Retreat

I guess I don't really know where to begin. But I will have to begin somewhere, so where is the best beginning to my story?

Ah, yes, the break up. That will best explain my state of mind for the rest of the story. A state that can be described, at best, as fragile.

I don't know if the break up was the beginning of the downward spiral, or the culmination of it, but I don't suppose it really mattered either way.

I was in love, at some point, with a beautiful young college girl. Undoubtedly the best relationship of my life, she was sweet, stunning, and insatiable. I shall spare you the details of its demise, suffice it to say that I was primarily at fault. You only need to know how I reacted, which is to say, badly.

I can still clearly remember how the house looked with all of her things gone. Bare, cold. Empty, just like me. How I fought back the tears, as though they would just go away, like her.

I vaguely remember stumbling into a liquor store, and carrying out as much booze as equaled the cash in my pocket. Now I'm not (wasn't) much of a drinker, but I did some hard drinking that night. And the next. And the next two weeks are pretty blurry.

Two sharp images stand clear, though, and they alone are why I am telling this story. The first was the phone call. My landlord, giving me two weeks to get out of my apartment, which I could no longer afford anyway. On it's own, I barely noticed this detail until later. The second was when I came out of a blackout with my pistol in my mouth.

I don't know how long I had been sitting there, or how close I came to actually doing it, I just know how scared I was at that moment. And I realized that despite it all, I did still want to live a bit longer. The next day I disposed of all remaining liquor, and got rid of my gun. Two things that in my reach, would most likely have been the end of this story. However, with the new-found desire for life, I had a new problem. I was about to be homeless.

I really had no friends in the city, and now no girlfriend, so I saw no reason to try and continue that life in the city. I rented half a house from and older woman in a small town in the next state.

Far, far removed from what had been my life. I needed time to think, to heal, to sort out what it was in me that made me such a piece of shit, if you will. I guess you could call it the turning point in my life, and I was determined to do things right this time.

I had a stupid job cooking midnights at the local 24 hour restaurant. I had been cooking most of my life, so it was easy for me to settle in and get myself established. And I worked, I slept, and I thought. About all the terrible things I had done in my life, about the things I had thought that made me a man, the things that truly made me a coward.

I developed a healthy, or unhealthy, contempt for my self. Every thought was contradicted, every feeling analyzed, every reaction stifled and thought twice of. I was no longer feeling hopeless and destroyed, but I was having trouble even talking to people.

I'm a decent looking guy, tall, slim, broad shoulders, nice smile, pretty eyes. I have always gotten more than my share of female attention, which could have contributed to alot of my problems in relationships. But I couldn't even look the girls at work in the eye. I was so afraid of hurting someone else, that I would take no chances falling for anyone. And so went the weeks in the beginning of my new life.

I was unhappy, and for a long time, I couldn't even figure out why. Then it hit me like a slamming door. I was lonely, the first time I would admit loneliness even to myself. I was sick with it. I felt myself unworthy of another's love, but desperate for it.

I had little family, and none close. I felt truly alone. At night, I worked, during the day, I cried, read books, wrote poetry, watched movies. Anything to detach myself from the empty spot where once there had been love, and friendship, and even a little happiness, but where now there was nothing but the desire for the things I had been so casual with before. Miserable, and rightfully so. It was when I gave up that I got another chance.

It was when I gave up, that I met Rachel Porter.

She was a regular at the diner, I had seen her starting a month after I began working there. She came in alone, read a novel, or a newspaper, or a textbook, drank coffee, sometimes a bit of food.

The first thing I admired about her was that she would sit alone, and was comfortable with it. People rarely go anywhere alone these days, it's like they have to carry a piece of familiarity along with them for support.

The second was that she looked absolutely beautiful with her small reading glasses, modest but tasteful. And always reading something. And she always greeted me with a quiet, "Hi". How I wanted to sit down with her on many occasions, to look into her eyes and see what it was that made her special.

In my old life I had been some kind of charming, eccentric, but endearing. I now could barely hold conversation. And every time I thought of sitting down with her, I saw images of a young girl crying, and an empty apartment. Bare, empty. And I would go back to the kitchen not crying tears I couldn't cry at work. They would always wait.

