tagRomanceHome at Last

Home at Last


She reads the ad one last time, nervously licking her parched lips. So this is what desperation breeds, an ad for sex.

She hits the enter key and waits to see the confirmation code, logging back in she hits the, Yes I'm Sure button. It should read, Yes I'm Sure I Want to Meet a Lot of Crazy Men.

She pours another glass of wine, maybe the empty bottle has a lot to do with her decision to post an ad in the personals section of the sex chat site.

Her screen blinks and she sees a response already, reading online now.

Downing the wine, she needs the fortitude, she hits the show all icon and starts to read.

Lonely man would like to accompany you to your cousin's wedding. I am not too hard on the eyes, at least I haven't made any children scream in horror, recently. I am 6 foot tall, all my own hair and teeth, and I dress up nicely. I think you'd look great on my arm. Picture attached.

She scrolls down to find the picture and loses her breath. Rubbing at her eyes, she tries to breathe, but can't quite pull in any air. That smile, those eyes, they have haunted her dreams for years. The last time she heard his silky voice, dripping from his kissable lips, it still makes her quiver. He promised to call her, tomorrow, and tomorrow never came. A tear spills over her cheek, cold as it splashes on her breast. Silent sobs as she rereads the words.

How is it possible that of the tens of thousands of members, he is the one who read her ad, responded so quickly it was like he was anticipating its arrival. As the sobs slow and her breathing comes easier she types a response.

Hello lonely man. A few questions for you if you don't mind. Are you single? Do you have children? Where do you live? Do you work? Why are you lonely?

The audible click of the send button sends a shiver up her spine and she waits for his answers. Uncorking another bottle of wine...this may be a long night, she pours her glass full, and sits back, her eyes glued to the screen, sipping the liquid, letting it warm her from the inside.

She closes her eyes remembering how good they were together, a brief but fiery romance, it seemed to hold such promise. For the hundredth time she replays the last few days they spent together in her head, looking, searching for what she may have done wrong, what she might have said to drive him away. The pain in her chest, the same one that always squeezes her heart as if it were in a vise, makes her cringe, she quickly drains another glass of wine.

The icon for mail lights up and she hesitates, her fingers trembling as they hover over the keyboard, then quickly jabbing it. She reads his answers.

Yes, I am single. I don't have any children. I live in the same city as you do. I work, everyday, doing something I love, so I can barely call it work. I had to think about that last question, and I have decided that the truth would be the best answer. I am in love, but I haven't heard from her in a long time, every time the phone rings, I hope it is her. It never is. But, I think it's finally time to stop being lonely, maybe I can start with you.

Her fingers fly to cover her left breast, as if to stop her heart from leaping out. She does not even pause to think about who he had been in love with, it obviously wasn't her. But it does answer the question of why he stopped calling her, he fell in love and didn't have the nerve to tell her. It would have been kinder to have told her, she waited weeks, then months and now it seems years for someone who's heart belongs to another.

A flash of anger rips through her and she tosses the wineglass across the room, the delicate glass shattering and skittering across the floor. Red droplets stain the white curtain at the window and she feels the torrent of tears, coursing over her cheeks. She buries her face in a pillow and screams, screams until there is nothing left in her to scream about. An empty shell, she stares teary eyed at the screen, the mail button taunting her, she stabs it with her finger.

Maybe I should have left that part out. About being in love, a poor choice of words. Let me rephrase please. I was in love, a long time ago, but she broke my heart. Walked away one day and never came back. I am ready to move on, I have buried the demons at last, and I would love to accompany you to the wedding. I won't even hold you to the offered payment of a night of carefree sex. Although I wouldn't say no if you offered without the obligation of payment.

A smiley face followed the printed words. Almost obscene as it continued to wink over and over again.

Standing, she padded softly to the bathroom, ran a hot tub, another glass of wine and she climbed in and soaked. Her body was aching, as if it had been through a rigorous work out. She stretched her limbs, lolling in the tub, sipping the wine, feeling dizzy, she let herself remember again.

He held her close, the airport noisy around them. His lips on hers, breathing life into her, making her tremble. His promise to call when he got there, just to hear her voice he said. The worry in her heart when he didn't call, the anguish that something may have happened to him. The days of pacing, sitting by the phone, calling his number to no avail. And then her resolve to forget him, tossing the answering machine into the garbage can, tired of the light never blinking, never showing a new message.

She bites her bottom lip, she changed her number after not hearing from him for a week. Moved three weeks later, closer to work as she immersed herself, and oh...it was a new office as well, the company she worked for merging with a larger one.

Chewing on her bottom lip, not realizing that she had broken the skin until the next sip of wine, her lips burning as the alcohol flowed into the open cut. Dropping the glass as she gasps, hearing the delicate stem breaking. She fishes the shattered glass from the tub, pulls the plug and grabs a towel. Wrapping it around her as she rushes back to the computer.

Her fingers flying over the keyboard she types...

Do you have any idea why she walked away? Did you try to get in touch with her?

She waits, almost motionless, staring at the screen,

Blink, the mail icon, she jabs at it.

I am not sure why you are interested in this, but since you asked I will tell you. We said goodbye at the airport and I went away on business. When I got to the hotel the power was out, and I wasn't able to call her. The next morning we left early and spent 21 days on location shooting pictures in the jungle, no phones, no internet. When I finally got back to the hotel and civilization, I called and her number was disconnected. Two weeks of editing before I got to return home. I made the cab go to her address. I knocked on the door so loudly a neighbour came out to see what I was doing and told me she had moved.

