not a day goes by that I didn't wish I have Michael's child, too. At least then, I'd have a part of him with me always."

Her voice trailed off for a moment.

"You are too young to dwell on your wife's death for the rest of your life," Nichole said after a long moment. "But finding someone new doesn't mean that you've forgotten her, or that you love her any less. Your heart will always be hers, just as mine will always be Michael's. I think that's part of the reason why my second husband strayed so often. He knew that as much as I loved him, there was always going to be a part of me that would never be his."

"Did you love him?" I dared to ask. "Your second husband, I mean."

"Yes." There was regret in her voice. "He's a good man, and a wonderful father. We met in graduate school, and he deserved more than I could give him."

I reached over and brushed the hair out of her eyes. "So am I going to be damaged goods for the rest of my life?"

"Only if you want to be," she replied. "When I got married again, I wasn't in a good place to be in a relationship. You might be ready. I wasn't then, even though I wanted to be. You are the only person who knows if you're ready."

Nichole took my hand in hers and kissed it. We lay next to one another in silence for a moment before she spoke again. "So what about last night?"

"You tell me." My face flushed at the memory of her soft, gentle caresses. "I didn't figure you to be into girls."

"I went to Wellesley. If you didn't at least make out with another girl, they thought something was wrong with you," she giggled. Wellesley (not to be confused with Wesleyan) is a selective all-women's college in Connecticut, one of the Seven Sisters. While she was most certainly exaggerating a little, it's probably fair to say that there are more than a few LUGs (lesbians until graduation) in the student body. "What about you? You seem very straight to me."

All I could do was shrug. "I guess I'm more bi than gay. I'm not really sure if I believe in gay or straight anymore. If McKayla taught me anything, it was that love doesn't care about chromosomes or sex or anything like that. I think we fall in love with people, regardless of their sex. Have you ever been with a woman?"

"Beyond making out? No," Nichole flashed me a pernicious smile. "And even then, that was when I was in college . . . over twenty years ago. Maybe we were both a little too drunk to be thinking clearly last night."

She paused for a second and squeezed my hand before I could speak.

"But I feel like there is just something . . . something." Her voice trailed off as she searched for the words. "Something I can't explain."

We lay there staring into each others's eyes for a minute. My mind raced.

Yes, it could have been the liquor the night before, but deep down, I knew there was something else. We both knew what it was like to lose a spouse. We had both held them as they died. We soldiered on for our families. We acknowledged birthdays and anniversaries and wondered what might have been. We burst into tears over simple things, like being unable to open jar of pickles or fill car tires with air because those are things McKayla would have done for me.

That didn't explain our seemingly-mutual attraction.

Plenty of people have lost a loved one. There are support groups that help one another through the dark days. And almost none of them encourage their members to make out with others in the group as part of the healing process.

When I met McKayla, I think I knew deep down that we were going to fall in love from the moment that I first saw her. It took a couple of months for me to come around, but it was always there.

I didn't feel that way about Nichole. Sure, she was smart and pretty. We shared some common interests, but even as we lay in the bed together, there was a little bit of doubt in the back of my mind as to where our relationship might go, if we were to have one at all.

"You're a wonderful kisser," I said, and that made her smile.

"So are you. I told you yesterday that you might get more than just the spoons."

We both laughed.

"May I call you?" I asked playfully.

"You most certainly may," she replied. Her lips pressed against my fingertips. I closed my eyes as she suckled on the pads of my index and middle fingers and gasped.

"I don't suppose you can stay for a couple of days?"

"I'm sorry, but no," Nichole signed. "My ex and I are on a week-on/week-off schedule with Stephen. I was supposed to get him back yesterday, so he's staying with my brother and his wife until I get back."

A part of me was actually kind of relieved that we wouldn't be able to pursue our relationship . . . well, whatever it was that we had going on . . . immediately. I needed some time to think, and to talk to my family and friends.

"Maybe you could come up to New York and stay with me," she said after a minute, a hopeful tone in her voice. In truth, that would be very easy. I didn't have any commitments I couldn't get out of, and no real obligations, but I didn't want to rush into anything.

"I'll see if I can clear my schedule," I smiled.

Without another word, she leaned in and kissed me gently. My heart skipped a beat and she caressed my cheek with her hand.

I knew I was in trouble when she pulled back and I felt disappointment.

She went in to shower first and I was tempted to follow her in, but she didn't invite me and I didn't ask. I lay in the bed, resisting the temptation to masturbate, until she came out. A part of me wanted to watch her dress, but I resisted that, too.

By the time both of us were cleaned up, we found the other four in various stages of packing/dressing/hangover recovery. They had all planned for early/mid afternoon flights, and since that was something I didn't have to worry about, I told them I'd take care of the check-out with the rental agency.

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