A Hidden Place

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Author’s Note:

This is my first, and potentially only, story. It’s written from my perspective as a straight man. I hope it’s not alienating for female readers. There’s a bit of exposition before the naughty stuff, which I truly felt was necessary to convey the emotions and circumstances of the encounter. I also found it challenging to write about sex descriptively without it becoming either overburdened by tropes or cloyingly poetic. I’m sure this story isn’t a perfect success, but I hope someone finds it interesting. I welcome feedback. Thanks for reading.

Her name was Angie. We hadn’t seen each other in years. She was my high school crush. It had been the quintessential essence of a crush; the emotional namesake of the word, an excruciating and inescapable unrequited love that only a teenager could conjure and endure, the metaphorical crushing of my self worth. She was an acutely painful memento of my adolescent failings.

Twenty years later we reconnected on social media, and in some potentially misguided attempt to redeem my younger self I admitted to her all of the things I had felt for her those many years ago.

In high school I kept this crush a secret. I was far too self conscious and miserable to even entertain the possibility that my attraction to her might have been mutual, but in hindsight it didn’t seem so implausible. We were both quirky and awkward. We shared endless humor and a certain irreverence for both authority and convention. We were a couple of young punks. I completely adored her. There was a time in my life when she nearly consumed my every waking thought. We had a kind of chemistry and joy together that I have never felt with anyone since.

Now we were adults, both of us in our late thirties, both married with children. We had grown into our adult minds, bodies, and lives. Maybe we had become old punks.

For many months Angie and I texted and chatted, often into the late hours. We seemingly never ran out of things to say. Eventually she confirmed my suspicion and sincerest hope that she had also been in love with me in high school. But that was the ancient past. Who can trust anything they thought or felt in high school?

The humor and chemistry between us hadn’t diminished. In a way, it felt like we picked up right where we left off as teenagers, but now with the confidence and honesty of adults we fondly reminisced and lamented our past mistakes. If either of us had possessed the courage to be vulnerable our lives might have followed closer trajectories. I didn’t necessarily regret hiding my feelings for her. My life had been fine. But I did feel a dull ache of sadness that we hadn’t stayed close. I felt like I’d missed years of important friendship that I let go simply because it was too painful to reconcile my hidden desire. We had to distance ourselves for survival. Or at the least, I had to. My heartbreak was too oppressive and unsustainable.

We still lived close to each other, so at last it seemed the next apparent step in our reacquaintance was to meet for a drink. I can’t remember whether I suggested it or she did. It doesn’t matter. We both wanted it. We were unalterably moving in that direction. I told myself it was innocent. I had many female friends I saw regularly. There was nothing ostensibly inappropriate about meeting an old friend for a drink. I allowed myself this justification. It was an emergency exit of plausible deniability, but on the periphery of my conscious mind I knew I was still deeply attracted to Angie and wanted to explore where this rekindled feeling might lead. I wanted to stand close enough to the edge to get a sense of how it might feel to leap. I should have known it was a perilous step toward infidelity simply from the excitement I felt when we scheduled the date, but I ignored my conscience in favor of my desires.

Does this make me a bad man? Am I cruel? Am I weak? Do I lack the willpower to resist my base desires in favor of loyalty and long term happiness? I still wonder.

I won’t mention my wife much in this story. The truth is, what follows has almost nothing to do with her. Stories involving marital infidelity frequently include excuses. People often recount tales of sexual and emotional neglect or resentment to dull the edge of betrayal. My wife didn’t meet my every need, but who could? She was, by and large, a faithful and caring companion. My desire for Angie was born of its own accord. The human heart is fickle and inscrutable. This should be apparent to most people. How many can honestly say they’ve loved one and only one person?

I intentionally arrived at our meeting place early. It was a small cocktail bar familiar to me, but new to her. I wanted to find a good spot at the bar and calm my nerves before our meeting. She also arrived early, but luckily not quite as early as I. After claiming two seats I nervously eyed the door. Moments later she breezed into the bar wearing a soft coral colored summer dress. Her hair was darker and bahis şirketleri longer than she wore it in high school. It was wavy and appeared freshly styled. She had a woman’s hips and a modest chest. Her arms were willowy and delicate and looked like porcelain in her sleeveless dress. She had changed in many ways, but her eyes were the same arresting shade of glacial blue as I remembered. She looked even more beautiful now than ever to my aging eyes.

