1 comments/ 71291 views/ 4 favorites A Different Kind of Love By: PredatorSmile My name is Teja, though most folks in this place know me as Predator's Smile. I still remember where I got this title. I have always been the odd girl who was fond of comic books. My online name has to do with a certain graphic novel about Daredevil, a comic book character whom I deeply love. Daredevil is a cool guy who helps people both as a lawyer and as a superhero. He's also legally blind, though he's got a whole array of superhuman senses and abilities. That's what makes him so cool. He's above the common person but he's still human. Not long ago, I discovered that my boyfriend, who shall remain unnamed is a bisexual man. Let's call him Aaron, just for kicks. I couldn't believe it at first. He's a tall, good-looking guy. In our college, he was one of the best athletes. Whether in basketball or baseball, he simply excelled. He was simply fierce. Yet this handsome young man whom I fell in love with was bisexual. I guess we're two of a kind. I am bisexual myself. Before I started dating him, I was exclusively into girls. My head was shaved, I had tattoos and I had never worn a dress in my life. I liked women. I was a macho girl, as they say. When I met Aaron, I was forever changed. He was so handsome and so cool. He was one of the most popular guys on campus. All the guys admired him and all the chicks wanted him in their bed. I had recently broken up with a girl who left me for a married woman. They ran off together. Can you imagine that? Betrayal is a bitch. I found myself drawn to Aaron. Although we clashed at first, we eventually became friends and later, lovers. He was the first man I ever made love with and also the first man I had ever loved. When Aaron confessed to me that he was bisexual, a whole new world opened up for us. We would walk around together, holding hands while checking out both men and women. We went to adult video stores together and discovered we had a lot in common. My boyfriend liked lesbian videos, but he also liked videos featuring bisexual male erotica and gay porn. Those videos spiced things up in our relationship. We would lie down at night after making love and talk about our lives. Aaron's father is a police officer. So is mine. Aaron's mother ran off on the family when he was nine. For these reasons, Aaron doesn't like letting women get close to him. He doesn't let men get close to him either. He's a good man who has been through a lot both emotionally and psychologically. He was extremely close to his father, whom he practically worshiped. Aaron was in college on an athletic scholarship and studying Criminal Justice. He wanted to become a cop like his dad someday. I came from a somewhat different background. My dad is a cop too but he was retired by the time I started college. My mother died giving birth to me so my dad ended up raising me and my brothers by himself. I grew up in an all-male house. Maybe that's why I am so comfortable around guys, whether they're straight or gay. I love men. I love the honesty of their ways. I think a lot of them get a bad rap in society and I don't think the system is always fair to them. I've been on men's wrestling teams and they treated me as a friend and teammate. Guys are alright in my book. Yeah, I'm quite the tomboy. Maybe that's why I don't bond too well with women. I'm good-looking and very outgoing. I love sports and I often speak my mind. I don't take crap from anybody. Women are drawn to me. They want me in their beds but few want me in their hearts. I'm the bad girl. Fun to screw but not someone they bring home to meet the parents. Yeah, this girl's life is tough. I've dated a lot of women and so far, my longest relationship has been three months. Three months of hot sex which ended badly. Not the sex, just the relationship. My relationships with women never worked out. To this day, I've had a lot of female lovers but zero female friends. Women don't like me. And I don't like them. Still, they're attracted to me and I to them, so we get tangled in the sheets regularly. I had given up on love...until the day I met Aaron. Aaron was quite new to the world of sex, though you wouldn't believe it to look at him. He was a six-foot-two, 230-pound biracial athlete. Half black and half Irish. The best of both worlds. Yet he had only been with one guy, Jasper, before he met me. I was his second lover and also his first female lover. He was the first male I've ever had sex with and also the first person I had ever loved. I've been with dozens of women and sex with them is a lot of fun. I miss it all the time. Still, I loved Aaron so I vowed to be faithful to him. Our relationship was easier said than done and more complicated than most. Aaron was always flirting with pretty girls on campus. And they flirted right back at him. I tried not to let it bother me but it did. Gay guys were always checking him out too. Many people who knew me were kind of bothered by this change in lifestyle. My whole life, I had dated women. In high school, I came out to my father and my brothers. They were okay with my orientation. I was a girl who liked other girls. I dated women openly. When I began college, I joined the GLBT Alliance on campus. It's a support group for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transsexual college students. They've got branches nationwide. In the group, I met Michelle. How to describe Michelle. Michelle was a tall, good-looking girl with long blonde hair and pale blue eyes. A very lovely gal. She came from Weymouth, somewhere in New England. Michelle was dating Daria at the time. Daria is a tall, skinny black chick with an attitude problem. She saw me checking out her girlfriend and didn't like me one bit. I can't blame Michelle for checking me out. I'm quite good-looking, the product of an Irish and Mexican gene pool. I stand five feet ten inches tall, athletic, curvy where it counts, and my hair is short and black. My eyes are dark brown. My skin is golden in color. I can pass for Italian or Greek but I always correct people when they assume that I am something other than what I truly am. Always. Not too long ago, Aaron and I tried to spice up our relationship by opening it and bringing a third party in it. To this end, we met Ted. Ted was a tall, good-looking Irishman with red hair and gray eyes. A very sexy guy. He was a small business owner and an avowed bisexual. We met him online and decided to meet. When we did meet, it was a lot of fun. For all involved. It was my first threesome with two bisexual men but far from my last. I've developed a taste for it. I had been chatting online with this guy named Jim, also known as Little Big Guy. We met at this website where I sometimes post some of my erotic stories. I like to write gay and bisexual erotica. Many people wonder why a bisexual woman likes writing gay stories. Well, the same way lesbian sex turns straight men on, gay sex turns on a lot of heterosexual and bisexual women. Don't ask me why. I can't explain it. There's something animalistic and primal about man-to-man sex. It gets my juices flowing. After talking with Jim for some time, I thought he was an okay guy. We had traded pictures. He was a good-looking guy and also bi-curious. He had another bi-curious buddy named Kevin. The two of them were good-looking guys and both were curious about doing a threesome with a woman. It touches my heart when gay and bisexual men tell me that they really think it's cool that I like them. Well, I like gay and bisexual guys. I like straight men too. I love men. I'm absolutely pro-male. Males are cool. Sign up for saving the males anytime they need helping! Aaron, my boyfriend was currently out of town on a camping trip with his father. The two of them needed some man time, I guess. They were both in the wilderness, doing their thing. Although I missed my man like crazy, I understood the reason why he was doing this. I think men should more time with other men, especially fathers and sons. It helps men feel more connected to each other and secure in their masculinity. That's what my dad says. Me and my brothers hang out with him all the time. Just us, our small family, out there doing our thing. I called Aaron to ask him if it was cool that I met a couple of guys for some fun. We always discuss things like that. Although we have an open relationship, we're still a couple and things like that need to be discussed. It's better this way. Aaron told me to be careful. I always smile when he says this. I've got a black belt in Karate and I once finished fourth place in a men's wrestling tournament where I was virtually the only female. I can take care of myself. Of course, to put his fears to rest, I promised him I'd be careful. So, I got ready to meet Jim and Kevin in downtown Boston. I showered and took my sweet time pampering myself. I wore a red shirt and black leather pants. I checked myself in the mirror. Of course, I looked good. Smiling, I left the apartment, got in my car and headed downtown. It's a short drive from Brighton to downtown Boston. Still, I took my sweet time. I couldn't stop thinking about what fun I was going to have. I hoped Kevin and Jim were up to the challenge. I drove through the streets of Boston and finally found this Chinese restaurant where I had planned to meet them. I had made reservations and the waiter, a cute black man in his twenties greeted me. He led me to a table. I sat down and looked at the menu. I ordered some coke to drink while waiting for the gentlemen to arrive. I sipped my drink and looked around. There were quite a few people around. Most of them Asian. I noticed a cute, Lucy Liu look-alike. Hmm. Cute girl. I'd flirt with her if she wasn't already making out with her hunky black boyfriend. The minutes ticked by. I was getting impatient. Where were the men? It was two in the afternoon before Jim finally showed up. I looked him up and down and smiled. He was good-looking, wearing a green shirt and black jeans. His hair was black. He looked a bit like Colin Farrell, whom I absolutely loved in Alexander and A Home At The End Of Tthe World. Next to him stood a somewhat smaller man, who was just as good-looking, except with brown hair. I smiled and waved at them. They saw me, grinned and joined me at the table. We sat down and talked. I treated my guests to some delicious food. I don't mind treating a man right, or two. We talked politics, sexuality and business over some delicious shrimp-fried rice and orange chicken. We washed it down with coke and Jim was a businessman and so was Kevin. Both of them were bi-curious men who felt somewhat unsatisfied with their sex lives. The women in their lives didn't understand them. Also, the people in their lives didn't know of their budding bisexual feelings. Jim and Kevin told me how he and Kevin met online, hooked up and became buddies. They talked regularly online. Both of them were Literotica regulars. Well, so was I. They had read my many threads about my relationship with Aaron in the GLBT Forum. Yes, those guys were familiar with me. I told them about my first threesome, which involved me with Ted. We talked about our sexual histories. I regaled them with tales of my passionate girl-on-girl sessions while in high school and my early college career. I could tell they liked it. I smiled. I was anxious to hear about them. Jim told me about some of the women in his life. Some were bitches, others were okay. He had yet to find the one. He wasn't out of the closet yet and only indulging his bi-curious feelings in secret. Kevin had a similar story. I shared with them some of the details about my wonderful, yet at times trying relationship with Aaron. I loved him. Yet there was nobody who pissed me off more. We began discussing some of the things we'd like to do together. Both of them were quite kinky. I couldn't wait to get into bed with them. But first we all had to get tested. And so we did. Jim, Kevin and I went to a health clinic to get tested for HIV. The results came back really quick. Ah, the wonders of technology. All three of us were negative. Two healthy bisexual men and a healthy bisexual woman about to engage in seriously hot sex. I couldn't wait! We went back to Adelle's place. Adelle is this lesbian carpenter and businesswoman I knew from my college days. These days, she was in New York with her partner Alicia. Adelle let me play housekeeper with her place for a little while. I checked up on it three times a week. I had a key and the place was well-furnished. We could definitely hook up there. We had privacy and the place was neat and comfortable. Comfort and security were very important. I led Kevin and Jim back to the place. We headed to the bedroom. That's when the fun began. I looked at Jim and Kevin. They were both naked. Jim was taller and leaner, with a nice body and good, thick straight cock. Kevin was stockier, a bit hairy, with a thick but slightly bent cock. In their own way, both of them were quite beautiful. I stripped before them, and smiled when I saw the appreciative looks on their faces. I caressed my breasts, and fingered my pussy. Kevin licked his lips. I winked at him. Patience, guy. We're all going to have a lot of fun today. I turned around and shook my booty, as they say. I could feel their stares on my bottom. I made my way to the bed, where they soon joined me. I told them of my fantasy of watching a man sucking on another man's penis. Those two handsome gentlemen complied with this little lady's request. Jim lay on the bed, and Kevin went to work on him. I watched as Kevin kissed Jim, and then began to lick him from head to toe. Kevin kissed Jim in the neck, caressed his chest, then went down to his groin. He took Jim's cock in his hand and stroked it. As Kevin took Jim's cock in his mouth, my fingers slipped into my pussy. The sight of two men together always got me hot. I pinched my tits and fingered myself as Kevin engulfed Jim's manhood in his mouth. Up and down he went on that cock. I watched, mesmerized. I couldn't take my eyes off them. Jim was lying there with his eyes closed. He had an almost serene expression on his face. Clearly, he was enjoying himself. Kevin continued to suck on him until he came. When Jim came, shouting in sheer pleasure, Kevin drank his seed. I watched. Gosh, that was hot! Next, it was Kevin's turn to be pleasured. Jim went to work on him. He gently touched Kevin's balls and stroked his cock. I decided to give Jim a hand. I sucked on Kevin's balls while Jim sucked his cock. I felt Jim's fingers borrowing into my pussy. At first, I was surprised at the intrusion but I really didn't mind afterwards. Jim was very dexterous and clearly knew what he was doing. The guy knew his way around both the male and the female form. I continued to suck on Kevin's balls while Jim finger-fucked my pussy. Moments later, Kevin came. Jim and I shared his cum. We drank him dry. It was hot. All three of us lay on the bed. Kevin was sucking on my right breast and Jim was sucking on my left. Both of them had their digits inside me. Jim's middle finger was moving inside my anus. Deep inside, making me wince and shiver at the same time. Kevin was probing my pussy with those wonderfully thick fingers of his. I wasn't idle. My hands were active on either side of me, moving up and down on their cocks. Pleasure and fun for all involved. On all sides. I wanted to feel both of these men inside me. They grinned at each other. My request was about to be granted. As I promised my boyfriend Aaron, we had safe sex. Both Jim and Kevin put on condoms. Kevin lay on the bed, and I climbed on top of him. He held me by the hips and thrust into me. I felt his hard cock stabbing my cunt. It hurt for a moment, then I began moving up and down on him. In this position, I could control how much cock I allowed within me and both of us were comfortable. I winked at Kevin. He sucked on my breasts as he took me. Damn, it felt good! I turned around briefly, to see Jim. I blew him a kiss. He grinned and positioned himself behind me. Was he about to do what I was thinking? Jim took some lube and applied it on his cock. He spread my behind and pressed his dick against my butt hole. I've only had anal sex with two men. The first was Aaron, my boyfriend. It happened in the shower after his team lost a ball game to their arch rivals. I didn't plan on it but when he asked to take me, I didn't refuse him. I didn't refuse him anything back in those days. The second guy was Ted, the Gaelic stud who introduced me to the charms of Irish men. Jim was to be my third. He whispered into my ear, asking me if I was ready and willing to be anally penetrated. Of course I was! He entered me with one swift thrust. That's when the real screaming began. As Jim thrust into my ass, I felt a stab of pain and pleasure as Kevin began to fuck me with renewed passion. I was bouncing between the two men. I felt them both inside of me. So powerful, so swift and strong. I had seldom felt such passion. I heard their grunts and screams as they took me. My screams added to their own. I was loving every moment of it. Every thrust into my orifices. Every stab of pain and sudden pleasure as thick cocks probed and explored my hidden depths. