10 comments/ 17786 views/ 0 favorites Epiphany... By: mystic_rain_goddess *Author's Note: This story contains subject matter that includes extramarital sex. If this topic offends you, please do not read this story.* * Otherwise immersed in worlds beyond my own, the soft rustling near my table prompted me to look up – however solemnly – from the worn pages of my tattered novel. I first noticed the empty, pitch-black night that surrounded me. A night which was empty despite the sizeable gatherings, outside, of perfectly preened women gathering in groups to dance amongst equally preened men at the flashy club across the street, with its large, gaudy sign – a beacon to the masses. It was empty despite the scattered patrons whom, for tonight and tonight alone, shared the scene inside of the posh little café where I often made my home. It was empty because I was empty, as it was sad because I was sad. Finally my attention drifted, at least partially, to my server, patiently waiting at my corner table for some acknowledgement. "Would you like another mocha?" he asked diligently at the first hint that I would answer him. Slowly I smiled at this, at him. He quieted a moment, thinking, and asked suddenly, "Are you alright?" I looked at him them, confused, and saw him for the first time that evening. He was a handsome, bright-looking young man of about twenty-five. His pale, cropped brown hair sat neatly upon his head, accentuating his pale, hazel eyes and fair skin. He was virile looking, and seemed genuinely concerned, thus I refused to answer with the whole truth, as I wished, suddenly, not to depress him. I faked a grin and answered politely, "Yes... for the most part. If you could poison my husband, I would be substantially better. It's a light and happy thought, no?" My mood elevating at the though of poisoning my spouse, I smiled a genuine smile for the first time that evening. "I have to say, this is the best I've felt in a week. While it makes for good material, I'm not too far from being serious about the entire spouse situation. However, that is not what you asked, and I suppose I should simply answer your question and move along." "No, feel free... I'm enjoying the conversation...." his voice trailed off, quickly scanning the handful of patrons in the entire establishment, all of whom were being tended to by other help. He quickly added, "Besides, it's not like I'm in great demand." "Well, the articulate conversation is a welcomed reprieve for me, certainly. Rest assured that I don't have even this level of exchange at home." "That's unfortunate, as you seem pretty bright. What do you do for a living?" "Oh," I countered, pausing, hesitant to tell this stranger what I did for a living. "Well, I'm actually a sales manager for a pharmaceutical company." "Really? That's neat..." he hesitated, "but, do you enjoy it?" I looked into his hazel eyes, interested in what he was saying, as it was clearly genuine. I smiled, then, and raised an eyebrow, "Honestly?" He nodded, smiling. "No, not at all," I replied bluntly, "I absolutely hate what I do. I used to be the Vice President of Marketing, actually, but I disliked that more, so I stepped down. I have an education worth nearly one hundred thousand dollars and I can't find a job I like. Life is indeed ironic, no? But, here's the icing on the cake – I used work for an old, eccentric attorney as his assistant, and I enjoyed that more. However, part of me reasoned I couldn't do that forever, as I didn't make any money at it. However, I used to wake up every morning excited to take the bus downtown to get to my tiny office. Go figure." "That's what's really important, I think. The staff laughs at me for waiting tables, but it's what I like to do." "Hold on, you lost me... the staff laughs at the other wait staff? Don't get me wrong... I waited tables through college and have nothing but the utmost respect, but... why are they laughing?" "Oh, because I own this place. I guess I didn't mention that?" he seemed apologetic, which was clearly unnecessary, but still endearing. "No, you didn't, but it's interesting, nonetheless. For how long have you owned it?" "Since I opened it about ten years ago. I opened its sister stores about three years ago when this place started doing so well. I prefer this location, still, if I want to actually roll my sleeves up and serve food. The people are more interesting." He caught my gaze at that moment and held my eye. What I saw in his gaze made me stammer. I saw in him a spark, a life, a passion – a desire for something more than he was, more than any one of us is individually. I saw more in his eyes what I had seen in my eyes, only years before – when I was fresher. It wasn't that I was old – quite the contrary – but I was defeated. I saw in his eyes more than I had in the cold, dead eyes of my husband in longer than I could remember. I found myself suddenly drawn to the handsome waiter/owner standing at my table as he spoke... not at me, not to me, but with me. I smiled, then, and so did he. I felt alive as I watched his eyes glisten in the dim light. I noticed that he had begun to slouch a bit, shifting his weight from standing in one place for so long. I smiled, again, and gestured toward the seat across from me, "Why don't you sit down?" Looking almost embarrassed, he smiled and pulled the chair slowly, almost hesitantly away from the table. "Well, okay...." I paused as he sat down. Thinking about what I was doing, I laughed subtly and inquired, "I don't mean to sound ridiculous, but, I don't know your name, yet." A wide, genuine smile crossed his soft, pink lips even as the words left my mouth. He chuckled softly, delicately – as if cradling me with his warm laughter – and spoke, "I think I'm going to fire myself as a waiter. I ask the staff to say, 'Good evening and welcome to Zavi. My name is such-and-such, and I'll be your server, this evening.'" He paused, chuckling again. I watched his eyes as he laughed his warm, honest laughter in which I found myself oddly enraptured. "So, at my own request," he answered, "I'm