1 comments/ 9505 views/ 0 favorites True Match Ch. 01 By: KarennaC "Soon you will meet a man who will be all you seek," Oliver said. "He will have experienced some of the same things you have. He will understand how those experiences have affected you throughout your life, and will help you overcome them. You wish to learn more about your own sexuality and to experience sex as a positive, loving event. With this man, that will occur." "Sounds too good to be true," April said. "There is nothing too good to be true. If you believe that you are deserving of this man's love and respect, as in fact you are, you shall find it. You know that you have the power to create your own life as you wish to live it. Do you doubt that you will create this man entering your life?" "I've learned not to doubt anything you tell me." April had had several sessions with Oliver, a being of light channeled by her best friend Fisher. Everything Oliver had told her had proven true so far. "But I'm still married, so what good will it do me to meet this mystery man?" "You know that your marriage will shortly come to an end. You have already made that decision, although you fear acting upon it." "Yeah, because I'll be on my own. My parents and his parents always take his side; they aren't going to be pleased when I leave." "His parents are more aware than you realize of how he treats you. They will be supportive when you leave; they wonder why you have not already done so. As for your parents, they have failed you in many ways in your life, but you are still their child and they will support you to the extent you are able. They, too, see more than you believe they do." "So when will I be leaving?" "You know that I will not tell the future, April. When you leave is entirely your choice. Just know that you have the love and support of many, seen and unseen, and trust that all will result in your highest benefit." "Yeah, it usually does. Can you tell me anything more about that guy?" "Only that you will encounter him when you are emotionally ready to do so, and that you must be patient until that time comes. Refrain from anxiety about how and where you will meet; that will only manifest itself in a 'don't-want', as you and my host call it, and may cause you not to meet him at all." An image flashed into April's mind: a tall, brown-haired man with kind brown eyes crinkled around the edges by a smile, and a mustache and goatee. Was this the man Oliver referred to? How long would she have to wait to find out?" "Have you further questions?" Oliver asked. "None that you'd be willing to answer." "Very well, then, I shall take my leave. As always, it has been a pleasure speaking with you, April. You may request another session with me when you like." "Thank you." Oliver closed Fisher's eyes. After a moment, Fisher came out of his trance. He rubbed his face and grinned at April. "So how was it this time?" "Do you remember any of it?" Fisher chose whether to recall the things Oliver said during channeling sessions. With April, he often remembered more of it than with his paying clients, since April liked to discuss with him what Oliver had told her. "Something about your marriage will be over soon, and some man you're going to meet in the future." "Yeah." April pulled her knees to her chest. "I think I saw the man in my mind while Oliver was talking. Funny, though. I don't like guys with facial hair." * * * * Whenever April felt like giving up, she reminded herself of what Oliver had said. She felt like giving up a lot. Her marriage was hell; the best thing she could say about her husband was that he didn't hit her or the kids. She had to get out. It was just a matter of time. In the darkest parts of her mind, she wished her husband would die. A car accident or something. That would make it easier; she wouldn't have to leave and no one would think anything bad about her if she was a widow. She was pretty sure she could even pull off the grieving part. It would be better than cringing every time she heard his car in the driveway. "Why the fuck are you always on that goddamn computer?" Wonderful. He'd just walked through the door. Why couldn't he at least give her a minute or two to adjust before he started in on her? "I'm working on a book. I'm sending it to a publisher in a couple days and I'm trying to get it ready." "Yeah, like that's going to go anywhere. No one's going to want your books. You never do anything with them except talk about them to that friend of yours, anyway. How many times has he emailed you today?" From bitching about her writing to bitching about Fisher. It was his usual progression. Fisher was the real problem, as far as he was concerned. No matter how many times April assured him they were just friends, and despite his own conviction that Fisher was gay, he'd convinced himself that April was cheating. And he made that belief clear to everyone, including the children. When April didn't answer, he got angrier. "Well? How many times did you hear from your boyfriend today?" Tears stung her eyes. "He isn't my boyfriend. We're just friends." "Fisher's nice," added Holly, their eleven-year-old daughter. April hadn't realized she was in the doorway. "He's not Mom's boyfriend, Dad. If he was, would Mom take us to see him?" "Shut up and go to your room." "I don't like it when you yell at Mom." Holly was stronger than her mother, that was for sure. One of these days, that would get her in a lot of trouble. She shouldn't have