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when it happened. I had heard of it but I had never felt it before. Experienced an orgasm from being penetrated by two men at the same time. It was unexpected. Like a summer storm. Like a force of nature, it took me, taking my two male lovers with it. For they felt it too. They screamed in pleasure as they came inside me. As the incredible feeling course through me, I surrendered. When the feeling finally subsided, I was lying on top of Kevin. Both he and Jim were still inside me. I didn't want them to leave. I felt wonderful with their dicks buried inside me. Slowly, they pulled out. I winced. All three of us lay there, and didn't say anything. No words were necessary. Just a lot of happy sighs all around. A Different Kind of Love I still remember how we met, how that moment was the most embarrassing moment in my recent history, as I looked down at Angela, caressed her silk red hair as she snoozed, enjoying her post sexual nap. Holding, cuddling with Angela, my eyes slowly close as I recall the events of a year ago; barely feeling her soft breaths as she rests her head on my breast letting my mind go back to that evening. ***** I, we had attended a summer ball, courtesy of the company for whom I work. Being part of the organizing committee, I had stayed at the hotel the night before; to ensure all the final little administration hurdles were ironed out before the guests started to arrive in the late afternoon on Saturday. It was early evening when I first saw Angela as she gracefully entered the reception area, and headed towards us. I and other members of the organizing committee stood to greet the guests. What struck me was her beauty, her long almost flame red hair flowing in the evening breeze, her necklace, earrings glistening in the lights. She wore a black halter neck dress, the neckline a narrow plunging affair that comes to an end below the breasts, revealing the gentle swell of her breasts, her flesh clearly visible, not obscured by a bra. The neckline is the type that can only be worn by those with small, pert breasts. The dress suited Angela's physique perfectly. She is rather broad across her shoulders, with toned muscles, the definition almost worthy of an athlete, but then she had been an athlete. "Excuse Me!" Her sarcasm and contempt obvious in her voice as she spoke. My eyes fluttered, my face burnt as I was strongly bought back to the harsh reality, unaware that I had been staring. I looked ahead, but couldn't quite see the owner of the voice, but rather I saw movement at the periphery of my vision. Quickly, I looked down to see Angela, in her wheel chair looking rather irate with me. Apparently I had been staring; she and her colleague had assumed it was because she was in a wheel chair, what many would term a cripple. Nothing was further from the truth; I had become infatuated by a truly beautiful woman. I quickly regained my composure as I welcomed her to the Ball, and showed her and her colleague to the table of bucks fizz, sighing with disbelief. I had never been so openly embarrassed, in a very a long time. For The next hour or so, I completely forgot about that incident as my duties kept me occupied. Finally, with the ball in full flow, I was able to relax, sip my bucks fizz as I collapsed in a chair away from the limelight, wanting to relax briefly before mingling with the guests, my colleagues. My eyes wondered around the room, wanting to see happy faces, to see the guests, and their guests, enjoying their evening. "You should be more careful Miranda!" the tone of voice conveyed a combination of teasing as well as with a more serious note. Slightly startled for the second time that evening, I turned to see Peter, an old member of the company, one about to retire. He is an old school gentleman, always honourable, yet can be as politically incorrect as they come. Together with his black tie, complete with accompanying cumberbund making him look very much the gentleman. "I thought you needed a refill Miranda" as he placed another champagne glass on the table, filled with Bucks Fizz. "Thank you" smiling taking a sip. "You might have upset Angela with that stare. Everyone is now saying that you have a dislike of disabled individuals." I looked at him in disbelief, considering how far that was from the truth that comment was and how hurt I felt. I simply nodded. "Well Peter, to be honestly truthful, I wasn't even aware she was in a wheel chair until she spoke to me and I heard her voice coming from below. I was taken aback by her beauty, and her style. Not that she was in a wheelchair!" Peter smiled, as he spoke. "I know you Miranda, and like many of those who do know you, I have never seen, or heard any form of prejudice from you. But you were seen staring, and well maybe partly due to the booze the rumour has spread. Peter and I continued to chat for a while. He knew Angela from another office before she had left the company after her tragic accident. I heard about her athletic potential, her accident and her turmoil afterwards. What hurt me the most was the story of her fiancé; who having faced with the severity and longevity of her injuries, quickly lost interest in her. I learnt more about her from Peter, as he continued to talk about Angela. He told me enough about the incident, but the true gentleman that he is, he never told me any great detail. As he said, "That is for Angela to tell you if she chooses to do so." Before Peter left, he offered to introduce me to Angela and he made one statement, or rather was it a query? "Since her fiancé did a runner, I have never seen, or heard her refer to a soul mate, or a partner. She has spoken fondly of a couple of female friends that has left me wondering if...." Peter never finished that sentence, as he got up and left. Peter didn't have to introduce me to Angela, but that final comment from Peter had got me thinking as I glanced around the room. If I was asked if I was looking for Angela, I would have said no. In reality the opposite was very much the case I was looking for Angela. An hour or so later, I met Angela again, out on the terrace. I had gone outside with a group of colleagues who smoke, and went out to join them, chatting and enjoying the oranges and reds of the setting sun on the horizon. Slowly they left, until I and another person were all that remained of that group. David turned and left to head off to another group and I was just about to go inside to refill my glass. I had not taken more than a couple of footsteps when I heard a voice, "Miranda?" I turned and saw Angela coming towards me. With an embarrassed flush on my cheeks, I smiled and took a couple of steps towards her. Despite being chair bound, she moved gracefully, her shoulders, and upper arms full of strength as she manoeuvred her wheelchair so majestically. Her dress made her look stunning, and the evening sun glistened off her jewels. I smiled softly, "Angela, I'm sorry about earlier." I paused as Angela smiled. "I had not quite realised, twigged that you were, or rather, are in a wheel chair. I just saw you approached, and became intoxicated by your elegance, and beauty," I said, Smiling softly as I finished my sentence. I paused briefly, you moved so elegantly guess I just saw you. She raised her right hand, as if to brush something aside, but this time it was Angela's turn to blush as she heard my complement. "No problem Miranda, several people have spoken in your defence, you seem rather popular, and a lot of people are fond of you, it would seem." After a brief pause, she added, "Thank you Miranda so kind of you to say so." I felt my cheeks flush yet again that evening, as I responded to her kindness "Well thank you Angela, it is lovely of you to say so." I paused briefly before I spoke again "It seems that you also left your mark on the company. I'm sorry about what happened." Whilst trying to avert my gaze from her, I stood and we sat outside for a while, making conversation. At that point, she didn't reveal too much detail, but basically she confirmed what Peter had told me; how she had been an athlete, a contender for the British Olympic squad before the fateful crash. She described how she had been in hospital for weeks, as tests were carried out, and soon the severity and longevity of her injuries became apparent. The conversation enthralled me, as I, or rather, as we, lost track of time. Slowly we drifted to a terrace as before I sat on the wall, listening with interest at what Angela had to say. I felt sorry for her and her situation, but did not want to take pity. She was confident, accepting her situation, and trying to make the most of it. During that conversation, we soon became at ease with each other, as we chatted and exchanged our life stories as if we were long lost friends. Finally, as the evening breeze cooled, we both decided to head inside, "I'm heading inside, can I assist you Angela?" "No thanks, I can manage!" was her rather abrupt response. Finally we parted, almost as friends. We both had other friends and colleagues to meet and socialize with. Unsure as to whether I had offended her, or just that her streak of independence was just strong, I saw some friends and walked over to join them. As I chatted with colleagues, I could not get Angela out of my mind. Neither Angela, nor our conversation. For someone who had survived such a traumatic series of events, she was so positive, and upbeat about everything. She would did not dwell on her past but rather looked toward the future. The only negative words that Angela had used were in reference to her ex fiancé. But as she said, maybe it was all for the best, after all. During the next few hours, several times my instinct told me that I was being observed. A couple of times, the stares came from males. But For the most part, I could see Angela looking in my direction. She was confident enough to make eye contact, and to smile; unlike the men who turned away their lecherous gaze, occasionally with a blush, after realizing that they had been caught. Each time, my mind wondered about what Peter had said. Was she bisexual, or had her fiancé been a catalyst in her to re-evaluate her sexuality? Was she bi-sexual before the accident? Does she suspect that I am? My mind was filled with thoughts about Angela. I had become infatuated with her, it would seem. Finally, the ball was approaching its closing stages, and the band started to play ballads, as they often do. Couples got up and danced, some were necking on the dance floor. Others were more discrete as they went outside with their partner, old and new alike. I saw Angela sitting alone, her friends were obviously off dancing. I inhaled deeply, feeling my heart pound as I approached her. I saw her welcoming smile as I sat down next to her. "I'm not sure why I am still here?" pausing before she continued. "Dancing in a wheel chair is not that easy, especially if the other person is able to stand." I just smiled and reached for her hand and squeezed it, trying to reassure her. I smiled and nodded. Somehow I felt that this was her little whinge; a moan of her situation. She obviously missed the physical touch of a slow dance with a friend or partner. Angela inhaled deeply, before returning the squeeze, she spoke again softly. "Besides" Angela inhaled deeply "there is only one person who I would like to be with on that dance floor tonight." "Oh?" I replied "Dare to reveal?" Angela paused for a moment before she shook her head. "No, it isn't fair to them, I guess, as well as for me if their feelings are not mutual. They often aren't." The last sentence was spoken quite harshly. Obviously, she had been turned down and from my own experiences; I knew how hurtful rejection can be. "Think I shall retire Miranda..." She paused briefly; obviously her mind was debating before she continued. "Would you mind helping me, pushing me to my room please? My friends are out there somewhere, enjoying themselves." She glanced towards the dance floor. "Of course." With that, I stood up and eased myself behind the wheel chair before pushing her towards the lifts and ultimately to her room. I was rather excited and confused as we headed to her room. Who was this mysterious person that she had referred to earlier? Was it me, I hoped? My attraction towards Angela had grown over the course of the evening as I admitted to myself that I would like to sleep with her. But why, I asked myself over and over? Was it because she is attractive? Was it partially out of pity? No, she is an intelligent, witty person and appears confident with her sexuality, despite her wheel chair. I was attracted to her for what she was and is. Angela passed me her card key and asked me to open the door for her. I did standing t the side of the door, watching her start to wheel herself into her room before I took the handles of her chair and pushed her the remaining distance into her room. I looked around the room, as it was rather bigger than the normal hotel room, and realized it was a wheelchair, a handicap room that was designed to accommodate her wheel chair. Additionally there were a series of white handles on the walls, obviously there for those who were able to walk with some assistance. "Tea, Miranda? I'm about to call room service, would you care for some?" We sat and made conversation. Angela had eased herself out of her wheel chair and onto the sofa. She made a deep sigh of relief as she eased onto the sofa. "Those chairs can get quite uncomfortable after a few hours." I smiled, thinking how easy it is for me to stand up and stretch after sitting in an uncomfortable chair, something that Angela could no longer do. The tea arrived, and I acted as Mother as I poured the tea. An uneasy silence filled the room. My mind kept going back to Peter's comments about Angela, about how that she has not been seen with a male since her and her fiancé had broke up. I just kept wondering, asking myself the same questions I had been all evening. Did she abstain because of her condition or was she leaning towards being gay? I did not know what sexual feelings someone in her state could have, if any. I was totally ignorant on the subject. The only thing I did know was that I was attracted to her, her charm, her attitude, and her sensuality. I sat back and smiled, admired Angela and her dress. She caught me looking. "You like this dress, don't you?" "Yes" I simply replied. I paused before I continued, "You have the physique to carry that dress, my breasts are too full, and would burst free with every movement." Angela giggled softly at my comment as she nodded. "Yes Miranda, but likewise you can wear certain styles of dresses, tops because you have a real bust, as opposed to my enlarged nipples," she said, joking about her own breasts. "But there is also something sensually elegant about that dress Angela. It conveys a message, a message of someone who is confident in their looks, their own sexuality. Are you?" Angela smiled as she spoke, "I'm not sure if I am totally confident. I have had too many rejections recently to really be sure." Was she referring to her fiancé, I wondered, or others, or possibly both? She looked like she needed a hug. Angela sighed, as she looked at her feet, and around the room. "Sometimes I just like to be held, touched, and comforted. People seem to think being stuck in a wheel chair; we lose those emotions and those needs. If anything, we need more support, we need them even more." I sat down next to her close on the sofa and I placed my hand palm up. "Will I do?" Angela nodded softly "I'd like that Miranda," pausing, "very much." She leant forward, towards me, twisting at the abdomen, as she rested her head on my shoulder, and breast. Her fingers reached behind my neck as mine reciprocated. We just held each other for what seemed like forever. I felt and heard a deep sigh. "It's okay Angela." I'm not sure what prompted me to kiss her in the manner that I did; but I turned my head slightly and kissed her flame red hair my stomach full of butterflies. "Angela, you are pretty, intelligent, and witty. I loved being with you tonight." "Thank you Miranda." We sat there for several minutes; just holding each other. I felt her fingers start to caress my back as we held each other. I responded, and allowed my fingers to reciprocate. The moment of judgement was almost upon us. The caresses were becoming more intimate; my breathing, my pulse quickened. Neither of us complained. I gulped, inhaling briefly before my face turned to my right, my lips softly kissing her cheek. I felt her flinch softly, but rather than turning away, and brushing me aside, she leant closer to me. I kissed her cheek again, soft and gentle and she sighed in response. I licked her cheek, tentatively as I moved to her ear, and I kissed her ear lobe delicately. She sighed deeply. "Ohhhh, that's good Miranda." Her head turned, as if to offer me her lips. Her lips sought mine, before she brushed her lips against mine. Neither of was seemed sure about our feelings for each other, whether this was the right thing to do? But it felt natural as our lips brushed and nuzzled. I remember softly suckling on her lower lip, before our lips finally merged the kiss soft and sensual but with an underlying of growing passion and intensity. Finally our lips parted, and Angela smiled and leaned back into the sofa. "I'm getting a crick in my neck Miranda." I collapsed back into the sofa, as our eyes met. My fingers reached for her cheek, as I felt my heart pound, and I gulped for air. Despite my hesitation, I leaned towards Angela again, my head tilted as I felt my lips brush against hers. I felt her gasp, before her lips met mine. We shared small, soft butterfly kisses, my fingers caressed her cheek. That kiss lingered, the taste of her wine, tea and lipstick upon my lips. Finally the kiss broke and we both inhaled deeply, both of us slightly taken aback by the turn of events. She smiled softly. "You are so pretty Angela," I stated in a matter of fact manner as I looked across at her. My mind wanted us to go further, but I wondered if hers did as well. I felt her hand on my thigh, her fingers softly pressing into the silk of the dress, and it sent a shiver through me. Our eyes met in a gaze, neither of us sure of the other it seemed. Despite the kisses, and the caresses, we both seemed unsure of the other's desire, or our need for each other. Was this a lack of confidence that faded as we reassured each other of our mutual attraction? Her lips parted as her head moved towards mine. I reciprocated as I leaned towards her again, tilting my head to allow our lips to press against each other. Her lips parted and I felt her tongue part my lips, hesitantly, as she gently explored as her lips closed around mine. My fingers pressed into her cheek lightly caressing her form. Her response was