tagRomance'Tis Better to Have Loved

'Tis Better to Have Loved


"What's this?" Jim asked, as he picked a small leather bound book up off of the nightstand.

"It looks like the old man's diary. He was writing in it quite a bit these past few days," replied Robert, the other hospital orderly.

"Well, what should I do with it?" questioned Jim.

"Either throw it away or keep it. The old man had no friends or relatives that I know of," was the off the cuff response by Robert.

Jim thought for a moment and then placed the book on the end of the bed, ready to be taken with him when he and Robert were finished cleaning the room for the next patient. He picked up the book as they were leaving the room and headed to his locker where he tossed it upon a shelf, ready to be taken home when his shift was over.

Jim returned home that night to his shabby apartment, extremely tired. He was late as usual from fighting traffic and "the something" that always needed to be done at the last minute at the hospital. Jim tossed the book and what was left of his bag lunch onto the kitchen table. He rummaged around in the freezer and came out with a frozen chicken dinner, which he immediately took out of the box, pulled back the plastic covering and put it into the microwave to heat up. It seemed like it was taking forever, but it always took forever when you were tired and drained from the kind of days he lived. When he finally heard that magical beep, he grabbed his dinner out of the microwave along with a beer from the fridge and plopped down into his favorite chair right in front of the TV and put his feet up onto the coffee table.

Now was Jim's favorite time of the day. It was the short span when he could just kick back, relax, watch some mindless sports or T & A on the tube, and, hopefully, forget about his troubles. He searched for the remote on the end table beside his chair where he finally found it under a TV Guide, a Playboy magazine, and some dried sticky stuff on a wad of toilet paper that he'd rather not touch right now.

Jim turned the TV on, but something was wrong. There was just white static on every channel. "That damn cable company," he growled under his breath.

Jim's life was shit. It had been that way all his life. His mother had died in a car accident the day he was born. His father, from one of the richest families in the state, had never cared for him. The bastard never helped him with his homework or praised him for good grades. He had never come to see Jim play in a little league game nor even took him fishing. Never cared about him, period. His nanny was the only one who ever cared. His father on the day he turned eighteen fired Miss Evelyn, the nanny, and Jim was thrown out onto the street. Out of the only home he had ever known, into a world he was ill prepared for.

He had no love life to speak of. Once he had a girlfriend, whom he loved with all his heart, but he was 17 and his father soon put an end to that. To his father, she was nothing but black trailer trash. He wouldn't let his son smear the family name, so dear old dad bought off her family so they wouldn't let her see Jim again. He hated his father with every fiber of his being. Now at twenty, Jim's love life consisted of seeing a whore down on Wharf St. once a week or so. She was old enough to be his mother not to mention that she smelled bad, but the brief time that Jim was with her, he could pretend that she was his former love and he found some small comfort in her arms. He wanted his love back. He hated his father. And Jim hated his life of dirty hospital rooms, no money, and the overwhelming hopelessness that he felt.

"Damn, now what am I going to do for the rest of the evening?" he thought to himself.

Then, he remembered the diary. He picked up his dinner and beer and went into the kitchen, sitting down at the wobbly table that he never used much. Jim opened the bottle of beer, drank a goodly swallow, and then took a few bites out of his dinner. He then reached for the diary and opened it.

On the first page was written. "I bequeath this diary to whomever may find or want it. It is the story of my darker days."

Even though the diary was pretty new, there were small water stains on some of the pages.

Jim paused for a moment, remembering the old man. He had only been assigned to the old man's ward a couple of days ago and the old man was in pretty bad shape; barely able to speak. Yet, they hit it off. It was like they had known each other all along. The old man always had a smile or some small joke for Jim when he came into the room. He liked that old man and he even missed him now that he was gone. Of course old is a relative term. To Jim he was old. The 'old' man was probably only about 50 or so, but was so weak, pale, and frail from the radiation treatments and the hard life that he obviously led; that he could have easily passed for 70.