David." "Well, then, David," I began, extending my arm to shake his hand, "it's nice to formally meet you. I'm Regan." He smiled as I spoke my name, taking my hand in his. Instead of the handshake I was expecting, he slowly drew my arm to his lips, kissing my hand softly. His lips and his skin were warm to the touch and felt good against my hand. My palm brushed against his and, though the sensation was slight, caught my immediate attention. I blushed for the way I was feeling, afraid it was showing on my face. He paused, also blushing slightly, then caught my eye directly. His lips parted slightly and my name rolled off of his tongue, slowly, almost lethargically, as if he were savoring the taste of it. "Ree-gan... what a pretty name." "Well, thank you, David." "Regan...?" his voice trailed off and my name became a question. I smiled and waited for him to ask whatever it was he was going to ask. "Yes?" I prompted. "What would you say if I grabbed another round of mochas and we'll chat over coffee?" I smiled warmly, his hesitation endearing him to me. "Of course, that would be nice." I watched as he scuttled across the café and prepared matching mocha lattes to adorn our conversation with chocolate coffee. As I watched him prepare the drinks, my mind began to wander into the vast, gray region of guilt with which so many of us are plagued. I envisioned my husband at home, hopelessly sitting on the couch as though he were incapable of cleaning, making a sandwich, picking up his own dirty socks from the bathroom floor, or locating the remote control. The thought of him had come, over the long, slow years, to disgust me in a frighteningly efficient manner. Passion had never truly bloomed, leaving us both to realize, over time, that love had never been a guest in our home – only some longing not to be alone. A sad thought indeed. Why I had stayed was simple: guilt. That, and, it was easier to stay than to leave. I was roused from my thoughts by the scent of chocolate-raspberry latte mingling with a distinctly male scent. I inhaled deeply and looked up to see David smiling, standing above the table, holding two colorful coffee cups. I returned the smile and eagerly took one of the festive mugs from his hands. He hesitated longer than necessary, his hand brushing mine. The slight caress thrilled through every nerve in my body, igniting a passion I had thought long dead. That one, small touch inspired more sensation than my husband's most intimate caress had brought in countless days. I attempted to dismiss the thought, but the feel of his hand brushing against mine played again in my mind. I smiled at him as he seated himself across from me. He leaned back into the wooden, straight-backed chair and said, "So... I believe when we left off, I was blathering on about the tedious details of waiting tables, right? Shall we discuss something more interesting?" I smiled up from my brightly colored coffee mug and announced, "Well, I was interested, but... if you'd like to change the subject, feel free to do so." "Okay. I have a question for you." "Fine... fire away...." "Well, I have to ask... why is someone as bright, interesting, and intelligent as you stuck in both a relationship and job that she hates?" I choked on my sip of mocha, the hot liquid nearly burning my tongue in limbo. I paused, then, considering his words. It had been a long time since anyone had paid me something resembling a compliment, and that was close enough for my tastes. I wasn't very good at accepting compliments, however, thus I stammered, "To begin with, you have no idea whether I'm truly bright, interesting, or intelligent, but I appreciate the speculation. The answer to that is quite dull, I fear. I'm afraid to leave either... I have been told for so long that I'm supposed to do what it is that I'm doing, that I'm afraid of the alternative. Sad, really... quite a sad reason to do anything, honestly...." My voice dropped off, then, as I was deep in thought. "I'm not happy with my job. I'm good at it, but I'm not happy. I am certainly not happy at home. I hate my husband with a dull sense of loathing, but I don't know... what is there to do?" David laughed quietly, covering his mouth. "Well, there are plenty of alternatives, really. First and foremost, I know the job market is pretty good right now... why don't you look around? See what's out there? Secondly – about your husband – I know a guy... does he need to be taken care of?" He added a mock accent to the last line, and the effect was hysterical. I laughed and nodded in appreciation and agreement. He laughed, and a soft, genuine smile crossed his face as he did. "Perhaps you don't believe in divorce, but there are few people who don't believe in murder." I laughed again, appreciatively, and conceded, "No, you're right. It isn't so much that I don't believe in divorce, but it's that I'm afraid of traveling that path, myself." I blushed – I couldn't help myself. It was so nice – if not intensely foreign – to spend time with someone whom I deemed to be an academic equal. I didn't know what to do with that situation. Thus, as we do with so many unfamiliar things in life, I nearly ran away from it. "Oh, well... um...." I stammered. I was so busy falling over the words that I didn't notice David slip into the booth next to me. I looked up, and merely inches from my face, David's clear, hazel eyes gazed into mine. I stared, captivated. "Has anyone ever told you that you are beautiful? Because, you are ... beautiful." He leaned slightly toward me and I inched toward the warmth he radiated. I stopped but a breath away from his lips and gazed into his eyes. He smiled softly and moved gently forward, pushing our lips together. Then, as quickly as the kiss had begun, David sat back and looked into my eyes, only inches away. His hazel eyes had turned foggy with heat, but he looked through the mists and spoke to me urgently. "Regan, I don't know what came over me... