The Lady on the Tower

PUBLIC BETA

Note: You can change font size, font face, and turn on dark mode by clicking the "A" icon tab in the Story Info Box.

You can temporarily switch back to a Classic Literotica® experience during our ongoing public Beta testing. Please consider leaving feedback on issues you experience or suggest improvements.

Click here
Sailor1
Sailor1
51 Followers

Was she rebounding now? Was I simply the salve to a wounded heart, without enduring value of my own? At the moment there was no way to tell. I would have to evaluate that on the basis of data yet to be gathered in our on-going acquaintance.

Saturday our vacation time together was concluded. I went with her to the airport and saw her off for her return flight east. School was starting and she was involved. She thanked me for a delightful time together, expressing her appreciation for my companionship and generosity, and also for my patience with her... as if that had been a burden. I responded to her, quite truthfully, that she had been not the slightest burden at all, but had in fact lifted my spirits by her sweetness and friendship. A little bit shy, I am sure, she hefted her little carry-on bag and reached up and kissed me daintily on the cheek whispering her thankfulness to me, and then we said our good byes and she turned for her flight, waving again before she was gone from view.

For probably another hour I sat in a momentarily vacant section of the airport waiting area just mulling over to myself what had transpired in three incredible days with Karen. It was fashionable in that day, at least according to the literature and social wisdom, that a 'successful' relationship would have included an intimate, sexual encounter. I found myself at odds with the world in this way and applied other criteria. The data gathered... I'm sorry, but as a long time naval intelligence analyst I still faced such perplexing matters with a perhaps too clinical approach, and sought immediately to sort and categorize bits and pieces into various groups... was mind boggling. A man's relationship with a young girl... OK, she was twenty-eight, but her cheerfulness and vivaciousness with me, especially on that Friday afternoon and evening at the salmon run at the locks, at the doll museum in Bellevue and then a delicious seafood dinner at Chandler's on Lake Union was magnificent. Then there was our relaxing stroll along the waterfront, and altogether the day stripped from both of us the loading of several years and we were like a couple of kids, laughing and playing and teasing together. Saying good night to her at the door to her room at the hotel was the dreaded end to a marvelous day. I asked her for a kiss and gave my very best; she accepted, and returned with one of hers.

Had she wanted more... expected me to press her to come in? It didn't seem so, and that was, in any event, not my style.

Now she was gone. She had given me her address and phone on the east coast, and that was nice as a means of staying in contact. But she was gone, and my Saturday was suddenly gutted of all that gave it meaning and color and spice and life. Of course, in matters of the heart all of those precise and calculating tools of the analyst's trade seem to be totally ineffective and even anachronistic. My unavoidable conclusion was that the young lady on the tower had somehow captured and taken with her a piece of my heart.

Hearts have this inclination – have you noticed? – to function in ways that defy reason and normalcy and any kind of planned activity or objectivity. They show on occasion a degree of malleability, open to some shaping and direction, but more often than not when the heart makes itself heard, whether in soft whispers or perhaps a frightful clamoring, the hapless victim is left with only two options. One can always fight it... and heartbreak is sure to follow, a tragedy that has laid low legions with but a wave of the wand.

Almost always more productive, and certainly more adventurous and demanding, is to follow where the heart leads... following, of course, with eyes open and – where one can be – discerning. Yet for all our wisdom and caution Cupid seems to script events to his own criteria and love irresistibly demands a gift of self that is unabashed, unmeasured, and unrelenting. If on the one hand it appears that love demands all be laid upon the altar and gives nothing in return, however, such is certainly an overly narrow perception. From my earlier experience I knew that the love and companionship of a beautiful, interesting and creative young lady was a treasure of the first magnitude and a joy to the heart with quite literally no peer in the entire universe.

Might it be, I mused to myself with a bit of reservation, that the young lady on the tower... this sweet girl to whom I had just bid a light and airy farewell... might it be that she could become such a loving companion for the future years?

Well, perhaps. Just perhaps. Let's see how things develop. How very little did I know then. Nevertheless, I told myself, water the flowers or they don't grow.

Flowers!

Like a bolt of lightning out of the blue the recollection hit me! Constantly and at nearly every occasion during our time together she had noticed the flowers about... in tended beds and vacant lots, in pots and planters, at entryways and hanging baskets. She loved the beauty and color of flowers. So, send her some from you, I thought to myself. She's got eight hours on the plane ahead of her, get some florist in Philadelphia to have some roses waiting for her at her apartment when she gets there. My most immediate need was a telephone. There was a European-style florist on Third Avenue and a call had the matter quickly in hand. Yes, she said, she had a professional acquaintance in Philly that would handle it expeditiously, even late on a Saturday afternoon. I made a selection and dictated a note for the card and left them to do my bidding.

Well, the story can be telescoped here for the sake of some brevity. We corresponded through the fall, spent an afternoon and evening together in Philly when I spent a few days after the Christmas holidays on some research at the National Archives in DC. At the Easter week break she split her time with her parents and me, two days in Seattle if I promised to take her up on Mount Rainier. I did, and it was a wonderful time together.

I met her the next morning for breakfast in the hotel dining room, and on her plate – just as I had arranged with themaitre ď – was a little card with a black velvet box for her. She clasped her hands to her mouth to stifle a cry. She was stunned and just looked at me at a complete loss. It suddenly occurred to me that she might feel better in private, and I suggested we adjourn to her room. She nodded gratefully, and I tipped themaitre ď, thanking him for his assistance and asking him to send our breakfast order to her room.

She said yes to my proposal and I took her then in my arms for the first time and kissed her like I thought she deserved to be kissed, and she responded to my kiss with appreciation and love and hope. From that very moment we knew a warm and intimate relationship between two loving hearts.

