This is Where You Belong

Author's Note: This is for "Jane." This story is far more based on real events than any of my others, and writing it was both easy-because of the powerful memories-and difficult-because the heartbreak that I still have over her. She gave me the best single night of my life. We're both in difficult spots right now, but I hope we find our way back to each other.

"This is where you belong," she said, holding my head gently but assertively between her legs, lapping up the juices from her delicious, shaved pussy..

A muffled reply was all that I could give, looking up into her sparkling blue eyes, her amazing juices all over my lips, tongue, face, probably even in my hair, too.

I came up for a quick breath "tell me again, Goddesses Jane."

"This is where you belong...with me...not with him."

"Nothing and no one between us," I cooed, coming up for air, before she gently guided me back between her legs.

I moaned into her. Fuck her words alone might make me come. Deep down, I knew her words had to be true. This is where I belong.

The alarm woke me up with a start as I scrambled, breathlessly to turn it off.

"Having a nightmare?" Christian, my husband, asked with concern.

"Something like that," I mumbled, catching my breath. My panties were soaked from yet another dream about Jane, but here I was, back in my boring reality.

I got up and grabbed my phone (and a fresh pair of panties) heading to the bathroom before starting the shower and secretly opening Telegram before hopping in. She had given my goodnight message a heart emoji, but hadn't replied. I briefly debated whether to write her. I worried about being overbearing or too much, but I couldn't resist writing her a quick good morning before starting my shower. I hesitated, knowing that today, her first day without her son would be particularly difficult, post-divorce.

"I know it's going to be a tough day, love. But you are doing the right thing. I'm here if you need me."

When I'm particularly stressed, I sometimes sit down in the shower and just let the water pour over me while I do some breathing exercises. Today was one of those days.

As the warm water ran down my body, through my long, dirty blond hair and over my short, curvy frame, I went back into my memory bank, remembering that one incredible night with Jane.

I remembered it so vividly, meeting her at Copenhagen Central Station, her bright red hair called to me like a beacon on the platform. Both of us nervously looking over our shoulders, hoping not to be spotted by friends or family. We walked down the street, hand in hand. I remember just looking up at her-she was slightly taller than me, which doesn't take much-and not believing my luck that such a beautiful woman would want to spend the night with me. Then we popped in a random bar along the way, sitting next to each other for the first time. Our sexual attraction was so intense, we couldn't keep our hands off each other in the booth, making out like teenagers between sips of our cocktails. We eventually managed to finish our drinks and headed to the hotel I'd booked for the night. Outside the hotel, I leaned in to kiss her again, taking a hold of her wedding ring, sliding it off-or at least attempting to, as we shared a nervous laugh-and whispered in her ear "you're mine tonight." She returned the favor, although my ring slid off a little easier than hers.

The sun was just setting as we entered the room. I paid extra for a view over the harbor, but the view was the last thing on my mind. Jane was my sole focus, and the soft light of the setting sun only made her even sexier in that moment. I pushed her against the wall, and could not get her undressed fast enough. I kissed her soft, pale skin, taking her breasts which were almost too big for her slim frame into my hands, and quickly into my mouth. I almost immediately dropped to my knees, desperate to taste her.

And she tasted so good, better than I could've imagined.

I first kissed and licked her through her panties, but that teasing didn't last long. I needed to feel her lips against mine, and taste her delicious juices. I couldn't get enough of her. Not then, and not now. I remembered how my tongue was sore for the better part of a week after that one night, and how each and every time I spoke or drank or ate, it reminded me of her. The slight pain as a beautiful reminder about what was.

And what I was desperate to be once more.

Fuck, I miss her.

My mind wandered from the lurid to the practical and mundane, to the same unanswered-perhaps unanswerable questions-that had been circulating in one form or another since that night.

What if this is my only chance to be with Jane? Could I ever forgive myself if I didn't take it?

What if my relationship is salvageable? Could I forgive myself for leaving him? Do I love my husband, or just the idea of him, and a possible future, raising kids and the rest?