The man called me a cab and I went home, anxious to get my mail, check messages on my phone. One message from her to tell me how worried she was and then one more that said simply, good bye. I was angry at first, stormed her office the next day to find that it too was gone. Simply vanished. Everyday I hoped she would call, I didn't move even though I should have and I kept my phone number, and still check my messages. Tomorrow I am going house hunting, I want to get out of the city, and I am going to get a new number to start over again.

Sorry to have rambled on, but that truly felt liberating, to type all of this. I know that after that long monologue you won't consider me for a date, but I want to thank you, Good luck.

Heart racing she paces back and forth. She rereads the message. Her heart ready to burst, but not with pain, with hope, maybe just maybe tomorrow has finally arrived.

Finding some clothes, the kind of clothes she hasn't worn in a long time, lacy panties, matching bra. Skirt, stockings, diaphanous blouse and a pair of heels. She calls a cab and then hurries to pin her hair up. Dabbing a bit of the perfume he used to like so much on the rapid pulse point on her neck she brushes her teeth and grabs her purse. So anxious to see him she steps outside, locking the door, pacing nervously but with more joy flooding through her than she can remember ever feeling.

She glances at her watch, it's after midnight, shocked that it is so late, she wonders if he will still be awake. She decides that if she has to break his door down and haul him from his bed, she is not missing this opportunity to find out if he can still love her, if he can forgive her folly, her hastiness to give up on him.

The cab arrives and whisks her to his house. It is darkness, not a light burning anywhere, yet she pays the driver and exits the car. She walks, no runs to the door, almost tripping up the steps and rings the doorbell. She laughs at the silence, he still hasn't fixed it so she grabs the door knocker and starts pounding it on the striker.

Startled as the door is yanked open, almost pulling her off her feet, she disentangles her fingers from the knocker and stands looking at him. He is clad in a pair of black, form fitting boxer shorts, his muscled and tanned legs ending in bare feet. His chest muscles rippling, she lifts her gaze to meet his eyes, and stares into the gaze that has haunted her dreams for so long. His tousled hair telling her that he had been sleeping. She opens her mouth to say hello, to start explaining why she is here, why she wasn't here years ago.

He seizes her, half in and half out, hovering on the door step, his lips searing to hers. Groaning into her mouth, his hands bruising her skin, fingers digging in until she cries out in pain. He doesn't loosen his grip, in fact his strong fingers wrap tighter on her upper arms.

He tears his lips from hers with an anguished growl and says, "If I am dreaming, I don't ever want to wake up, but if you are real I don't ever want to let go."

His eyes are bright with tears unshed as hers start pouring tears of joy. He groans and drags her inside slamming the door behind her. His hands are fast, touching every exposed inch of flesh, then tearing her clothes off to gaze at her as she quivers in bra and panties. He pushes her roughly against the door, cursing, mumbling incoherently and squeezes her breasts.

She writhes against the cool door, pressed between it and his hard body. He leans heavily on her, pushing the air from her lungs, he holds her arms above her head and sinks his teeth into her earlobe. She gasps, a scream building, welling up from the very depths of her belly as he whispers, "Are you real?"

He drops his mouth to her right breast, tearing her bra, ripping it open with the force of his teeth and sinks hard teeth into soft flesh, so close to her nipple, she lets the scream loose. He looks up at her, "You sure sound real. You smell exactly as I remember."

Her breathing so laboured, she struggles to tell him, "Sorry." Hoping that that one word will explain, will tell him how heart broken she was, how happy she is now.

He growls, shhhhhhhhhhh, don't say another word until I am sure you are not a dream.

His mouth continues to ravage her breasts, her wrists squeezed painfully by his hand, held above her head, bringing her up on tiptoe. If this is what heaven is like, she is no longer afraid to die, but will run willingly towards it. She is not sure if she can stand one more second of his lips, his tongue, his teeth, her heart galloping, the sheer effort of remembering to breathe exhausting.

His fingers hook her panties and with a sound of ripping fabric she is at last naked, he drops the ragged cloth to the floor and plunges his fingers into her treasure box. His hard cock insistent against her leg, he rubs up and down then pulls his shorts off and aims his manhood at her willing pussy. It slides in, pressing her walls back, nestling into the warmth of her. He moves his hips back and forth, fucking her, hard and fast, rubbing her aching clit and dropping his mouth to suckle at her bitten nipple.

Her scream startles him, the strength of her vaginal muscles making him grimace as she clamps down on his pistoning rod. He tears away from her nipple, tosses his head back and roars, his cock exploding, the pressure in his balls letting go, he feels his seed rising, and shooting out of his throbbing mushroomed head. Filling his dream girl, as her sweet girl cum flows from her.

He covers her open screaming mouth and eats her moans, swallows the screams, his body stilled, buried deep, her cunt still milking his sensitive glans, draining him completely.

He pulls from her, bends to scoop her up and into his arms, kissing passionately until he slides her quivering form onto his bed. Climbing in next to her, pulling her close, arms wrapped around her.

"I am not letting you go, and if you are real, and still here in the morning, consider yourself home, permanently. I have never stopped loving you and intend to spend the rest of my life letting you know just how much."

Her eyelids fluttering closed, she whispers back, "I am finally home, where I belong."

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byBethyboo© 4 comments/ 9405 views/ 7 favorites

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