I knew she had to make her flight, and the minutes were too short. I helped her with her baggage and drove her to the airport and for the third time we said good bye... this time, however, with a promise to each other that we would be together again and soon.

When the school year was concluded we were married, her parents in attendance. We had decided, just the two of us, that Seattle was where we wanted to make our home and so we packed up most of her things for shipment, stowed some of them in the suburban, and set out across country at a leisurely pace with a beautiful springtime adventure before us and the nearest obligation being a month downstream.

It is worth mentioning that the matter of the earlier man in her life came up only once. We had stayed one night in visiting officer quarters at Francis Warren Air Force Base in Cheyenne as we drove west, and I saw it in her eyes the next morning when we made love again. I had made a comment about how she made me supremely satisfied like I had never imagined could be and she looked at me vacantly, remembering evidently what he had said about her. The recollection shocked her, I think, and it showed, and shattered the moment between us. Sensing that it was important, I encouraged her gently to talk and finally, after hesitating, she opened to me... meek and like a little lost kitten. He had pressed more than once for her sexual favors and she had resisted him, and in a rage he had cursed at her and told her crudely that she obviously didn't know how to satisfy a man and never would. The rough and baseless accusation, made with such vehemence and venom, had scalded and crushed her self-confidence as a woman.

As she recounted the man's words her voice was fragile like fine porcelain, fringed with anxiety, and barely audible. She was laying in my arms with her beautiful bare breasts pushing against my chest, the sheet over our legs and her face still flushed and roses in her cheeks from our encounter. She looked up to me, those pretty eyes full of tears, her countenance now overwhelmed with fear at her deeply hurtful memory, not knowing now what else to do or say.

"I pity the man..." I said softly after a pause, and then with greater strength, "who can make such a grievous error in judgment. The poor man will never know how terribly, totally wrong he was..." and I delayed a moment to emphasize my point, looking into her eyes, "about you!"

In the soft and poignant moments that followed there came presently, to take the place of her fearfulness and self-doubt, and I was thrilled to watch the transition, a very sweet and feminine smile to grace her lips, and a thankfulness in her eyes. After a time she looked up at me again and I think I witnessed her resurgence of spirit. To her appreciation and love the twinkle in her eyes now added a little glint of playfulness, even sauciness. That simple exchange that morning seemed to close the matter for her and it never arose between us again. She was a very beautiful and, as it proved, passionate and loving girl. Our years together were full and bright with delightful times together, more so than any man has a right to hope for... and certainly more so than simple words can express. She bore me two of the most precious daughters any man has ever enjoyed in his home and heart. She and our daughters together made our home a warm and cheerful place to be, and a haven from a challenging world.

Then came another late August day, like that one earlier on the tower. My life was once again confronted with challenge and change. Both the girls had married that Spring, and soon the medicine no longer had a dampening effect and the cancer quickly overwhelmed her. Like that August long ago, I was alone again. Both the girls were preparing a nice dinner for us at the one's home, but I had to find a way somehow to reestablish my equilibrium at her passing and loss. The services had been appropriate and comments of our many friends gratifying and comforting; but I felt myself badly out of balance and needed a quiet moment alone.

From my one daughter's home I took a taxi to the Space Needle and the elevator to the upper observation platform. It was a sunny day, and there were ships in the harbor coming and going, and Mount Adams in the distance wore a cap of snow. Mount Rainier was lovely and majestic and recalled a fun day together. It was like a dream, as if I could go back the intervening twenty-some-odd years and re-start the story again. I had known and savored a rich and most satisfying relationship with a beautiful and creative young lady... and that was a treasure of reality that would reside ever in my heart.

It helped a lot to recall and relive that day years before as I remembered it, and cherished the memory. After a soul-soothing interlude enjoying the seascape I turned about, half-anticipating that I might see her again standing there, long hair dancing in the breeze and one cute little bare foot savoring the fresh air....

But there was no one. I was alone.

Sailor1
Sailor1
51 Followers
Please rate this story
The author would appreciate your feedback.
  • COMMENTS
Anonymous
Our Comments Policy is available in the Lit FAQ
Post as:
Anonymous
8 Comments
AnonymousAnonymousover 6 years ago

What a beautifully written story. In my opinion, the word crafting was exquisite. The ending was a bit of a letdown for me, but then, that's life. Not as we wish it were, but as it is. My thanks to the author for a great story.

DeKreDeKreabout 8 years ago
Wonderful

It looks like a cheap repeat of other comments, but there is just no better word to describe this story.

AnonymousAnonymousover 10 years ago
Äusserst schön gedichtet.

Herzlichen Dank! Extraordinarily well done, with depth and thoughtful descriptions of feelings and fears. I agree, she is a most delightful tyoung lady. Nádherně napsaný s krásou a citem. Большое спасибо.

AnonymousAnonymousalmost 15 years ago
Excellent story

Erotic literature doesn't have to describe how well either of the genders is sexually endowed. So it is with this story. I enjoyed it immensely.

NamizujsNamizujsabout 18 years ago
Very good again, Sailor1!

Thank You for a wonderful story of love found fulfilled and lost! I still think it is better to have loved and lost, than not loved at all!

Great writing!

Thanks

John

Show More
Share this Story

story TAGS

Similar Stories

Crowded Train Nowhere to sit but his lap, she fucks him in secret.in Exhibitionist & Voyeur
Subway Girl Ch. 01 First chapter of a story about love and redemption.in Romance
Help Wanted For woodcarving shop. Right attitude & good hands required.in Romance
Mercy Date Mom decides Kylie's prom date.in Romance
Aiding and Abetting The good guys don't always finish last.in Romance
More Stories