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry...." "Are you really?" I asked, holding his gaze. "Yes... no, I mean... I'm sorry. I had no right to... to kiss you...." Without thinking, I replied, "I wanted you to kiss me...." David went quiet, staring at me intently. Finally, he inquired, "What?" Still somewhat aflutter from the kiss, I leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "I wanted you to kiss me...." As I spoke, I kissed the sensitive around his ear and he exhaled raggedly. My lips drank in the softness of his skin as my mind danced around his sweet, masculine smell. I could feel his pulse quicken under my lips. Forgetting that we were tucked neatly into a hidden corner booth at a café David owned, our lips danced together. I inhaled deeply, my mind reeling, finally processing what was happening, I pulled slowly away, wanting some time to think clearly. "David," I breathed, my voice scratchy and unsure, "David, stop...." "I'm sorry...." his voice trailed off. His hazel eyes had turned to a fiery silver color, and his gaze pierced mine. "Not nearly as sorry as I am." I paused, meeting his burning gaze. "I just need some time to think about this...." David seemed to rebuild himself in front of my eyes – his eyes regained their soft, hazel color and his face lost its flush. He smiled calmly and replied, "Of course." He paused, then dipped his hand into his pocket. He found an unused napkin sitting next to my mocha and wrote: David – 897-8590. He smiled softly and said, "I hope to hear from you soon." I looked deep into his soft eyes and, with the taste of him still fresh on my lips, nodded, gathering my purse. I tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table and walked out, heading quickly toward my car. I pulled the door closed after me and rested my head against the steering wheel, my mind racing furiously. I felt the coarse napkin in my right hand and I tucked it safely into the bottom of my purse. Heading home and finally turning in for the evening, my dreams all tasted of David's lips and the sincerity in his eyes, despite myself. The next day at work, I sat in my rather comfortable corner office after a long, dry sales meeting. This there quarter's numbers were up, which normally lent itself to shorter meetings, but there were complaints from field reps, despite increased sales. It's always something. I stared at my call list for fifteen minutes then finally paged my secretary, Brooke. Her bubbly voice living up to the name, she answered the call, "Yes, Mrs. O'Connell?" While my maiden name – which I had retained – always made me smile, the title always made me feel older than I was. I laughed as I half-heartedly admonished her. "For crying out loud, Brooke! Mrs. O'Connell still lives in Jersey! Haven't I asked you to call me Regan?" She stumbled over my name, as she always did, drawing it out, "Yes, I'm sorry, Reee-gan." I always chuckled silently, thinking, 'Just the one long 'e' will do, actually.' Instead, I smiled, replying, "Okay, much better! Can you get me today's mail, please?" She quickly hung up the phone and brought in the requested mail. As usual, the varied assortment of bills, advertisements, requests, and junk mail comprised the post. Shuffling half-heartedly through Newsweek magazine, I eyed the telephone. Fifteen minutes and one page later, I realized I was making little progress, and I reached for my tan, leather purse. Safely tucked at the bottom of the purse was David's number. I reached absently for the phone two times before successfully picking it up. I dialed the number slowly, assuring accuracy. The voice that picked up was the one that had filled my dreams the night before. "Hello, this is David." I smiled nervously, then – after three failed attempts – finally managed to say, "Hello, David. This is Regan, from the café...." "Regan, what a lovely surprise," David interrupted. He seemed well aware of just who I was. That boded well. "So, um... I was wondering if maybe, um...you might like to meet somewhere and grab lunch, together?" "Yeah, that would be excellent... I'd really like to see you." His voice was warm and honey-sweet over the phone. His voice seemed to reassure both of us that this would be okay, even if he wasn't sure. "Do you know the garage at Montana and Galleo?" "Yeah, that's right by the café. That's where I park." "Okay. Yes, our offices are quite close – my car is on the fourth floor. Perhaps you could meet me there?" He chuckled, then replied, "Just don't stand me up, okay?" I paused, thinking about what he was saying and responded with a smile, "I wouldn't dare." I clicked the receiver into its cradle and grabbed my suit jacket, collecting my purse. I locked my office door and smiled at Brooke. "Hey! You've been a big help today, so thank you! I'm going to head out to lunch, but I may take the afternoon off. I had something come up. If I'm not back by two o'clock, you can head home. No need for you to waste away in the office while I'm out." Brooke waved goodbye, and I hurried out of the office. Floors below, I quickly crossed the busy street and headed toward the parking garage. I knew that the fourth floor was nearly always deserted, for one reason or another, thus its parking appeal. Scanning the floor for good measure as I approached my car, I saw that today was no exception. I took the opportunity to allow myself the nervousness that I was feeling. I ran my hand down the fold of my shirt and the pleat of my pants, making certain my outfit was still "fresh." After my inspection, I was satisfied that it was weathering well. I quickly unlocked my car and checked my hair in the rear-view mirror as I reapplied my red-brown lipstick. