Citric Reliability

I couldn't believe that he just stared blankly at me, as if I hadn't asked him why he should expect me to believe he loves me, when his actions always contradict his words. It was the usual bit. It had always been easy to get a grip of my next statement of wisdom, when this occurred in past arguments, but this time my throat knotted up and my mind swirled in hard, scraping torments leaving me helpless to the visions of the my soul wilting upon impact of the next revelation. I couldn't win. I couldn't be heard and understood on this matter or any other, due to some deficit of even empathetic love he could not have gained from a life of detached complacency.

It wasn't long before I was pacing, unsure of what was next. Then it really hit me that I would have no choice but to give up, and submit to my worst fears. I saw the phone unit that I'd previously ripped from the wall and it reminded me of the cabinet door I had so malevolently kicked in during a fight months before. I wondered if I could at least repair the phone. Had I really hurt it as badly as I had intended? Had I damaged it as thoroughly as I'd been ripped apart? That was my goal, because I could never do that to a human, but a phone had no feelings, right?

I ran over to it, suddenly feeling as though I'd killed it. I actually felt sorry for it, and I began to work on fixing it. He neared us to see what I was doing, in order to see what care I was giving the phone that has so faithfully called out to me each time someone beckoned me through it. What had the phone ever done to me?

The cabinet had pissed me off before. It wouldn't stay open when I unloaded the dishwasher, unless I opened it all of the way, and then it would reach out and grab my leg and bruise me if I neared it too closely. That fucking door had it coming!

I didn't know what I was doing. I couldn't make heads or tails of what part went to what, and I just saw the flashes of indifference he had given to my concerns, so I really just sat on the floor Indian style and held everything, sobbing like a helpless basket case. That was something I knew how to do. I could weave baskets, and sell them to make the money to leave here. A flash, a decent revelation of an alternative to going insane.

Among all of the jumbled transmissions, my neurons sensed a change in the air. One of concern on his part. Weird as it was I got hopeful and looked up and noticed he was gone. He went into the dining room. I heard him shuffling around through drawers in our hutch, looking and searching for something. He returned with a little thing in his hand that looked related to the phone in some way.

There we sat broken, the phone and I, and he worked to fix the phone. I just sat there, tears streaming down my cheeks watching him care so deeply about the phone. Once he got to a certain point, and began to remount the phone on the wall, I realized that he welcomed the distraction from repairing what really mattered, and I just knew that I would have to seek repair elsewhere, just like the phone had to do. I broke the phone, he had to fixed it. Who would fix me?

Well, I didn't know, so I just stumbled to my feet and proceeded to go up to the bedroom in a daze of haze of self hazardous dilemma. My mind could only lead my body to encumber the bed, and yield to his needs, as he sonly entered the room, making physically loving advances at me, to try and pose them as care for my inner suffering.

His body wrapped around mine in some effort to maintain the familiarity he cherished. He couldn't feel my soul cringe at his touch. He didn't care to acknowledge my distance, yet he knew instinctually that I wasn't feeling the lusting draw I feel when the mood is equated between us. So, in his vain desire to see me writhing in pleasure by his hand, he began to touch me on the back of the neck. This was a highly erogenous zone for me, yet I experienced a chill so deep that it left me convinced that I'd lost all contact with myself.

His hand slid up my side searching for the arc from my chest to my left breast. He ran his hand over breast in a soft, slow manner, stopping at my nipple to begin the usual stimulation he had mastered. I had a quick flash of being under the tree, orange fruit hanging down at me, smiling, and begging me to pick and eat it, ripe with nourishing juice. My arm outstretched instinctively as I imagined that the touch I felt came from a man who sensed my passion for the sweetness it held, to come before the fulfillment of eating up the moment. He knew only to touch me because I needed to be loved. Not to serve his lusts. He would fix all of my doubts by in turn lettin me be myself.

I wanted that fruit, with it's promising reliability and trusty glow. I grabbed it and pulled myself to it. My mouth met his and he acted surprised with a flinch, yet he suddenly, with a hot breath, gave full stead outburst of his passion for me to submit to his desires, unknowing of mine. Always, he knew nothing of me so my mind went back to my new reality. This man of many moments of dreams combined, now eased himself upon me, in a gentle manner, looking into my eyes, he kissed me without hesitation, but with great care in his lips to meet mine at a point that didn't berate me. I saw his dark hair shimmer a reflection of the dappled sun, that cascaded from the tree leaves above us.

His groin pressed against mine as we entwined our needs and gave forth heat and lust. My breasts heaved under him, as he worked his tongue and mouth down the side of my neck, where he trailed his moisture onto my dry flesh wanting to be replenished of its nourished state before a time in which high winded selfishness dominated the landscape surrounding me.