Jim took a few more bites, another swig from his bottle, and turned to the next page.

The diary continued. … It all started when I was 28, my brief ascent into Heaven and then my long decline into Hell.

I ran a small flower shop in town and one day "she" came in. She was a girl I had known. I secretly loved her in high school. God, she was beautiful. She was so full of life and had such sparkling blue eyes. I even took Home Economics and joined a couple of clubs just to be near her. Yet, she never loved me. I was just her friend. Someone she could never fall in love with. She loved some jerk who went to a private school and whose daddy was rich enough to buy him a brand new Mercedes convertible and anything else he wanted, including the girl I loved.

When she came into my shop, I didn't even recognize her at first. She had on lots of make-up, was wearing dark sunglasses and had a scarf draped over her head like Jackie O trying to hide from the press. She came in to order some flowers for a friend of the family who was in the hospital. I stared at her face all the time she was giving me her order, knowing that I knew her from somewhere, and then it hit me.

"My God, L A! (L A was her nickname in high school.) How are you? It's been what, almost 10 years since I've seen you?"

I hugged her and squeezed her, joyous in the reunion; but the look on her face, at least what I could see of it …was almost one of fear and shame. I knew that she had recognized me, and it looked like she wished that I hadn't recognized her. I continued to babble on about how nice it was to see her. I had a thousand questions for her, but she barely said a word. Just some polite conversation about how nice it was to see me as well. She paid for the flowers and quickly left as though she couldn't escape fast enough.

I had pretty much forgotten about our brief meeting and then two days later it happened, the event that changed my life forever.

Now, Jim was pretty much engrossed in the old man's story. He had barely taken a few bites of his dinner and it had gotten cold and nasty. He shoved it out of the way and took another swig of beer, which had become warm and kind of bitter by this time too. He turned the page and continued reading.

… It was about midnight and I was in bed. The phone rang, and I cursed whomever it was that was calling at that ungodly hour.

I answered the phone with a surly, "Hello, who is this?"

All I heard was someone crying on the other end. Again I asked the caller, "Hello?" And then I heard this small voice timidly say through the sobbing, "Hello, Don? It's me, L A"

Damn! It was her!

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"I … I need someone to talk to … a friend. And you're the only one I could think of. May I come over, please?"

It was the "Please" that hooked me. What could I say or do? I lived over the flower shop, so she knew exactly where to find me.

"Yeah, come on over. I'll turn on the front lights for you."

I got up and dressed. Then I went into the kitchen to make some coffee. A few minutes later I heard the doorbell ring at the front of the flower shop. I went down to the shop and opened the door; and there she stood, the woman who had broken my heart so many years ago and didn't even know it.

We stood a few moments, just staring at each other; and then I remembered my manners and invited her into the store. After she entered, I locked the door back and led her up the back stairs to my apartment. I motioned for her to sit on the couch and asked if I could take her coat and hat.

She handed me her coat, and then sat down. Eventually, albeit reluctantly, she did take off her hat and she handed it to me as well. I took them and placed them on my bed and came back to ask her if she would like any coffee.

She held her head down the entire time and then softly replied, "Yes, coffee would be fine."

I poured us both a cup and returned to the living room and sat down next to her on the couch. I handed her the cup and then she lifted her face towards me into the light where I could finally see why she was so upset.

"Oh my God! Who did this to you?"

Her face was swollen and bruised. Her lips were swollen and the bottom one was bleeding. She had a black eye and her mascara was smeared, it's runny blackness running down her face. It was a truly gut wrenching picture.

The light in her eyes that I had loved so was gone. Now all I saw staring back at me were the searching, desperate eyes of a wounded animal just waiting for the final assault of the hunter.

"He did it. My husband did this to me!"