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door to the fourth floor tentatively open. David stepped cautiously out, scanning the perimeter, as though involved in some military video game. I quietly closed the car door behind me and whistled softly. He smiled as he saw me, and though his gait was hesitant, his smile was not as he neared me. I extended an arm toward him and he took my hand in his, slowly pulling me toward him. I did not hesitate and rapidly found myself in his arms, his warm embrace surrounding me. I breathed deeply as he surrounded me, his warm, sweet scent enveloping my senses. He smelled like a picnic in the woods – his pleasant, masculine scent mingling with that of the fresh pastries of the café – and I breathed him in willingly. His fingertips brushed my cheek and he looked deeply into my eyes, blushing. He averted his eyes momentarily, saying, "I don't mean to be forward, I just..." his voice trailed off, though he never managed to continue his sentence. "Don't apologize," I began, "it's not as though I'm putting up any resistance. Besides, I called you, remember? I've been doing some thinking...." "What conclusions have you come to?" David asked with serious eyes. "Well," I started, my voice soft and low. "I've decided that I'm willing to blur the line between right and wrong." "That's really good to hear," he replied with a twinkle in his eye, looking at me as he held me to his warm, soft body. "Hey, let's get out of here, okay? I'm down on the third floor; let's go." We stopped at a modest-looking but obviously new, well-maintained automobile. It was one of those "cute" little German cars that averaged about four hundred miles to the gallon of gasoline and produced absolutely no fumes or waste. I was impressed. He then walked around the car, leading me by the hand, and opened the door for me. I was even more impressed. Slipping into the spacious vehicle, I scanned the interior. The entire cab of the car was immaculately clean with a strategically placed bag for trash, a coffee cup in the drink holder, and a solidly colored air freshener hanging from a dial inside of the cab. I instantly recognized the mint green ticket hanging from the rear-view mirror as a parking pass for the garage we were in. Again, impressive. He was interesting, entrepreneurial, and organized. Epiphany... He used the driver's seat as a slip-and-slide to gently lower himself into the car, the tan, leather seats gently hugging his derriere the entire way down. I watched him with interest. He, upon 'landing,' fastened his safety belt immediately, turned to me, smiling briefly, and started the car. We pulled deftly out of the garage, though I remember little else about the trip. His laugh and his conversation were so engaging that everything else became a blur. Sometime, during a conversation about a novel so obscure I though I had once made it up, we arrived at a plain building that looked more like a house than a diner, and pulled into a parking spot. David extracted the keys from the ignition with a 'pop,' deftly moving around the car to open my door. I blushed as he extended his hand to me as he pulled the door open. I casually accepted the invitation and put my hand in his, stepping, cat-like, from the car. He stopped, then, and watched me move – the ultimate compliment. He pulled my hand once again to his lips and kissed my palm, melting my remaining defenses, though failing to quiet my mind. At once I was surprised and delighted by what I found inside of the Lone Ridge Café. While sparsely furnished, the existing décor was lightly worn and appeared well-loved. The chairs were varying, bold colors made of wood that had been painted and then minimally upholstered. The tables 'matched' the chairs – or, at least some of them did. The barista/waitress/chef stood behind the counter, alphabetizing the tea selection. We seated ourselves at a corner table nestled squarely behind a half-wall. The waitress soon meandered by our table and took our order. We hardly noticed her return with our drinks. David's voice was light and vibrant and spoke of that in which he believed. I couldn't escape his charm, his eyes, his life – nor did I want to. When I looked at him, I didn't see my stale life – the life I had accepted, settled for, sold out to. Instead, I saw myself only years before, when I was passionate, willful, interested, dynamic... alive. Now, my heart was largely dead, and death is what I felt each day – the slow, cold decay of mortality, not the warm vigor of life. It felt good to feel my heart beat in my chest, to feel the slow, gentle heat that was overcoming my body, to feel David's gaze upon me, interested in what I had to say. David began, "Regan... would you, maybe, want to come back to my place with me?" I smiled as I fumbled for words, unsure of myself and my failing scruples. Twenty minutes later, we pulled into a clean, modest-looking apartment complex where David led me to his door. I followed quietly, as if being covert, however conspicuous my face may have been. We arrived at a door identical to those around it, save the number on the side: 177. Once opened, however, I realized that was where the similarities ended. The décor was so eclectic that attempting to 'label' it would have been in vain. The carpeting was the standard fare – safe, neutral, well-maintained, while the table and chairs in the modest dining room were the same brightly-colored novelties as in the coffee house. The furniture was plush, refined and featured a stately deep-set couch and matching over-stuffed chair. The walls were covered in original, abstract paintings. "Wow," was all I could muster. "That bad, huh?" David smiled. "No... that good. It's very, precisely you." "I'd like to think so," came David's smiling reply. "I'd like to kiss you," I replied, gazing at him fondly. He blushed, closing and locking the door firmly behind him. He tossed his keys into a catch-all by the door and moved toward me. "Honestly, I'd like to do more than kiss you, if you'd have me." I paused, my mind finally quiet. Looking directly into his eyes, I answered, "Unequivocally, yes." He stepped slowly forward and enveloped me in his embrace. I watched him search my face, and only as his lips approached mine did my eyes flutter shut. I felt his lips drinking softly from my mouth. His kiss was slow and soft against my lips and I carefully probed his mouth with my tongue, seeking access. He ceded immediately and ran his fingers through my hair as our lips embraced. He cupped my face in his hand and drew me closer, yet, to his