Sisters  

angeldickfuck 42M
26 posts
9/6/2006 1:51 am

Last Read:
9/6/2006 3:11 am

Sisters

Sisters
She was a friend and yet, she was not really my friend. She kept herself imprisoned behind bars of her own creation. So contained and wary, as if she had to keep so much secret. Afraid to allow me to touch her heart, her soul, her essence. Frustrating and yet intensely attractive, she was complicated and lonely. Her hard shell protected what I suspected was a tender, wounded and fragile heart. Soooooooo tough! So much attitude. So much swagger. So desperately alone.

We were drawn to each other like moths to a flame. There was ravenous hunger in her eyes. I could see it, - seething, churning and flashing beneath the surface ‒ she spent as much energy trying to keep it under control as she did her privacy. Her cat-like eyes and her wiry, lithe body were dangerous but mesmerizing. She was an infuriating contradiction. I felt threatened and powerful at the same time. Why was I here alone with her? Why did I let her into my world?

I wanted to taste that energy, that passion of hers. But I couldn’t feel how. She gave up nothing, keeping everything closed within her. And yet she was here with me. What did I offer this girl? I approached her finally, tea in my hands, and touched her on her bare shoulder, presenting the steaming cup. She turned without a smile, just her brooding eyes, accepted the tea with both her hands and returned her gaze to the wet streets, leaving me standing by her, trying to place her scent. I retreated to the sofa, sitting with one leg folded beneath the other and watching her in that short black skirt which hugged her slim hips. She was blending into the darkness of my apartment, her black stockings hiding her legs. She became bored with the city and began to walk about my apartment as if she owned it, infuriating me, provoking me. Examining things on my desk, sipping her tea, straightening a picture on my wall, and settling on my music, scanning thru my iPod. No words were spoken but the tension in my apartment was electrifying.

“Find anything appealing, chere?” I asked, hiding my irritation at her boldness. She looked up at me, and without smiling selected Brad Mehldau’s Elegiac Cycle, the second song, “Resignation”, piano jazz that is brooding and interesting and extremely introspective, yielding its secrets only with attention to its detail. It is some of my favorite music. She surprised me again. She slipped off her shoes and came over to the sofa and sat on the floor by my feet, leaning against my leg, folding hers beneath her bottom, her tea in hand. I was off-balance, unsettled, excited by her warm body against my leg. There was nothing to do but sit and savor the darkness and the sound and the warmth of her body against my leg. I moved my hand to her long jet black hair and touched her head ‒ she didn’t move away but let her head fall on my knee.

“Why are you here, Kae? Why did you come home with me tonight??”

She shifted her legs and lifted her head, looking into my eyes.

“ I wanted to see how I lived”.

“How I live??” Such confusion, such bluntness, such fearlessness, such presumptions were exciting and irritating to me., As I looked into her eyes, I was beginning to realize who was at my knee. It scared me. It thrilled me. I wanted to kiss her badly, I wanted to tear her clothing from her body, and take what I wanted from her. She incensed me. I loved and hated her.

But it was not going to be this way, not this time. I had no way of knowing how it was going to be this time. I had no idea what I was going to do. I was stymied by this vixen at my feet. And she was at my feet! Where a girl would normally belong. Paralyzed. Excited. Perplexed. Did she feel the same as I?

We sat there, looking at each other, looking at the street outside the window, unable to couple, unable to part, hearts aflutter. The music stopped and now there was silence, intensifying the anticipation. She lifted her head from my knee, and turned to look up at me, eyes now filled with uncertainty, no longer oh so cold or filled with vague distain, She was searching my soul, trying to determine what was on MY mind, hunger tearing at her self constructed prison. She turned away again, I rose from the sofa and walked to the short hallway to my bedroom. I turned to find her staring at the street below.

“I need to sleep kae, so when you are ready, just shut the door behind you, good nite, luv” I could stand this no longer, I withdrew from the match. No more tonight. I continued to my dressing space. As I undressed, I felt unsettled and dissatisfied, an unhappy face gazed back at me. I examined myself in the mirror, arms wrapped around my breast, what was wrong with me? I slipped on my nightshirt, sat, and brushed my hair, hard, harder, taking out my frustrations on my head, that unhappy face still staring back at me, still disappointed in myself. I put my hair back into a pony, and washed my face. I shut the light in the bathroom, and went to my bed, pulling back the covers, staring at my empty bed. I crawled in, lonely, and my passion still smoldering. As I reached for the light on the nightstand, I saw her shadow standing just inside my bedroom. She was leaning against the wall, longing displayed in her face, in how she held her elbows, in how she gazed at me. An eternity passed and this torture continued. I sat up in my bed, and stripped off my nightshirt, hugging myself, sitting bare before her, eyes wide and sad for having allowed myself to come to this, to being vulnerable. And then, she unzipped her skirt from behind, and let it fall into the dark about her ankles. Her black tanktop fell next. She approached me, her small breasts exposed, stripping her panties and pantyhose together, sitting on a chair by my dresser. Then she stood in all her glory at the edge of my bed, bare, eyes sad as well because she had allowed herself to be this exposed. She was trembling, I pulled back my covers and she quickly climbed in next to me. We faced each other, our arms and legs entwined, thrilled to finally be one. I kissed her and we let our passion consume us.

For another good friend


amoldenough 70F
16436 posts
9/6/2006 2:57 am

Very nice story. Keep up the good work.

"Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened."


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