Separate Lives Chapter 2
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Separate LivesChapter 8 free porn video
When I got right down to it, I found I had little to consider. Instead, I welcomed the new... well, renewed... closeness, and though we never discussed it, it seemed she did also. Over the next few weeks, I took Sherrie to dinner or a movie a number of times. I'd have done it more often, but we both had demanding jobs and needed our rest. That limited the number of times we felt like we could go out during the workweek. Even so, we did that a couple of times too.
On our second Wednesday out, I told Sherrie that I loved her for the first time in more than four and a half years... four years and eight months, to be more precise. She whispered that she loved me too. She hadn't hesitated even a split second and we spent the next half hour kissing and petting. If there had been more time to explore the newly opened vistas before us, we wouldn't have stopped at that, but life sometimes intrudes. The hour was late and we had to go to work the next morning.
Gradually, as the days passed, we grew comfortable with saying "love" to each other and began using the little affectionate phrases and touches we'd had between us before.
Not for the first time, I began to appreciate the wisdom Karen had shown in breaking up with me. I hadn't even suspected it a few months ago, but she'd seen what I hadn't. Somehow, she'd known that I had not, and perhaps could not, let go of the emotional attachment to Sherrie that I had kept covered up for so long.
I could have suppressed those feelings forever. I knew that, and I think Karen had also. But the repression took something away from my relationship with Karen and she'd sensed it. I realized now there had been some hesitation on my part when I tried to open up to her. She was smart enough to see it would always be that way. I respected her for refusing to accept it.
I told her so in a phone call I made the next evening to her. She chuckled and thanked me for the compliment but it hadn't been something she'd thought out. It was more instinct than anything else, she told me. I thanked her anyway.
Hesitantly, she asked how it was going between Sherrie and me. I was ready for the question and told her how deeply I felt about Sherrie. I told Karen that her instincts must be incredibly sharp and she laughed.
As tentative as I had been talking about Sherrie and me, Karen told me about a new man in her life. I knew him vaguely. He'd been an observer from the International Red Cross in the Kabul hospital and had come in to see me a time or two. He was a Swede, but seemed intrigued by America and everything about it. It seemed he and Karen had talked about my condition several times and he'd become interested in the sad-voiced woman on the other end of the line.
After a slight hesitation, Karen told me for the first time that when I was under anesthesia in the operating room, I'd called out for Sherrie. The Red Cross observer had heard and was under the impression Karen was Sherrie for a long time. I had not known. I was quiet for a long time.
I didn't know how to apologize for an affront like that and I told her so. She said there was none needed. She'd already suspected the depth of my feelings for Sherrie and it only confirmed those suspicions. Anyway, she said when the Red Cross guy came to the United States on a U.N. sponsored trip, he'd looked her up in the phone book and called her.
They'd dated a few times already and she told me she liked him a lot. She hoped I would too. I searched my mind for some streak of jealousy, irrational though it would have been, but I couldn't find any. I told her I wished her every happiness in the world and meant every word of it. She thanked me, hoped I would have the same, and asked me if we could remain friends. I simply said "forever." We got off the phone a few minutes later. Both of us, I think, were feeling immeasurably better about ourselves and where our paths had led us.
I picked Sherrie up for several of what we had decided were official dates at her apartment, but I never saw the inside of it. She would tell me her two roommates had trashed the living room or some other excuse. I told her I'd like to meet her roommates and she said I would soon. She was concealing something, but I didn't get the idea it was malicious. It seemed to be something she just didn't want to deal with right now. I could respect that.
Besides, I figured if one or both of the roommates were men, I'd have heard by now and she'd be a lot more nervous about admitting their existence. She wasn't nervous. Therefore, they weren't people who were a "threat" to me. Still... I wondered.
On Friday night three weeks after the first dance since our divorce, I picked her up and we went to one of the finer restaurants in town. The place featured an old 19th century western saloon/restaurant theme. They had a long swing attached to the ceiling and every so often a pretty girl dressed like a saloon girl would climb up a ladder and swing over the audience for a while. It necessarily involved a lot of leg being exposed and the girl was obviously selected with that in mind.