body. I could feel his warm and alive against me. I could feel the bulge of his erection against my center, as he pushed against me softly. I ran my fingers through his short hair, and he shivered as I caressed the soft skin of his neck with just my fingertips. Finally my hands found his back and I slowly caressed him there. I run my fingers tentatively underneath his shirt, feeling his skin against mine. I sighed at the touch, and he gazed into my eyes. "Shall we go to the bedroom?" he asked. The question – at once unavoidable and surprising – left me speechless, and I nodded my consent. While I vaguely remember arriving in his bedroom, the details become blurred after that. I remember only him – his touch, his words, his embrace, his most intimate secrets. I kissed his neck while he worked at the buttons on his shirt. After they were undone, I slid the thin cloth off his shoulders and exposed his thick, smooth chest. I ran my fingers along his chest, luxuriating in the feel of his skin against mine. I slipped my shirt off, and moved back into his caress. Our bodies touched – bare skin to bare skin – and, the sensation as overwhelming. A warmth filled my body and stole my breath. I wanted more. As I worked at undoing David's belt and zipper, he kissed my neck, and ran a fingertip gently over my nipple. "Oh!" I exclaimed at the sensation. "Do you like that?" he purred into my ear. "Mmm," was all I could articulate in response as his lips captured my nipple in his mouth. He struggled momentarily with the zipper on my pants before sliding them over my thighs, and allowing them to pool at my feet. He then slid his own pants down his long, muscular legs and stepped out of them. I met him move-for-move, and he guided me to the bed. I felt the warm curve of his body atop mine as soon as I was on the smooth sheets. His hands were everywhere at once as I searched for his lips with mine. We met in a passionate kiss, and I felt the reaction it had on his body, his long, full erection spasming against my thigh. I wrapped my arms around him, teasing his caress with my long, slow kisses. I laced my fingers under the elastic of his boxers, and whispered into his ear, softly, "I want to feel all of you against me." I kissed his ear, then continued, "I want to feel you against me, and inside of me...." He drew in a deep breath as he pulled back slightly from our embrace. His soft hazel eyes were misty and wanting. His entire body protested against what he was about to say. "Are you sure this is what you want? We can always stop...." I gazed at him, and countered, "Could you stop, right now? I'll be honest with you... I don't think I could. I may stop breathing if you stop." I raised off of the bed so that I could kiss his chest as I said, "Yes, I want this... I want you." His entire body sighed as he slid his boxers off, watching me watch him. My eyes devoured the scene as he slid his boxers slowly over his hips, exposing his ample erection. He was just long enough to be called "long," and thick enough that he was "quite thick" by anyone's standards. I met his gaze and pulled him to me on the bed. We kissed as he teased me with his thick member, pushing against my thigh, inching ever-so-closely to my still-panty-clad center. I adjusted myself under him enough to push my panties down my body, and over my toes. We lay with our bodies inseparably close – only a nuance between that moment and penetration. I could feel his eager erection pushing against my thigh. He kissed me one last time, then pushed my hair away from my ear and whispered, "I'm going to make love to you." In the same instant, he closed that gap and pushed deep into my body, tugging at the walls of my center, fighting for room. I gasped and clung to his body, moving my hips against his size. I threw my head back in pleasure as he nibbled at my neck, fiercely pushing against my body. I felt him in every part of me. Not only was he endowed, and invaded my body physically, but his emotional warmth, his sincerity seemed to seep into every pore of my being as we did just what he promised – made love. I had participated in sex from time to time with my husband, but we had never truly made love. Not once. Not in several years had we managed to connect on the level that David and I had connected in an evening. I wanted nothing more than to forget everything I was leaving behind – abandoning, really – to be there, in that moment. And, with one caress from David's tender hands, I did. All that existed in the entire world was what was happening in David's bedroom. All that existed was the love we made. I felt tears streaming down my face as he stroked himself in and out of my body. I had opened to him, and he had made me so wet, that when I watched him pull almost completely out and then push back inside of me, I could see his thick erection gleaming with our juices. The thought drove me higher as I pushed fervently against David's body. I could feel him growing closer and closer as we pushed and panted against one another. I didn't mean for words to come, but they spilled out as I thrust against him, "I want to cum with you." "Yes. I'm close," he nodded, his eyes fluttering closed, then open again. "Yes," I nodded. I choked the words through panting breathes as I felt orgasm begin to take me. "I'm cumming," I panted as I clutched at David's body. As a soft yelp escaped my mouth, I felt his body spasm against me as his face contorted in pleasure. I felt orgasm wrack his body, and felt as he sprayed the inside of my body with his seed. He shook his head slightly to clear his thoughts, then gazed at me warmly, collapsing against me. He carefully rolled off of me positioned himself inches away from me, holding me close to his body. His gaze became intense and he cupped my face in his hands. I could feel his pulse in his fingertips as he kissed me softly. "Regan..." he breathed into our kiss, and I began to once again drown in his arms. "David," I affirmed as we placed soft, passionate kisses on one another's lips. "David," I murmured softly, again. His name had