Then, one night, a typical slow Monday night, I was sitting alone in a booth smoking a cigarette, and in walked Rachel.

She noticed me sitting not far from her usual perch, and to my absolute shock, she veered over to my table. And she sat down!? I was completely at a loss. Again the quiet "Hi", I hoped my reply didn't sound too much like a croak.

When you stop talking so much, your vocal cords get kind of rusty. I had never seen her this close before, and I got to see her details. Light brown eyes, with a unique depth and clarity. The hair I had thought a rather ordinary brown, was highlighted buy a delicate red-gold. Exceptionally smooth skin.

If she wore make-up, she wore it well, because I couldn't tell, if not, she needed none. And her front teeth were a bit crooked. Not mangled, if anything, it provided a charming accent to the rest of her flawless features. All of this was taken in within the few seconds I dared to look at her. I knew if she looked too deep in my eyes, she would see the shattered remains of what had once been me, and she would get up again.

As it was, she must have seen alot in that few seconds, because she spoke softly, and drew my focus back to her. I wrestled with the sight of her beautiful face all red and splotchy, streaked with tears of a shattered heart. With the thought of being the culprit.

Somehow I managed to bring my eyes back up, and what I saw, nearly broke me. Empathy, perhaps? Understanding, maybe a shared experience? But something I don't know that I have ever really seen before. Or maybe I had just been blind for a long, long time.

That was when I was called back to the kitchen. I managed to leave her with my name, one sentence and an apologetic smile. "I have to go now, but I would really love to talk to you sometime, I'm kind of mixed up right now, but if you come in again, I may be in a better place, and that would be better, I'm sorry"

She said simply "Rachel", and "Okay, bye." Had I not looked back, I may never have seen her again. But I did. And again the look that kept me up all of that next morning. "I understand."

It was over a week before I saw Rachel again. She smiled at me, and greeted me by name, but she didn't come over to me. Perhaps the time wasn't right yet.

I spent alot of time in that week or so, trying to vanquish all of the inner demons that had been tearing at me constantly. And gradually, I started to feel like myself again. Not entirely, I had a completely new view of that old self, and there were some things I couldn't get back to. And some I couldn't bear the thought of.

But she didn't know me before. Are we the sum of our experiences, or an ever changing set of sensibilities? Is it the things we do now, or the things we did before that define us? Could I really be as different as I felt?

I felt that I needed to try to change, and if I was afraid of any human contact, all the change in the world would be only in theory. After all, who says I'm going to fall in love with this girl? I have been disappointed before. Actually that is part of the old me. The way I see it, I have been disappointing before. But how much to change and still be me

Yes, that is how I think, all the time.

Nearly another two weeks later, I saw her again. Like watching a playback on video, the scene unfolded, just as before. I was taking a break, smoking a cigarette at a table alone, I nearly always sit alone. She walked in, and I felt it as much as saw. She dressed simply, tastefully.

Tonight she had a pair of comfortably worn jeans, a sweatshirt with the name of her college volleyball team, and a cute hand-knit scarf (this was mid October).

I greeted her, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice. Smiled that room warming smile and came straight to my table. Odd, she didn't carry any books, no paper, nothing. She was always reading something.

"Haven't seen you in awhile, I feared you had moved away or something" was my lame attempt at breaking the ice.

"I have had some big tests this week, and the last time I was in, you still looked so sad. But you look better now, how do you feel?" I had known, not even known, this girl for the space of two meetings, and she could tell how I felt. Where was this going to go?

"I feel better, much better, I have had some personal issues that needed sorting out. I think I have gotten to a place that isn't so sad anymore." I saw a smile pull at the corners of her mouth, and her eyes flashed an inner light at me, and she stood up.

"I just wanted to see how you were feeling, and if you were working, I have to go now." I wanted to tell her I never wanted her to leave, but I settled for "It was really nice seeing you." Like I said, not much of a talker lately. She smiled again, and turned, and walked back out the door.