A start of his tongue enabled my inner fountain to spring forth new life into my femininity. My vagina became enlivened and I felt moisture of my own begin to work its way out of me to fill the creek of my love with the essence of love. His hands had so easily slid off my white tank top and he began to tongue my nipples, as they hardened with each eager yet perfectly paced flick of his tongue. I arched my spine offering the best part of me up for him to behold. His mouth rested firmly on my left breast just above my nipple, indicating he knew of my efforts and was savoring the honor. The reality wasn't so in tune. It was a hand on my tit, and a hand on my ass cheek groping away.

Given that I'd never had anyone to respect my greatest attribute in an intimate way, I felt strong desires of anew overwhelm me. I could take him, for myself, and give him a gift that no other would ever know. I could and I symbolically did. I lunged forward into him, and pushed him up, and unfortunately caught a glimpse of the light haired lie that I was in denial of, but quickly I had remedied that.

I rose to my feet, after pushing him down onto him back, and slid my skirt off in a highly sultry and revealing manner. I eased down onto him and I rested my hand on his typically excited, rigid cock. I pulled up on it, as if I would maybe take it off, but eased off of it, when he grimaced. That action alone aided my soul into the gaining of some control over the damage done. The flash of brightness came back instantaneously and I saw him, the one, lying below me with a very concerned yet highly understanding look. I just smiled and I couldn't help but feel loved.

He opened to me his shirt and he eased me down onto his chest. I ran my hand through the hair that formed an inviting layer between his flesh and mine, on that would make the bare parts that came into contact, all the more exciting and special to feel, as was this. I wanted to have him in my mouth, to have his manhood fill me with his love. He just didn't seem to take that as an option yet.

Before I knew it I felt hands groping my back and my ass, and I suddenly felt his rigid cock begging to be freed below me. A part of me just wanted to be held, but for this fantasy, I needed it too.

I felt his hand slide between us to my bare pussy, where he began to finger at my clit. I saw the light from above, candle, sun, whatever, just flow over me, candle burning as radiantly as the sun, at least. So in my heart there had to be hope, right? My inner realm began to ache as his finger slid over my hardened nub and my juices flowed upon his shorts, that I so eagerly tried to unzip now.

I felt the spread of my thighs gouged by his hip bones but I felt the need for the pain as a reminder of the truth, so I didn't contest it. I knew that if I didn't go down on him, at that very moment, that he'd just pull it out, and hastily insert his cock in me, and no way was I going to let him ruin this for me.

I went back to my vision again and I rose off of him and I lowered my head to his cock and began to lick the head as it further swelled in anticipation of my entire mouth, hotly engulfing him. I teased him, as I would want to be teased. I nibbled at the rim of where his head and shaft meet and then suddenly I shocked his cock by swallowing it into my throat and beginning to pump my head up and down, engulfing him and releasing him. I did this, repetedly, for a bit, until he signaled the rigidity of orgasm, and then I let off, and licked him more.

Next thing I knew, like he was mad with rage, he lifted me off of him, and threw me down on the bed. Looking up I was reminded of the emptiness and pain merely upon seeing his true face, and I proceeded to allow myself the slip of dreams fill in around me again, for fear of tears pouring from my now wetted, flooding soul. I heard the birds chirping, and saw the man who knew me again, and he was above me now. I felt the feeling that all was okay again, but needed that slip line, of physical pain, but it wasn't there. What if I get lost? What if I can't get back? I worried a bit and soon that worry alone became the reminder I needed to not get lost.

My lips felt parted and my engorged clit protruded from them awaiting stimulation, as he lowered his tongue to them and began to lick and toy with me. I felt a great amount of energy sweep over me to feel a bit of a residual, clitoral tingle left behind as he tongued deeper into my vagina. I filled with the burn, ache and spasm of orgasm and I came over him, upon seeing my new lovers face emerge from the morning mist, like he had been at it for days, years, a release of ages, long since needed. Not that I hadn't come in ages, just not in the light of that kind of understanding, ever. I the light of my own love for myself. It was always for him, fake or not. This one was for me.

Soon, his hard dick penetrated my clenching passage, and it probed to find the spot of my deepest beckoning. His thrust became intrusive and I whimpered under him, trying to imagine that this was not intrusive, as it where, but lusting. I was soaked from the orgasm but my muscles had contracted so my vagina held him taught and he began to feel himself come. He pulled out of me, and sprayed his come all over my naked flesh. It dripped down my sides as it cooled to the air temp, and gave me shivers. Looking up at him, as he forced the last of it out, I realized I had lost. I couldn't ever have my fantasy come true, yet no good would come of this farce.

He rolled off of me, onto the bed after planting a kiss on my lips. After the somber lull of snoring filled the room, I rose and went to the kitchen. There in my fruit bowl, rest awaiting my arrival, an fruit of my liking. I sat at the table, eating of it's sweetness, reliving the fantasy in my mind, from an objective, sated standpoint. It still revieled itself to look as good as it tasted.