Of Our Hell and Heaven

So a little before midnight that Wednesday, I drove to Boston's South Station, left my car in a parking lot, and took the train. It was a sleepless night, not only because I was tired and missed my bed, but most of all, because I was on my way to meet my dream woman. Yes, Sophie had become a dream for me to realize. I was slowly falling in love with her, but so slowly that I hadn't noticed it until now, when I on my way to meet her for the first time. What was desire and lust at first is now a different kind of feeling. There is desire and lust, but there's also love and my wanting to be with her forever.

It took four hours for the train to get to New York at 5:14 AM, and I immediately took a taxi to the airport. The flight, if everything went according to plan, would land in New York at 6:05, so I had less than an hour to get there. The flight was on time and I was in the waiting area outside the customs hall when the first class passengers began to appear through the doors of the customs area.

I was a mess, my makeup running (didn't have time to fix it) with trip-rumpled clothes and the nerves to the skin. What would she think of me and my scruffy state? Would she regret having come to see and be with me? The doors opened to make way for another passenger and my mind went blank. My God, a goddess had appeared in the doorway and I could hardly recognize her, but it was definitely my Sophie. Statuesque, with an elegant Nobuk leather coat hanging from her shoulders, a handbag and shoes of the same material, her presence took my breath away. How could I take this vision of heaven to Boston in a railroad car?

I saw her eyes roam the hall searching for me, and they lit on when she saw me standing near the thick rope that didn't allow visitors to pass. With rapid, but by no means less elegant steps, she approached me, and opened her arms to squeeze me in a tight embrace. Her French perfume almost made me swoon; I had gotten the surprise of my life. She is amazingly beautiful.

"Hello, my dear, how nice to meet you at last."

Her pronunciation was perfect, almost unaccented, with maybe a little touch of the King's English.

Her words seemed to wake from a dream, "Hello, Sophie, I'm so glad to have you here." My own words sounded stupid to me. I looked around to get my bearings while trying to recover my composure, took a deep breath, and saw a porter patiently waiting with two big and one small valises; it was her luggage.

"Shall we proceed, my love; where are we going? You know I'm now entirely at your whims, I mean in your hands." I blushed a deep red at the double entendre of her words.

"Yes, hmmm, we'll take a taxi to the train station, then its four hours home," I babbled. "We have to take the train at 7:25," and we did so.

I couldn't but admire her once seated in the sleeping car. She had travelled almost eleven hours during the night, and was fresh as a daisy; she was a perfect lady, and smiling to myself, I hoped I could make her a whore in my bedroom.

She asked me what was I thinking as she saw my lips curve in a little smile; I couldn't tell her what I was thinking, right? At least not now. The trip was uneventful; we chatted and gossiped, not touching on the reasons for her being here. She told me little pieces of her life, and overcoming my natural shyness, I told stories of my childhood, about Mom and Pop and my trips to Italy...

We went to the dining car for breakfast around 9:00; we took a table where we could see the snowy New England landscape, and I couldn't but admire the hearty breakfast she took; how could she with that body? Mine was mere milk, tea with a toast, and I had to ask, "Tell me, Sophie..."

"Yes, my dear?" while she delicately took a little piece of marmalade from her upper lip with a napkin.

"No, no, nothing, sorry," I apologized, blushing fiercely.

"Oh don't apologize, my little love, you want to know how could I eat this breakfast and not worry about gaining weight, don't you?"

"Yesssss something like that."

"Well, I'll tell you a little secret, but don't tell anybody, OK? You see I have a very high metabolism, and fats don't stick to my cells; I quickly burn down fats."

"Oh," was my only intelligent answer. She wanted to lighten the mood and called the waiter to pay the check, leaving several bills on the table; I wanted to oppose her, and said that she was my guest and I should pay.

"Don't worry, my dear; I promise I'll let you pamper me from now on, anyway you want?"

The double entendre once again; I was astonished, I was supposed to be the expert on how a woman flirts and makes lesbian love, not the other way around. We went back to our compartment and she carefully and discreetly steered the conversation about what plans I had for the next few weeks. We talked about many things; without prying, she asked me what my parents thought about my sexual preferences and I told her the truth; Mom was very understanding and resigned; Pop was sorry only because there won't be grandchildren.