to move her hand from my thigh onto my breast, cupping it softly. That moment seemed to have relaxed us both, as the kiss deepened. I have no recollection how long we sat there snogging, making out. The kiss was long and varied; long sensual kisses, broken by short butter fly kisses, suckling on each other's tongues and lips. I sucked her lips, bit gently, ran my tongue over her lips, against her teeth. I smelt her food, her breath, her perfume in that passionate kiss. Angela finally broke our kiss, and she panted, before she inhaled deeply. "Please stand up, I need some space." When she said that, I thought she was going to ask me to leave. Hesitantly I stood up, wondering what I had done wrong. Was Angela having second thoughts? I stood and stepped back, unsure. For Angela, that intense kiss had been the moment. That was the moment when she knew something would happen, that she even wanted something to happen; for our friendship to deepen, become more intimate. For that moment to normally occur, she would have seen a woman a few times before becoming physically intimate after the mutual attraction is already evident. Possibly she has already kissed her, maybe even made out a little. That was the moment when Angela would like their friendship to become more intimate, when Angela would want to make love to her. That long kiss between was the moment when Angela knew it was going to happen, when she trusted Miranda; and accepted her as her new lover. For Angela there was more going on in her mind than just the physical aspect? There was that transcendental moment; when Angela realized that her new lover did not see the chair. Rather she sees Angela, sexy horny Angela and that is what she wants; but what Angela found strange that evening was that it just happened during the course of a long day rather than a series of outings and dates. A Different Kind of Love "Look at me please Miranda, I may need some help." Her voice was quiet yet sensual, as if she was trying to reassure me. She said afterwards that she could see my look of concern, almost fright. She leaned forward and reached to her side and fumbled with the zip of her dress, easing it downwards. Meeting my eyes, her hands moved to her neck, lifting up her beautiful red hair to reach the clasp of the halter strap and unfastened it. The material fell forward exposing her breasts to me. One of the most erotic moments for me is when a female lover offers me her body. Her breasts were indeed small but perfectly formed, pert and shapely. Her nipples, in comparison, were large and almost the size of the tip of the small finger, and they were proud. Her skin was firm and taught over her muscular physique. "There is something you should know Miranda, about me, my condition." She paused as she held my eyes with hers, her lovely breasts exposed to me. "I... I would like us to spend the night together Miranda, but well..." She inhaled deeply nervously before she continued, "I can only feel down to my pelvis, my hips. Any further and well my body responds, but I cannot feel it. Fortunately my breasts are rather sensitive." It took a while before I understood what she was referring to. I smiled softly meeting her gaze, her eyes. I thought I could see a sexual hunger in those eyes. "I'd like to stay Angela." My breathing was becoming harder, laboured. I was by now very aroused aware of my nipples pressing against the soft silk of my dress. "Please help me to the bed Miranda." I smiled softly, as I replied, "In a moment Angela, please." I walked in front of her and turned to face her, knowing her eyes were upon me. My dress was silk, a deep raspberry red silk with a cross over the front. The brown edging leads led down to a complementary brown waistband, helping to emphasise my waist. The dress was sparsely decorated with circular embroidered patterns. The halter strap was brown, leading to a small tie. Knowing her gaze was upon me, I reached to my side, finding the concealed zip, and slowly eased it down. Next was the neck tie, as I reached behind, and pulled the Bow open, letting the dress fall and pool at my feet. I stood before her, my new lover, in a simple, cranberry red, silk thong, and a matching suspender belt, the straps reaching across the thigh, and my bum cheeks; the red silk acting as a frame around my flesh. The gusset of the thong had a strip of lace sheer lace which allowed Angela to catch a glimpse of my mound. Her response was simple. "Oh my God, Oh yes Miranda that is lovely, you look really lovely adorable." With deliberate steps, I walked over to Angela, as she requested before I had undressed, very much aware of her gaze upon my breasts. "Miranda, can you please help me to the bed?" I walked over, reached for the chair, and manoeuvred it as close as possible to the sofa. Our eyes met as I moved round to assist in transferring her, leaning down and softly kissing her tender lips. The kiss, rather a series of small, soft sensual kisses, continued until I finally lifted her onto the chair. Her nipples clearly showed the signs of her arousal. I let my hands run over her flesh, using my painted finger nails to touch and rake her flesh, pressing hard and seeing the skin change colour. I felt her skin shiver and flinch in response to my caress as she sighed deeply. As I transferred Angela to the chair, I felt her hands cup my breasts; supporting the weight of them as she touched my flesh. Her touch was gentle and hesitant yet soothing and arousing. Our eyes met. There was a certain look in hers, a look of desire and passion filled her eyes, and I sensed the longing in them. When I stood up, I felt her fingers on my thighs. I looked down as she ran her fingers over the silk of my stockings, and the flesh of my thigh. I stood, as if in a trance, as she caressed me, her lips paying such sweet arousing compliments; commenting on my smooth skin, the shape of my breasts, my perfume. Those comments that us females love to hear and men are too lazy to repeat. Finally, Angela was on the bed and she smiled at me. I approached the bed, having removed the wheel chair. I faced her and slowly reached for the waistband of my thong. I slowly eased it down, supporting myself against the wall as I stepped out of it. Next, I reached for the suspender belt. "Please. No, leave it on lover," she pleaded. I sat next to her, holding her hand. Feeling her softly squeeze my hand, I responded by squeezing back. Slowly, she reached for my head and hair with her other hand as she pulled my lips to hers. We kissed gently at first, but passion fuelled the fire as the kiss became frantic, and full of passion and lust. Gasping, I turned to face her and lay down next to her. I felt her fingers caress my body, as my own fingers slowly raked her flesh, feeling her body respond, her flesh alive with goose pimples. Our eyes met, her eyes told a story, a story of need and desire. I had to give in and I reached over to her and kiss and please her, my own needs driving me on. I kissed her deeply as she seemed to submit to my desire and my wanton lust. I kissed her lips, her chin, and her neck. I wanted to cover her with kisses; small soft kisses that moved downward, taking what seemed like an eternity to reach her breasts. As I did so, my fingers caressed her breasts. My fingernails followed the gentle contours of her breasts, drawing circles around her nipples. Softly, I kissed her nearest breast, first letting my tongue tease and caress her nipple before biting, and nibbling her engorged nipple. The nipple responded, as did Angela. Her body flinched and a sigh escaped. My teeth dug in to her flesh, as I bit. With my teeth embedded, I started to suckle softly, wanting to mark her as mine. She gasped loudly and her hand pulled my hair as if to say, "Please, yes please." I felt her breast being pushed into my lips and teeth. With Angela marked, I slowly continued to kiss and lick her, finally reaching her pussy mound. Our eyes met, as she spoke, "Remember Miranda, I can't feel there but I can see... and my body will respond. " Slowly I eased her thong downwards. As I removed it, she was totally exposed to me. I ran a finger over her labia, taking in her arousal, feeling her folds. As I did so, her folds responded to my touch as her lips seemed to move. Her scent intoxicated me. I looked up and met her eyes as she nodded as if I had permission to continue. Her hair was natural, but somehow neat looking. My fingers continued to caress as I leaned forward, seeking out her clit. It was somehow strange. Previously, all my lovers would gasp or sigh as their clit was touched and caressed, but not Angela. Even so, her body responded to my touch, with her fanny pussy becoming moister as her body responded. Slowly my tongue ran over her labia delicately; wanting, needing to taste her. Despite knowing she couldn't feel, her eyes begged me to continue, as much as I wanted to. Slowly, I made love to her orally. My fingers touched her magical spot, caressed; finger fucked her as my lips and tongue touched and caressed her labia and clitoris. "Miranda, please," she gasped, begged, "hold me, kiss me, I want you in my arms." I smiled as I moved up her torso, letting my breasts drag across hers as I lay on top of her, kissing her deeply and intently. She wanted to taste her own arousal, and I was happy to oblige. Her tongue ran over my lips, as she tasted her own juices covering my lips and flesh. She lightly caressed my lips as her tongue traced their outline. Her hand reached for mine and slowly brought it to her lips. She then performed fellatio on each of the fingers that had penetrated her. She sucked and licked each finger in turn, savouring the taste of her own juices and inhaled her scent. I felt her tongue twirl and lick the length of each digit till she had removed all of her nectar, from my flesh. My hands reached for her hands and moved them, pinning them down above her head, our fingers interlocked. I inhaled deeply, knowing my first orgasm was close. I was just intensely aroused, the sequence of unexpected events becoming a catalyst; a combination of having watched Angela undress, and to have touched her as I did had heightened my own body, my excitement; a form of simmering passion. I wanted to cum, in my favourite manner, by grinding, trapping my clit, my fanny on hers and pressing my pelvis down into hers. Slowly, with slow circular movements, I ground into her, feeling my clitoris respond. My breathing became deeper, irregular, as I fought for breath. Each movement I made was slow and deliberate. Our eyes met. Slowly I increased the tempo, letting my orgasm build up into a frenzy, but denying myself release. Angela seemed to know my intent and gasped, smiling, her eyes wide open as she watched attentively, as was her mouth, as she inhaled deeply. Finally my back tensed, frozen momentarily, before my orgasm exploded, causing me to gasp and shudder as my body came, every nerve ending alive. She gasped loudly, calling out my name before we settled into each other and held each other in the soft afterglow of our love making. Slowly Angela moved as she turned to face me. I propped myself up on my arms as I looked down at her. "Thank you Miranda," Angela smiled and I felt her fingers cup and caress my breast. I turned over onto my back as Angela, in her unique manner, propped herself up on her side. My eyes closed as I felt her fingers from her free hand caress my breasts, each in turn. Her touch was gentle, deliberate, yet delicate. I felt my body respond a little. A shiver ran down my spine. My breathing became slow and deep again; my chest heaving with my heavy breaths of pleasure and excitement as my body recovered from the prior exertion. Angela continued to caress me and I felt her finger tease my navel. I wanted to lie motionless and passive. She had sparked my curiosity as to what she would do, or rather, what she could do. Slowly, I felt her fingers caress their way down to my trimmed mound and ultimately to my labia. "I'm glad you have some hair Miranda, somehow a bald fanny feels slightly wrong." I giggled, not sure what else to say. Her touch was soft, almost electric. It seemed that my hairs were responding to her, like she was a Van De Graff generator. Slowly, I felt her nails run over my labia. My lips responded to her touch, and I felt my excitement begin to build. Her touch was slow and deliberate, full of intent, and experience. Her fingers continued to caress, softly teasing my clit and my labia. I felt her press onto my clit, lightly pressing it into the underlying flesh and against the pubic bone. Her fingers ran along my labia, softly smearing and massaging my own juice into my flesh. My breathing at that point was slow, deep, my nerves showing a heightened sensitivity as my state of sexual excitement became more intense. I remember just laying there, as Angela softly, lovingly caressed my body. She caressed my abdomen, my hips, and my thighs. The whole area became highly sensitive, at times, almost ticklish. Finally I felt her hand leave my body, albeit briefly before she cupped my cheek, and softly turned my face to hers, a smile graced her sensual lips. "Before my accident, I used to be able to cum through my breasts and nipples alone. I could orgasm just from... well... breast, and nipple play, especially my right breast Miranda. Now after my accident, it's the only way I can cum Miranda." As she spoke, her hands moved to her breast. Delicately she started to masturbate in front of me. I watched in silence, aware of my state of excitement, as well as Angela's as her fingers continued to caress herself. She started from her nipples, softly pinching them. She pulled them forwards, gasping as the pain threshold was reached, her flesh forming cones. She would then relax, before pulling her nipples again and repeated the process over again. Then she would cup her breasts, her fingers making circular movements, stroking them, as her fingers traced the contours of her small but perfectly formed breasts. Next she would stroke her breasts, starting from the base running her fingers up to her nipples, where she would hold them, tug them, once more pulling her breasts into little conical shapes, gasping loudly as the her pain threshold was once again reached. She continued for several minutes, unsure as to whether I was meant to watch, or to become a participant. As she continued, her gasps became louder, her breaths shorter, deeper more intense. Then she would ease off, starting back at the beginning. Her masturbation was sensual yet strangely methodical. All the while, while I watched her, I got the impression that she was instructing me, teaching me the art of pleasing her. I could not hold back any more, I just wanted to help her achieve orgasm. I took her right breast past my lips, letting my tongue caress the nipple. Softly I bit her nipple feeling her flinch, and then gasp with pleasure. I continued to suck, bite and caress, feeling her breathing become deeper and more laboured her orgasm close. Her hand was stroking, almost pulling my hair. My teeth bit her breast, her flesh, sucking on her flesh. I knew I was going to mark her, I wanted to mark her. I felt her sigh deeply. "Oh God Miranda" as her fingers caressed my hair, offered me her breast. "Oh Miranda , oh God, yes, that's it Ohhhhhh" Angela's orgasm was loud, vocal and intense as she shivered, letting out a series of deep sighs. She pulled me close to her and held me, and stroked my hair. I held her back closely, as she regained her composure, thanking me. We just laid there for 5, maybe ten minutes... "Miranda, I want you, I want to feel you, taste you." I smiled as I took her hand and kissed her fingers, smelling and tasting my own cum. I inhaled deeply before I moved, straddling her head with my thighs as I leaned back, my bum cheeks on her breasts. I looked down and her hands reached for mine, and slowly our fingers interlocked. I felt a shiver run through my body as Angela unhurriedly started to make love to me with her lips, mouth, and tongue. I leaned forward slightly trying to spread my thighs wider to allow her to gain greater access to my pussy. I wanted her to pleasure me, to make me cum. She continued to softly lick, kiss, and nibble, whilst she held my hands. At a leisurely pace, Angela increased her tempo, building to a crescendo. Then she stopped, inhaled, smiled before she started again, and resumed her teasing. I felt her tongue on my labia, across the slit as she licked up to my clit, making me shiver and groan. Her tongue continued barely touching my labia as she licked from my tight rose bud up to my clit, sending a shiver a tingle. I felt her tongue press against my pussy lips. I looked down to watch my thick lips open, her tongue parting my lips feeling her tongue my fanny. My pussy was become wetter and wetter as her delicate expert touch knew how to pleasure me. My eyes closed enjoying those sensations. "Oh Gawd Oh fuck!" my eyes opened as I felt her tongue lapped my clit, her tongue lashed out constantly sending waves of sheer delight through my entire body, before she would calm down, almost pulling away,; her tongue barely touched. She would repeat this process slowly building me up almost to the point of no return. I have no idea how many times she brought me close to orgasm, but every time she would sense my contractions and my back stiffening; she would ease up or stop, before starting all over again. She continued the torment, the delicious torment till I wanted to beg for release. My body was in a heightened sense of sexual excitement. My nipples stood proudly, aroused. Finally, I had to cum, I needed to cum. Angela sensed that I could take no more teasing as I started to gyrate my pussy on her tongue and lips. Rather than pulling away, she pressed further into me, her fingers holding my hands more tightly. "Oh god, Oh fuck, Oh god Oh fuck," I cried out. My breathing was out of control, as was my body. I tensed and felt my spine stiffen as the explosion of my orgasm was finally allowed to be released. I