I looked. I am but a man, after all, but I had the sense to tell Sherrie that her legs put that girl's to shame. It was true too. Sherrie blushed prettily and got a tinge of pink every time the girl got up on her swing thereafter. It made her all the more beautiful in my eyes.
We went to see a late showing at a theater afterward, but I'm not sure either of us paid any attention to the movie. I had her hand in mine the whole time; her head lay on my shoulder and I planted little kisses on the top of her head--her lips whenever I could.
Certainly, I couldn't recall a single thing about the show when it was over and we came outside into the warm Texas night. We hadn't anything else planned and I was feeling a curious reluctant excitement--reluctant because part of me really wasn't sure if I wanted this relationship to take the next step, but excited because another part of me did.
She stopped and backed up against the passenger side door of my SUV and pulled me tight for a long, lingering kiss. We stayed that way, enjoying the feel of our bodies pressing against each other. My hands roamed over her shoulders and back. I wanted to do more, but we were in public and... I didn't know whether she wanted me to. I was sure she could feel my penis as it hardened against her. She didn't pull back, but I didn't feel much encouragement either. No, that was wrong. I did feel something but she was holding back. When we broke our kiss, we were both breathless for a long while. We separated, I unlocked her door and handed her inside.
I started the engine and turned on the headlamps but I didn't put the transmission in gear. When I turned to Sherrie, she responded eagerly. She was in my arms, kissing me deep and long. There was no sign of reluctance now.
"Where do we go from here," I asked her softly when we came up for air. She pressed her lips to mine in a quick kiss before she answered.
"Ron," she whispered, "you're in the driver's seat. You take us where you want us to go." I understood.
"Are you sure, baby?" I asked. I had to be sure. She just kissed me again and patted my hand.
"I'm sure," she assured me. Her voice was soft, but firm. I put the SUV in gear and we merged into the nighttime traffic. There was no doubt in my mind where I wanted to go now.
When we got to my house, we kissed inside the front door for a long time. It was more urgent this time, fueled by a fire mounting inside us. Sherrie pulled back and asked if there was something she could drink. I took her hand and guided her to the kitchen. I had some wine coolers for her in the fridge, the brand and flavor she'd liked before. She flashed a beautiful smile at me as she accepted it and drank deeply. I took her around my new house, showing her all the features and comfortable little things that had attracted me to the place. She loved the fireplace.
"That's so beautiful," she told me. "It's exactly like the one I've always wanted in a home."
I studied the rock-lined fireplace, the hardwood mantle over it, and the wide hearth in front. It did, indeed, fit a description she'd given me in our second year of marriage when we'd thought of buying a home. We couldn't afford it back then, but the first time I could afford a nice house, I bought one with her fireplace? I had time to think that Karen had indeed been a wise woman.
I was nervous about taking Sherrie upstairs to my bedroom, and I saw some small apprehension on her face too. We both knew what we did next would have far-reaching effects and it was a bit daunting. She didn't resist when I led her up the broad staircase and into my bedroom though. She'd said I was in the driver's seat and that's the way she was responding.
When she saw the open door to the big bathroom--another of the selling points for the house--she broke away and went inside, closing the door for a moment with a murmured excuse. I was surprised a moment later to hear the water in the shower running. The door opened a crack and she called me to come in with her.
This was another shock. I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Sherrie had wanted to shower with me in our last year of our marriage. I had the presence of mind to toss my pants and sports coat over the back of a chair instead of tossing them in the floor, but I still made good time in getting through the bathroom door.
Sherrie was facing away from me when I got in and pulled the curtain closed behind me. She looked over her shoulder with a sensuous smile and tilted her head back for a long kiss.
"I have a surprise for you," she said with a sparkle in her eye. "But I want you to make me nice and clean all over, first, okay?" It sounded good to me. I soaped my hands up real good and began with her shoulders, rubbing the slippery suds all around.