to stick up for April. "Honey, it's fine. Do what your father says." "Yelling sucks." Holly walked away. After a second, her bedroom door slammed. "See what you're doing?" he demanded. "You're turning our daughter against me. How long before you turn my daughter against me too?" "They're both both of our daughters." "Yeah, well, you sure as hell don't act like it. You never tell me anything about their school or anything. You act like I'm incompetent." He flopped onto the bed. Living with his parents sucked; there was nowhere she could go to get away from him. "What's for supper?" "It's your mother's turn to cook. Yours is in the microwave, I think." "Which means you've all already eaten, which means you could answer my fucking question. Never mind." He stood again. "Let me know when you can be bothered to spend some time with your husband." When he left the room, April let out the breath she'd been holding and grabbed a tissue from the box beside her. He was getting worse. Much worse. If she didn't get herself and her daughters out of here soon, who knew what he might do? Her email alert tone sounded, and she opened her inbox to find a new message from Fisher. "Something happened just now," it said. "I'm concerned, April. I know you're upset right now. Was it your husband again? I know you're scared, but you need to get out." She opened a new message and typed, "Nothing serious, just his usual. Of course I'm scared. I'm a substitute teacher with no job prospects and two kids to support. And you know how he'll be if I tell him we're leaving. What choice do I have?" It took what seemed like seconds for Fisher's reply. "Do you want to die? Because that's what being with him is doing to you, killing you. Slowly and by inches, but it's killing you all the same." The words were a slap in the face. How could Fisher be so harsh? But even as she wavered between tears and anger, April knew he was right. This marriage was killing her. And worse, her daughters were growing up with the belief that this was what marriage was. She couldn't let it continue. She closed the story she'd been working on and opened a new document, entitled, "How to Get Out." Her first entry on the list was, "Find a place to go." After that, the ideas flowed easily, interrupted only by her husband's return to the room. * * * * Step one was telling her parents. Not that they'd ever shown any support when April had mentioned problems with her husband before, but she figured she at least should give them another chance. When she emailed Fisher to tell him she'd decided to go through with it, he sent a reply that included one sentence from Oliver: "Refrain from underestimating those who are close to you." She took that to mean that maybe this time, her parents would actually help. One day in early fall, April's father asked her to help him find some things in her grandmother's house. Her grandmother had been moved to a nursing home after proving several times that she was no longer safe living alone, and she'd requested some clothes and other belongings. "You've spent more time there than I have," April's father said. "You might know where these things are." The following day, while her husband was at work and the girls were at school, April drove to her father's house. It had been a rough morning; her husband had overslept and naturally blamed April for not waking him, even though she had. How could she help it if he'd gone back to sleep? She'd been busy trying to get the girls off to school and had lost track of time, so hadn't made her second attempt at waking him until fifteen minutes later than usual. The fact that the clock radio was going off didn't seem to matter to him; as far as he was concerned, it was April's job to get him out of bed. Since he'd spent so much time yelling at April, she didn't get the girls to the bus stop in time and had to drive them to school. That meant she couldn't pack her husband's lunch before he had to leave. When she got back from dropping off the girls, she'd found her wallet open on the bed with a note: "Took lunch money, since you didn't bother giving me lunch." Twenty dollars was missing. Twenty dollars they couldn't afford, since he'd already cleaned out their bank account that week. Despite the half-hour drive to her parents' house, April was still in tears when she arrived. Her father led her into the living room. "Tell me what's wrong." "We have to get that stuff for Grandma." "That isn't what's wrong, and we aren't going over there till we talk. You haven't been yourself lately. Is it your home life?" That brought a fresh wave of tears; for a few moments, April cried so hard all she could do was nod. Her father handed her a box of tissues and waited until she had composed herself. "So it is." "Yeah. How did things get so screwed up? I shouldn't have married him. But then I wouldn't have Holly and Lucie, and they're the best things in my life." "Start from the beginning. What's been happening?" The words poured out, everything that April had gone through with her husband. The yelling, the threats, and what it was doing to the children. Her father didn't speak until she was finished. Then he said, "You need to leave. We'll do everything we can." "I don't have anywhere to go." "Find somewhere. Your mother and I don't have a lot of money; we won't be able to support you. But we'll help where we can. You find an apartment and a full-time job. You have our emotional support, at least. I wish you'd