Telling of Steven

I will never forget Steven. I met him in a chat room. We began talking about our divorces and how difficult it was to let go of our dreams. Soon a friendship was forged and then a budding internet romance. We spoke often, every day in fact, sometimes until the dawn of a new day. We decided at last that it was time to meet. On the appointed day I was a nervous wreck, my hands were shaking and my heart pounded wildly within my chest. All of that disappeared the moment I saw him for the first time. He was beautiful, so young and sweet. Though only twenty years old his dark hair was specked with gray, his brown eyes were soft and luminous, he had full, sensual lips that I began to hunger for immediately.

We had decided to meet in my town and proceed from there to my parent's house at the lake. I knew the moment that he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed the open palm that I loved him, and that no matter what, I always would. You see, Steven knew of my past, of the brutality I had suffered at the hands of my husband. His gentle touch impressed me more than any flowers or sentiment ever could.

We began kissing the moment we entered our haven. His lips were gentle upon mine, his tongue probing them easily. His mouth was sweeter than any wine I have ever known and more intoxicating. Soon his gentle explorations of my mouth had driven me mad with wanting him. I devoured his mouth as if I were a woman starved. The need to touch him made me bold and daring, I ripped his shirt open to reveal a smooth flat stomach lightly sprinkled with coarse black curling hair. I reveled in it, gloried in caressing him. The scar on his abdomen from having had his appendix removed as a child only made him more beautiful to me. I kissed it lovingly, explored it with my fingertips. I made him stand before me so that I could undress him slowly. His shirt now gone, I had only to dispense of the rest of his clothes, first his boots, then his jeans. My hands were trembling as I reached for his shorts. I cast my eyes downward as I slid them down. He was thick and heavy with desire. I stepped back to view him fully.

My eyes traveled of the entirety of him. Tears began flowing unchecked down my cheeks as I took in his beauty. Beauty such as his is to be appreciated and savored slowly as it is fleeting and never seems to last. It was a full minute before I could bring myself to touch him again. My fingertips slowly traversed his face, over his lips, across his eyes. I grew bolder and lowered my hands to touch his stomach, to trace over his scar. Kneeling, I began kissing his thighs and up to his swollen member.

His gasp at the first touch of my tongue made me brazen. I took him fully into my mouth, his hands in my hair pressing him fully to him. My nose was pressed to the hair of his pubis, I began lapping greedily at him. His hips began to move slowly, and I dug my nails deeply into his flesh. He guided me using my hair, pushed himself in and out my mouth, slowly at first and then faster. I took him fully, greedily. I manipulated his balls gently in my hand, squeezing them as I worked my mouth up and down his cock. I was aching to feel him, my body was afire with need. The feel of his hands tangled into my hair was exquisite, the taste of him was sweet on my tongue, but I needed to feel him inside me, loving me.

Rising to my feet I pushed him easily back onto my bed. I crawled atop him and slowly lowered myself onto him. I had never felt anything like him in my life. I was so wet with wanting him that I slid down with ease in spite of his large size. The combination of pleasure and pain as he entered me was incredible. I gave myself a moment to adjust to him before I began rising and falling on his hardened cock. He put his hands to my hips and started moving me in time with him. He held me down and thrust deeply inside.

My mewling in pleasure only brought the response of a smile and quickening of his thrusts. I brought his hands to my breasts as my own wandered to touch myself where we were joined. My fingers quickened as his thrusts did and soon orgasm overtook me. His name was on my lips. "Steven, oh, God, Steven." He held my shoulders tightly and held me to his body. His breathing started becoming choppy and uneven and I knew he was close to filling me with his seed. His hips were bucking madly under mine, the walls of my wet cunt were grasping tightly at him, milking him of all that he had to give. He called my name as he released inside me, a soft groaning, "Renee."

I fell asleep in his arms, my ear pressed to his heart. We awoke twice in the night to make love again and once more in the morning before we were to go home. He took me back to my car and we kissed sweetly, tenderly, and for the last time. I went home to dream of our time together. He never made it home. Some stupid, careless person who had been drinking all night had the idea that he could drive himself home. He hit Steven's truck head on. He walked away. Steven did not. His funeral is tomorrow. I won't go. I cannot. The people in the church will be looking to his widow, consoling her. I would be the woman on the back row that no one knows, not the woman he held in his arms and in his heart.