She could contain herself no longer and burst out bawling like a hurt child. I grabbed her and held her close to me. Just wanting to let her get it all out, to ease her pain anyway I possibly could. Her head was on my shoulder and mine was on hers. Her tears flowed freely onto my back as mine did onto hers. We were one, joined by her sorrow and by my sorrow for her. All I could do was to hold her tight and let her know that I cared.

By this point in the diary, Jim could hardly contain the welling in his own eyes. He set the diary down; went into the bathroom and got some tissues. He was amazed that he could be so moved. He had thought that all his emotions had died years ago.

When Jim had regained his composure he returned to the kitchen table and picked up the diary to continue his reading. He noticed that there were fresh water stains on the pages he just read. He hadn't even realized that he was crying.

We just held onto each other for what seemed like hours, crying a river of tears till neither of us could cry any more.

Finally, she breeched the silence and she began to tell me about all the things that had gone wrong in her life. Her husband, Mr. Rich and Wonderful, was an alcoholic. After their first year of marriage, he began to beat her occasionally for any small thing she did that he didn't like. He threatened to have her family killed if she ever told them how he was treating her and he stopped her from seeing her old friends. He had his employees chase off or beat up any man he even suspected that she might befriend. I tried to get her to call the police to report what he'd been doing to her.

"They know," she said. "I've been to the police station before and reported it. I just got dragged back to my husband's house. … His family owns this town and the police with it. I'm a prisoner in my own home."

Now I realized the true depths of her despair. More importantly I realized why I was the only one that she could turn to. I thought that I could cry no more, yet I did; and it was she who was now comforting me.

Finally she said, "I've got to get out of here. If my husband thinks I've been gone too long, he'll send his men to look for me and then you'll be in danger too."

"What the hell do I care? He doesn't own me and never will," I replied.

She kissed my cheek softly and replied in an almost scolding tone, "Don't be stupid and please don't make trouble for him. It'll only come back to hurt us both. Bye, I've got to go now."

I got her coat and hat for her and then helplessly watched as she walked out the door into the cold night, back to her husband and her gilded cage.

Over the course of the next year, I would receive many such phone calls in the night. Each time I was there to lend a friendly ear and a dependable shoulder to cry on.

And then, one night, things took a fateful turn. Whether for the better or worse I suppose depends upon your point of view.

She called crying, as usual, but something was different. I could tell. There was an almost plaintive anger in her tone of voice.

I let her in, and we sat down on the couch when the emotional dam burst.

"He's cheating on me. He's cheating on me in my own house, in my own bed!"

With that simple statement of fact, the tears and anguish came down in torrents.

"How do you know?" I asked.

She managed to regain her composure a bit and pulled something out of her purse. It was an earring and what looked to be a pillowcase with a lipstick stain on it.

"That bastard, he doesn't even have the decency to try to hide it from me!"

What could I do? What could I say to make her feel any better? I just held her tight, hoping that the pain would just go away, but knowing that it never would. While I was holding her, she softly whispered in my ear the words that changed my world forever.

"Love me."

I was stunned. I knew exactly what she wanted. Only in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that she would ask such a thing of me. But in her present state of mind, would she regret it in the morning? I didn't wish to cause her any more pain in any way.

"Look," I held her face gently between my hands and gazed directly into her pleading eyes, "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes, I'm sure. I wanted to be with you from the very first night I was here, but couldn't work up the courage to ask you."

That was all I needed to hear. I picked her up and carried her, like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. I gently set her down upon the edge of the bed. I sat down next to her and gazed once more into her eyes. Where once I saw fear, I now saw raw passion and abandonment to the moment.

Our lips drew nearer and I swear that there was electricity that passed between us. Our kiss was not one of friends or even merely lovers, but of two halves of one soul finally joined together after being apart for so long.

When our kiss had finally faded into the mists of legend; we kicked off our shoes and stood up and slowly began to remove each other's clothing. I had been waiting for this moment, seemingly, for my whole life. When the last of our clothing hit the floor, and we stood before each other as Adam and Eve might have done when they first laid eyes upon each other. I gazed at her in wonderment and desire. There, before me, stood a true goddess.

