This is a continuation of the “Death by Fucking” stories. Due to the nature of the narrative, it is recommended that you have read at least one of those stories in order to be ‘up to speed’ on the situations existing at the outset of this story.
Part 1 His Story:
We were lying in bed in Deirdre’s hotel room recovering from a bout of mind-blowing liberating sex, at least from my point of view. I had wanted to make slow sensuous love to this woman who had suddenly become the focus of my life. Instead I lost my head and it turned into a long hard monkey fuck.
It was a mistake. I don’t know what happened. One minute I was this guy trying desperately to impress the woman of his dreams. The next minute I was primal man staking his claim on Eve in the Garden of Eden.
Is it right to want someone that much? Is it healthy? What have I gotten myself into? Christ, the woman is going to be gone in two weeks never to be seen again.
I told her this afternoon when I accepted her invitation to try to work off the sexual tension that had developed between us that I would probably hate myself in the morning. I wasn’t kidding.
I’m starting to hate myself right now, for two reasons. First I may have pissed away the opportunity of a lifetime by losing control during our first (and maybe only) lovemaking session. Second, I’ve fallen in love. I’ve got feelings for Deirdre that run deeper than I thought myself capable of. It’s a hopeless consuming passion. I’m addicted to her like the worst crack junky to his dope. And I’m lying here knowing she will be gone in two weeks. I’m a complete idiot.
Deirdre had been laughing at some little play on words that she somehow had the presence of mind to make through this emotional morass I find myself in. Let’s be honest, maybe she isn’t in the same emotional morass.
I had apologized for fucking her brains out. When I asked her what she was thinking, she said “Why, Andrew, I’m not thinking anything. I have no brains.”
And then she laughed. It was that warm infectious little laugh that I had grown to adore. It infected me and I laughed too, defusing my anxiety a little.
Suddenly she stopped laughing and came into my arms. Our bodies touched for the first time. Well it seemed like the first time. The last time I was in such a state of unbridled lust that I hardly noticed her body. Now she molded herself to me and our lips met.
Deirdre is soft, indescribably soft. Her skin is like nothing I’ve ever touched before. It’s so soft it’s barely a solid. My hands roamed her back as we held each other. Her kiss was one that poets try to describe with no success. The softness of those lips, the electricity in her touch, the warmth, the gentleness of her embrace were all sucking me down into a permanent abyss of unquenchable romantic love. It was like part of me was outside myself, watching me drowning in Deirdre.
Have you ever said to yourself, “This is going to kill me” and went right ahead and did it anyway? That was me with Deirdre. This relationship was going nowhere. Deirdre doesn’t do relationships. My life was going to end in two weeks. This is going to kill me.
But she was with me now. I would have to make it feel like eternity.
Our kiss seemed to last an eternity. Neither of us wanted it to end, maybe. I know I didn’t. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were shining. She has this thing with her eyes. There is some kind of internal switch thing that she seems to be able to turn on and off. When the switch was on there was a light in her eyes that was mesmerizing, beautiful, dazzling. I thought it only happened when she smiled.
She said, “Thank you, Andrew. That was the most beautiful thing that’s every happened to me.”
I was still apprehensive. “I wasn’t too rough with you?”
She smiled a little, a lovely warm smile. “No, you weren’t too rough. You were a bit overwhelming. But sometimes it’s wonderful to be overwhelmed.”
“I promise that if we do it again, I’ll take my time and be gentle. Something came over me just now. I wasn’t myself.”
She laughed. Her laugh was rich and melodious. Her eyes, her entire face, seemed to be laughing. “If that wasn’t you, I want to meet that other guy who just about killed me.”
Deirdre was a playful, delightful lover. Humor is such an integral part of her person, and it seemed to come out even more in the bedroom. She has a sweet relaxed way of dealing with everything.
We held each other and talked. I wanted to know about her. All I knew were these basic facts: she grew up in the South; went to Duke; worked for a big consulting firm; was beautiful; was the person I’ve been waiting for forever. Maybe she didn’t feel like the person I’ve been waiting for forever.
My arms were full of Deirdre as she told me a little of her life. I was right where I wanted to be, forever.
“I’m from Savannah. Well, from a town outside of Savannah. Daddy was a doctor. Momma was a housewife. I’ve got a sister named Donna, but we call her Donnie.”
I was pleased. “You mean there is another woman who has your bloodlines? Wow. Is she at all like you?”
“Yes, we are very much alike. We’re about as close as sisters can be. I talk to her all of the time, and we tell each other everything.”
I made the obligatory leering grin and said, “Everything?”
She laughed again. Deirdre didn’t giggle. She had none of the nervous mannerisms I was used to in the young girls I had dated. If she thought something was funny, she laughed. If she was nervous, she admitted it. She never giggled.
“Yes, everything. She is going to love this story.”