spoken up sooner. You and the girls should never have had to live like that." "I didn't think I had a choice. I married him." "There's always a choice. Start looking for a job and a place to live. I'm sorry if you thought we wouldn't help you, April. Of course we will." * * * * Searching for jobs and apartments was easy to do without her husband finding out. He worked long hours, and since April spent a great deal of time on the computer anyway he didn't pay much attention to what she did. As long as she wasn't emailing Fisher. But she failed at keeping her decision a secret from him. One night during a particularly loud fight, she couldn't keep her mouth shut any longer. "Do whatever you want. We're leaving." He was stunned into momentary silence. "You're what?" "Leaving. Moving out. Getting away from you. You have no right to treat me the way you do, and I'm tired of our girls seeing it. We are leaving." "You can't do that." He started to cry, crocodile tears as usual. "You can't leave me. I need you. You haven't even given me a chance to change." "I've begged you to change since we got married, and you never have. It's been thirteen years." "I can change. You just have to let me try!" "No." All the anger left her. So did any sympathy she might have felt for him. She felt nothing at all. "You've had your chances. You can't change for someone else, you can only change for yourself. And you don't believe you need to change, because you don't see that you're doing anything wrong. It's over. We're leaving." "You fucking bitch! It's that fucking friend of yours, isn't it? He's stealing you from me. You wouldn't think of this on your own." Very calmly, April replied, "It has nothing to do with anyone but you and me. This isn't working. I am an intelligent woman and I make my own decisions. The only thing telling me to leave you is your behavior, and your reaction right now just proves my point." "You aren't taking the girls." "Yes, I am. They aren't staying with you." "You can't have both of them." "We'll discuss it later." Little ears were too close. "We aren't leaving tonight. I have to find an apartment first. But our marriage is over. Get used to the idea." "Stay. I'll let you do anything you want. I won't even bug you about your boyfriend anymore." "He isn't my boyfriend, he isn't why I'm leaving, and this conversation is over." Since he obviously wasn't about to let it go, April went downstairs and locked herself in the bathroom. When she came out, his parents were waiting for her. "I take it you heard?" "Why didn't you talk to us?" his mother asked. "Because he's your son and I thought you should hear it from him." And she'd figured they would take his side, but that sounded too argumentative to say. "We understand," his father said. "You do what's best for you and the girls." "You're still family," his mother agreed. "Let us know if we can help." April's eyes filled with tears. She really had underestimated his parents. "Thank you. That means a lot." "Just don't tell him we said it," his mother replied. * * * * As time went on, April became more and more worried that she wouldn't be able to find a job or a home. Her daughters didn't want to leave but were anxious to get away from the constant fighting between their parents, and she felt like she spent most of her time soothing tears and taking care of temper tantrums. Her husband, now that he knew it was over, didn't bother trying to stay calm most of the time, and escalated to saying things in front of the girls that he wouldn't have dreamed of saying before. After a couple months, April was desperate enough to consider a homeless shelter. Then two things happened. It became clear that April's grandmother would be staying in the nursing home indefinitely. Since she'd been moved, her mental state, shaky already, had deteriorated, and her parents wanted no part of trying to keep her home. But that left them with an empty house to take care of. "We need someone to live in your grandmother's house," her father told her one night. "Some of the bills will be paid by her pension; you'll have to pay the rest. We'll help, but you need a job first so we know you'll be able to pay." April wasn't completely sure she wanted that house. The memories from her childhood were far from favorable. But she discussed it with Fisher and Oliver via email and they assured her it would be a good temporary move for her and her children. The other occurrence was something April didn't bother trying to explain. Like Fisher, she had guides, beings whom she spoke with. For much of her life she'd thought they were imaginary friends, but since meeting Fisher she'd discovered that her "imaginary" friends knew a whole lot more than she did, and she agreed with Fisher's assessment that they were other types of beings who had chosen to work with humans. Their advice was always correct and it helped to have someone to talk to when no other humans would listen. For two weeks after her father's offer, April sent out applications for the few jobs that were available at that time of year. All resulted in either no response at all or a "thank you but you do not suit our needs" form letter. Although she was a certified teacher, she hadn't taught full-time in almost four years. She'd been working in schools, but most were unwilling to consider someone who was that out of practice at running a classroom. One afternoon, when no one else was home and Fisher wasn't answering her emails, she sat on her bed, closed her eyes, and asked, [i]Why haven't I been able to find a job? Because you are still here. I'm still here because I haven't found a job. My parents won't let me move into the house until I'm working full-time. Indeed. However, the negativity surrounding you here, accompanied by your own fears that you will not find a job, are preventing you from succeeding in your search. You must leave; once you have, a job will come to you. And if my parents disagree? Persuade them.