came on, in her mouth as she slurped, felt her lick licking my fluids. She just held my hands firmly, as I quivered and came on her face. The orgasm was so intense, and as I can sometimes do during those moments, I lost control of my bladder, mixing urine with my juices. Angela grinned softly as she continued licking my flesh, now covered with a mixture of cum and urine, her hands squeezing mine even more firmly, a sign of her acceptance. ***** "MIRANDA? Are you alright, you seem to be in a trance!" I felt a soft poke into my abdomen. Startled, her voice and poke brought me back to reality. I smiled and looked down at her. Angela curled up beside me, looking at me with concern. "You had drifted to sleep Miranda and started to mutter to yourself!" "I'm fine Angela, in fact I was just remembering how we met," I replied, looking down at her nude body, her breasts exposed to me. We had spent the Saturday in town, before Angela came round for supper. Giggling, my hands reach for a wrist, and a silk tie that hangs from the iron bedpost. My bed is made from wrought iron, and is called the Goth bed. It is a king size bed, with the head and footboard shaped in an ornate gothic arch, a fleur de leys finishing off the Tops of the four corner bed posts from where the silk lengths are secured. In a moment, Angela is now secured to the bed, at both wrists, both of us giggling. "So what's this all about Miranda?" as Angela tries to control her giggles, whilst pulling on the restraints. "So what's this all about Miranda?" she says, as she tries to control her giggles. I smile as I stand, leaving for the kitchen. I can hear Angela cry out, "Miranda don't leave me," as I walk away. Having emptied the fridge of what I wanted, I sit on the side of the bed, smiling, and seeing Angela's look of insecurity; I lean down, brushing my lips against her, softly as I kiss her softly tasting my arousal on her lips. Letting the kiss linger as my nails caresses her form, paying attention to her breasts and nipples. I feel them respond, becoming engorged and pushing into my finger tips. Slowly, I let my fingers go southwards as Angela's giggles calm down, changing into slight exhales, and gasps as her arousal begins to take hold, to take control of her. Finally, my fingers touch her labia, feeling them push back against my nails, her flesh already moist sticky from her own arousal. Angela's gaze is met my own, softly smiling as I continue to caress Angela delicately. Whilst she is unable to feel her body respond, she is aware that it is, as she watches me intently; that she is responding, and the sight of my fingers on her, inside her is very erotic to her. As she sees her juices on my fingers she is aware that her pussy is now moist, I reach for the double cream retrieved from the fridge, and a spoon. Slowly, with the lid open I place a dollop of cream on her left breast, the one closest to me. "Oh god that's cold," exclaims Angela, her body sending a shiver, the around the cream now covered with goose pimples. Angela looks at me, eyes wide open, her face asking what are my plans, my intent. Slowly I reach for a strawberry, and dip it into the cream before gently taking a nibble of the strawberry. Scooping up more cream, I offer Angela the strawberry and slowly she bites, her eyes focused on me. As Angela swallows the strawberry she smiles. I reach for a fresh strawberry, her gaze captured with mine; the strawberry is dipped in the cream; before slowly moving down to her pussy. There, the strawberry is pressed against her labia, along her slit ensuring that it is liberally coated with her nectar; before I take a bite of the strawberry, tasting the three different flavours, and scents. The room descends into an eerie silence, only broken by two lovers breathing deeply. Another strawberry is dipped into the cream, before running the strawberry along her moist slit, letting it pick up her juices and leave a trail of cream. Slowly the strawberry is brushed against Angela's lips. A Different Kind of Love "Oh my..." is all Angela can say as she before she tastes the strawberry, against her lips and her tongue, but unable to take a bite Her arousal is obvious, her nipples engorged with blood, her breathing slow deep as I gently caress her lips before allowing her to bite into the strawberry. Her eyes widen further as she tastes her nectar on the strawberry. Another strawberry is taken, my eyes meeting her gaze, and in full view of Angela, I run the tip of the strawberry along my labia, feeling the strawberry against my flesh making me shudder with anticipation ensuring the strawberry is liberally covered with my juices. Feeling Angela's intent stare on me, the strawberry is dipped into the cream, before I offer it to Angela. She nibbles at the strawberry; I also taste the same strawberry. Finally, taking the last strawberry, I run the strawberry along my slit, pushing it deep into my pussy, coating the strawberry with my nectar. Smiling, I move the strawberry to her slit, before I push it deep against her pussy, mixing my nectar with hers. Finally, I offer it to her allowing her to eat the entire strawberry. I lean in, cupping her fanny with my hand, caressing her pussy and her clitoris. Meanwhile my tongue licks my lips before licking her left breast, tasting the cream cleaning her breast of the cream, leaving the cream on my lips I reach to her kissing her lips. Our tongue meets before our lips, as Angela licks the cream off my lips, before our lips merge, in a passionate kiss. The kiss is, soft, gentle, lingering yet passionate. The room fills with the sound of sighs, of two lovers kissing. My hand, still on her pussy feels her wetness, my thumb caressing her clitoris. "I want to fuck you Angela!" My voice is hoarse, breathless. Angela smiles, "But isn't that what we're doing?" I smile, meeting her eyes, kissing each in turn. "I mean literally Angela, in every sense of the word." Her face is suddenly full of curiosity and confusion as she tries to understand what I've planned. I reach over to a bedside drawer where my toys are kept. Opening the draw, I grasp a double ended dildo, as I feel her intent stare. As the dildo becomes exposed to her line of sight, she giggles> softly, a hint of nerves in her voice. "You want us to use that Miranda... on me?" I nod softly, leaning over and running one end along her slit. She stares at the toy, her eyes wide open, her excitement obvious. Slowly, I run the toy along her slit, pressing it against her labia, before pushing the toy inside her; wanting to cover the head of the toy with her juices. With each caress, slowly I push the toy deeper inside her, opening her pussy, as her pussy accepts the toy. Angela is staring intently, visibly aroused. Meeting her eyes, my free hand holding her hand, I ease the toy in, before withdrawing it. With each gentle thrust, the toy edges its way deeper into her pussy. Finally the toy encounters resistance; almost half of the dildo is inside her. "Oh god Miranda, Are you?" I nod slowly as I manoeuvre myself, squatting over her the head of the dildo close to my wet pussy. "Guide it inside me please lover." Angela smiles as her fingers reach for the dildo, and slowly pushes the head of the dildo against my labia, before running it along my slit. Smiling, I lower myself onto the phallic toy, gasping as I press down slowly before rising again. Each time I lower myself onto the toy I press harder, allowing it to fill me deeper. Each time I lower myself onto the toy, I fill my pussy being filled, stretched as the dildo invades me; my breathing becoming more profound with pleasure, anticipation. I reach for Angela's hands, and sandwich them against my breasts "Pinch them, I need this, I want you Angela, I want you to use my tits as if they're yours." Angela apprehensively starts to pinch and tug on my nipples, my cries of passion pleasure filling the room "Pull them pleaseeee." As she does, they form small perfectly formed cones of flesh. The mild pain causing a series of shivers through out my body, and a moan escapes from my lips. I start to ride the toy, slowly, raising myself up, and then forcing it inside me quickly. I repeat this motion, letting the toy tease, torment, and fuck my wanton pussy. All the while, Angela is playing with my breasts pulling the nipples, pinching making them ache from the mild pain, "Oh god Miranda.. Oh fuck." I look at her, her mouth smiling as she watches the show of me fucking the toy, and her. My eyes close as I gasp loudly. My primeval lust takes over my body, as I impale myself on the dildo. As my orgasm builds, my voice becomes louder, hearing Angela's words of encouragement, her hands now on my waist holding me. Slowly I stop, easing myself from the toy. Slowly I begin to grind the dildo, leaning forward allowing my clit to touch Angela's. As I do so, my hands reaching for her oversensitive nipples, especially her right nipple. I am teasing, pulling, and caressing her nipples as I grind on the dildo; our clits grinding together, feeling the sensations sending a shiver through my body. Angela moans deeply and intently as my hands skilfully work over her breasts, knowing that it is her only means of experiencing an orgasm. The room is filled with the sounds of two lovers fucking, the sounds of the bed creaking, soft gasps; gentle sighs as we pleasure each other. I look down, the sight of Angela on her back, the dildo holding us together. I can feel our clits touch, as I press down. I can fill the dildo deep inside me, stretching me feeling the toy on my spot; My breathing quickens so does the tempo of my riding the dildo. Knowing my orgasm is close, I increase my speed, my movements become more assertive, and aggressive. Finally my back arches, and tenses, before the adrenalin is released. my body convulses, and spasms, my orgasm bursts from deep within, my mouth spouts utter gibberish as I swear, my physical state taking control of my body. I reach for Angela's nipples, pulling them one more time, before I lean forwards, barely in control, wanting Angela to cum as well. My lips find her breast as I kiss, lick, and bite them. Finally, Angela cums, her orgasm is as intensely vocal as was mine, "Oh God oh my God," Expletives, blasphemies escape from Angela's lips, and I collapse of her. I hold her tightly yet lovingly, feeling her breasts rise and fall as Angela regains her breathing still joined by the dildo. Slowly after the minutes have passed, I raise myself from the dildo, before easing it from Angela's pussy, the dildo glistening with our juices. Placing the dildo on the side, we lay embraced, exhausted from the day. * Authors Note: This story was inspired by two events that happened within days of each other. Firstly the BBC on BBC three is advertising a series of 8 disabled females to become fashion models. The contenders include amputees, as well as two who are confined, for the most part to a wheel chair. Secondly, the bi-room in the chat rooms at lit had a new member, who after a tragic accident was confined to a wheel chair. These two events inspired me to write a story of passion, and sensuality between a fully able person, and someone who is disabled, paralysed as a result of an accident. I have spoken to that individual in detail, all of the information regarding what the character can and cannot feel are based on the feedback from talking to her. Please enjoy, and remember if you enjoyed the story, please remember it is polite to vote and to leave feedback; thank you. A Different Kind of Love The light fog added a moisture to the air. The coolness of the night wrapped around her like a wet towel, sending a shiver up her spine. She was lucky she knew the area so well, or she could have easily become lost. She looked through the trees at the house where he lived, slightly smiling at the one electric candle burning in the kitchen window. "He hasn't forgotten," she thought. "He promised he'd always leave a light in the window for me." She knew how hurt he had been by their fight. She hadn't meant to say most of the things her anger had made her say that night, and she knew that his outburst and the awful things he had said to her still caused him pain. She also knew he had spent many a restless night, tossing and turning in his empty bed in the lonely house, wishing he could have changed how that evening had gone. He hadn't expected her to leave, although he had known she was angry. That much was nothing new. They had spent a lot of time being angry with each other in the months leading up to that night. Immediately after that last argument, they had spent a few hours in stony silence, neither willing to say a word to break the tension, neither apologizing to the other. Pride had been part of it, they both later realized. Foolishness had been an even larger part. The largest component, however, was a mutual fear that the fight would start all over again. When he awoke the next morning, he realized she was gone. He tried to find her, but she had disappeared. That was ten years ago. She had always liked the tradition of having a candle in the window to demonstrate welcome and love for someone who is away. The fact that he put it in the kitchen window didn't surprise her. That was the room where they had spent much of their waking time. Some families seem to live in their kitchen, and that had been the case with them. When one of them was out after dark, they always knew that the other would have that candle lit. "Farrah, are you sure you're ready for this?" the voice on her left asked. "You're the one who told her she was ready! You're the one who's been pushing her to do this. What's with you, anyway?" the voice on her right scolded. "What's with me? What's with you? You were the one who kept telling her to wait. You were the one who didn't think she was ready. Are you trying to start something? You're always so negative!" the woman's voice on her left complained. "Be quiet, both of you," Farrah said. "I'm ready. I have to be. I can't just lurk in the shadows any more. I have to do this. I have to find out if he still cares." "Oh honey, you know he still cares. I told you he still dreams about you a couple of nights a week," Eleanor, the woman on her left said. "Now come on, give me a hug. You can do this." Farrah hugged her. "I don't know if I'm strong enough. I wonder if he'll recognize me." Torstein, the man on Farrah's right said, "We've been over this a million times. He probably won't recognize you at first. Ten years is a long time for people in his 'condition,' even though it's no more than the blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. But on some level, he'll feel familiarity. He'll know something has changed in his life. Recognition may take a while, but it should all work out in the end. Just remember what we've taught you. Be strong, and make us proud." Farrah embraced him and kissed his wrinkled old cheek. "I love you. I hate to leave you. I'm going to miss you both so much." "We'll be around for a while. We're here to support you if you need it. We won't go in the house with you, but we'll see you whenever you come out. And some day, we'll meet again," the woman said, her voice sounding strained as she tried not to cry. "Oh, you women and your tears. Just let the child go," Torstein said. Farrah stood up and walked out of the trees onto the lawn. She stared at the house for a long time, gathering her courage. When she looked back to say one last goodbye to the beautiful woman and the gnarled old man who had been her family, her friends, her tutors, and her caretakers for the last ten years, she could barely see them through the swirling fog. But she could hear them, arguing as usual. "I was not going to cry," she heard Torstein's reedy voice say. "Real men don't cry." "OK, sure," Eleanor's voice said. "Something got in your eye, I guess." "Allergies, that's what it is. Only weak women cry." "Yeah, right. Keep telling yourself that," Eleanor said. Farrah grinned through her own tears. "Those two will be like that for all eternity," she said to herself. Then she squared her shoulders and walked across the lawn toward the house. It was a bad night for Joseph. He had had a lot of them since Farrah had left. At first, he had been angry with her. "Damn stupid bitch," he had said that first morning. "She thinks I've been too hard on her? Wait till she comes home! I'll show her what it means to be hard on her!" His anger was quickly replaced by worry. When she hadn't returned by the following evening, he tried calling her friends. None of them had seen her. None of them knew where she was. Then he called relatives, friends of friends, everyone he could think of. Nothing. The next day, he filed a missing person report with the police. They were polite and attentive, and they assured him that this kind of thing was not unusual. She was probably staying at a friend's house, and had sworn them to secrecy, the police said. She would turn up in a day or two when she came to her senses. He tried to believe them, tried to remain calm. But when he hadn't heard anything for four days, he went down to the police station and started hounding them for answers. That was when the search really began in earnest, when her trail had already started going cold. Over the ensuing weeks and months, he occasionally got a bit of news. Usually it was a rumor of a sighting of someone who may have been Farrah, someone who matched her general description. He even was asked to provide a DNA sample, and he had been asked to look at several sets of grisly autopsy photos. But there was no good news. It was as though the ground had opened up and swallowed his beautiful eighteen-year-old daughter without a trace. On her twenty-first birthday, he spent the day in bed crying. The next day, he went to the cemetery where his wife was buried. He knew that some day, he would need to be strong enough to have a headstone erected with Farrah's name on it. Joseph had taken the wedding album with him to the cemetery that day and had spent hours looking at the