I went back to work with a head full of possibilities, and a strange feeling, I don't even know what to call it. A sense of inevitability, a feeling of destination. Or maybe I just want her so bad, I was imagining things. Back and forth the rest of the night, wanting, and fearing the same thing. What would the next meeting be like? It took less time than I thought to find out.

My shift ended at 6:00 am. I was just walking out of the office, getting coffee to go, when I saw her sitting at her booth. Rachel. Here? now? My hands were trembling as I filled the styrofoam cup, my mind whirling down the different avenues of possibilities. She might not even be here for me. I was wrong, though. When I looked up, she caught my eye, and motioned me over to her table.

"Feel like breakfast?", was her response to my timid hello. I cook breakfast all night long, and am not really fond of breakfast anyway, but I would have cooked eggs in hell to have breakfast with this beautiful creature. My actual response was more like "somewhere else, I hope?"

"There's a new bagel place in town that has great bagels, and leave the coffee here, theirs is far better" Now I like coffee, and I agree, the coffee at the diner is lousy, so if there was better to be had, it was a deal closer.

We took her car a few blocks down to the bagel place, which was just unlocking the doors. The smell of fresh bagels and coffee is so much nicer than greasy eggs and homefries!

We walked in, her taking the lead, me still befuddled that I was there with her. We ordered, and retreated to a small round table in the corner. The new place may have great bagels and coffee, but I don't remember what I ate, and never noticed the difference in my java.

We talked for a couple hours, about everything, school, art, religion, family. She talked easily for a new acquaintance, and after a few moments, I felt completely unthreatened. I felt at ease for the first time in months.

I found out that she went to school at night, worked her off nights, and preferred the quiet nights at the diner to the crowds everywhere during the day. I told her a bit about my old life, I have some really good stories, and I can see them all a little bit different now.

After breakfast I suggested the park. It is where I go to read, and I thought she might understand. She did. We walked along the edge of the small pond at the center of the park, sat on a small bench in need of paint.

Talked, looked, shared, discovered. The second time around the pond, we took hands quite naturally. Rachel was quite close to me, and she smelled great, maybe her shampoo or something, because it wasn't perfume. But that has always been one of my favorite things about women, they always smell better than I do.

I learned she was 23, just a few years younger than me, that she was nearly finished with school, a wildlife preservationist, and that she was originally from Pennsylvania. I also learned that I could love this girl, I had already seen that much.

Images of her tear streaked face assaulted me, and I became quiet. She noticed immediately, and inquired about it. My first instinct was to play it off, to assume the smile and manner, and to worry about it when I was alone, when it was safe. But I looked into her eyes, and instead I sat down, and put my head in my hands.

Speaking quietly, forcing the words past the lump in my throat, I let it all out, my fears, the images that assaulted me, that thing I kept seeing in her eyes that terrified me so.

There were tears in both our eyes when I looked back to her face, and the sight overwhelmed me. Would have broken me, had she not kissed me. Not suddenly, not quickly. Softly and thoroughly, she drew me back to her with a kiss I will never forget.

After a time she drew back, looking at me, looking into me! She took my hand, and led me back to her car. She didn't speak, and I couldn't, so I didn't know where we were going, nor did I care. If she had driven us both off a cliff, I would have died with a smile.

We pulled up next to a small up and down double apartment not far from the campus. I followed her to the front door of the lower apartment and inside.

"Sit down," she bade me, "I have to take care of my cats real quick, you want some coffee?" I told her I would make the coffee (French press, yes), it was something I knew how to do, that might just take the emphasis off the jitters I was experiencing.

I had no objections to being in her apartment, I just couldn't stop thinking about what was happening, and where could this go. We talked over coffee for another hour facing each other on the couch.

She was truly beautiful. I hadn't had much desire for sex in the last couple months, to distraught to even consider it, but I found myself wanting her more and more as we got more comfortable.

Soon we were no longer really facing each other, she was nestled comfortably in the crook of my shoulder. I could smell her again, feel the warmth of her body pressed against mine. The conversation, which had been flowing since morning, trailed off. She looked up at me, and I kissed her again. On and on the kiss lingered, building a passion that I had forgotten, or perhaps never truly known.