She had large sparkling blue eyes, auburn hair flowing past her shoulders and milky white skin. She was even more beautiful than I had ever imagined. Yet, this goddess had been desecrated. Her milky white skin only served to accentuate the fading bruise marks left by her heathen husband.

I was momentarily lost in a swirling sea of emotions. I was feeling great love, lust, and sympathy for her and hatred toward the barbarian who had treated her so badly.

She seemed to sense what I was feeling and in that lilting, laughing voice of hers said, "God, you're pathetic, … and wonderful, and I don't know what I'd do without you. Don't worry I'm fine."

I smiled and wrapped my arms around her and held her close to me, her bare chest against mine. Feeling her warmth and the strength of her beating heart as she felt mine. There was no turning back now.

I gently laid her down upon the bed and knelt down on the floor and drew her closer till her womanhood was directly in front of me. I breathed in her intoxicating fragrance and set upon worshipping this goddess the way she deserved to be, like only a true believer could.

I began by gently kissing and massaging her belly. She let out a long sigh and was silent for a moment; and then she began to emit a low moan, which sounded very much like a kitten purring.

Slowly, I worked my kisses down to her inner thigh and she opened up even further, inviting her devoted follower to drink from her well of life.

I could see that her sweet nectar had already begun to flow and I lightly ran my tongue up and down the flower petals of her womanhood. While I worked one hand down towards her womanhood, I worked the other up to the breasts that suckle new life. I gently cupped one and held its magnificence in my hand and began to softly massage its nipple. Then I inserted a finger into her; and she opened her petals even farther to expose her shining pearl. I then ever so gently inserted a second finger and lightly touched her button of love with my tongue.

Her reaction was swift and gratifying. Her hips lifted off of the bed and her legs closed in around my head, drawing me ever closer to that most sacred of places. She was breathing harder and faster and I could tell that she was nearing Nirvana and it was up to me to get her there. I withdrew my fingers, put them in my mouth and savored the goodness she had left on them. Then I brought my one hand down to massage her mound of Venus with my fingers and with the other hand I reinserted one finger into her and used it to massage the front wall of her sacred place. With one finger massaging inside her and others massaging outside, I then gently sucked on her shining pearl until her whole body lifted off of the bed, she went rigid, and she was screaming something unintelligible, something from primordial times, and then she fell back flat onto the bed and I was rewarded for my efforts with a deluge of waters from her well of life. No, it wasn't a well; it was a spring!

I did my best to drink all the nectar she had gifted me with. Then, I climbed up onto the bed next to her. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. She was still lost in the afterglow of her explosive climax.

I gave her a few more moments and then kissed her lightly, awakening her back to reality.

"God, that was fantastic. My husband never did anything for me like that."

"It was great for me too." I told her while licking my lips.

I was lying face up on the bed and then she moved over and lay on top of me. I put my arms around her and she put hers around my neck and we just held onto each other; feeling safe, contented, and loved.

It wasn't too long though before she noticed that my sword of joy was still very hard and trapped in between our bodies.

"Well, we're just going to have to do something about that," She smiled and pointed down to my manhood.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" I asked her with a grin on my face big enough to put the Cheshire cat to shame.

She sat up on and straddled my chest and then moved down my body. Then she raised herself up, grabbed my sword and guided it into her most sacred sheath. I tried to rise up, to meet her halfway, but she just motioned for me to lie still.

I lay there watching my manhood slowly disappear into her womanhood until I could see no more of it. Then I felt something a little strange and very wonderful. She was rhythmically contracting her muscles around my sword of joy. My lord, I thought, this must be what Heaven is like! All the angels must be jealous of me.

I knew that it wouldn't be long before I passed the threshold of no return and I think that she sensed it too because she began to slow things down a bit. I didn't want to cross over that threshold though without bringing her with me.

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byheadkeeper© 4 comments/ 75198 views/ 12 favorites

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