"I agree 100% with you that 'true love' exists, and I don't disagree that Jason might have been it..."
Sitting next to me in a complete mess of emotions is Ashley. Desperately seeking a confidant, she got stuck with me, because my daughter is off the grid somewhere and we are unable to reach her.
Not for lack of trying, or crying. Ash came to my door looking for Emily, and fronting bravery, got stuck with me. I am easy enough, and try hard to be kind most of the time, but I am at best a Dollar Store substitute for Em's empathy and positive energy.
Having established that my youngest was unreachable, it turned out I was perfectly capable of satisfying Ashley's immediate need at that moment: the comfort of an enfolding embrace.
As I closed the front door behind us, all 5'4 of all girl caught me quite literally on my back-foot rushing me. Her brave facade crumbling along with my knees, it was quite the scene as i finally found my footing leaning against the wall in the front room in the middle of her emotional collapse.
Only the passage of time will soften the hurt, she doesn't want to hear it, but it will soften: you and I know that.
Desperately clinging to me, my heart broke as the details of this sweet girl's story came to light between sobs and outright fits of uncontrollable bawling: 'one true love', 'sweet Jason', 'beautiful boy', 'he was my first you know', 'all I have ever known', 'it was perfect', 'my everything', 'almost 4 years', 'he seemed to lose interest', 'was there, but not really there', 'wouldn't even do it', 'didn't even show up'.
I am unsure how much time passed, but at some point I moved her to the couch, were the tragedy continued to unfold in my arms.
There is beauty in tragedy. Long wavy hair framing big dark eyes above a pointy nose, makeup running everywhere, lips pleading for me not to let go, she threw herself back at me. Curling up in my arms like an oversized toddler, desperate for comfort. Heaving turns to intermittent sobbing as she slowly lets go of the pent up tension in her body.
"I agree 100% that 'true love' exists, and Jason might very well have been it. Having said that, true love is not in short supply, I have had a few in my time, and I am certain that the best is yet to come for you."
The lithe 18 year, buried in my chest to this point, comes up for air. Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she self consciously looks up at me, smudging her makeup further across her cheeks. My heart melts as she tries her first cautious smile.
I must read as an open book. "I am such a mess, aren't I?"
"You are beautiful," I reassure her, pushing some wayward strands of hair gently away from her face. My compliment at least ensure her smile lingers a little longer. Avoiding my eyes, she pushes her face back into the crease of my neck and inhales deeply and settles on top of me. Controlled breathing camouflaging the chaos in her mind.
Sitting up, practically on my lap. Young breasts rise out of a simple ribbed knit spaghetti strap top as she takes a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. Absent of tissues, tugging on the hemline she brings the fabric up to her face to clean herself off.
Snot, tears and mascara fighting for room on the makeshift rag. In that moment she is oblivious to her inspiring beauty, and to the fact that choosing this way to clean up exposes the lower half of her breasts.
Tender, still under-ripe plums, pushed together between her arms as she clears her face. I am paralyzed by the innocence and the beauty as this goddess pulls the fabric further up to find a clean patch for finishing the job. Light red areolas are revealed, topped by darker mosquito bites for nipples. A pleasing contrast to the soft milky white breasts, moving gently as she applies the finishing touches to her face.
"There you are," I smile encouragingly: "the Ashley I remember!" She smiles bravely, if still a bit cautiously, as she pulls the top down and adjusts herself.
She looks down and back up at me: "Aww, now my top is a total disaster!" Her big brown eyes distraught. I follow her eyes back down past her heaving teenage breasts, and can confirm it is a mess.
"I am no 'Queen of Clean', but my guess is that we are looking at a total write off here."
Embarrassed giggles in reply, she gently hits me on the chest with an open palm and acts shy all the sudden: her head falling back down on my chest: "Hold me just a little longer."
I don't really have any other plans. Inhaling the sweet scent of her, as she nestles in. Noticing that things are taking a slightly different tack: The crying has stopped, the heaving less desperate, and her breathing more deliberate as she curls back up in my arms.
All the sudden a sensual tension in her petite body. Her hands seemingly lazily running the outline of my torso, her tender breasts firming up as she restlessly moves on top of me.
She grabs my hand and lead it to her head. I stroke hair away from her beautiful face and catch her now mischievous eyes. There's no denying this has an effect. My pants feel tighter as my cock looks for room to grow. The ball is in her court.
"So, you really like me then?" Her cheeky smile is my cue.
"I always have," no need to hold back: "I told you already I think you are beautiful."