old photos. Farrah had never known her mother. The doctors had told Joseph that they would do everything possible to save both the mother and the child, but his wife had said that if only one of them was to live, it should be the baby. He went to the hospital to bring his newborn daughter home to an empty house after the funeral. If it hadn't been for his mother, he would never have been able to care for the baby in those early dark days. Eventually, he was able to return to work, leaving his daughter with his family on his way to his job, skipping lunch to steal a few moments with her during the day, and taking her home after work. Thankfully, Farrah was an easy baby to care for. She had a sunny disposition and a ready smile. When she was old enough to understand, Joseph took the little girl to her mother's grave and tried to explain to her that her mother had loved her so much that she gave her own life so that little Farrah could live. Farrah had been a cute baby, and she grew into a beautiful child. Joseph loved her with all his heart. Even though he was a single parent, a widower at the age of twenty-two, he was reasonably content. Although there was no wife or mother in the house, they made a good life for themselves, and loved each other deeply. The problems started in middle school. Joseph had thought he would be prepared for the emotional storms of adolescence, and for a while, the skirmishes with his woman-child could be resolved with some heartfelt discussions and a hug. But as Farrah grew, she became more rebellious. As a young child, she had tested her own limitations by climbing and falling out of trees, competing and excelling in youth sports, throwing herself headlong into musical studies and gymnastics, even trying modeling. Farrah developed into a gorgeous, desirable young woman. All the local boys saw it. She started testing the limitations her father placed on her. When the subjects of make-up and skimpy clothing came up, Joseph set rules which Farrah promptly broke. Joseph told Farrah she could not date until she was sixteen, so she started sneaking out at night to meet the boyfriend of the week. Alcohol was not permitted in Joseph's house, so Farrah started drinking. Every time he grounded her, they fought. Every time he set a rule, she broke it. The night before she ran away, Farrah came home drunk and threw up on the living room couch. Joseph was furious and grounded her yet again. That day, she didn't come home from school for dinner, a blatant violation of the restrictions Joseph had placed on her less than twenty-four hours earlier. He did something he had promised himself he would never do while he waited for her to come home. She stumbled through the kitchen door that evening, reeking of beer. Joseph was waiting for her. "Farrah Anne Jacobs, you are in serious trouble. Very serious trouble!" On the kitchen table Joseph had laid out the items he had found when he searched her room. Farrah sobered up quickly when she saw them -- several packs of cigarettes, a half-empty bottle of vodka, some condoms, a baggie with a couple of joints, and her diary, with the lock broken. "You went in my room?" she shrieked. "You had no right to go through my stuff!" "I had every right!" Joseph yelled. "You are my daughter, you live in my house, I support you, and I'm responsible for you. What the hell is wrong with you? Booze? Pot? What kind of a little slut are you turning into?" "You bastard!" she shouted. "I'm eighteen! I can do whatever the hell I want!" "Don't you talk to me like that, young lady!" Joseph answered. "You are doing things that are way out of line. I couldn't even stand to read your diary. I'm just glad your mother isn't here to see this." "Well at least we agree on something!" Farrah screamed. "I'm glad she isn't here to see what a miserable old asshole you've turned into!" That was when Joseph slapped her. They stood for a moment, glaring at each other, rage simmering in both of them. "Fuck you!" Farrah yelled, and she ran from the room. Those were the last words Joseph heard from his beloved daughter. The next day, she was gone. Farrah went in through the kitchen door. New wallpaper. New appliances. New kitchen table. But still the same old house. It still smelled like her house. His house. Their home. She went into the living room. Not much had changed, which didn't really surprise her. Her father had replaced the sofa she had soiled the night before she ran away, but other than that, the furniture was the same. Then she noticed the framed photos on the mantel. Along with the lone picture of her mother, which had always been there, she saw a number of pictures of herself. She remembered most of them. There was her first grade class picture, a snapshot of her with a cast on her arm after she had fallen out of the old oak tree when she was ten, one of her modeling photos from the summer she turned fourteen, and her senior class picture which had been taken for the yearbook. There was also a scrapbook. She wanted to go upstairs to see her father, but decided to take a quick look inside the book. On the first page was a copy of her birth certificate. The next page had a picture of her in a bassinet from the newborn nursery. Following that were a few pictures of her mother, along with her obituary from the local newspaper. Then there were a number of pages of pictures from Farrah's childhood, along with a few of her childhood drawings which she remembered had been taped on the refrigerator long ago. She sat on the couch to take a better look at the book. A lot of the pages had captions printed in her father's neat handwriting, and she found herself compelled to study them all. Eventually she came to the pages that documented the time after she had run away. There was a copy of her missing person report, newspaper clippings about the search of the local area, an article from the paper on the one-year anniversary of her disappearance, letters her father had sent to police all over the country, even the back of a milk carton with her picture on it. Then there were the poems. She had never known her father to even read poems, let alone write them, but there were dozens of them. Classically styled love sonnets, a few examples of haiku, and free-verse ramblings about love, memories, regret, despair, and loneliness. Farrah saw that she was the subject of every one of them. "Oh Daddy, what have I done to you?" Farrah sobbed. She put the book back on the mantle and went up to her father's room. He lay there in his bed, shirtless, and tangled in the covers. His scalp hair was nearly as thick as she remembered it, but gray was replacing the rich brown he had once had. At the age of fifty, his face was still rugged and handsome, his long torso still tough and lean, but he had aged much more than she would have expected in ten years. Deep care lines were etched on his forehead, and even in sleep, he looked unhappy. Farrah stood silently next to her father's bed, remembering how much she had loved him. He had been a good father, bravely doing his best to fill her life with happiness. Over the years she had been away, she came to understand that he always loved her, always wanted what was best for her, even when he had been angry with her. In fact, she realized, their final night together, that horrible fight, had been motivated by his love and concern for her. She wept quietly, watching him sleep. It was almost completely dark in the room, so dark that she had to strain to see him, even though she stood close enough to the bed to touch him. "I'm so sorry, Daddy. So very sorry," she whispered. Joseph stirred slightly in his sleep. Suddenly, his eyes popped open. "Farrah?" he said. "Farrah? Where are you? Oh God, where is my little girl?" Farrah stepped back in shock. This was not what she had been told to expect. They had told her that he wouldn't see her at first, that he wouldn't recognize her. After all, she had been a teenager when she went away, and ten years had passed. Joseph sat up in bed. "Am I awake? What a weird dream! I could swear I smelled that scent Farrah used to wear. What was it called? Oh yeah, Aphrodesia by Faberge. God, she loved that stuff. I haven't smelled that in years. I wonder what made me dream about that." He sat there, blinking into the darkness for a moment, then lay back down and rolled on his side away from her. In a few minutes, she could tell he was asleep. Farrah made her way across the lawn toward the tree line. "I need some help here. I don't understand what's going on." The old man and his beautiful companion materialized out of the fog. "What's wrong, Farrah?" Eleanor asked. "He knew I was there. I think he recognized me." "Impossible," Torstein scoffed. "You don't look like you did when you first came to us ten years ago." "I hate to agree with this old codger," Eleanor said, tilting her lovely head toward the grizzled old man next to her, "but he's right. You don't look the same to us. Besides, you wouldn't look like anything at all to your father at this point." "But he knew I was there," Farrah said. "He woke up and said he thought he smelled my perfume." "Well that shouldn't surprise you," Torstein said. "You practically bathe in the stuff. In fact, that's probably what made my eyes water when you left us to go into the house." "Just for once, try not to be an old grouch," Eleanor scolded her companion. To Farrah, she said, "Honey, you don't wear too much perfume, despite what Grumpy here says. Some people are pretty sensitive to certain stimuli, at least with one of their senses. For some, it's sounds. We don't really make much noise as we move around, but sometimes certain people can hear us. Others sense a chill in the air when we're nearby. Still others pick up on a scent. That's probably what happened with your father." "But I don't think he saw me," Farrah said. "Of course, it was pretty dark in there." "Seeing you will take time, sweetheart," Eleanor explained. "You know that. It may be that he will never see you at all. After all, we move around among mortals all the time, and the vast majority never know we're there. Most of us ghosts are invisible. It usually takes strong emotions between a mortal and a ghost to make the ghost visible." "But I still love him! And now that I was in there with him, I know he still loves me," Farrah cried. "Patience, child, patience," Torstein. "Nothing comes easy to mortals. Even though it's been a millennium since that whore Astrid killed me with my own poleaxe, I still remember that. You've only been dead for ten years, Farrah. I should think you would remember very clearly how difficult some things were for you when you were alive," the old man said. "And don't forget, honey," Eleanor said, "your father doesn't love you as you are now. He loves you as you were when you were alive. He loves the memory of his lost eighteen-year-old daughter. Even if he could see you clearly right now, he probably wouldn't know for sure who you are. Remember, your death was a fluke. It wasn't part of the universal plan, so you've continued to age. You won't stop aging until you reach the age in mortal years when you were supposed to die. Remember? We looked it up soon after you first came to us. You were supposed to die peacefully in your sleep at the age of eighty-three, not in that bizarre accident at the age of eighteen." "But what is Daddy going to think if he does see me? He believes I'm dead. He even had me declared legally dead. My name is on a tombstone in the cemetery next to my mother's. I remember telling him I saw my mother a number of times when I was young, but he insisted ghosts weren't real. He's not going to believe it's me even if he does see me." "We've been over this, child," Torstein said impatiently. "You know your mother went straight to Heaven and never roamed the earth as a ghost. You know that the visions you had of her were only the product of a young girl's over-active imagination. You couldn't have seen her, so in that case, your father was right." "Yes, Farrah," Eleanor said. "Grumpy and I are ghosts because we died violently with unresolved issues here on earth. It was pre-ordained from the moment of my conception that I would die in the great Chicago fire, and frankly, after spending over a hundred years with this old goat, I can see how he may have pushed Astrid to the breaking point. Anyway, Torstein and I will be stuck here until Judgment Day. You are different, because your death was a mistake. Your fate will go one of two ways: either you'll resolve the issues with your father and will enter heaven at that point, or you'll spend the years until you're eighty-three here on earth as a ghost, and will then go to heaven." "There's another possibility that I've heard rumors about, although I've never actually seen it happen," Torstein mumbled. "What's that?" Farrah asked. "Don't talk about that, you old fool!" Eleanor exclaimed. "Don't talk about what? Level with me!" Farrah said. "Nothing, nothing, child. Forget I said anything," the old man ghost said, waving his hand dismissively. "You two are hiding something from me, I can tell. You are duty-bound to be honest with me, and I demand that you tell me what's going on!" A Different Kind of Love "I can't," Torstein said. "It wouldn't be right to get your hopes up." "You might as well spell it out for her, you miserable old goat!" Eleanor said. "You brought it up, and she's right; ghosts can't lie. But I don't want to be around when it hits the fan about you letting this out." The old Viking sighed. "There's a remote possibility that a ghost can experience such intense and complete love from a mortal that the ghost becomes visible, not only to the mortal in question, but to all mortals. There's an even more remote possibility that a ghost like you, one who did not die according to the universal plan, may then become real." "Real? I don't understand," Farrah said. "Real, as in mortal. Real, as in living, with their mortal body restored to life and health. As I said, I've never had first-hand knowledge of this, but the elders tell stories of ghosts returning to mortal form and living out their years as human beings until the pre-determined time of their death. But remember, child, I've been a ghost for a thousand years, and I've only ever heard a few rumors about it. I'm not at all sure it can happen." "Please, Farrah, don't think about that. Be content with the knowledge that your father may eventually be able to see you, if his love for you is still strong. You might even get to the point where you can communicate, but that's probably as far as you'll get. We know you're a strong spirit, dear, so that's a goal you may be able to attain. You may also develop the ability to touch him, to caress his hand or face, and to have him feel it as if you were real, if you two love each other enough. But please don't dwell on the idea of becoming human again, or you'll be disappointed," Eleanor said. Torstein continued, "The other problem is this. A mortal must fall in love with a ghost and love her with his entire being, and that love cannot be influenced by the mortal's knowledge of the ghost's identity before death. In your case, your father must not love you as a daughter, but as a person with whom he wants to spend the rest of his life. And that's not going to happen." To herself, Farrah thought, "We'll see." Joseph woke the next morning feeling somehow uneasy. He remembered the dream in which he smelled Farrah's perfume. He spent that entire evening, after he got home from work, ransacking the house, looking for something that could have released the scent into the air. Since he knew he had given away all of Farrah's clothes and other possessions years ago, he couldn't imagine what had provoked that memory in him. When he went to bed that night, he dreamed of Farrah again. In his dream, Farrah had been getting ready to go out on a date, and the smell of Aphrodesia had been strong in the air of the hallway outside her room, and had lingered even after she had left the house. Every night, it was the same thing. Joseph dreamed of Farrah, sometimes as an infant, sometimes as a young child, sometimes as a teenager. In one particularly disturbing dream, he recalled the events of the night Farrah had run away. He woke up crying from that dream, but was somewhat comforted when he imagined he smelled her perfume in the air. Farrah haunted her old house whenever her father was at home, and followed him to work and on errands when he went out. She learned his habits, which hadn't changed much from when she was alive. He was still a hard worker, still had some of the same friends he had when Farrah was a child, and still missed his wife and daughter. On Friday evening, Joseph didn't go straight home from work like he usually did. Instead, he drove to a nursing home on the outskirts of town. Farrah, of course, went with him. She was shocked when she realized who he was visiting. "Hi, Grandma," Joseph said when he entered the room of an old woman in a hospital bed. "Joseph, is that you?" the old woman said as she turned unseeing eyes toward the door. "Yes Grandma, it's Friday, so I came to visit." "Well, come over here and give your old grandmother a kiss." Joseph leaned down and kissed the forehead of the old woman. Farrah couldn't believe what she saw. She remembered her great-grandmother Ida as being old, but she wasn't prepared for the sight of the frail, ancient, withered body in the bed before her. "Who do you have with you? Wait, don' tell me, I'd know that perfume anywhere. You brought your darling little girl Farrah with you! Farrah, honey, when did you come home?" the old woman asked. "Grandma, you know Farrah's gone. I wish I could bring her to see you, but you know I can't." "But she's here with you. I can't see her, of course, since my last stroke, but I know she's there. Farrah, honey, come here and give your old great-grandma a kiss." "Grandma, I'm sorry, but Farrah's gone, remember? She ran away ten years ago. No one's heard from her since," Joseph