I was very curious about her friend Maria de las Mercedes' story knowing the importance it had had in turning Sophie's mind toward a new way of thinking about sexual relationships. I also wanted to know what had happened with her friend's love life, but was afraid to ask at that moment.

"I want to warn you about my modest house, Sophie. By your attire and demeanor, I assume you come from a very wealthy family, or you're very wealthy at least, and I'm worried..."

"Don't be my dear. Yes I have a little money of my own, but I must tell you I was educated till I was sixteen, and my life... changed in a very Spartan girls' only Catholic school."

She stopped speaking; the lines of her face had softened when I looked at her face, and she seemed to have returned to that stage of her life in her mind. I was fascinated at the change, her mature face looked like she was fifteen or sixteen again, and I was falling head over heels in love with her. She seemed to come out of a trance and with a warm smile she, as if by chance, told me, "Besides I know everything about you. I know where you live; I have even a couple pictures of your beautiful garden, I know your academic grades and your fight to get tenure of the professorship. What I know about your intimate life, you told me yourself as I told you of mine. You know things about me nobody else in the world knows."

I was speechless for a moment, then with an accusatory tone, I told her, "So you sent someone to snoop in my private life, didn't you, Darling? " The 'darling' word was full of poison and very derogatory, and my face was a mask of undisguised fury at what I, in my ignorance of the world, took as an intrusion in my private life.

She gave me a lesson on maturity; without changing her tone of voice, she told me then that she would take another train back to New York when we arrived in Boston, and would go back to Buenos Aires on the first available flight. She took a small notebook computer from her handbag, and via internet changed her return to Buenos Aires to that same night.

Then looking me straight to the eyes said: "Well, my dear, I'm very sorry to have inconvenienced you; I will not commit the stupidity of trying to pay for your troubles. I'm very grateful to you and I'm very sorry that the encounter so wanted by the both of us hasn't borne fruit. You are charming and I won't forget you for a long time."

Those words were final; she was a strong lady, and acted as such without further delay. She turned her face to the window after these words and seemed to get lost in a world that I no longer belonged in and would never be part of.

I was devastated; my angered words had come back to me as a boomerang would. My childish reaction had ended a dream of months. I was sitting in a corner of the compartment completely devastated by Sophie's apparent indifference. As she later told me after a bout of passionate lovemaking, she was watching me in the window glass reflection and was surprised by my reaction to her words and the beaten image I showed.

The door opened after twenty minutes of oppressive silence, and the train conductor announced arrival in Boston in five minutes. When the train stopped, Sophie rose and without even glancing my way followed the porter down the stairs to the station platform. I was frozen in place and unmoving, and the porter came back to the car after a few minutes and told me I must leave the platform without delay; as in a disoriented daze, I left the platform not knowing what was next.

"Come on, Girl, where's your car? Bring it here so we can go home; I'm freezing my ass big time, and I need a hot shower" I don't know what took me out of my lethargy, Sophie talking to me, her unladylike swearing, or the word 'home'; but with a "Yes, Ma'am," I sprinted to get my car.

ooo000ooo

The next couple hours were a blur of activity; we took our hot showers, had lunch, and took a nap. I gave Sophie my bed and I used the couch in my guest room and home office to get some sound sleep. With the light of day fading and as dusk was becoming night several hours later, I woke up with a foggy, mushy brain, hearing the noise of pots and pans in the kitchen. My mind couldn't register what was happening, being so accustomed to living alone as I was; then in a rapid succession of slides, the twenty last hours flashed through my mind. When I got to the kitchen, there Sophie was, preparing dinner, already bathed, perfumed, and as fresh as a rose newly-cut from the rosebush.

"Hi," I timidly said.

She turned her head from what she was doing, and with a bright smile, said "Hi yourself, I'm getting dinner ready, so why don't you take a bath and get fresh, my dear? It won't be a minute now."

"Yes, of course, I'll only be a few minutes."

"Oh, take your time, and don't worry, I'll keep everything hot." She was driving me crazy with her double entendres.

I went to shower, freshen-up, and put a little makeup on to highlight my haggard face. She had already the table set, with dinner on it, when I came back from the bathroom wearing a fluffy bathrobe. It looked and smelled delicious.