[/i] That would be easier said than done, she was sure. Her parents had told her over and over again that they couldn't support her; she needed a job. But that weekend, when she visited, she told them, "Things are getting a lot worse. The girls and I need to get out. I know I don't have a job yet, but I guarantee I'll have one within a week of moving." "Then why wouldn't you have one within a week if you don't move?" her mother asked. April had explained her guides to her parents before, but she knew they were skeptical at best. It was slightly easier for them to accept that sometimes their daughter "just knew" things. "Being around him is holding me back. I just know I'll have a job as soon as I'm out of there. Everything will be better." She expected more of an argument. But her father nodded. "It's dragged on long enough. You have to have a job, though. Make plans for what you'll do if you don't find one." "I'll substitute teach and work part-time at a grocery store or something." "Fine. You can move next week." April spent the next week sorting out her and the girls' belongings from those of her husband. Her father helped carry boxes and other things down from the attic and even moved his truck out of the garage to make room for the piles of things that would go on the moving van. "We're sorry to see you go," he told her. "But that don't mean we're going to make it harder." The girls both cried when she told them the news. Neither wanted to leave their father, nor did they want to change schools, something they'd done far too many times as it was. April tried to persuade them it would be for the best, that they would make new friends and at least they wouldn't have to listen to fighting and yelling all the time, but at eight and eleven years old, they believed none of it. She finally resorted to, "Because I said so" as the reason for the move. On moving day, her husband and his father were both at work. Her husband had made one last attempt the night before to persuade her to stay; she'd politely told him to go fuck himself. He'd threatened to destroy the things she was taking with her; his father had responded by threatening to throw him out. The things had been left undisturbed. Fisher and his mother showed up at the same time as April's father, who had rented the moving van. Fisher's mother took the girls in her car, while Fisher and April's father loaded the van with the little help April was able to give. Finally loaded, they drove away from hers' house for what she was thankful would be the last time, except to bring the girls there for visits. With the help she had and some directions from Holly and Lucie, the van was unloaded and the house arranged fairly quickly. She had no furniture of her own, other than a few bookcases and her computer desk; fortunately, her grandmother's furniture remained. "You're all set," Fisher said when he and his mother were ready to leave. "Now you just need to find a job." True Match Ch. 01 "I will. I'm away from him. I'll have a job right away." She did. A school she'd applied to called her that afternoon for an interview, while her father was returning the rented moving van. The interview was a week later. They hired her on the spot. So, six months after the wake-up email from Fisher, they were out. They were safe. And April was ready to get on with the rest of her life, if she could just figure out how. * * * * Being a single parent was hard. Through most of the marriage, April had been solely responsible for the girls' education, their medical care, and most of the day-to-day stuff. But even though her husband hadn't done much, he'd at least been there to take over when she needed a break. His jackassish behavior had only extended to the girls on rare occasions; most of the time, he'd done all right with them. Now she was on her own with an eight-year-old who hid behind furniture and pulled pillows over her ears whenever she heard the word "divorce" and an eleven-year-old who made it abundantly clear that as far as she was concerned, her mother had destroyed their family. There were nights when the tears went in cycles, first Lucie, then Holly, then, after both girls were asleep, April. But gradually things smoothed out. The girls were with their father every weekend; April would have preferred to have them some weekends, but this way their father argued less, and she had to admit it was often a relief to have those two days to regroup. She just wished she had something to do with the time besides sit at her computer emailing Fisher and trying to write. During her marriage, April hadn't had friends. The friendship with Fisher was the first one her husband hadn't managed to sabotage or outright forbid. Although she and Fisher kept in touch, now that she lived over an hour from him and worked Monday through Friday, it was harder for them to get together. She felt disconnected from him and sensed that the friendship would end, though she tried to fight it. One weekend