What if Jane doesn't even want me when she is finally free to be with whomever she wants? What if she only likes me sexually? What if she can't imagine herself in a relationship with a woman, anything more serious than a fling?

Am I being overbearing with Jane? Do I need to give her space to hopefully find her way back to me?

As usual, these questions simply looped in my head, endlessly. Some I knew the answers to. Others I suspected an answer, and others still I had no idea.

But my brain kept coming back to her five words, first spoken as the sun set over our hotel in Copenhagen, that one magical night, "this is where you belong."

More than ever, I believed it. More than ever, I needed it to be true.

I turned the water from hot to cold, doing my best to continue to take steady breaths through it. The Clash lyric from "The Magnificent Seven" played in my head "Cold water in the face, brings us back to this awful place." I counted to thirty and shut the water off, just sitting there for another moment or two, naked, vulnerable, confused as ever.

The one certainty in all of this was her words, and how her words made me feel when she wanted me. And how much I ached to feel that connection ever again. Even if it couldn't be with her, I deserved to feel it again with someone, right?

It has been over a year since we've seen each other. Why couldn't I get over her? Yet another question that looped endlessly, bobbing between my conscious and subconscious thoughts. Was our connection that meaningful and powerful, or am I just romanticizing it and idolizing her?

There was a sudden pounding at the door, followed by Christian entering. Per usual, I couldn't even take a shower in peace.

"What's taking you so long, and what are you doing sitting there?" he asked, in a tone.

"You know, sometimes I like to sit in the shower...when I'm stressed."

He scoffed, dismissively, "and running up our water bills, thanks."

Ah yes, money. Everything was always about money. I grabbed a towel to dry off. He was undoubtedly stressed as well, today was yet another couple's therapy session, and things had been getting progressively worse.

"We're going to get divorced because of this fucking therapy," Christian said for the millionth time since before we even started. It didn't matter how many times I tried to reassure him, to explain that he had the cause and effect reversed, that I just wanted to work through our problems. Then again, was I even going through this in good faith? Did I really want to be with him? Or just cross it off a checklist to say "we tried?"

Regardless, he saw it as a direct attack on him. And to be fair, I recently leveled my biggest criticism yet at him: I couldn't take his anger any more. I couldn't deal with it for 40 more weeks, let alone 40 more years. And I might've been generous on "weeks" instead of "days." Or maybe "hours" at this point.

A divorce seemed more and more likely. He was going to blame me for wanting to talk about and fix our problems. But what kind of relationship is it if we just put on a happy face, put our problems "in boxes" and decide to put on a happy face, without ever addressing our problems?

As we sat there at the dinner table, on opposite sides, silently, I opened my phone to check for a message from Jane. As always, I felt butterflies in my stomach when I saw that red "1" hovering over the app.

"I'm so sad today" my heart sank as I read her message, "and worried about being away from my son. I'm already dreading tonight."

I thought about this for a minute. Do I put myself out there again?

Jane already made it clear that she didn't want to see me before I made a decision about my marriage. And I respected her stance.

But also, the "Jane Question" and the "Marriage Question" were not completely separate in my mind. Without Jane, I probably try to make this work, at least for another few months, if not years. But deep down, I knew the marriage was doomed. The passion is gone and left long ago. We're stressed and angry at each other. While I wouldn't leave a good and salvageable marriage for Jane, I might expedite my exit from this unloving, stressful, and unsalvageable marriage for her. Perhaps this is splitting hairs, but it's a meaningful difference to me. Then again, how could I do that when I didn't even know if she wanted me? It was a chicken-and-egg situation in my mind, yet another unanswered question.

Yet, I found myself replying anyway.

"I can come keep you company tonight. As a friend. I'll even book a hotel, no expectations for anything...I can pick up some sushi, we can share a glass of wine, and just talk, laugh, cry...whatever you need."