"I raided your fridge to make dinner; I hope you like it," Sophie said, with a twinkle in her eyes.

We dined and talked about what happened on our trip to Boston. She asked me to understand that it wasn't a matter of spying me or intruding in my privacy when she had paid for information about my life, but for her to be sure if it was safe to be in Boston with me, and that she wouldn't be in any kind of danger. I agreed with her and that was the end of it. We drank a bottle of red wine and talked some more. I was becoming impatient; we hadn't touched on how and where we were going to sleep.

Then Sophie matter of factly said, "Shall we prepare for bed, my dear?"

I was stunned. "Yes, but we haven't talked where..."

"It isn't necessary; you don't think I've

traveled halfway around the world to sleep alone, do you, my dear? We'll sleep together, your bed or the couch, it doesn't matter to me."

"OK, then it's my bed." I was euphoric and wanted to jump out, crying yes, yes, and yes. I didn't, I told her I would wait her in the bedroom instead.

She appeared from the bathroom a few minutes later. I stood there stunned, as my mind recorded every image of her like a camera, Her raven black hair falling down on her naked shoulders, her bounteous breasts with dark, hard as pebbles, nipples, the curve of her hips as they gracefully became her thin waist, a little rounded tummy and the bulge of her pubic mound against the silky black material of her thong. The pale skin beneath the cloth stood out and attracted even more attention to her pussy. The nest of luxuriant black curly hairs between her legs was only cut just enough on the sides to not peek out from under her bikini bottom. It wasn't like a pelt, hiding everything, because I could see hints of her pussy beneath. Her high heels made her legs seem long and lean, and the way she tried to hide her breasts behind an arm bra was very cute.

To say we were both nervous is the understatement of the year; I knew I ultimately was the hunter in similar cases; she, on the other hand, was the newbie, the one that could or could not become lesbian. I thought that would depend mostly on my prowess. So I took the first step and took my bathrobe off. Following my example, she discarded hers and we got on the bed over the comforter, gently lying down.

I was only wearing a top and a pair of lace red boy shorts that hugged me tightly and left my tanned ass cheeks exposed, underneath my bathrobe. My ass is small and damn firm looking; I swallowed hard at the thought of it being bare and pointing up at her.

I wanted that night to be an unforgettable one for her. I didn't want her to wake up at the light of dawn the next morning, feeling as if she had sinned by making love; I couldn't forget her own words, "I had been educated in the strict Catholic moral values of the nun's college and that of my own south-Italian family, where sex and the pleasure that it produces are a thing of the devil."

I told myself that she had decided to make the long trip from Buenos Aires to Boston to meet with me by herself. She knew I was a lesbian and she knew that she was going to be in my house as a guest, and surely as my lover, if she came; she knew that we would make love at least once if she came to Boston to meet me, and if she found she could love me, maybe, just maybe, it would be forever.

I knew talking first wasn't the same thing to her, than... what had we done until now, date? Chatting with a stranger via a webcam doesn't create a personal relationship. The cam is impersonal, very different to personal contact, the physical knowing of the other person, face to face, the feel and sense of the other's skin when you greet each other with a kiss on the cheek or by shaking hands, and what about the feathery touch of a lover's fingertip...

But it's one thing to intellectually know and accept it when you're a woman and a middle-aged Latina to top it, than you are to start a trip to meet with a potential lover, a lesbian no less, and a very different thing to meet that potential lover in the flesh with all the emotional risks that such an encounter entails.

I then became bolder, loosely taking her in my arms and started kissing the skin of the top of her breast with tiny, light kisses, and stroking the skin of the other breast with my fingers. Her breathing changed; it was becoming deeper and slower. Her left hand started stroking my side, venturing to the exposed bottom of my small boob. Her right hand abandoned my hair and stroked the side of my face. I slipped the fingers of my left hand into the top of her bra, and she briefly froze, then continued stroking my cheek and side; her left hand became bolder and stroked the underside of my breast as she cupped my chin and raised my face to look at hers. Her eyes were shining, her pupils dilated, her lips were parted, and I knew at that moment that I had her when her tongue darted out and moistened her lips. I raised my face to hers, and she met my lips in a soft tentative kiss. I slipped my tongue through my lips and grazed her bottom lip as we kissed. She moaned, opening her lips and allowing me full access to her mouth. She didn't meet my tongue with hers, content in allowing me to softly explore her lips and teeth. I slithered my right hand behind her back while I had her occupied with my lips and tongue, and released the clasp of her bra in a much practiced move. She gasped yet again, and withdrew her lips from mine. I rolled up on my elbow so that I was looking down into her face.