said. "Nonsense, boy! I'm old, and blind, and paralyzed, but I'm not senile! At least not yet. Farrah's right there next to you. Oh how I wish I could see you, honey! You were such a lovely child, and you were so beautiful as a teenager. I'm sure you're absolutely stunning now as a young woman. But say something, dear. Come over here and talk to me." "Mawmaw Ida knows I'm here!" Farrah thought to herself. "Of course I know you're here, sweetheart. Now come closer so I can touch you," the old woman said, holding out her one good arm. "How do you know I'm here, Mawmaw?" Farrah thought. "Well, silly child, I can hear you clear as a bell! You're standing at the foot of my bed, just to the left of your father." "Mawmaw? Can you really hear me?" "Yes, child. Why would you ask that? My hearing is fine. It's one of the few things I have that still works!" "Grandma! Do you think you're talking to Farrah? She's not here. Grandma, Farrah ran away ten years ago. Didn't leave a trace. Remember? Farrah's not coming back. She's in Heaven now." "No, Joseph, she's not. She's right next to you. Oh, oh, oh, I understand now. Oh my poor little Farrah. I only wish I could see you," the old woman said aloud. To her great-granddaughter's ghost, she then thought, without speaking, "You're a spirit now, aren't you, child?" "Yes, Mawmaw. How did you know?" "I'm very close to the end of my time here on earth, child. When I was in a coma after my last stroke, I learned some things about the afterlife. My guardian angel came to me and introduced himself. His name is Michael. Charming young man! He told me I wasn't quite at the end of my time, but that I was close. He promised me that my late husband was waiting for me, which gave me a lot of comfort. He could answer all my questions about everyone I knew who had preceded me in death. Everyone except for one. He didn't know anything about you, dear." "Mawmaw," Farrah thought, "I'll bet he didn't know about me because I never went to Heaven. I died, but I became a ghost trapped here on earth." "Well, that explains that." the old woman said aloud. "What explains what?" Joseph asked, confused. "Hush a moment, boy. I'm talking to your daughter. I'll try to explain this all to you later." "I'll be right back, Grandma," Joseph said as he left the room to find a nurse, concerned about his grandmother's apparent hallucinations. Mawmaw continued, "I'm sure you've had spirits watching over you. Did they keep you company and teach you things?" "They've been like parents to me, and friends, too," Farrah replied. "They've taught me a lot. My death was a mistake, so I may be able to...." Farrah's great-grandmother interrupted her. "Oh, look who's here! Michael! My dear young man, I'd like you to meet my great-granddaughter, Farrah. Tell me, Michael, is she beautiful? Funny, I can see you clearly, boy, but I can't see her." "Hello, Farrah, pleased to meet you. Your great-grandmother told me how pretty you were as a child. She'll be very happy to see what a beautiful young woman you've grown to be. Ida, you'll be able to see Farrah in just a moment," the angel Michael said. "Really? How?" Ida asked. "Oh, I understand now. It's time, isn't it?" "Yes, Ida," Michael said, "I've come to take you home. Because Farrah is someone you have loved, you'll be able to see her when you cross to the other side. I can only see her now because I'm here with you. But come, dear lady, I'll explain everything to you as we make our journey. Now, dear, it's time to go." Ida smiled at Farrah and closed her eyes. The frail old woman's chest rose and fell for a few seconds, and then the movement stopped. "When her spirit emerges from her body," Michael said to Farrah, "you may not recognize her. I had told her that your great-grandfather chose to greet her when she arrives in Heaven looking like he did on their wedding day, so she decided to take on her bridal appearance for her angelic form. Watch carefully." A mist began to form over the old woman's body, taking on the shape of the lifeless body below it. The shape changed to a slightly more youthful form, looking the way Farrah remembered her Mawmaw Ida when Farrah was a teenager. The spirit's appearance became younger, changing from elderly, to middle-aged, to that of a woman in her thirties, and finally almost solidifying into the form of a gorgeous young woman, younger than Farrah herself appeared to be. And then, Ida and Michael disappeared. Joseph returned to the hospital room with a nurse. She felt for Ida's pulse and put a stethoscope to the old woman's chest. After a few seconds, the nurse turned to Joseph. "I'm sorry, sir. She's gone." That night, Joseph dreamed of Farrah again. This time, he was sitting in the stands in the high school gym with his mother and grandmother, watching Farrah and her friends on the gymnastics squad win the competition against other area schools that would send them to the state finals. Afterward, Joseph and his family went to dinner at the best restaurant in town to celebrate. On the way home, Joseph was struck yet again by the beauty of his adolescent daughter, her trim form slumped in the seat next to him as she dozed, a hint of the alluring scent of Aphrodesia wafting from her. She was rapidly outgrowing her pretty little girl appearance and changing into a young woman that all the boys made fools of themselves pursuing. "She's going to grow up to be just as breath-taking as her mother was," he thought. And then he felt ashamed, knowing he was going to be very jealous of the man who won her life-long affection. Ida's viewing was a simple affair. A few of the healthier guests from the nursing home attended, along with a couple of the staff. Some old neighbors were there, and they all felt sorry for the man who sat there alone in the front of the church. He had lost his wife, his daughter, his parents, and now his last relative, his grandmother. There were a few mumbled condolences and a number of low whispers about the loneliness this handsome man, barely into his middle years, would now feel. Several of the well-wishers remarked to each other about the small number of people in attendance. None of them noticed the old Viking, the striking woman in the high-necked ankle-length dress with puffy elbow-length sleeves and cinched waist popular in the 1890's, or the woman in her late twenties dressed in a simple dark dress that did little to hide her lithe figure, all standing in the shadow in the back of the room. At the cemetery, Joseph waited until the funeral director and caretakers had gone. He knelt at the headstone at Farrah's empty grave and prayed. He cried a little, re-living the grief he had felt over losing his wife, his mother, his daughter, and now his grandmother. All the women he had loved, all the women who had been important in his life, were now gone. He felt very lonely, but suddenly, he had the impression that he was not alone in the graveyard. Joseph looked around, certain he was being watched. For just a moment, he thought he saw a slender young woman in a dark dress, partially hidden by the wisteria that overran the trellises surrounding the walkway to the parking lot, but then she was gone. All that lingered was the smell of the flowers on the vines, mixed with what he would have sworn was a hint of Aphrodesia. He returned to work the following day. He was tired, emotionally drained from the funeral and from his grieving for his family. On top of that, he hadn't gotten much sleep. He had dreamed of Farrah again, waking to the impression of her scent in the air. After tossing and turning for a while, he finally got up and went downstairs. An hour of studying his scrapbook of his daughter's life, remembering all the good times he had had with her and the love he had felt for her, calmed him. When he went back to bed, Farrah saw that he dreamed with a smile on his face. On his way home from work that day, Joseph stopped at the market to pick up some things for dinner. He had decided to make stuffed green peppers, something he realized he hadn't made since Farrah had left. "Funny," he thought, "why would I want them now? Oh well, I'm hungry for them. Maybe it's the fact that I've been thinking of her so much lately." As he was backing out of his parking space, he had to stop for a moment to allow a trim, attractive young woman to walk behind his car. She looked at him, and he was struck by her beauty. When he got home, busied himself by dusting the pictures on his mantel while his dinner baked, filling the small house with a rich smell that seemed fitting to him, as he felt the love that always gripped his soul when he thought of his beautiful daughter. When he went back into the kitchen, he was momentarily confused by the fact that he thought he smelled Aphrodesia when he knew he should have smelled his dinner. As he was pondering this, he imagined he heard a woman's voice whisper, "I love you." "Stress is doing some strange things to you, old boy," he said aloud. The next day, Joseph was sitting at his usual window seat in the cafe across from his office building, reading the newspaper while he ate his lunch. As he ate his bagel sandwich, he got the same sensation he had experienced at the cemetery; he felt that someone was watching him. Looking up, he saw a woman in her late twenties, her body angled sideways to him, but her face turned toward the window where he was sitting. He only got a glimpse of her before a group of people stopped to read the menu posted in the window, blocking his view. When they walked away, she was nowhere in sight, but he had seen enough to form an impression of a pretty face, perky breasts, trim torso, and tight, shapely butt and legs clad in a t-shirt and tight jeans. He smiled to himself. "I should be so lucky," he thought, going back to his lunch and his paper. When Farrah visited Joseph's bedroom that night, she noticed a bulge in the covers. Concentrating, she was able to read his dream, as Eleanor had taught her to do. She discovered that her father was dreaming of the girl on the sidewalk outside the cafe, dreaming of what he would like to do with her. Although she learned that Joseph had not recognized her, she felt a guilty pleasure knowing that her father was dreaming about the woman he had seen that day. On Friday after work, Joseph decided to stop at the video store to rent a few DVDs for the weekend. As he passed the shelves of children's films, he chuckled to himself, remembering how many evenings he and Farrah had spent on the couch when she was a child, watching movies like "E.T.," "Honey I Shrunk the Kids," and "Home Alone." Moving into the "action/adventure" section, he chose a film and was reading the box as he moved toward the "comedy" section. He nearly bumped into a pretty young woman who was standing there, reading the titles of some movies. Startled, he dropped his DVD box. When Farrah saw that Joseph was about to run into her, she panicked. "If he touches me, he'll freak!" she thought. "He'll probably go right through me!" She turned, ran around the corner, and disappeared. As Joseph stood up with the box in his hand, he was saying, "Pardon me, miss. That was clumsy of me." But there was no one else in the aisle but a young male store employee, who was looking at Joseph strangely. The only trace of the woman was the lingering smell of Aphrodesia in the air. "Did you see which way that woman went?" Joseph asked the teenager. "What woman?" the kid asked. The expression on his face showed that he thought Joseph might be delusional. "Um, uh,... nothing. Forget it," Joesph mumbled. To himself, he thought, "That looked like the girl outside the cafe the other day. I wonder where she went." "That was a close call," Farrah said to Torstein and Eleanor later that evening when they met in the woods near Joseph's house. "You foolish child, that was just plain careless! You could have ruined everything," Torstein grumbled. "Don't be so hard on her, Grumpy," Eleanor said. "Have you ever tried moving among the mortals when there is one that can see you?" "Of course, you stupid cow! I haunted that bitch Astrid for years. Used to scare the living daylights out of her," Torstein snapped. "That's not what I meant. We've all been in situations where mortals can sense our presence, and, of course, there are some sensitive mortals who actually see apparitions. But Farrah's situation is different. She needs to have Joseph see her, but she doesn't want him to see her as a ghost." Farrah said, "That's why I took off, Eleanor. If he had actually touched me, he would have realized that I was just a vision, an apparition, a wraith without substance. What would have happened then?" "One of two things, child. Either he would have run screaming for the hills, or he would have decided he was crazy," Torstein said. "Well, I don't want either of those things to happen," Farrah said. "So how do I make him love me enough to allow me to become mortal if I can never touch him?" "It's going to be a challenge, I'll admit," Eleanor said. "You grew up in the late twentieth century, when people were all about touching, holding hands, kissing, and more, even when the relationship between them was very casual. You'll have to resort to the conduct of an earlier, more proper time, when physical contact was reserved for those who were already in love. In other words, you'll have to act like a proper, virginal, Puritan-type of lady and avoid any kind of physical contact until you know he is romantically in love with you." "Yeah, good luck with that!" Torstein said sarcastically. "Remember, we know your history." "That wasn't very nice," Eleanor scolded him. To Farrah, she said, "You're a strong spirit, honey. If you want this badly enough, you'll find a way to do it." Joseph's next sighting of Farrah came when he was shopping for some new slacks for work. He had come out of the fitting room with two pairs he wanted to buy, and had seen her standing near the cash register. He recognized her immediately as the desirable young woman he had seen at the cafe and the video store. "She works here," he thought. "Maybe I can start a conversation with her." Then a young boy waiting for his father momentarily distracted Joseph, and when he looked up, the young woman was gone, but he smelled her perfume. He was certain it was her, the woman who was rapidly becoming his fantasy girl. He saw her again as he was leaving the gas station near his house on his way home. He debated turning around to go back to speak with her, but when he looked in his mirror to see if she was still there, she was nowhere in sight. The next morning, he saw her in the lobby of his office building when he was getting on the elevator. The doors were closing, and he tried to reach the button to stop them, but a man was standing in his way. "Why do I keep seeing her?" Joseph wondered. "And when am I going to have a chance to talk to her? I HAVE TO talk to her!" A Different Kind of Love The work day dragged by. Joseph had several projects that needed his attention, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could do was think about the beautiful young woman he kept seeing. He had never gotten a really close look at her except for that moment in the video store, and that had only been for a split second. But he knew her appearance well. She had the well-toned body of an athletic woman, trim rather than muscular. She was fairly tall, perhaps about 5' 8". Every time he saw her, he was impressed by her, and not just by her body. She had lush, wavy brown hair, similar in color to his when he was younger, and hazel eyes. In some ways, her eyes were her most attractive feature. The only person he had ever seen with eyes exactly that color was his own daughter. Joseph was relieved when lunch time came. He went to the cafe across the street, took his usual seat by the window, and was just about to order, when she appeared outside. This time, she was wearing a bright yellow tank top and khaki shorts that showed again how appealing her figure was. Their eyes met, and they smiled at each other. Then she began to walk away. As quickly as he could, Joseph went outside. She was already near the end of the block. Before he could catch up to her, she turned the corner. He saw her turn, and he jogged a few steps and turned the way she had gone. "What the hell?" he said aloud. She was nowhere in sight. "Where did she go? Damn it!" "Looking for someone?" an old man's voice said. Joseph turned to look for the person who had spoken, but could see no one. The voice spoke again, seemingly right over Joseph's shoulder. "You'll meet her some day, young man. You just don't have enough love in your heart for her yet." Joseph spun around to confront the speaker. "Who are you? What do you know about her? Where the fuck did you go?" Joseph said to the empty air in front of him. "Mommy, that man said a bad word," a little girl standing near Joseph said to her mother. "Shhh, sweetheart, some people don't know how to act in public," the mother said. "The man was talking to an old man who looked like the man in my story book about the Vikings. But now I don't see the old man," the child said. Joseph knelt down in front of the little girl. "Did you see which way the old man went?" he asked. "Sir, I wish you would not talk to my daughter," the little girl's mother said, holding her child's hand tightly. Joseph looked up at the woman. "I'm sorry ma'am. I don't mean any harm, but your daughter just said she saw the old man who spoke to me, and I think he may be able to help me find someone I'm looking for." "Sir, there was no old man here. You were talking to yourself." "No he wasn't, Mommy. He was talking to that old Viking kind of man." "Janie, we've talked about you making up stories," the mother said. "Honey," Joseph said to the little girl, "did you see where the Viking went?" "He went down the street and was talking to that pretty lady in the yellow shirt." Joseph almost shouted at the little girl, "Where are they now?" "Sir, I will not ask you again to leave us alone," the mother said, grabbing a