My pulse quickened as I wrote it and hit "send." I knew she would almost certainly decline the offer. I knew, deep down, she would probably think this was just an attempt to get laid...and well, while I won't say no to sex (I mean, how could I?) I really just wanted to help her. I wanted to look into her eyes, listen to her voice, hear her laugh, and support her in a time of need. I wanted to hug her, as I have every day since we last met, and just tell her everything will be okay.

"I don't think I can right now" she wrote, as my heart sank.

"It's OK. I understand" I wrote, even though I didn't fully understand. With a another defeated sigh, I mustered up one more text to leave the door open, "The offer stands, if and when you change your mind, love."

I kicked myself for writing it. I just wanted to see her with every fiber of my being, and it was so difficult to remain patient through all of this. I know she's hurting. I know she needs time. And...I know that I want to see her, as soon as humanly possible. But once again, our reunion would have to wait.

A couple of months had passed since my last offer to come see Jane, and the subsequent therapy sessions and mood at home were only deteriorating. I was planning on seeing an apartment later that week, unbeknownst to Christian.

"Hey you," I saw pop up on Telegram. I had recently started keeping the notifications on while I was at work and/or away from my husband. And well, even sometimes when Christian was home. "Hey you" was always my favorite of Jane's greetings, because I could immediately tell that she was in a good mood.

"Hiya, how are you holding up?" I knew this was another week without her son, and I knew it was still so difficult and lonely for her. Again, I just wanted to give her a hug.

"It's tough." My heart was breaking for her once again, but she immediately followed it up, "...does your offer still stand?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Always, love."

I watched as I saw the word "typing" across the top of the app. Seconds felt like years. What was she writing? Was she writing and erasing? Debating with herself?

"Could you come? Tonight?"

My heart was in my throat, and I tried to suppress the mixed feelings of excitement, surprise, and slight dread, for fear that she might change her mind last minute, as she had done several times before.

I started carefully typing a reply, feeling my nerves and excitement build with each word. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll take the next train to Copenhagen, then make my way to the nearest station to your place. You can either pick me up or I'll take a taxi." My mind was already racing. I'd have to say there was a crisis at work. I hated lying, but honestly what's one more lie at this point? I wasn't going to let this opportunity pass.

Then to reiterate, I added, "and...Jane, there's no expectation of sex or even a kiss tonight, OK? I really do just want to be there for you."

"We'll see about that" she replied with a kissing emoji. Oh god, this might really be it, I thought.

I checked the train schedules and wrote, "I can be there at 6. Does that work?"

"I can pick you up at the station...see you soon."

I was all over the place. Excited. Scared. Aroused. Nervous.

But I'd finally get to give Jane, my Jane, a hug. In person. Anything more, if there was anything more, was just a bonus. For all of these months I'd watched helplessly as she suffered through misplaced self-loathing and doubt. For all of these months, I just wanted to hug her and tell her everything was going to be fine. And for all of these months, she kept me at arms' length, not letting me near.

I was restless on the way to Copenhagen. I had been here before, too many times, really. Would Jane need to back out at the last minute again? I know it was never malicious. I know how difficult it has been, how she's been pulled in a million different directions, by a million different conflicting duties, desires, wants, needs, and obligations. And what was I? I never wanted to be a burden, pulling her in a direction she didn't want to, or wasn't fully ready to go. But I hoped this time was different.

However, as I passed Vejle, and passed the house, I remembered the last moments we shared together in person, in my parked car, in front of a house overlooking the fjord that we thought (incorrectly!) was empty. I remembered making out with her, eagerly unbuttoning her pants so I could rub her pussy, first through her panties, and then underneath, feeling her arousal for me. Even though car sex made eating her pussy nearly impossible, I still had to sneak a taste after my fingers got nice and wet.

I thought about how much we wanted each other, how desperate we were to be back where we belonged, together, nothing and no one between us. I remembered feeling her straddle me shove her hand down between us, rubbing me under my skirt, over my panties, as she pinned me there, kissing passionately like we were the only people in the world. I remember the feeling of her rocking her hips, grinding on me as I felt myself get closer, impossible to hold myself back, needing to come for her. And then finally the release, followed, unfortunately a moment later by the infamous "standing ovation." A woman in her robe ran out, sarcastically applauding us as we quickly got dressed and drove away.