She whispered, "What are you doing to me, Marie?"

I slipped my left hand under her bra and gently pinched her erect nipple before covering her mouth with mine. I then murmured, "Exactly what you want me to do," as I lowered my mouth to hers.

She moaned into my mouth and thrust her tongue deep into my mouth. I pulled my right arm out from under her back and sat up. She followed my lips with hers, not wanting to break contact.

I finally broke away and completely sat up. She moaned in disappointment. I took her black delicate bra in my hands and tugged it from her body, tossing it to the side; she blushed cutely and covered her magnificent breasts with her hands. I pulled my top over my head and we were both topless.

The ocean is the only place on the planet where there are no demarcations of territory, no frontiers of any kind. It's all too easy to cross the equator and not know that you had crossed an imaginary line and were now in a different hemisphere. Your condition would be about the same if your feelings and emotions were a sea. How do you know if you have crossed the line? Is there a moral compass, a sexual sextant to tell you where you're headed and if you're in uncharted waters, then what? Perhaps that was the case with us; we were already on the other side of the line, yet this voyage of discovery had just begun. It was a brave nude world.

I took her hands and pulled her to her knees, then went behind her on my own knees as I gazed at our image in the big bedroom mirror. I was behind her, wrapping my arms around her body and pulling her hard against me. I could see her slim body and the swell of her breasts, like those of a nubile young girl, and above her long shapely legs, at the top of which I could see the shadow of her pubic hair under her black thong, was her prominent mons, and a hint of her sweet womanhood beneath.

I started kissing her neck and shoulders as we both watched ourselves making love in the large mirror over the bedroom dresser. That single image, she on her knees, my left arm around her round belly, my right hand full of her tit, with just a hint of her lingerie buried in between her pussy lips, while I kissed her neck. Her slack-jawed face was full of pure lust and pleasure, something never far from my waking thoughts, and they are burned into my consciousness for the rest of my life.

I am, in my day to day life, usually very shy, timid and introverted, but I become another person with this woman, more aggressive, daring, and wanton. Sophie takes my worst from me... or is it my best?

I leaned closer to her; the animal in me was becoming stronger and stronger. I had to have this woman; I had to have all of her, even if it meant doing something unforgivable.

"Do you want for me to fuck you, Sophie, or do you want to fuck me?

She then looked at me in the mirror with the frightened eyes of a child, then covering her face, began to cry a little. I did a turn around on my knees so we were face to face, breasts to breasts, tummy to tummy, and mons to mons; I pulled her hands away from her face and softly kissed her. I looked at our images in the mirror and saw her closed eyes; I tasted her sweet lips as our teeth clashed for a second, then I entered my tongue into her sweet mouth.

She fought at first, but her bravado slowly dissolved and she began to me kiss me back. She pulled away, her mouth open, tongue extended. She gasped "This is so bad, so wrong!"

"Why is this bad? Does it feel wrong to you?" I asked her in a whisper, reaching and fondling her big but pert breasts. "Extremely, horribly bad," I answered my own questions and I sank my mouth on one of her beautiful tits, suckling her nipples as if it would be my last.

"Oh no!" she cried, her fingers digging into my hair. "No! No! Marie, please!"

I looked up at her. "Don't tell me to stop, please. I can't stop now. "I sank my mouth back onto her breast, rolling my tongue around her hard, big, dark aureole and nipple.

"No, no! We can't...it's wrong!"

I looked up from her breasts again. "Why did you come here then? We have waited for this for weeks! What did I say, weeks, months?" I thrust my hand down between her legs, forcing my fingers into her quivering vagina as she spread her legs open a little bit. "Now you're here, I'm here, and I want you so bad that I don't care if you keep saying no. I don't care if you end up hating me. I just want you now." My fingers found her taut little clit and softly circled it.