I was keenly aware of how I might look to her. I had filled out into a man’s body. My hair, once free and shaggy, was now thinning and I wore it cut closely, nearly shaved. I kept a short and neatly trimmed beard. I now wore glasses. I was in reasonably good shape. I’d become an avid runner and did strength training regularly, but I certainly didn’t have a perfectly lean and chiseled body. My body was like a familiar tool, scratched and scarred over thirty-eight years of frequent use. It served me well, but wasn’t a thing of beauty. I also looked very different than I had in my youth. I thought it was possible she’d be disappointed that I didn’t match her image of me. But as an adult I no longer feared rejection. I could only present myself truly and accept whatever response I received with grace and dignity.

My fears that our reunion might be awkward evaporated instantly when I saw her. I surprised myself by popping off of my barstool and hurrying to greet her with a warm embrace. She returned my hug enthusiastically and we took our seats smiling like the giddy teenagers we once had been.

We began talking uncertainly. For months our only interaction had been through text. We’d discussed all kinds of intimate things. We were deeply acquainted. But being in each other’s presence, making eye contact, and hearing each other’s voices for the first time in at least ten years felt like it put our relationship into a new context. I think we both had to feel the conversation out slowly.

Our one drink gradually turned into several drinks and five hours of talking, laughing, subtly rubbing shoulders and elbows, brushing knees, and making any excuse at all to initiate physical contact. We talked about our lives, reminisced over shared childhood memories, bridged the past to the present, and flirted shamelessly. It was fucking magical and simultaneously clearly crossing the line. But there seemed to be a tacit agreement between us to maintain a platonic facade. We both felt the energy of what was happening but didn’t openly acknowledge it.

I’d love to recount our conversation in detail. In truth, I don’t remember the content of it all. I’d simply be making it up to provide dialog. But I’ll never forget her looking me in the eye and gripping my bicep.

“I thought you were the coolest person in school. You didn’t give a shit what anyone thought of you. You were just always yourself. I thought you were a rockstar,” She said.

“That’s exactly how I felt about you,” I admitted. “But it’s not that I didn’t care what other people thought. I did, and it hurt. It’s that I couldn’t be anyone else.”

Somehow I felt like we understood each other in a way that neither of us had been understood by others. More than understanding, maybe it was that we shared a very deep and sincere appreciation for each other. We saw each other as uniquely special. We were enthralled by each other’s idiosyncrasies. Our flaws and quirks were just beguiling details that made us real to each other. I can’t read her mind, but this is what I felt.

Time stood still until the bar announced last call. It was suddenly very late and the time had slipped away unnoticed. I paid our tab and we exited the bar, lingering under a bright street light in the summer air.

“Where are we going now?” She asked energetically.

I hadn’t anticipated this question. I was certain the night had come to an end and that we’d have to part ways, responsibly maintaining the platonic charade, but sadly without the climactic parting kiss the evening felt like it deserved. It had been well over a decade since my last first date. More than any other, this date seemed to deserve an epic kiss. It seemed tragically poetic that we would deny it, leaving no chance of it falling flat and tarnishing the magical evening.

“I don’t know,” I said.

Where else could we even go?

“We could walk in the park,” I suggested at last.

There was a beautiful park nearby. It was a warm and humid evening. Even at midnight the temperature was comfortable for my t-shirt and her knitted summer dress and sandals. A walk in the park sounded both discretely romantic and convenient given the time and our lack of options.

“Yes!” She said excitedly.

“Will you be okay walking in those?” I asked gesturing toward her footwear.

“Totally. These are super comfortable.”

We meandered down a couple side streets, surreptitiously bumping shoulders, laughing loudly, and eventually holding hands until we reached the park entrance.