Shaking my head, trying to stay focused on the present, I updated her on my progress, and we continued exchanging texts. This was good, I thought, but I felt my nerves rising nonetheless. Each passing minute seemed to last longer than the one before. With each minute, I said a little prayer to the god I don't believe in, or perhaps the Goddess I do believe in, please...please let it happen this time. Please don't cancel on me again, Jane.

As the train crossed the big bridge, I tried to look out and enjoy the view. The sun was out, and the water was gleaming with a million sparkling reflections. And yet, I couldn't sit still, couldn't enjoy the view. My nerves kept on growing, with excitement and fear.

When I finally arrived in Copenhagen, I popped into a little sushi place around the corner to get some take out, then jumped into the S-train and up to Jane's station. I gave her an ETA and she said "see you then!"

OK, this was happening. I had spent so much time worried about whether I'd see her again that I'd never stopped to wonder if this is what I want. She would never ask me to leave my husband for her, and I also don't want to be "that girl." But I just kept coming back to the fact that never being with her again felt unbearable. And the desire to give "us" a chance, if it were to never happen, would be a massive regret.

No, I knew that I wanted to be with her. I knew that whatever happened tonight, even if it was nothing more than a cozy night in, would not affect my marriage. But it might make the impending divorce a lot easier.

Jane was there waiting, as promised. Her vibrant red hair made her as easy to spot as the first time we met. There was a different aura about her this time than last. She was less nervous, and more sure of herself. She didn't need to hide or nervously check over her shoulder. She was a free woman. And this free woman was choosing to spend her time with me.

I practically ran to her, giving her the biggest hug, practically lifting her off her feet.

"Oh Jane" I said, briefly pulling away to look at her. As I looked into her eyes I suddenly froze, speechless. Part of me couldn't believe this was real. Part of me never believed this day would come again.

She just smiled at me, and motioned toward the parking lot, "I'm parked this way..."

I walked beside her. I wanted to hold her hand, but I resisted.

We got back to her place after a few minutes of nervous, awkward silence in the car, but we both quickly relaxed and it felt like we'd never been apart.

We sat across from each other over dinner, sharing sushi and a glass of wine like our only other night together. And we just talked, smiling, laughing, no rush at all.

After an hour or so we cleared the table and took a fresh glass of wine to the couch. She snuggled up next to me as I put an arm around her, holding her tight. Jane laid her head on my chest and we continued talking as I lightly stroked her back, shoulder, and arm. I occasionally ran my hand through her hair. This was so comfortable, so intimate, and felt so right.

I don't know how long we sat like that, but at one point she raised her head off my chest, looked me in the eyes, and I instinctively knew this was the moment. I whispered "I missed you so much," as I ran my fingers through her hair, around the back of her head, and pulled her lips toward mine. We kissed, deeply, intimately, and passionately. She pulled away for a moment, whispering back "I missed you too."

I tried to be patient and enjoy the moment, although I was already on fire. Jane broke the kiss again, "will you cuddle with me a bit...in bed?" How could I say no? She held my hand and led me back to her bedroom. She climbed into bed first, fully clothed, and I followed, curling up behind her as the big spoon.

It wasn't long before our hands started wandering. Jane and I mirrored each other, each of us making long, teasing strokes over each other's hips, sides, and thighs, hands rising higher, and further inside to the more sensitive areas, still without touching. I kissed the back of her neck, around her jawline, nibbling and kissing her neck and ear, and holding her close as our hands teased each other

My hand raised up over her stomach, over the outside of her blouse, to take her beautiful tits into my hand and gave them a squeeze.

"Wow..." I moaned, as we both had a slight laugh about it.

"I thought you might want to go there first..." she laughed, knowing how much I loved tits, generally, and hers, in particular.