"Honey," Sherrie said tentatively, "I really, really want you to do me ALL over, please?" She looked back at me but I couldn't read her expression. She wouldn't turn around so I could see her face very well but there was something not quite right--something I wasn't getting. She handed me the bottle of shampoo over her shoulder.
"Please?" she said. There was a plaintive note in her voice and I didn't know the reason for it. But if Sherrie wanted me to soap her up and wash her from top to bottom, I still didn't mind it. Heck, it was good foreplay if nothing else.
"Sure... but are you sure this shampoo's okay?" I asked. "It's just a generic brand I got off the supermarket shelves." She nodded.
"It's just fine," she said softly. I gently pressed her forward a little to get her under the stream of water and until her hair was soaked. She looked back at me with her eyes squinched tightly shut. I chuckled. I recalled that I'd always told Sherrie she looked like a pixie when her wet hair was plastered to her scalp. Without opening her eyes, she leaned back for another kiss. She was smiling. The kiss was awkward, but slow and loving. Evidently, she remembered too.
Pouring a gobbet of shampoo on my left hand, I spread it across both palms by rubbing my hands together and began to work it into her thick hair. While I shampooed her, I wondered what this was all about. Both of us had been clean and sweet smelling when we'd met this evening and neither of us had engaged in any particularly athletic activities since. Theoretically, we didn't need a shower. At the same time, I dearly loved to make love to my woman with nice, hot water pelting down on us.
"You used to want me to shower with you more... before," Sherrie said quietly. "I wish I'd listened to you and hadn't been so stupid about it," she added regretfully.
"We can make up for lost time," I suggested. I was rinsing her hair under the showerhead so the reply was a while in coming.
"Okay," she said happily.
I worked some conditioner into her hair, giving her a scalp massage at the same time, and rinsed it out completely. Sherrie was complaint under my hands, moving forward or back as I urged her, leaning back against me the rest of the time.
With her hair finished, I soaped up my hands again and began with her neck, rubbing my fingers all around and spreading the suds over every thing I could reach. I even did her ears, expecting her to say or do something to show that this was over the top, but she didn't make the slightest protest. I saw she literally wanted me to wash her entire body and didn't want me to skip any part of her. I was getting curious about why we were doing this, but I felt very strongly that she felt explaining would ruin the effect.
I swept my hands over soft, creamy flesh made slippery with water and soap, loving the feel of touching her intimately again after so long. From there, I worked my way down her back and sides. As I washed her, I enjoyed the view too. She was slim, but not skinny. Her curves were well rounded, soft, and gentle. Her waist was trim and smooth. It flared out a little more than I remembered to hips that had no excess flesh. Her butt cheeks were beautifully rounded, soft without being flabby. Below, her thighs were twin columns of wonderfully smooth flesh that blended into beautifully proportioned calves and shapely ankles.
On my knees behind her, I used my hands to urge her legs apart and I saw something, or rather, I didn't see something.
"Wow," I said softly. I stopped soaping her up. My heartfelt comment and the cessation of my hands moving about her body brought her back from wherever Sherrie had gone to.
"Hey! That is your surprise, Mister," she said in mock indignation. "But you have lots of work to do before you get there, so get busy, bub." She was pleased though. She didn't have any problem telling I was excited about what I'd seen. I got busy, as directed. I really wanted to explore the hairless pussy I could see through her open thighs. Before I went there though, I soaped my fingers well and stood up.
"Bend over a little, honey," I told her tenderly. She did it without saying a word. In a night of startling discoveries, here was another. Sherrie wouldn't even consider anal sex when we were married, and we'd never even gotten to the stage where she would talk about her reasons why. It was a topic that had never been on the table for discussion. Now, she had to know what I was going to do and she was letting me without the slightest protest.
Soaping my forefinger well, I worked it all around her anus, keeping the pressure light. After a minute or two, Sherrie shifted her legs and put out her hands to lean against the shower wall. She arched her back to push her ass back at me, and rising a little on her toes to give me a better angle. Gently, making sure the slippery soap was lubricating her well enough, I pressed my finger inside.
