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Chapter 4: Exodus

The weeks turned into months and from Passion still not a word. Love was with her, she was with love. He smothered her with attention and admonitions of his love. He anticipated and catered to her every whim. She enjoyed being with Love, enjoyed that now they could laugh, joke around, hug each other, and be there for each other in a way that they weren’t before. No matter how hard she tried, her thoughts still returned to Passion. She tried to rid herself of the memory, she tried to focus all of her energies on to Love, she immersed herself in her work, she worked on herself, she wanted to be a woman worthy of Love and way too good for Passion.

She read self help books, attended session after session of counseling, sought support from her friends, and tried desperately to solve the riddle of passion and love. She listened to the stories of strangers in their own struggles between passion and love. She heard tale after tale of how love had failed and the evil that men and women do and she wondered if these acts were committed out of love or passion, which emotion could inflict such pain and suffering? Men and women both lied, drank, cheated, lusted, and cried all in the namesakes of passion and love. She began to wonder if either passion or love was worth it. She began to appreciate Love all the more, at least with Love she knew exactly what she was getting. She began to curse Passion, vowing never to allow herself to fall into that trap again. She was still lost without any answers, cursing Passion, appreciating Love.

Another fall had come, the summer was over in an instant, as brief as her interlude was with Passion. The sky was grey, the rain fell like cold tears, and it was as bleak and desolate as she felt on the inside. She went to the bar to try to find some warmth and comfort in a shot glass. The bar was practically empty, a couple sat at a table, two men in the back played pool, and a man clad in flannel sat at the far end of the bar, perched up against it, downing a mug of beer. She slid onto the barstool and ordered a shot of Jack Daniels. The drink slid down easily and she was grateful for the burn of its warmth, she ordered another.

The man at the end of the bar looked at her, examining her. With a false grin she returned his stare. He motioned to the barkeep to set up another round and slid across the seats, landing next to her. She made a gesture of thanks as she downed the shot, the warmth from the whiskey spread throughout her body and dulled her pain. She wondered what this man’s story was, what tale of woe would she have to endure tonight? Anything was better than being alone right now she mussed. The man introduced himself, shaking her hand. He had dark hair, eyes hidden by a ball cap, he was of medium build, bits of chest hair peeped out of the neckline of his flannel shirt, and his smile, he had a wonderful, warming, sexy smile which threw her off guard. She liked this man who called himself Bruce. She waited for his tale of woe to begin, but it did not, they engaged in light friendly conversation, chatting about the weather and so forth.

As the evening went on, they chatted like old friends. Her head was beginning to spin from the drink, luckily she could walk home. She liked this guy. She politely declined the drink he was ordering for her and excused herself for the walk home. He steadied her as she slid down off the barstool and asked her if she wanted a ride. She thought about this, he had been nursing the same beer for hours and she didn’t relish the thought of walking home in the cold rain, gratefully she accepted. He navigated her to his truck, the water beaded off the heavily waxed black exterior. He boosted her up as she slid onto the seat, she didn’t realize she had gotten so tipsy. She gave him directions to her house; he obeyed, brushing against her knee as he shifted gears. When he arrived at her house, he slid the truck out of gear, and turned off the engine. He slid out of the truck, opened her door, and helped her get out of the hulking, black beast. She asked him if he wanted to come in, he readily accepted.

Once inside her apartment, she offered him a drink and put on some music, together they swayed dancing, the ice melting in their forgotten drinks. The pressure of his hand on the small of her back was making her heart race, she leaned into him heavily. As her hips brushed against him, she could feel him rise against her; he lowered his head resting it on her shoulder. The exhales of his breath, warm against her neck, his lips as they caressed her pulse points, his tongue as it licked at her neck, his assault was awakening her senses, weakening her resolve.

They melted into one another; she slid her hands up the back of his shirt, the skin of his back smooth and warm. Her head was swimming, her heart racing, he slid her blouse up over her head, not bothering to unbutton it, he lowered his head to her breasts and begun to slide his tongue underneath their lacy confines. She arched her back, bringing her breasts closer to his tongue. Her senses illegal bahis reeled as he lowered the straps to her bra, sliding it down around her waist, his mouth claiming her nipples, sucking greedily on them, nipping at them gently with his teeth.