become my anthem. "Oh, David," I pronounced between sweet kisses. My arms instinctively pulled him close to me. I felt something very foreign inside of me "click" at that moment. I was exactly where I wanted to be. I felt exactly what I had always wanted to feel. I couldn't define it, exactly, couldn't put it to words. I sighed heavily through our kiss and pulled David yet closer to my body, to me. I slowed our kisses and looked into his eyes, still misty with passion. "David," I repeated. "I...." Before I could finish my sentence, David gently put his finger to my lips, whispering softly, "Shhh." He looked at me, knowingly, and continued, " I know you're probably worried about a hundred things, right now, but... just be here with me." I nodded fervently as we made love through long, tender kisses. Finally, he asked, in one word, the most important question I'd been asked in years. "Stay?" he asked. There were no demands in his voice, no promises I had to keep if I said, 'Yes.' Just an open and honest plea from his heart. "Stay?" he offered, once more, his lips a breath from mine. "Do you know what that would mean?" I asked, confused. "Yes. Yes, I know. But, Regan – stay? Please." I just nodded my head as he kissed me deeply. I was exactly where I wanted to be. Epiphany I couldn't tell you how long I've been away. It felt as if all my days have blended together. For all I knew, something that happened yesterday could have easily happened last week. My day generally started before the sun came up and finished well after the sun went down. Ambient lighting and climate control often simulated the normal business hours of the day. Only after the phone calls ceased was there an indication that the day was winding down. Depending on the number of loose ends that needed tying up, it could have been another 30 minutes before I heard that proverbial end of shift whistle. Lately, though, it was more like one to two hours. If it wasn't for the picture of my dear wife, Heather, sitting on my desk, I'm not certain if I would have gotten through it all. I couldn't tell you why it felt like I haven't been home in ages, but the feeling of walking through the front door of my home felt like I was in the home of a stranger's house. Had I really been on auto-pilot for that long? Was I a simple drone of the 9-to-5 lifestyle, unaware that the greedy demands of corporate life were trying to squeeze blood from a turnip? Long hours spent working on proposals that would be rejected or required fine tuning. Long days spent implementing the approved projects while being threatened that my job was on the line if we miss the deadline or go over budget. My only break from the monotony of corporate life would be the telephone calls from my dear, Heather. It didn't matter that our phone calls of late had been arguments about how I need to come home at a regular hour, how I need to take a vacation from all this stress, or how I need to spend time with her. The frustration and agony I heard in her voice had the underlying emotion of love and passion. She wanted to be with me. I always reassured her that this project would be the last, and then we'd take that week-long vacation in Hawaii so that we can get away and finally start the family she always wanted. Walking through that front door felt as if I could finally see for the first time. Though, it felt quite strange. The furniture was familiar, but they have been repositioned or reupholstered. Heather did have plenty of time on her hands. I never noticed how she took care of the house until now. She had this one wool blanket that she tossed over the back of the couch. She always complained about it being cold, and if I wasn't there to keep her warm then she would light the fireplace and wrap herself up in this blanket. I always teased her that I'm glad we didn't live in Forks, Washington or that she didn't know anyone named Jacob. I can hear her response now, "Any woman would love having two men fight over her, each swearing their unconditional and eternal love to her." Seeing, or perhaps finally noticing, the change in the furniture inspired me to make a change for the better. Not just for myself, but for Heather as well. She needed to have something more to do that rearrange furniture while waiting for her man to come home. Looking down at myself, I could probably stand to get out in the sun more. I suppose fluorescent lighting doesn't really give one much of a tan. Being an automaton really changed who I am. I first met Heather at a pick-up basketball game. A bunch of us guys from school would go down to the local park and play some three-on-three basketball. For whatever reason, it attracted some of the sorority girls to come and watch. I'll never forget the day I first saw Heather. She wore her long black hair with soft curls. Her Cupid's bow lips smiled and turned at the corners, causing cute dimples to appear in her cheeks. Her hazel eyes sparkled in the sunlight, showing off her youth and zest for life. And how could I forget her curves? The cotton tank top hugged her firm breasts. The shorts she wore were modest enough but showed off how the sun kissed nearly every inch of her. I definitely wanted to be between those legs and plant soft kisses to her inner thighs. An all-American girl, who catered to every all-American boy's wet dream. A locomotive in the form of a two hundred and fifty pound man, who had more fat than muscle, bulldozed me over on his way to the basket. He took advantage of my staring at Heather's beauty. He brought me back to reality in a hurry. Back then, it's what drew us together. She felt sorry for me, and then was flattered when I told her how it happened. Of course, I wasn't quite as raunchy as my hormone-enraged thoughts were. From there, we would always been seen together. At the basketball court or at the park, we would always be seen side by side, holding hands or kissing. The sound of Heather giggling upstairs brought me back to reality this time around. It's a playful and flirtatious giggle, one that she would use whenever she bought a new