Holding her left hip in my hand, I worked my right forefinger deeper until the first knuckle disappeared. Abruptly, Sherrie found a way to relax the first ring of muscles there and my finger slipped in all the way. We both caught our breaths in distinct gasps easily heard over the sound of water cascading over our bodies. I was afraid I'd hurt her, but when she made no complaint, I began to work my finger in and out, spreading her wider at the same time.
"That's number two," she said suddenly, sighing.
I flinched a little. I'd been concentrating hard on what I was doing while waiting for her to cut off this exploration she'd never allowed me to do when we were married.
"What, hon?" I asked.
"That's the second thing I wish we'd at least tried before," she explained. "If I just hadn't been so uptight... and stupid... and mean... and--" I cut her off before she went any further down that path.
"Well..." I said, drawing out the word. I tried to make my voice light and teasing. "Like I said before, we can make up for some lost time... if you're willing." Sherrie had been pushing back on my hand, working her hips around in a small circle. She stopped now and settled herself.
"Count on it," she said succinctly. "We're going to do a lot of things we should have been doing a long time ago," she said. Again, she sounded excited and happy at the prospect of trying new things. I cleaned my hand off carefully.
Manipulating the bar of soap between my hands to get them soapy again, I started doing her front by rubbing the soap into the skin of her forehead and working over her features. She closed her eyes and lifted her face to mine. I was struck by the trusting, almost childlike, quality of her submission to what I was doing.
The warm water had almost removed all of her makeup; the soap completed the process. In a minute, her face was clean and shining under the coat of soap. I saw the light freckles across the bridge of her nose, the long lashes that didn't really need mascara, the beautifully rounded planes of her cheeks and chin. I let my fingers trail across her lips, wondering if she'd really intended me to do that, but she made no sound and didn't try to pull away. I rinsed her face off and was tempted to kiss her, but she wasn't ready for that. We hadn't kissed since I began soaping her up.
I was astounded when Sherrie opened her mouth and extended her tongue. There'd been a disquieting question in the back of my mind ever since I'd stepped into the shower. I'd been wondering just what was going on, and now I focused hard on finding an answer.
While I thought, I quickly applied a token amount of soap to her tongue and quickly tilted her head back so the water from the showerhead would spray into her mouth. She rinsed out with several mouthfuls of water before she was through. She made a face but didn't say a word.
I worked my way down her neck and shoulders, her arms and her sides again. All the time, I was thinking, trying to figure out why Sherrie was having me do this. It hit me from out of the blue. I'd probably read an article on it, or seen a documentary on TV or something--I didn't remember which. A ritual cleansing was a part of many cultures and most religions. It was a symbolized way to make the body clean, pure again spiritually and physically.
In a stroke of inspiration, I was as sure as I could be that she was having me "wash" that other man off her. I didn't know why she wanted this--after all, we'd had sex after the last time she'd been with him--but she did and that was good enough for me.
I worked my way down her chest to her breasts, marveling at their beauty. At thirty-one, Sherrie's breasts had yet to give in at all to gravity; they stood high and proud, round and firm, yet soft and yielding when I cupped them in my hands. Her nipples were erect, rock hard bits of reddened, sensitive flesh that begged for my attention. I think she expected it, her body language told me she did, but I refrained.
I worked steadily, washing her abdomen and lower belly quickly, but thoroughly. Sherrie had her eyes open now, watching my hands as they swept across her body. Though she'd wanted a symbolic cleansing, she was also becoming very aroused by my touches. A faint flush spreading across her chest and her flared nostrils told me of her excitement.
I slowed to look closely at her vulva. Her pubes were completely bare of any hint of pubic hair. I touched her gently, stroking from her labia outward to her thighs. Her skin was absolutely smooth. I looked up to find her watching me anxiously.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Ohhhhhh yeah," I said expressively. I more than liked the smoothness and the view. Sherrie had always had a beautiful, young looking pussy and so it was still. I couldn't wait to slide my tongue between her outer lips to taste her once more. "But how did you--?"
Vera
- 12.05.2020
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