a couple months after the move, Fisher made the trip to visit her. The plan was to smudge the house again. They'd done so just before she moved in, but all the arguments between the girls and between Holly and April had left her feeling that another smudging was in order. After a couple hours of working their way from the cellar to the attic with smoking bundles of sage, she and Fisher settled on the couch with a plate of vegan tacos for the kind of talk they hadn't had in months. Except it was different this time. "How are you doing with sex?" Fisher asked. April almost choked on her taco. "Say what?" "You were worried that you wouldn't be able to think of sex as anything positive. You'd made strides toward that, but I'm sure it was hard while you were still with one of the reasons you thought that way. So how are you doing now that you're away from him?" "I don't know. It isn't like I've had options. I don't know anyone to date or anything, so how am I supposed to think of it? I'm busy taking care of the girls and getting used to working full-time again." "You don't have to have sex with someone else to learn to enjoy it. In fact, given everything you've dealt with, it's probably best you don't. Someday someone will help you with the partner thing, but right now, take time by yourself." "By myself?" April raised an eyebrow. She masturbated, of course; it was the only way she'd been able to orgasm during her marriage. Or at least the only way she'd been willing to. She hadn't liked sex with her husband, and so had trained herself not to orgasm or even feel arousal when he made his clumsy moves on her. And she'd refused to let him touch her at all for the last six months of the marriage, after she'd started feeling sick to her stomach every time he even hugged her. But as far as she was concerned, masturbation had little to do with sex; it was just a way to relieve frustration. "Yes, by yourself," Fisher said. "Do you even know what you like and what you don't like sexually?" "Not really. I only had sex with two people before my ex, and each of them was only once." One had been her best male friend; the other had been a guy he'd fixed her up with. "So if you don't know what you like, how can you expect a partner to know? Spend some time with your body. Explore yourself, not just the sexual parts, because every inch of you can be an erogenous zone if touched right. See what feels good. Buy a vibrator and experiment with that." "Yeah, because I'm really going to walk into a store and buy a vibrator." What the hell was his problem? He knew her better than that. Why were they even having this conversation? "You can order one online. That's your assignment, in fact. Look online and find a vibrator. You don't have to order it yet, but I want you to find one." Throughout their friendship, Fisher had given her little "assignments", tasks he'd come up with to help her deal with things from her past and present, or to help improve her physical or emotional health. He practiced a few forms of energy healing, including one he'd developed himself, and had taught April the techniques as well as performing several sessions on her; the assignments usually arose out of those. This wasn't the first time he'd given her an assignment dealing with her sexuality, but it was the first one that had been so blatant. "What if I don't want a vibrator?" "Then don't get one. You never have to do anything I suggest, you know that. But you have a major block about this and I think it would benefit you to at least see what's available. Toys aren't a substitute for sex with others; they're an aid. Sex can be as meaningful for one as for two or ten." Recognizing the words Oliver had said to her in one of their channeling sessions, April had to smile. But only briefly; she was too angry. "Sex is meaningless anyway, and what is the point of only having it with myself?" "So you can learn what you like and don't like and overcome some of your resistance to it, so you'll be ready when you find a partner. You're being impatient, and I can understand that after all the time you spent trying to keep this part of you shut away, but it isn't something you can rush." "I'll think about it." "All right." Fisher nabbed the last taco and bit off a third of it. The conversation apparently was over. * * * * Except with Fisher, nothing was ever over. His emails over the next few weeks were full of questions like, "Have you tried submerging yourself in a bath and just letting your body feel the water?" and "What's the longest you've ever masturbated? Try an hour." To the first, April replied, "I don't take baths. I don't like baths." To the second, she didn't bother replying. What the hell was she supposed to do with herself for an hour? If she hadn't known Fisher as well as she did, she would have been suspicious of his sudden interest in her solo sex life. As it was, she had to wonder if he planned in the future to be the partner he'd mentioned. Although she'd never told anyone, shortly before she'd decided to leave her husband she and Fisher had admitted having feelings for each other. He had qualified it, though, by saying that "love" had too many forms for him to be certain of what he felt for her. Now that she was out of her marriage, maybe a relationship with Fisher could develop. But if that was his intent, he gave no sign of it in the relentless emails. Out of irritation, with the excuse that she was just trying to shut him up, April started doing the things he suggested. It was fortunate that the girls were gone on weekends; she was barely comfortable masturbating in her bedroom to a quick orgasm with them in the house, even with the bedroom door closed and music playing to drown out any sounds she might make, and some of Fisher's ideas required more than that. One Saturday while the girls were gone, April decided to get it over with. She emailed Fisher and told him she wouldn't be on her computer much that day. "I'm doing homework." It was too early in the morning for him to be awake to reply, which she was grateful for. She didn't want to see what he would say; she knew he'd know exactly what she meant. She showered and didn't bother dressing. [i]Why did you shower?