It was a relatively bahis firmaları small park. It was never crowded, but now it appeared abandoned. We walked the winding path, continuing to talk as we neared the river. The dim historical street lights that lined the paved walkway faded into the background as we moved toward the riverbank to a small grassy hill with large granite steps leading to the water. We decided to sit on the top step and look down toward the river.

We sat close, huddling as we talked, our knees angled toward one another until our legs were touching. Every moment of shared laughter brought us a little closer. We leaned into each other. She gripped my arm when she laughed and never let go. Eventually we sat so close our thighs were flush and I could feel her warm hip pressed firmly against mine. It felt like we were magnetic and couldn’t get close enough to each other.

She glowed in the ambient light cast by the small ground lanterns lining the stone steps below us. It was secluded and intimate. These dimly lit steps were meant just for us, and I imagined we were the only people in the world, or better yet, invisible to everyone but each other. This small circle of warm light in the middle of a vast open darkness was detached from the real world. Nothing existed here but us and the darkness couldn’t penetrate our hidden place.

And then, without thinking, I swept a stray lock of hair from her face and tucked it gently behind her ear. She looked into my eyes and I knew I was going to kiss her. We were so close I could feel her breath on my lips. She didn’t move away. I paused, frozen by the panic of this thought. I had wanted to kiss this woman for twenty years and now fulfilling this, my oldest and most terrifying fantasy, only required the slightest effort of movement.

How could I deny it? To succumb to desire the universe asked almost nothing of me, less energy than to lift a finger. By contrast it seemed a Herculean effort to retreat from this point of no return and resume my safe course through life.

I savored this moment of fear and anticipation for the eternity of one more second before I finally leaned forward the last inch and our lips made contact. My heart exploded as I pressed my lips to hers, gently at first, exploring the sensation. It was like an electrical circuit being connected. Her lips were soft and warm. I could feel her warmth spread through my body like a current slowly entering me through my lips and traveling down my neck to my chest, abdomen, and inexorably lower.

Our gentle contact quickly escalated to urgent kissing. Our tongues pressed tightly together. Our bodies pressed to one another, our hands searching and groping desperately. I grasped a fistful of her curly hair as I kissed her. We made out like horny teenagers for a long time, never going further until I eventually slid my palm up her rib cage and paused cradling one of her small breasts in the curve of my hand and swiped my thumb across her erect nipple. She shuddered and whimpered into my mouth.

I kissed my way down her neck to her bare shoulder before dragging my tongue back up to her earlobe. I reached into the back of her dress and unclasped her bra. She slid it off each arm hastily and cast it aside. I kissed my way down her neck to her collarbone, then further to her chest before gently kissing each nipple through the fabric of her dress. Then I returned to her lips. I wanted to kiss all of her at once. I wanted to taste her skin and hear her moan. I pulled down the front of her dress until her breasts spilled out. I rubbed one of her bare nipples with my thumb while I kissed her before returning to each nipple with my mouth, flicking my tongue lightly across them, then grabbing each breast firmly and engulfing her nipples with my mouth one after the other.

I placed a hand on her thigh and felt her legs part invitingly. I let my hand wander slowly up her leg until I felt the lace of her underwear. It felt warm and damp under my fingertips. I moaned as I rubbed her through the porous cloth while she panted heavily into my ear and clung to my shoulders. I pulled the fabric aside and nestled my finger in her crease before sliding it up slowly, feeling it glide between her folds collecting her moisture. I traced a few small circles around her clit teasingly before slowly sliding my finger inside her. I kissed her and then pulled away. Then I gently withdrew my finger and brought it to my lips.

“Mm. Fuck,” I moaned sucking her juices off of my middle finger. “I want to taste you,” I told her bluntly.

“Holy shit,” she moaned.

I took the denim jacket she had conveniently been carrying and laid it in the grass behind her. Then I gently lowered her back onto it and slid both hands under the hem of her dress. I pulled it up exposing her from the waist down.

She was wearing black lace thong panties. Maybe she wore them to avoid visible panty lines under her dress, but to me they seemed to be the kind of panties kaçak bahis siteleri a woman would only wear if she had considered the possibility of someone seeing them. I recalled the seemingly unnecessary preparation I’d done earlier that day to make sure I was immaculately clean and well groomed in my private places.