container of pepper spray from her purse. "Come on Janie, we need to go." "Ma'am, I need to talk to your daughter," Joseph said. "Janie, I need you to tell me...." "Are you on drugs, or are you just crazy?" the mother said, grabbing her daughter and beginning to move away. "Don't speak to us again, and don't try to follow us. I will spray you and I will call the police!" The mother hurried her daughter away from Joseph, leaving him standing there, completely confused. "My God," he thought, "am I going nuts?" That weekend, Joseph went to the cemetery to put flowers on the graves of his women. Again, he felt he was being watched. When he turned around, he saw her clearly. She was standing behind the next row of tombstones, wearing a simple shell top and slacks, facing him. "Hello," he said. "Hello. Those are very nice flowers," Farrah said. "They're for my 'girls'," Joseph said. "My grandmother, my mother, my wife, and my daughter are all here." "I'm very sorry for all your losses," Farrah said. "Do you have loved ones here?" Joseph asked. "I came to visit my mother's grave," Farrah answered. "I've been away for years, but I used to come here often with my father." "Is he still living?" "Yes." "I never knew my father," Joseph said. "He was killed in the very early days of the Viet Nam war. My mother found out she was pregnant with me the same day the telegram came saying he had been killed." "How awful," Farrah said. "It was a long time ago. Since I never knew him, I never really missed him. My grandmother died of a massive stroke earlier this month, my mother lost her battle with cancer a few years ago, and my wife died in childbirth." "What happened to your daughter?" Farrah asked. "Honestly, I don't know," Joseph answered. "This headstone marks an empty grave. She disappeared ten years ago. Didn't leave a trace. I searched for her for years, but there was nothing. Eventually, I decided to have a stone put up in her memory." Farrah smiled sympathetically at him. "That must have been very hard for you." "I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. But enough of that. The past is the past. Oh, where are my manners? I'm Joseph Jacobs. And you are...?" "What do I tell him?" Farrah thought. She glanced at a grave marker near her, then the line of trees that bordered the graveyard. Aloud to Joseph she said, "Um..., I'm Jennifer Oaks. Call me Jenny." "I'm glad to meet you, Jenny," Joseph said, walking toward her and extending his hand. "It's too soon for him to touch me!" Farrah thought. She shrank back from Joseph and said, "Um..., I'm sorry, but I have, um..., some touch issues. I don't mean to be rude or unfriendly, but I'm not sure I want you to touch my hand. Please forgive me. I'm really sorry!" "No, no, no, Jenny, I'm the one that's sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." "It's okay. Trust me; it's a long and complicated story." "So tell me, Jenny," Joseph said, "you said you've been away. When did you return to the area?" "A couple of weeks ago." "I could swear I've seen you around. In fact, I'm sure I saw you on the street the other day outside the place where I usually eat lunch." "You're right, Joseph. You did. I remember seeing you through the window." "And I'm sure I saw you in a video store a couple of weeks ago. I think I almost knocked you down." "Yes, I remember that," Farrah said. "And I think you were in the lobby of my office building across from the cafe the other morning." "Um, yes, yes I was. I wanted to go up to the roof to see the skyline," Farrah said, thinking quickly. "You have to know someone who works in the building to get up there. You need a key, because they keep the door to the roof locked." "Oh," Farrah said. "But now you do know someone who works there. I could take you up sometime. On a clear day, the view is spectacular." "That sounds nice. I'd like that." "How about Monday evening? I have a conference call scheduled that might keep me until 6:00 or so. Could I come and pick you up after that?" Joseph said. "I can meet you at your office after work," Farrah said, knowing from following Joseph that no one else would be there to see him talking to thin air. "You'll have to take the elevator to the twenty-seventh floor. I'm at Snelling and Sons. Everybody clears out right at 5:00, but I'll make sure to have the reception room door unlocked. If I'm not out there waiting for you, just come in and holler for me," Joseph said. "I'm looking forward to it. But I really have to go now," Jenny said. "I'll see you Monday at 6." "Can I give you a ride home?" Joseph said. "Oh, no thanks. I have someone coming to get me. In fact, they're probably out there now. Good to finally meet you, Joseph!" She turned and walked quickly toward the trellises with the wisteria, heading to the parking lot. Joseph watched her go, entranced by her movements as she walked. "She moves with a grace like no living woman I've ever seen," he thought. Then he decided to go, too. He walked down the same path, hoping to get a chance to see her and talk to her some more before her ride came for her. When he got to the parking lot, she was gone. On Monday evening, Farrah was sitting in the empty reception room when Joseph came out of his office shortly before 6pm. "Hi, Jenny, I didn't hear you come in," Joseph said. "I'm pretty quiet," she said. "It's nice and clear today. Shall we go up to the roof?" Joseph asked. "Lead the way," Farrah said, smiling at him. Joseph held the door for her, and she was careful not to brush against him as she passed. Although she had been there before with her father as a young teen, the rooftop had been bare at that time. Now, there was a thriving rooftop garden, with flowers, ornamental trees, walkways, and benches. "This wasn't here before," she exclaimed. "When did they do this?" "You were here before?" Joseph asked. "Yes, maybe fifteen years ago. It's beautiful now," Farrah exclaimed. "How did you get up here?" "Um, my father brought me here. He worked in this building," Farrah said, recovering. "Let me show you the view, Jenny. Over there, to the west, is the river. Out there, to the north, you can just make out some mountains. I used to take my daughter skiing there in the winter. And over there, to the east, is where I live." "Amazing. With the garden and trees, I almost feel like I'm in a park," Farrah said. "And smell the flowers!" "They're great, but I smell something I like better," Joseph said. "What's that?" "Your cologne, Jenny. Faberge Aphrodesia, isn't it?" "How did you know?" "My daughter used to wear it all the time. Sometimes, when I think about her, I think I can still smell it. But I thought they stopped making it years ago," Joseph said. "I, uh, I, uh, I stocked up on it," Farrah stammered. "It's nice. It suits you." "Thank you." They stayed on the roof for a while, enjoying the view, strolling on the paths through the gardens, and talking. Several times, Joseph got a little too close to Farrah, and she shyly moved away. After about an hour, they found themselves at the railing again, on the side facing the area where Joseph lived. Farrah was talking, but suddenly stopped in mid-sentence. "Joseph, what are you looking at?" "I'm sorry. I guess I've been staring at you. You're very beautiful. And somehow, you seem familiar to me. Like I've known you for years. I'm comfortable with you," Joseph said. This remark worried Farrah. She wondered if he suspected her true identity, and questioned again how she could make him love her without revealing who she really was. For lack of a better response, she said, "I'm comfortable with you, too." He reached for her hand. She sensed him reaching out for her, and stepped back. "I'm sorry, Joseph, I really am, but I just can't let you touch me. It's not you. Please believe that. It's me. Someday, when we get to know each other better, I'll try to explain." "It's okay, Jenny. I won't pretend I understand, because I don't, but I like you and I respect you. You must have been hurt very badly, and I'm sorry for that. Hopefully, we can become good enough friends that you'll trust me enough to explain it to me," Joseph said. They weren't alone on the roof. Torstein and Eleanor had materialized behind them. "He's falling for her," Eleanor said. "Hard. Very hard," Torstein agreed. Joseph and Farrah (or as he called her, Jenny) began to see each other on a regular basis. Farrah was very careful to set up their meetings in places where they would not be seen by others. She was very much aware of the problems it could create if Joseph were seen talking to a woman who wasn't there, especially if someone pointed it out to him. Also, Farrah would always arrange to meet Joseph somewhere, or to appear to have been dropped off at their meeting place, so Joseph would not see that she did not have a home. One evening, they were walking in the woods near Joseph's house. There were footpaths there, used by joggers and hikers during the day, but usually deserted at night. Farrah and Joseph were having an animated discussion, laughing and talking about something they had both seen on TV one night when they were apart. Farrah didn't notice the older couple walking toward them until it was too late to hide. "Good evening," the man said. "Nice night for a walk." "Good evening," Joseph said. "Good evening, miss," the older gentleman said, tipping his hat as he and his companion stood to the side of the path to let Farrah and Joseph pass. "He saw me!" Farrah thought. "His wife did too. She smiled at me and looked me right in the eye!" When they had passed, Farrah and Joseph heard the man say to his wife, "She looks a little young for him, don't you think?" "I don't know about that Frank, but she's too young for you. Stop staring at her backside!" As Farrah stifled a giggle, Joseph whispered to her, "The old guy has good taste." Farrah could hardly wait to see Eleanor and Torstein later on that night. "I'm visible. Oh my God, I'm visible! We passed an older couple when we were out walking, and they both saw me!" Farrah cried when she found her friends. "I'm going to live again!" "Now child, don't get your hopes up," Torstein said. "Becoming visible to random mortals is one thing; becoming mortal again yourself is quite another. You still have a long way to go." "But it's a positive step, isn't it? It's a really big step!" Farrah said. "Yes, honey, it's a step," Eleanor said. "We've been watching you, and it's obvious that Joseph is becoming very fond of you. But you need to be patient. He has to be completely, madly, head-over-heels in love with you for you to have even the slightest chance of regaining your mortality." "And I'm still not convinced it can really happen," Torstein mumbled. The next night, Farrah was bursting with anticipation when she met Joseph. What should she do? Did she dare to risk letting him touch her? If he did, and if he did not feel her skin, she was afraid she would never see him again, and that she would be condemned to spend eternity wandering the earth, neither alive nor truly dead. They went for a walk again, this time on the sidewalks of the city near Joseph's office. Farrah made it a point to smile at the people they passed, and many of them smiled back. "They see me!" she thought. "You seem especially happy tonight, Jenny," Joseph said. "I am. I really am." "Why?" Joseph asked. "Because I'm with you." "Well, that's good. I can't seem to stop thinking about you. When we're together, I'm the happiest man alive. When we're apart, I can't seem to do anything except think about you, or look at the clock to see how long it will be until I'm with you again." "Oh, Joseph, that's such a nice thing to say." "It's true." They walked a while in contented silence. "I have an idea," Joseph said. "What's that?" Farrah asked. "Let's go to a movie." "Oh, that could be fun." "What would you like to see? An action film, a comedy, or a romance?" Joseph asked. "I'm a sucker for a good romance," Farrah said. Joseph sighed dramatically. "For my Jenny, I'll go to a chick-flick." Farrah laughed. "There's a newsstand on the corner. Let's get a paper and see what's playing." "I already checked. There's a new romance showing at the theater in the next block. The next show time is in fifteen minutes." "You old dog, you planned this didn't you?" Farrah asked, giggling. "Yup." At the ticket window, the bored teenager didn't question Joseph's request for two tickets. The girl taking the tickets smiled at the couple when they entered the theater. "Great date movie," she said. The theater wasn't crowded, so Joseph and Farrah were able to find seats that were apart from the others in the audience. Joseph motioned for Farrah to go into the row first, and she realized that her hip brushed lightly against his as she moved past him to her seat. She was thrilled that Joseph showed no reaction, no indication that he had felt anything strange. About halfway through the film, she felt it. Joseph reached over the arm of the seat and touched her hand. She froze for a second, waiting for his surprised reaction. She knew it could be the end of everything between them if he could not feel her skin. But nothing happened. He just kept his hand there, lightly touching the back of hers. Farrah began to relax. Joseph leaned over and whispered to Farrah, "Jenny, is this okay? Do you mind me touching your hand?" "It's fine. In fact, it's more than fine. It's very nice." She turned her hand and lightly gripped his. After the movie, Joseph said, "I enjoyed that." "The movie? I thought you were just enduring the 'chick-flick' for my sake," Farrah laughed. "The movie I endured. Barely. But that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about you letting me hold your hand. I really appreciated that. I know it was hard for you." "Joseph, I enjoyed it too." The next day was Saturday. Joseph awoke to the sound of someone knocking on his door early in the morning. He made his way downstairs in only his pajama pants. When he opened the door, Farrah was standing on the porch. "Jenny, what a surprise! Come in, please. How did you know where I live?" Joseph asked. Ignoring his question, Farrah walked in and closed the door behind her. "I've been thinking all night, and I've come to talk with you, Joseph. I need to ask you a question." "What's that, honey? What's wrong?" Jenny said nothing. She simply walked up to Joseph and put her arms around him. He hugged her, and she began to sob quietly. "Baby, what is it? What's going on?" Farrah pulled back from his embrace. "Joseph, I need to know how you feel about me." Joseph looked at her, his gaze flicking from one eye to the other. Finally he said, "I love you. I feel like I've always loved you. I don't know what I've done to keep sane all these lonely years, but now I have a woman in my life that I love like I've never loved before." "Good. Because, Joseph, I love you more than I ever thought possible." She kissed him, and he pulled her close to kiss her back. Their first kiss was tender. When it was over, Farrah asked, "How did that feel?" "Amazing. Like no kiss I've ever felt before. Like the kiss of an angel. I've waited for this for so long," Joseph whispered. "So have I. I was just afraid before." She held him close and kissed him again. This kiss was warm. The next kiss was hot. Their tongues caressed each other, and Joseph could feel her nipples growing hard against him, as she could feel his manhood growing hard against her. "Jenny, I'm so in love with you that I don't know what to do," Joseph said as he began to kiss her neck. "I think I do," she said, as she took his hand and began leading him upstairs to his room. When they got to his bed, they kissed again. This time, the kiss was urgent. When they broke for air, Farrah smiled at Joseph, and then gave him a little shove, so that he sat down on his bed. "This is it," she thought. "The moment of truth." She kicked off her sandals and gave Joseph a smoky smile. Then she pulled her t-shirt up over her head. Joseph watched in awed anticipation as she pulled her shorts down and kicked them off, leaving her standing in front of him in a tiny lace bra and boy short panties. The fabric of the bra did little to hide her erect nipples, and the cloth of the panties was translucent with her womanly moisture. Farrah sat on the bed next to him, and they kissed again. "Make love to me Joseph. Share your love with me. Bring me to life," she said. A Different Kind of Love As they caressed, Joseph's hands unclasped her bra and drew it forward and off her. Her breasts, small but firm, stood high and proud on her chest, and he began to plant soft kisses on the warming flesh. As her breathing quickened, Joseph sucked and nibbled on her nipples. Farrah began to moan. Joseph laid her back on his bed and kissed and nibbled his way down her trim frame to her panties. He could, of course, smell her Aphrodesia, but he could also smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal, and he knew he had to taste her. He pulled her panties off, exposing her clean-shaven pussy, the lips already swollen with need, her clit poking out from under its protective hood. She parted her legs slightly, and he kissed her lightly on her inner thighs. She looked at him with want in her eyes and whispered, "Please." He had wanted to move slowly, to be certain to bring as much tender pleasure to his love, Jenny, as possible, but lust overcame them both. After only a few licks of her sopping wet pussy, Joseph was alternating between plunging his tongue deep into her and sucking on her clit. Farrah was whimpering and thrashing her head left and right on his pillow, while bucking her hips and holding him tightly against her sex. "Oh, oh, oh, you're going to make me cum!" Soon her words were just grunts, which turned into screams as she experienced a climax like none she had ever imagined. As her orgasm passed, she pulled on Joseph to tell him he should come up next to her, and they kissed again. She could taste herself on his tongue. "Joseph, do you know what you've done?" Farrah said after she could