She pulled my shirt over me head and tossed it aside. As her hands trailed over my chest and stomach, I relieved her of her sweatshirt, it joined my shirt on the floor. I had never had the opportunity to get an idea of what her body might be like, and I was dumbfounded.

She wore no bra, and needed none, her breasts rose prettily from her chest, beautifully proportioned to her compact form. Our now bare torsos came together, delighting in the first feel of flesh, devouring ears, necks, lips, whetting an insatiable appetite.

My hands roamed every exposed inch of her, our eyes bored into each other, no works were spoken, none were needed. Her jeans rode low on her hips, I could see the soft curve beneath her belly leading to her treasures below.

Trailing kissed across her full breasts, tonguing circles around her navel, roaming ever so slowly down her body to the sensitive skin just above the top of her jeans. She gasped, and raised her hips, wanting more intimate attention.

I popped the button of her jeans, and slowly wriggled them over the curve of her ass, sliding them down her legs, to join our shirts on the growing pile. She wore a simple cotton thong, growing moist with her excitement.

I kissed up and down her supple legs, from the tips of her toes to the creamy skin of her inner thigh. I made sure to lick and kiss all the area around her pubic mound, but only to tease and excite. After a few long moments of this, she quickly raised her ass off the couch, and in one quick movement skinned her thong off and flung it aside, opening herself wide to me.

She had a neat little patch of hair above her pussy, with her labia shaved clean. Her lips pouted out, glistening and awaiting a full oral assault. Which I promptly gave her.

I slid my tongue slowly around the outside of her labia, feeling it's smooth softness. When I touched the moist edges of her folds, she shivered and sighed. When I ran my tongue slowly and firmly between them, sliding it deep inside her, she let out a low moan.

When I reached the top of her damp slit, I inhaled deeply, taking in her scent, basking in it. I then clamped my lips firmly about her clit, sucking it in and flicking it quickly with my tongue. Rachel bucked her hips up, bruising my lips and mashing her clit against my mouth.

I could tell by the rhythm of her breathing that she was getting close, so I quickly wet two fingers, and slid them as far as I could into her sopping pussy, sliding and wriggling them while my lips resumed their nibbling.

Soon after, her back arched, her pussy clenched my fingers tight, and her juices were slipping down my hand and chin. When the last of her convulsions passed, I withdrew my fingers, licking them clean, and kissed her gently on the shaved part of her labia. Then I pulled myself up next to her, and we shared a long kiss, savoring the lingering scent and taste of her. She had an incredibly sweet pussy, and I told her so.

She smiled and bit her lip, pulled me close and tasting herself on me. At first the kiss was slow and sultry, but as she caught her breath it became more urgent. She gave me a look that promised untold pleasures, and rolled over on top of me.

Rachel cupped my face in her hands, slid her open palms down my neck, a light caress. She dug her nails in slightly and raked them, just hard enough to leave little red lines, down my chest, tweaking my nipples, and continuing down the trail to my own little secrets.

Chewing her bottom lip, with a feverish look, she nearly tore my jeans open, pulling and tugging on the legs to get them off of me. By then my erection was causing quite a respectable tent between my legs, the object she sought.

Quite gently, she pulled my boxers off, freeing my straining member, and took it in her soft little hand. She looked closely, as though studying it, caressing the soft skin, lifting my balls in her free hand. She leaned in close, kissing my cock wetly on the head, then with an impish look up at me, began to devour it. Her lips slid up and down the shaft, her tongue twirled circles around the tip, she rolled my balls gently in her hand.

Only about half my length would fit down her throat without choking her, so she wrapped her hand around the base and slid it up and down with the motion of her mouth. I was lost, I was breathless, I couldn't think.

Now and then she would turn her eyes up to me, gazing at me with those beautiful brown eyes while stuffing half my cock down her throat. She wasn't just doing it for me, her face looked almost as pleasured as when I had been the one buried in her sex.