“Is this okay?” I asked quietly with my hands prepared to remove her underwear.

“Mmm, yes,” she said smiling back at me.

I carefully pulled her panties down and lifted each of her feet to free them. Then I tucked them in my pocket so they wouldn’t get lost or dirty.

I caressed her bare legs with both hands, starting at her ankles and gliding smoothly up to her knees, then to her thighs, and over her wide hips until I had both hands on her narrow waist with my thumbs pointed inward on either side of her bellybutton.

I spread her legs assertively and paused only to admire her body. She had a dense patch of dark pubic hair shaved into a tidy triangle above her glistening pink pussy. I groaned, and in one deliberate motion I licked her from her asshole to her clit. She gasped as I buried my mouth in her pussy. I grabbed her ass and flicked my tongue across her clit gently,. I gradually increased my pace and pressure as her excitement grew. Then I flattened my tongue and began slowly grinding it against her swollen clit. She moaned and put her hand on the back of my head, pressing herself against my mouth and rocking her hips to match my rhythm. I slid my hand up her inner thigh until I held my outstretched finger ready to enter her. I positioned it so she could feel it touching her entrance and left it there momentarily. I wanted her to anticipate the feeling before I finally slid it inside her soaking wet pussy. I continued licking her while I pressed my finger upward firmly inside her. I adjusted my pace and pressure according to the cues of her body. I let her moans, breathing, and subtle movements guide me to her pleasure. Her breaths came faster. Her moans became louder and more demanding. I withdrew my wet slippery finger and dragged it down the inside of her leg before returning, this time with two fingers. She inhaled sharply and her whole body became tense as she almost immediately erupted in climax. I felt her swollen clit pulsing against my tongue and her pussy gripping my fingers. She pitched forward in a silent scream that slowly broke into a guttural moan before she collapsed panting.

I continued licking her slowly, enjoying the feeling and taste of her arousal as her orgasm gradually waned until she lay breathless and giggling. I kissed the inside of her thigh and sat up. I marveled at her. She was sprawled on the grass, her legs still spread, the stone beneath her ass wet with her juices, her dress hiked up over her hips, and her tits spilled out over her top. She was a beautiful mess. I leaned over and carefully helped her back to a sitting position next to me. She smiled and threw her arms over my shoulders. She kissed me deeply, sucking my tongue into her mouth suggestively, then licking her own juices off of my lips. She licked me the way I had licked her pussy. I wondered if she was trying to imagine how it felt and tasted to me when I was going down on her. I loved that she wasn’t shy about her own fluids.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” I groaned.

“That was so intense,” she replied glowingly.

She slid her hand up my thigh until she intercepted my throbbing erection, which was conspicuously extended down the leg of my jeans. She stroked me lightly through my pants for a minute before tugging at my belt.

“Take it out,” she moaned insistently.

I hesitated.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have a condom. I didn’t expect this.”

While this was true, my response was also partly an excuse. My brain was awash with mixed emotions; guilt, fear, lust. I took a deep breath and tried to let go of my anxiety.

Sensing my hesitation she leaned forward kissing my neck and whispered into my ear, “You don’t need a condom. I want to suck your cock.”

I melted at the sincerity in her voice.

I leaned back slightly and undid my belt while she moved down a step and turned to face me. I leaned back on my hands as she unbuttoned my jeans and slowly pulled down my zipper. She hooked her fingers under the waist of my pants as I lifted my ass off the ground just enough for her to pull my pants and underwear to my ankles. My rigid erection sprung free from my waistband and bobbed lewdly in front of her. She stood briefly to kiss me again before lowering herself back between my knees.

She wrapped her delicate fingers around my cock and began stroking me toward her bare chest.

“God. You’re so hard,” she moaned, caressing my naked thigh with her free hand. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel,” she said before lowering her mouth to my cock.

She licked the underside of my shaft then swirled her tongue around my swollen head. She gripped my cock tightly at the base and reached between my legs with her other hand. She cupped my heavy balls and lifted them gently as she opened her mouth wide and engulfed the head of my cock. I groaned at the sensation of her warm wet mouth wrapping around me.

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