[/i] one of her guides asked her. [i]If you're following the suggestions, you'll take a bath later. Seems like a bit of overkill.[/i] "I never said I was going to take a bath." The good thing about being alone was that she could talk out loud to her guides and no one would think she was crazy. "I don't like baths." [i]You don't like baths because of what happened when you were a child. You're not a child anymore. People enjoy baths; they're relaxing. Are you going to let thirty-year-old fears keep you from enjoying something?[/i] "Why the hell did you have to bring that up?" She didn't bother trying not to cry. When she'd been very young, before she started school, she'd been forced to take baths. Invariably her mother got angry with her for either not holding still while she washed her, which April hated anyway because her mother was far from gentle, or for making a mess while playing in the tub. Sometimes her father had been the one to bathe her, and for April that had been worse; even at three or four, she'd been ashamed to be naked in front of him, especially since he had seemed equally uncomfortable. When she turned five, he'd shown her how to start the shower; from then on, she'd cleaned herself. She'd given her own children baths only until they could stand up unsupported; after that, both girls had learned to take showers, though both enjoyed baths when they had time. [i]Let it out. Baths aren't the enemy. Your parents made you uncomfortable, but they were in the wrong. You know this. You're not that child any longer; you're an adult and if you want to take a bath, no one can stop you or make you feel ashamed. Take control.[/i] "Later." April grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper and blew her nose. "Not now. I can't do it right now." There was no answer, but April didn't need one. She knew what the answer would have been. She couldn't put things off forever if she wanted to reclaim the part of her that she'd locked away when she was a child. So even though she'd just finished her shower, she ran a bath. In the medicine cabinet, she found a packet of lavender bath salts that someone had given Holly for Christmas; lavender had healing qualities, if she remembered right, so she dumped the packet's contents into the water. When the tub was full enough, she stepped into it. [i]Submerge yourself. Let the water envelop you completely. Let yourself feel it over all of your skin.[/i] "Not my face." Anything on or too close to her face caused panic attacks. Her guide's tone was amused. [i]No, your face may stay exposed.[/i] "Yeah. Funny." She sank down so the water covered her to her neck. Despite her resistance, the warm water soothed her. It was relaxing lying here, surrounded by the scent of lavender, knowing that no one was around to disturb or interrupt her. The touch of the water on her skin was like a caress, sensual. Almost sexual as she parted her legs and allowed the water to touch between them. Arousing. Closing her eyes, she slipped a hand between her legs and fingered the hard nub there. Her other hand came up to cup one breast, then the other. Gently she rubbed her nipples with fingertips, which sent shudders through her. She increased the pressure on her clitoris. Her other hand left her breasts and ran lightly down her belly, past her mound to her thighs, which it also explored. After years of training herself not to feel physical sensations, her nerve endings now hungered for touch. Although it was only her own hands, her body responded. The pleasure grew; between her legs, a pulsing began. She slipped two fingers inside herself and moaned at having something there for the first time in over eight months. Normally when she masturbated, she focused only on her clit; that brought her the quickest, strongest orgasms. She almost never penetrated herself, but now she moved the fingers around, searching for the G-spot she'd read about. She was unsure whether she found it, but when she touched a spot at the front of her pussy, she came almost instantly. God, had she really done that? Had she really gotten herself off in the tub? She'd never masturbated anywhere but in bed, or occasionally on the couch. Not only had she done it in the tub, but she'd enjoyed it, enjoyed the feeling of exploring her entire body instead of only her genitals. [i]See? Baths aren't all that bad.