dress that showed off her gorgeous legs or had a plunging neckline that made me want to go mountain climbing. Did she go shopping again for me? That was so very sweet of her. Well, I won't disappoint her. Things were going to change for the better after tonight. I'm going to let her know that I won't neglect her. I'm going to tell her that I appreciate her waiting for me. The blinders are off, and she'll now be rewarded for her patience. Not wanting to surprise her, I crept up the stairs mindful of not placing too much weight upon the third step in the stairwell. It always creaked when someone walked on it. Heather and I would always joke about how we had a built-in alarm system with that staircase. Obviously, my ninja skills were shining through as I was able to get by that alarm without causing a sound! Hopefully she doesn't have the door closed, or these mad skills would have been all for naught. I was in luck. The door to the bedroom was partially open. I could peek into the bedroom from the safety of the shadows. Another test of my ninja skills! And this grasshopper got an eyeful. Heather was wearing a spaghetti strap body suit made of while lace, with a built-in underwire bra. The frilly garment lifted her breasts, putting them on full display. Meanwhile the lacy fabric played peek-a-boo with her soft pink areola and her erect nipples. Just the sight of her luscious tits made me want to break down the door and ravage her, defining my epiphany and proclaim that I'm a changed man! The body suit had a high French cut which revealed the dangerous curves of hips. Plus, it gave the added bonus of masquerading as a thong. The white fabric disappeared into her ass crevice, showing off her firm buttocks. The time she spent doing yoga and whatever fitness trend really paid off for her. When was the last time I told her that? It's sad that my work life would ever put that in doubt. God, I wanted to squeeze that ass and claim her body as my property just like I used to when I was younger. However, right before I could muster the strength to blast open the door, I heard another voice coming from the master bathroom. Not only did it hurt that this was a masculine voice, but it was a familiar voice. "Can I come out now, baby?" he said. I could hear the anticipation. He expected to see this new piece of lingerie. The voice belonged to Damon, a college "friend". While I spent time in the classroom, studying management information systems, this loser would skateboard around campus. He was known for being the local hook-up for weed. Why a Hawaiian chose to go to a Midwestern university was beyond me, especially if he lived in paradise. He was friends with Heather, only by association. He dated many of her sorority sisters. If you were to ask me, I think they used him to score some pot. He, of course, used them for sex. He was a pussy hound. I always told Heather that I didn't care for him, and she always reassured me that he was nothing to fear. Nothing to fear, she said. And yet, the asshole is in MY bedroom with MY wife! A million questions flooded my mind just then. Was this just dumb luck that I would come home and interrupt the "beginning" of this sordid affair? Or how long had this been going on? Did he always get to see her trying out new lingerie that she claimed she bought for me? Was I really so oblivious to everything around me that I didn't notice that she was sleeping with someone else? I know that giggle, so she's not being forced to dress like this for him. She's doing this to flirt with him! Anger consumed me. I so desperately wanted to slam the door open and scare the shit out of these two lovebirds. The betrayal by my wife had me seeing red. But a voice in the back of my head told me to wait. Perhaps some of the answers to my questions would be revealed. The rage, the hurt, and the raw emotion were kept in check. I'm surprised that my breathing wasn't heard by the mother fuckers because I'm sure that I was fuming. He came out, dressed only in Heather's favorite beach towel. Had they gone to the beach while I slaved away at work, trying to bring home enough money so that we would have a nest egg to start a family? That bitch! How could she do this to me? The last I heard, this loser was living in some trailer park that was a frequent haven for disturbance or domestic violence calls to the police. Heather posed for him as if she were a Playboy model, and that her body was his for the taking. She made love to the proverbial camera, giving that come hither, sultry look. He didn't hesitate. He rushed forward and grabbed her by the ass and pulled her to him. In doing so, the beach towel fell to the floor. Heather's eyes widen as she felt his cock press against her sex. When he leaned in forward for a kiss, she wrapped a leg around him. In this position, she gave him easier access to her pussy. If it wasn't for the thin layer of fabric of her lingerie, he would have penetrated her right then and there. Their kiss was filled with passion and lust, though they fumbled through the motions as if this was their first kiss. I wonder how long she had been yearning for his kiss. Again, I was going to burst in upon the scene and prevent this nightmare from continuing, but he broke from the kiss with a rather savage motion. With two hands, he grabbed hold of her lingerie and ripped the top down the center, causing her breasts to spring free. The stunned look on Heather's face didn't last long. Before she could react to how violently he tore her negligee, he pushed her back onto the bed. Her legs were sprawled out before him. I couldn't tell if that was lust in her eye, or if she was simply a deer in headlights. He moved quickly and ripped open the snaps at the bottom of the teddy, exposing her shaved pussy to him. There was no mistake. Her pussy glistened with her own juices. She lay upon the bed as if she were his prey, and was there to be mounted. Damon crawled up between her legs and positioned himself to take something that for last several years belonged only to me. Though for the life of me, I don't know