He lifted her up, instinctively she wrapped her legs around him, and she could feel his prick straining against his jeans. “Which way to the bedroom?” he asked. Without a word, she directed the way. His muscular arms held her tight like bands of steel. She kissed him deeply, he tasted of beer. He lowered her onto the bed; he unzipped her jeans and lowered them, discarding them on the floor. He stood over her, admiring her. Her brown hair splayed across the covers framing her heart shaped face, her brown eyes glimmered in the dim of evening, her small breasts, firm, nipples erect and yearning to be caressed. Her narrow waist, curing hips, the dark bush that lay in between them, he stood over her, staring down, assessing her appreciatively.

He lowered his jeans, removed his flannel shirt, giving her a chance to evaluate him. His chest was broad and well formed, covered in a layer of thick, curly, dark chest hair. He had a bit of a beer belly and narrow hips. His cock thick and of adequate size, stood at full attention. His testicles were covered with a layer of thick, dark, hair. His thighs were muscular and well formed, his butt was just as well muscled and firm, fitting perfectly in her hand. He lowered himself onto her, sliding into her with ease. He glided in a rocking motion, slowly, causing her heart to race and her senses to reel. He teased her nipples with his tongue, tracing the areola in circular motions. He was good.

Grabbing onto her tightly, he rolled over on his back, bringing her on top of him. His cock plunged farther into her, causing a new wave of pleasure. She rocked faster and faster, her muscles tightening and spasming in orgasm. She slid off of him, and began to kiss her way down his chest and belly, taking in the length of his cock into her mouth. She could taste herself on him, she could taste him. He gasped and moaned in his own private world of pleasure. She was good. He grabbed her hair, stopping her before she could finish him. He liked this woman, he wanted to relish her. He guided her onto her knees, raising her ass high, he entered her deeply, ramming into her. She cried out in pleasure, their orgasm reaching its crescendo. He pulled his prick out, just before he finished, with a jerk he came. She could feel his come running down her ass; he entered her again, going soft inside of her.

They lay together, entwined in each other’s arm, lost in a private world of thought. She pondered what had just transpired. Was this love? Was this passion? Was this lust? She surmised that it had to be lust; she didn’t really know this guy. She liked him and felt comforted by his smile. This was just a random encounter, each of them satisfying their animal drives. He spent the night and left early the next morning. She showered and went to work as usual, she wondered if she’d ever bump into him again. If she did, that would be great, if she didn’t, that was ok too. Oddly enough, she hadn’t thought of Passion or of Love, just of the man with the enduring smile. She didn’t know where he fit in, but he had given her a temporary reprieve from the conflict which raged within her.

Chapter 5: Settling In

The weeks passed into memory, she had settled into somewhat of a peaceful existence. She had given up on Passion and decided to move onward. She had Love as a companion; she lived on her own, worked and lived, her life free, devoid of passion. She began to wonder if she would ever see Passion again. She began to wonder if her passion wasn’t an illusion, as good as sex was, it was never Passion.

The depths of winter left her chilled, she watched the snow as it fell and fell. Winter storm warnings were posted; she watched the updates as they flashed across her TV screen. The winds from the north rattled her windows; she could hear the crystal plinking of ice as it pelted against the panes. She was supposed to go out tonight, but the weather was too nasty. She cuddled up in a fleece throw, sipped wine, and listened to her stereo. There was a knock on her door, who would be crazy enough to travel in this weather? She wondered to herself.

She opened the door, it was Passion. Her heart pounded, her cheeks reddened, her knees weakened, her palms sweaty. She didn’t say a word; she stepped out of the entryway and bid him to come in. His hair was windblown and disheveled. Snow was caked in the wrinkles of his jeans, his boots dripping with melting snow making her floor wet. Sheepishly, he looked down at her. “Can I crash here for a while?” he asked. He didn’t wait for a reply; he began peeling off layers of winter garb, discarding them on the floor.