breathe again. "I have a pretty good idea," he grinned. "No, no you don't. Oh darling, you have no idea. You've made me whole. You've made me live again. You've brought me back. Oh, God, I love you so much!" She got on her knees next to him so she could get a good look at him. He lay there on his back, handsome, rugged, lean, her moisture drying on his chin, his wavy brown hair a bit disheveled with sleep and sex, some sweat showing in the gray at his temples, his pajama bottoms distorted by his erection. She knew what she wanted to do. She hooked her thumbs in the elastic waistband and tugged the pajamas off as he raised his hips to help her. His cock, swollen and hard, sprang up, and a dollop of pre-cum dripped from the head and fell slowly to his scrotum. She leaned down and licked it off, working it around on her tongue as he watched. Then she licked and bathed his entire sack, as he struggled to lie still. Capturing his dark brown eyes with her hazel ones, she then licked ever so slowly up the base of his shaft, teasing the tiny triangle at the bottom of his slit with her tongue, and then spreading her lips slowly as she allowed his manhood to enter her mouth. Without realizing it, Joseph began to move his hips, gently fucking her mouth as she sucked and licked him. For a moment, Farrah was concerned when he reached his large strong hands out to touch her head, but he didn't force her onto him harder. He only played gently with her wavy brown hair, brushing it off her face so he could watch her. Her tongue played with his crown and shaft as she sucked, and soon, she felt him growing even harder and more urgent. "I'm going to cum soon, Jenny." She bobbed her beautiful head faster. "Jenny, it's almost time." She sucked harder. "Baby, I don't think I can last any longer." Her eyes smiled at him as she worked him deeper into her mouth, stroking the rest of his shaft with her hand. "Oh God, oh fuck!" Joseph groaned. She felt the first hot jet of his cum hit the back of her tongue, and she began swallowing as fast as she could, trying to keep up with the strong blasts of his seed into her mouth. When he was finished, Farrah sat back and looked at him. "I need you inside me." She stroked his softening cock. "Will you do that for me?" "I love you completely, baby. I love you with all my being. I'll do anything you want, if I can." "Oh, I'm sure you can. I'll help." She began to bathe his cock with her tongue again, and soon, he was as hard as he had been before. Farrah then straddled him, and aimed his glistening shaft at her wet opening. As he began to penetrate her, she gazed into the eyes of the man she knew she had always loved and said, "I want to be with you forever." "Until the day I die," Joseph whispered. When they were done, they lay cuddled together on his rumpled sheets. They were sweaty, tired, and very happy. Farrah's head rested on Joseph's chest, and they stroked each other's bodies lazily with their fingers. "Joseph?" "Yes, my love?" "I haven't been completely truthful with you. There are some things you need to know." "It doesn't matter, baby. We all have a past. I love you. That's all that matters to me," Joseph said, kissing her hair. "But I need to tell you some things," she said, moving to the pillow so she could look into his eyes. "It's a long and complicated story..." A Different Kind of Love Letter People use the expression "making love" as an equivalent for having sex, sleeping with someone, or any of the other phrases out there. But they're not interchangeable. To me, to make love is to use your body in a unique sexual way to show someone what you feel for them... translating your love for them into deliberate physical acts, using your body as a vehicle for your passion and deep emotions. By revering their body with yours, it is silent symbolism for what is in your heart. While you are bringing them delicious pleasure, you are echoing the pleasure that they bring into your life, their song that fills your mind, and the love that swells your heart. It is the surest, sweetest way of saying "I love you", with actions instead of words. And, yes baby, I love you. Distance and circumstance prevent me from doing much more than saying the words... but I want to tell you how I imagine making love to you, oh so often, leaving no doubt in your mind how you are cherished. * * * * * * * * * * From the start, I want you to feel pampered, so I draw you a steamy bath, laced with rich Italian oils. It feels incredibly intimate to wash your short hair for you, then dry you off with a huge thirsty towel. You are cuddly and warm, almost purring as I wrap you in your thick robe. I plant a light kiss at the back of your neck, and lead you to your bed, lit softly by the cluster of candles on the low table. You have a lush, exciting body that you are proud of, yet you can be shy in revealing its secrets. That is just fine, because we have all the time in the world, and I have no reason to hurry. You stretch out like a cat, flexing your limbs and feeling the heat of the bath still on them. I slip the robe from you, and ease you onto your stomach. Your arms clasp the pillow under your head, and I can see in your profile a drowsy, satisfied smile on your lips. Your blue eyes are closed in blissful relaxation. Your body is warm, flushed and slightly damp from the bath, and the lingering smell of the oils is combining with your unique scent. I whisper a tiny kiss onto the small of your back, and inhale the fresh smell of your skin. I stop to savor the moment, admiring your stunning beauty. I have enjoyed this sight before, but this time is like the first, and I am in awe. You feel my gaze upon you, and open your eyes to give me a knowing look. I am trembling as I wonder at the gift that I have before me, and this gives me more determination to leave you no doubt of my feelings. Even when you are relaxed, you have that one spot in your shoulder that is the last place to loosen up, so I begin my homage to you there. I knead the knot, gently, firmly, until I feel it begin to yield. I move my attention to your other shoulder, then your slender neck, massaging, stroking, as your head lolls on the pillow and tiny sighs escape your parted lips. Your back is lovely, tapering from your strong shoulders to your impossibly small waist. I trace your spine with my fingertips, then return to run my palms down the smooth muscles on either side of it. I stroke your back, letting my hands revel in the deep curve at the base of your spine where it rises to meet your ass. It's hard to resist moving on to your ass now; the flare of your hips and your firm cheeks beg attention. Moving with long, sure strokes, I follow the delicious path from your back to your butt, feeling the firm muscles under my hands. Ever so slightly, you raise your hips against the pressure of my hands. I grin goofily at this sure sign that you are enjoying what I am doing for you. You toil so hard to achieve those strong, slender legs that you have, and they are next in my path. Your legs are those of a younger woman... lean, firm and unmarred. I work on the long muscles in your thighs, rhythmically sliding my palms up then down them, pressing hard to ease any tension still in them. I stop for a moment at the back of your knees, and lean down to give a lingering lick at that delicate spot. Your response is to part your legs, ever so slightly, and this gives me a tantalizing vantage point. Soft, curly hair the color of maple peaks out between your thighs. It is an invitation, and I will be taking it soon, but I will not rush this. Time has no power over my passion for you. Placing one last kiss on the tender back of your knee, I move on to your shapely calves and petite feet. You have the tiniest feet, despite what you think! You are a little ticklish, so I use a steady hand to grasp one small foot and knead it, then give equal attention to the other. Your wriggling toes are painted a fire engine red, and the rest of your foot reflects the unfailing way that you take care of yourself. Your toes are now pointed in anticipation of what is next; you sense that we are starting a new page. With gentle urging, I turn you onto your back, your arms flung carelessly on the pillow that your head is resting on. You look peaceful and beautiful, eyes still genty closed. I am so tuned to you that I can discern an electricity building, a faint tensing in your body, and the small shudder that ripples across your flat belly. There is a light flush in your cheeks, a steady pulse at your throat, and a slight hardening of your delicate pink nipples. I suddenly need to connect with you ... I need to see, in your eyes, that you truly understand what I am saying to you... So I place my palm gently on your cheek, and you open your eyes to look into mine with trust. You smile up at me, then lazily shut your eyes again. The message that is traded in that brief exchange is all it takes for me to go on. Feeling so much tenderness for you, I smooth your unruly hair back from your forehead. I am admiring the planes of your face, the long lashes laying against your cheeks, and your sweet mouth. There is no doubt that you are not a young girl, yet every faint line is testament to the living that you have done and the lessons that you have learned. I want to kiss your mouth, now, but it would break this spell that I am weaving, so instead I brush my lips across your forehead, before moving on with my journey. Your face fascinates me, and I take another moment to run my fingertips over your bones, like a blind person exploring. I slide down your jaw to your throat, and delight at the insistent pulsing under my touch. Your shoulders are now slack with relaxation, and I only skim them on my way to your arms. Those perfect arms, sculped yet utterly feminine, ending with your tiny hands. As much as your face fascinates me, your hands enthrall me. They are child-sized, and provide such a contrast to the rest of your image, that of a devastating woman. Your pretty french manicure and expensive rings remind me of a little girl playing dress-up. I enfold your hands in mine, marvelling at how they are eclipsed. Lightly tracing the route back to your shoulders, I now turn my attention to the rest of the tableau laid out before me. There is a popular song that says "Your body is a wonderland", and I have always associated that with you. So many mysteries in it, so many stories to be told by it... Mysteries and stories do come to mind, as I slowly move down to cup your heavy breasts in my palms. Your babies nursed at these breasts, and you paid a terrible price to undo what Mother Nature did to them. No one would know, looking at these perfect pink peaks, how much pain you endured to achieve them, or how much you still fret about how they look. Those thoughts pass through my mind as I hold your breasts, and I appreciate them all the more. I am still cupping them, and I spread my fingers wide so that I am now surrounding them in a web. Your nipples, stiffening at my touch, peak out between my fingers. I chuckle softly to myself when I realize that they often appear like that, drawing stares from men and women alike. I lean down to blow a cool whisper against them, and the rosy tips tighten more. I cannot have my mouth so close to them without now tasting them, slowly tracing circles around them with my tongue, first one, then the other, then back again. You are a luscious ice cream cone and I am now licking harder, drawing a nipple between my lips and into my mouth. My lips are sucking sofly on your breast as my tongue is lapping at your nipple. I love doing this to you, for you. I want you to know that your breasts are perfect, and that you should love them as much as I do. Time has stopped for me. I am sucking and kissing and nipping your nipples, lost in the abundance of you. I slide my hands under your back, to your angel wings, so that you are sandwiched, my arms beneath you and my moving mouth above you. I want you to feel safe and warm in my hold. I stop to nuzzle you in the deep valley between your breasts. You are arching your back, pressing yourself to my mouth, and I can feel your heart thudding beneath my lips. It is another kind of communion, and I sigh. Tension is mounting, and your body is thrumming. One last kiss pressed over your heart, and I begin a slow descent down your ribs, towards your supple belly. Your breath catches, then resumes faster than before, and I know what you are craving. My hands are caressing your waist, as my lips follow the path towards your navel. I decorate you with tiny, sweet kisses, my breath warm on your skin. I dip my tongue into your navel, swirling and gently jabbing, echoing what we both know I will be doing, elsewhere... soon. Your taut belly belies the babies you have borne. A slight curving is the only reminder of that time, and to me, it makes you all the more desirable. I press my cheek against you for a moment, and quiet my hands at your waist. I want to acknowledge all of you.. the woman, the siren, the mother, the animal, the girl... I cherish this feeling, and you gently lay your hand on my cheek, silently sharing. My love for you has many facets, and as much as I cherish you, I also desire you. And that desire is burning hot in me, as I move down your body, inching towards your pussy. Your legs part to let me nestle between them. Leaning on my elbows, I take in the incredible sight below me. I know that you have examined your own pussy before, in a hysterical episode with a mirror and a self-help manual, but let me tell you what I am experiencing from here. Your hair is a wonderful wilderness, barely tamed. I twist my fingers in the soft curls, lightly tugging. You are as perfect as I have ever seen, truly a pretty sight. Firm lips chastely cover the wonders beneath. You open like a gift, as I gently part you to unveil jewel colors. You are shimmering pink, like the lining of a seashell, just as delicate, as rare. You have tiny, silky lips inside, and I unfold them to reveal the glistening core of you. Your clit lays like a pearl, cushioned in soft folds. Like so much of you, it is tiny and precious, barely a pea. It is vulnerable and exposed, as you are... no hiding from my passion, completely at my gentle mercy. I will not disappoint you, not when all of your defenses have been so sweetly laid down. You trust me with your body and your heart, and I would suffer anything before I let either one come to harm. Is this teasing anticipation harder on you, or me? Your hips are trembling, and my breath is ragged. Powerless against you, I lose the battle and lower my face to you. I do not want to startle you, so I exhale a warm whoosh before gently pressing my lips against you. Despite the warning, you jerk your hips against my face, and I am immersed in you. My senses are assaulted. I want to drive you mad but it is I who is mad, crazed by the honeyed taste of you, the heady smell of your arousal, the blushing flesh, the smooth, smooth feel of you, and more than anything, your whimpers of pleasure. I do not know what I am doing now; it is a dance of long lingering licks, tiny nips, and teasing kisses, my mouth wanting to be everywhere at once. You are so wet that my tongue glides along you, a skater on ice. You are beautiful. I slide a finger into your heat now, gasping at the way you clutch at me. You squirm and my finger moves deeper into you. I slowly ease out of you, then back again, and delight at the deep moans that this produces from you. Knowing how much you love feeling full, I add a second finger, driving into you then stopping to let each one explore you. One curious finger is gently stroking the soft mound of tissue that is your g-spot, and this slow pressure is making your hips lift off the bed. My thumb is tracing insistent circles right below your clit, adding to the dizzying sensations that my tongue is producing as it drags relentlessly across the inflamed bud, over and over. I crave more, I need you closer now, so I slide both hands under your ass, gripping and supporting you every time your hips thrust into my face. You prop up on your elbows, and you watch, enthralled. You are having trouble focusing, your head swaying from side to side, your eyes first wide open in fascination then squeezed shut by what you are witnessing. It is a loop that is almost too much for you... you watch, as I deliberately suck your clit between my lips, and you feel the jolt through your body at the same time as the visual shock. I am watching you, watch me. You are going to come soon. I can see it in your swollen clit, feel it in the tremors under my tongue, hear it in your breath that is nothing but gasps and your whispered mindless litany of please oh please yes yes god yes oh yess I look up into your eyes, and will you to my hold my gaze. With the tip of my tongue, I tease your clit, lapping you like a kitten with a bowl of cream. I know exactly what it will take to send you over the edge now... so I slide one hand free from under your ass, and plunge three fingers deep into your cunt. You gasp and yes yes you are coming now, your hips bucking, then stilled as the waves immobilize you. A flush rushes up your breasts to your face, your beautiful face, your mouth forming a silent O, eyes still locked to mine, as I watch you coming. I am overwhelmed. To see you in the thrall like this, hear you, taste you, feel you, and to know that I did this to you, for you... I almost cannot bear it. I move to slide up next to your body and wrap my arms tightly around you. I am the one trembling now, as the emotion has overcome me, and all I can do is press closer to you. I feel like I still have so much to say, I am bursting with the love yet to show you, but I am hopelessly mute. So we lie together, your head tucked into my neck. Finally, I feel as if I can speak, and I begin by uttering your name. You make a small movement to interrupt me, and I feel you smile against me. Then you whisper the sweetest words, the words that I most want to hear... "I know... shh, I know...".