[/i] * * * * Despite her experience in the tub, though, April still viewed masturbation as a pale substitute for sex. Although Fisher kept talking about sex and giving April assignments to do relating to it, he gave no indication at all of any interest in helping her learn more. She would have to find another partner if she wanted to move beyond "self-infliction", as she half-jokingly called it. The problem was, she had no way to meet anyone in real life. So she decided to try online. After doing some searches for friendship and dating sites, April joined an "adult friend" website. At first, she was naïve enough to think that the site was just for friendship; she figured out quickly that she was wrong. But she chose to stay with it. After all, if she hoped to find a sex partner, she might as well belong to a sex site. The idea of sex outside a relationship was strange to her, but after a few discussions with Fisher she'd realized there was nothing wrong with having sex with a friend, and thought that might be easier for her at first given her currently negative view of romantic relationships. Some of the conversations in the regional chat room on the "friend" site shocked her; she spent a good deal of time with a red face and occasionally in tears. The things people said didn't upset her because they were explicit; they upset her because these people seemed to have a healthy view of their own sexuality, and she hated that she'd missed out on it in her own life. She began spending more and more time in chat, learning from what she read; she often commented that she was taking notes. Everyone assumed she was joking. After a week or so, a guy asked for her instant messenger screen name. They chatted privately for several days, but April turned down all his invitations to meet. Something about him felt off, though she couldn't put her finger on it, and although it was flattering to have a man interested in sex with her she didn't want to take the first offer she got just for the sake of having sex. Besides, he kept asking her to meet him on evenings when the girls were at home, and April refused to put anyone ahead of her children. They were too young to stay home alone, and it felt wrong to leave them to have sex with someone who was still a stranger to her. Finally giving in to her curiosity about toys, she ordered an inexpensive vibrator from an online store. The day it arrived, which was fortunately a Saturday, she stared at it for an hour before she even worked up the nerve to turn it on. After another half hour of flipping it on and off, she got fed up with herself. "For crying out loud, it's a piece of plastic. It isn't going to bite me. Let's get this over with." Part of the problem was that it was only a piece of plastic; she wanted to feel the real thing inside her, not a battery-operated substitute. But she had told Fisher she would keep an open mind, so after another few minutes of watching the thing vibrate, she went to her bedroom and undressed. Rather than just plunging the thing inside her, she first ran it lightly over her body, taking a couple extra seconds at each nipple. It was a unique sensation, different from but equally as pleasurable as touching herself with her hand. The touch of the object built her arousal, and finally she slipped it between her legs. When it brushed against her clit, she jumped. This was much more intense than fingering herself. If she kept the vibrator there, she knew she would come quickly. For a change, she didn't want that. Instead, she slowly slid it inside herself. At first, her pussy stretched uncomfortably to accept it, since it had had nothing larger than her fingers in it for so long. The discomfort soon gave way to pleasure, though; she'd forgotten how nice it felt to have something filling her. She moved it in and out, slowly thrusting until her orgasm was just over the brink. Then she brought it back to her clit. The result was the strongest orgasm she'd ever had, so strong she was sure she blacked out for a second. And she screamed. That startled her back to reality. The entire time she was married, she'd never made a sound during sex. Noise had been one of the things that annoyed her husband; he was always afraid the kids or someone else would overhear, as though he was ashamed of sleeping with his wife. During masturbation she sometimes gasped or breathed heavily, hence playing music when the girls were home, but that was the most sound she made. She'd trained herself to be silent, just as she'd trained herself not to feel arousal or orgasm. It was nice not to have to live that way anymore. * * * * Eventually April's IM friend gave up, since she kept refusing to meet him. However, a week or so after he told her he was done, another guy from the chat room asked if she wanted to get together for coffee. She agreed; they met on a Saturday, and a week later she invited him to her house. For the first time in sixteen years, she had sex with someone other than her ex-husband. It was incredible. She saw him a couple more times, then his work schedule started interfering, or so he claimed. A couple other guys from chat showed interest; April met them as well. After hating it for so long, she discovered an enjoyment of sex. And, as she'd done since she met him, she emailed Fisher about the things she learned. Sometimes she thought she might be giving him too many details, but he didn't complain. She realized that she wasn't focusing as much as she should have been on her children, but they seemed all right. Both were fitting in at their new schools. Both were beginning to come to terms with the separation, though Holly still fought with her mother over foolish things. April planned to get the three of them into counseling; she just had to find the time to make the calls. Fisher asked her a few times if she'd taken