Her mind was racing as she thought for something to say, she hadn’t seen him, hadn’t heard from him, he didn’t care how hard she had crashed, and now here he was seeking her for shelter from the illegal bahis siteleri winter storm. Her first instinct was to slam the door in his face and leave him at the mercy of the northern gale; instead she motioned to the couch. She retreated to the kitchen to make some coffee.

She returned from the kitchen with two steaming mugs of freshly brewed coffee and cookies to munch on. He gratefully took the mug from her, holding it in his hands, inhaling the steam. She waited for him to speak; she fought back the tears of anger which threatened to fall. “How have you been?” he asked avoiding her glaring stare. He took a sip of the hot brew, faking interest in the designs on the mug avoiding her.

She didn’t reply, he went on to speak. “Sorry about showing up like this, my truck broke down a block from here. I thought I might visit an old friend for a while.” She listened to him banter on about how busy he had been, listened to him yammer on about his job, his house, trivialities about what he had been doing since last they spoke. She faked interest, but she wasn’t interested in the least. He munched on a cookie and commented about how good they were. She hoped he choked on them, she hoped he choked on the words which fell out of his mouth like the ice which pelted her window. She excused herself to go to the bathroom; she could hold back the tears no longer.

She cried in long drawn out sobs, her body trembled under the force of them. She had loved him at one time, she loved him still. She wanted him; she wanted him to take her, to make love to her. His scent assaulted her; it permeated every room of her tiny apartment. The sound of his voice caressed her like a lover’s hand; she wanted those hands with their long, gentle fingers caressing her body. She wanted his cock, long and hard, she longed to feel it slide into her. She was roused from her revere by a rap on the bathroom door. “Are you ok?” he asked. She wasn’t, but she lied. She blotted the tears away, taking deep breaths; she gathered her composure and went out to face him.

Seeing her face, he frowned, turning away from her he uttered “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come.” He shoulders dropped, his body posture was stooped. She reached out to touch him; he turned to face her taking her into his arms. Winding herself around him, she melted into him. She lost control of herself, crying. He tried to console her, he ran his fingers through her hair, and gently he wiped the tears from her cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt. “What did you want from me?” he asked. “What else could I do?” he pled, begging for her understanding. “I didn’t lie to you about who I was.” “I told you everything up front.” “You went in with your eyes open.” He held her tightly, rocking her gently in his arms.

“I know, I know” she responded in between the sobs. Her heart which had acted as a sort of dam had broken free; she cried tears of sadness, tears of guilt, tears of regret, tears of anger and pain. All that she had felt and tucked away flowed from her now, cleansing her, she confessed all, and he sat back on the couch, holding her, listening. He didn’t know how else to help her, he listened. He hung his head low, what a bastard I am he thought to himself. He had love, he had her love still, he had turned his back on it, turned his back on her. He felt honored that she loved him, he knew how rare it was to find someone, just one person in this world who gave a damn, one person who would love you no matter what, true love was so rare. Yet though he felt undeserving of it, he had it. He had run from her, run away from love.

They sat together on the couch, sheltering each other from the private storms that raged inside of them. The storm outside had lifted, leaving the trees heavy with glistening ice, the snow had formed a hard, clean, white, frozen crust on the bleak ground. The world was quiet, smoke poured from the chimneys of the tiny houses of the town; their roofs were white with the snow, icicles hung from their gutters. The stars glittered in the clear night sky. The world was clean, fresh, and silent. She felt clean, absolved. She had finally gotten to say all of the things she needed to say, he had listened.

When he left, he kissed her softly on the forehead, saying that he would talk to her soon. She knew he still wanted her just as badly as she wanted him; they would always want each other. He would always be her Passion; she would always be his Love. He would be the body, she the soul, they would always be a part of each others life, sharing memory and past. She didn’t know if they shared a future or what or if that future would be. At least now, she could breathe freely again. She was freed of the weight that she had carried for so long, free from Passion.

In a way, she pitied Passion, he was only passion, he couldn’t let go to love. He would wander in his private abyss the way she had wandered in hers. He would go from woman to woman, running from love. She felt sorry for him; she wondered how long he would wander through this private labyrinth canlı bahis siteleri he had created for himself. She hadn’t seen his weakness before, now it was so painfully obvious to her.