why I didn't rush in now. The rage and anger turned to hurt and despair, causing my knees to buckle. I had trouble breathing. My wife was having an affair willingly. I devoted my life to her, and this is how she repays me? Her grunt told me that he had entered her with one fell swoop. His animalistic thrust must have been unexpected as she took a while to get acclimated to it. She preferred sex to be sensual and slow. She wanted to savor every inch as I entered her. She would dig her fingernails into my back and wrap both legs around my thighs so that she could control the speed of which I made love to her. This was different. In my despair, I hoped that his faux pas would ruin the evening for him. I hoped that Heather would realize the mistake she made and push him out, castrating him right then and there. Much to my chagrin, I heard her say, "Oh god, I so needed this. It's been too long." Had it really been that long since I made love to my wife? Or was she referring to the time between their encounters? She assured me that she never had sex with him in college. But then again, she gave her vow to be faithful to me on our wedding day. Was everything just a lie? Did she turn me into a corporate drone so that she could get the wealth she wanted from me, but live out her lustful fantasies with him? I'm not sure my heart could take much more. I wanted to die. "I'm better than Steve, aren't I?" He asked, gloating over his conquest as he continued to hump his hips and thrust his cock into her. My self-esteem lifted me off the ground. My wounded male pride gave me strength. How dare he think that he's better than me? I'm going to show him who the alpha male truly is. He's going to be sorry that he ever met me. However, this welling of strength and determination was accompanied by something even stronger. There are going to be two hits: Me hitting Damon and Damon hitting the floor. Well, I was partially right. Before I could even enter the room, there was a resounding thud. From this new position on the floor, I couldn't see quite as well. However, the absence of bedsprings bouncing indicated someone fell off the bed. "What the hell, bitch?" He screamed. There was no mistaking the tone in Heather. She was pissed, "Get the fuck out of my house, right now!" Could there be a God? I had to see how this played out. I backed away from the bedroom door and down the stairs. In my haste to not be seen, I forgot all about the precaution I took in order to get upstairs without sounding the hidden alarm. My luck must really be working in my favor because that third step didn't creak when I put my weight on it. Ducking into the kitchen, I found cover behind the island. Normally, when Heather is angry with me, everyone and their neighbor would know that I was the unfortunate recipient of her wrath just by the volume of her voice. Because of this, I didn't miss a beat of their discussion. "What the fuck crawled up your ass and died, bitch?" "You did, you asshole!" This exclamation was accompanied with the tumbling of one of his shoes down the stairs. Damon came down the stairs, still trying to dress himself. "You're fucking psycho!" This time, Heather's aim was perfect. The second shoe struck him in the back of the head. She yelled, "Get out and don't come back!" "Don't worry. I don't want anything to do with a psycho hose beast, like you." He collected his shoes and slammed the door on the way out. The sound of a second door slamming upstairs gave the illusion of Heather having the final word. It was in that instance that I felt like things would be different. I realized that my long hours drove her into the arms of another man. I realized that my attention to detail on the projects at work was causing me to neglect the lovely wife I had at home. With corporate life, there was very little gratitude from my boss. He just used me for his own goals. How could I have chosen him over my wife? Well, no more! Both of us are hurting, but my new life starts now. I rushed up the stairs. Again, that stupid third step didn't creak. Heather must have gotten that fixed. What's sad is that she probably told me, but I wasn't paying attention since I was in my corporate sleepwalk mode. I put my hand upon the doorknob and was about to turn the handle when I heard Heather talking on the phone. I could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was enough to freeze me in my tracks. "I just can't do it, Kim." "Yes, I really tried. I bought that sexy lingerie we saw at the boutique." She then muttered under her breath, "Which he ripped a part. The asshole." "Yes, I know, Kim. I know." Her voice turned to sadness as she continued on with the phone conversation, "It's just too soon. I'm just not ready to move on." She laughed dryly, "I swear, I could almost feel Steve's presence in the room when I threw him out on his ass. I think Steve is watching over me. I think he knew that I was making a mistake with him, Kim." "I wish he was here, so that he could hold me in his arms one last time. So that he could tell me everything would be ok." To say that I was dumbfounded by the conversation would be an understatement. I twisted the door knob and exerted the force needed to open the door. Instead, I found myself walking through the closed door. I was stunned and flabbergasted. How the hell did that happen? My confusion consumed me even more as I turned to look at Heather. She was sitting on the bed with the comforter wrapped around her. She held a picture of me in one hand while talking on the phone with the other. By her feet was a Tupperware box with a collection of my personal things. However, most importantly, sitting upon her lap was a newspaper clipping. The headline of the article read "Local man killed in a single car crash". And I don't know if I heard Kim's voice on the other end of the phone call, or if it was an angelic voice from above, but the woman's voice said, "You have to let go." Before anything more could be said, I was consumed by white heavenly light. The sound of a choir of angels could be heard in the distance.