care of it, but she always had an excuse for not doing it. That brought the end of her and Fisher's friendship. He called her one night and said, "Do you know what you're doing to Holly and Lucie?" "I'm not doing anything to them. I'm trying to have a life." "Don't they deserve a life too? And a mother who pays attention to them?" "I take care of my kids." "You spend all your time talking to and about men. You're never happy. I thought once you got away from your husband you'd be happy and have a good life, but that doesn't seem to be happening." "I only go on dates when the girls are with their father, and I'm trying to be happy. That's why I'm dating." "No one else can make you happy. You're the only one who can do that for yourself." He paused. "Our paths are going different directions now. I'm sorry, April, but I don't think we can be friends anymore." "What?" How could he say that? "I don't like what I'm seeing, and you obviously aren't interested in the same things I am anymore. That doesn't mean we're enemies; I hope that if you run into me at the bookstore or something you'll still give me a hug. But we can't be what we are now." That hurt, which made April furious. "Thanks a lot." "There's no need to be angry." "Oh, yes, there is! You're a liar." True Match Ch. 01 "What have I said that's a lie?" "You promised me once that we would always be friends. You promised that you would never judge me, bail on me, or intentionally hurt me, and you've just done all three. As far as I'm concerned, breaking promises makes you a liar. Have a nice life, Fisher." April slammed down the phone and felt a moment of triumph for standing up for herself before she dissolved into tears. * * * * With Fisher out of her life, April had no one to hide behind. Even though she mourned the loss of the friendship, after her initial anger faded she realized it was for the best. She'd come to rely on Fisher far too much; she'd even fantasized a relationship with him. Now she had to do things on her own, and for once in her life she felt strong enough to try. Even though she was angry at Fisher, she had to admit he was right about the girls. She had neglected them; she'd made sure their basic needs were met, but she'd procrastinated about things like yearly doctor check-ups and hadn't spent much time actually talking to or playing games with them. With more time on her hands, she held weekly family meetings so the girls could talk about what they thought and felt. She also made a list of things the girls needed, which she plugged away at. And she began making a point of hugging each girl whenever she could and telling them how much she loved them. It took a while, but both of them responded to it, and after a couple months April felt that she'd undone most of the damage her focus on dating had done. Since the girls were still with their father every weekend, and because she began to feel lonely, she started going to parties held by the members of the chat room. At the parties, she met a few men whom she dated once or twice, but more importantly, she formed friendships with some men and women. For once she felt like she belonged somewhere. Over the next few months, dating became less important to her and she started looking for more. She had a couple of short relationships. One ended after a month and a half when the guy complained she spent too much time with her daughters, and the other tapered off because he lived too far away and had a temper that reminded April far too much of her ex-husband. She wondered whether a relationship was really best for her. The divorce was finalized nine months after the separation. After that, her ex went from bad to worse. He started seeing a woman who had six children of her own and who told him to ignore his own children in favor of hers. He did so because "I love her and I don't want to lose her." She left him or threw him out frequently, and each time he cried for days, threatened suicide, and then hunted her down. Five months later, after a weekend visit during which he screamed at Holly that everything was her fault and he wanted to kill himself and take her with him, April filed a protection order against him. He ranted and raved, but since it was to his family and not to her, April didn't care. Especially when his family told her she'd done the right thing. * * * * So a year and a half after she packed up and left, April felt like she had things together. She had a good relationship with both her daughters, she'd managed to secure a full-time teaching job after working half a year at the job she'd gotten when she moved, and she and her daughters were in both individual and family counseling. The only thing that wasn't going well was her love life. She'd just ended a six-month relationship with a truck driver who was on the road so much they hadn't seen each other in almost three months. He accepted the break-up, but was persistent about trying to win her back. Meanwhile, the man who'd complained April spent too much time with her kids had tried to get back together with her and had been angry when she'd refused. She wasn't interested anymore in just dating, or in hooking up. It had been a year and a half; she'd come a long way from the scared, uncertain woman who'd moved out of hers' home. She was ready now, she thought, for a real relationship, for the man Oliver had told her about. It was time to be alone for a while. Until that man entered her life, she was done with dating.