She cuddled under the sheets, pulling the blankets up to her chin, listening to the wind as it sung her to sleep. She slept a fitful sleep for the first time in a long time. She dreamt of Passion, she dreamt of Love, the dreams were warm, happy. For the first time in a long time, she was warm, she was happy. She found a bit of peace, a sliver of sanity in an insane world. She found her peace within herself. She was alone, but not lonely.

She didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, she didn’t know if she’d end up with Passion or with Love or either of them. Tomorrow was a long way off. She would deal with it as it came. She might never know the answer to the riddles of passion and love. Maybe there were no answers, only more questions. She knew, that it was possible to have them both, she knew that she had them both passion and love, they were within her.

Chapter 6: The Vow

Love is patient,

Love is kind

It does not envy

It does not boast

It is not proud

It is not rude

It is not self seeking

It is not easily angered

It keeps no record of wrongs

Love does not delight in evil

But rejoices with the truth

It always protects

Always trusts

Always hopes

Always perseveres

Love never fails

1 Corinthians 13.4

Today she was marrying her lover, her friend, her passion, her love, her heart. She smoothed the ivory dress, straightened a stray length of hair, her hands trembled as she held the tiny bouquet of flowers; lavender carnations, white roses, babies breath, and ivy shook in her fingers. Unlike her first wedding, this one was a simple gathering of their closest friends and family, unlike her first wedding, there were no regrets, no thoughts of Passion, only of Love.

After the snows and ice of winter had melted, after the wake of the storm which had raged within her, she too began to melt. She had seen Passion for what he really was, she was about to be reintroduced to Love as well. It was a beautiful spring night, the scent of flowers hung heavily in the cool night air. She and Love had gone out for dinner, he walked her to the door of her apartment, and she bid him inside. She tried to kiss him, she tried to arouse him, and he took her by the hand leading her to the couch.

He looked deeply into her eyes, she wondered what he was about to say. “I have to tell you what a good time I have when I’m with you” he began the conversation. She nodded encouraging him to continue. “I wish you’d come home, I want us to be together” he went on to say. “You know I love you, you know I want you, but I can’t wait any longer.” He looked down at the floor avoiding her gaze. She understood, she really did, even though he had the patience of a saint, enough was enough.

“I’m happy when I’m with you. I’m happy on my own,” she replied taking his hands in hers. “I don’t know where I’m going, I’m just happy to have you to share the path with me.” She said, looking into his eyes. She knew this conversation would happen; it was just a matter of time. She had to make a choice; she had chosen her life over Passion, now she would have to decide between Love and her life.

“I have to tell you something,” he said, tracing the pattern in the rug with his toe. “I’ve met someone, I want to be with you, but if you don’t want me, I’d like to try with her.” He looked up with her, reading the expression on her face. He expected to find hurt and tears; she was calm, looking at him. Watching him, watching her. He went on to confess, he had slept with her. She watched him, she sensed his discomfort, and she sensed his need for her forgiveness and understanding. After his confession, she went on to make her own, telling him of Passion and of the interlude with the magnificent smiling man from the bar. They held each other, pondering what to do next, wondering where to go from here. What happens after a confession?

“Do we go on together or do we go our separate ways?” he asked. She shrugged her shoulders, she didn’t know. She couldn’t imagine not having Love in her life in some way, as friend if not lover. She took his hand in hers, lifting it to her lips, she kissed it. She forgave him; she had forgiven herself a long time ago, would he forgive her? He rose his feet, seeing himself out.

In the weeks that passed, spring turned into summer, her confession was difficult for him to handle. He understood, but could he accept it? He called her often, not wanting to break communication between them. They joked and laughed, talking in ways they hadn’t talked before. He didn’t pursue the offers from other women; he saw a gleam of hope. He could win back his Love; she had been purified by fire, cleansed by confession as had he. He saw her in a way that he had never seen her before, she was a woman, not a wife, mother, care giver, daughter, friend, lover, she had transcended all of the roles placed on her, she was a woman. It was this woman he desired. He began to fall in love with this woman, he no longer longed for his Love, and she was lost forever. She had evolved into a woman, this was who he loved.



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